Inside the mind of Dr. Bruce Banner

Bruce stepped into the safe room, code named "The Green Room" or the "Time-Out Room" due to its original purpose of housing the Hulk should Bruce's control slip. Clint was now the room's occupant while SHIELD tried to determine just what had happened--why the archer had apparently regressed to Loki's mind control, his eyes fading between electric blue and an odd silvery colour. "Hello Clint," he greeted softly. He tried to remember the instructions Fury had given him: calm voice, maintain eye contact, don't turn his back and most of all, don't get lulled into a false sense of security. If Loki was still using Clint's brain as silly putty, things could escalate quickly.

Who doctors the doctor?

"Well, you can rest up now. I’ll take care of you." he smiled, keeping a hand on his bandaged stomach. "I owe you a million favors after everything…"

"You owe me nothing," Bruce sighed, watching Clint's hand on his stomach. "C'mere, come cuddle with me--you shouldn't be up walking around with that wound, much less waiting on me."

Who doctors the doctor?

Clint returned a few minutes later, having set the soup on the stove, with a bottle of water and a damp rag. He moved over, setting the cool rag on Bruce’s forehead. “I didn’t even know you could get sick, what with the Hulk and all.”

"Technically, I can't," he sighed, accepting the bottle of water. It was one of the reasons working in the slums of Calcutta had been so easy, he was immune to even the most infectious diseases. 'I think it's more fatigue than anything..." He hadn't been sleeping well since Clint had disappeared, perhaps it was catching up with him. "Thank you, for the water--and the soup."

Who doctors the doctor?

Clint smiled and did his best to lean down to kiss his forehead. “Missed you too, Freckles. Stay here, I’ll go start on some soup for you. Want anything else?”

"Wouldn't mind being put out of my misery," Bruce groaned, trying to sink deeper into his mattress as he looked up at Clint. "Bottle of water maybe?" He felt terrible...he was hot, his body ached...he generally just felt miserable.

You walk in on my character attempting to commit suicide, what do you do?

SOMEBODY PLEASE I WILL FOREVER LOVE YOU AND I KNOW THAT SOUNDS CRUEL

Who doctors the doctor?

Bruce uttered a weak whimper when he felt Clint's cool hand rest against his feverish forehead. "Hey," he managed to groan out, offering Clint an exhausted smile. "Soup sounds good..." God, he felt terrible although now he was curious about why the hospital had discharged Clint so early. "M-missed you Cupid."