Bruce is always angry.

It's not common knowledge outside of the Avengers, and he would like it to stay that way, thank you very much. He's more than gotten used to it; the way he can feel his blood simmer under his skin, red cells just beginning to take on a green tinge, the Hulk clamoring to tear itself free. So whenever he feels the anger building (which is really quite often seeing as how everything, no matter now inconsequential, seems to tick him off), he excuses himself from where ever he currently is - the Helicarrier, Tony's lab and nonstop chatter, the Starbucks across the street, and finds some place remote and calming like the gardens around the mansion to work on his breathing exercises.

That's on the good days. On the bad ones like today, he goes down into the the training room and hulks out.

Hulk tears Steve's punching bags from the hooks, tossing them towards the mirrored walls before following up with a kick and a roar, the reverberation deafening him momentarily. Enraged, he stomps on the floor, noting with grim satisfaction the huge dent he makes in the reinforced steel, then jumps on it bodily, wanting nothing more than to stamp a Hulk-shaped hole in it. He's just about the start clawing at the cracks with his hands when he hears the whistling.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

He looks up to see Clint sitting on a ledge near the ceiling, grinning down at him in full costume, bow in hand.

Hulk bares his teeth at him. "Go away, Cupid. I'm busy."

"I can see that." Clint sounds amused. "So what is it this time? Barista forget to put a smiley next to your name? Thor's disturbing eagerness to show off his, ahem, hammer?"

"GO. AWAY," Hulk growls as menacingly as he can and crouches, getting ready to swipe at Clint. He's not going to kill him (oh, the sweet temptation!), but he has no compunctions against hurting him if if has to.

Clint raises both hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I'll get out of your hair. You better put the gym back the way it was after you're done throwing your hissy fit though, or Cap'll have your ass."

Throwing Hulk a mock salute, Clint swings up into the ventilation duct, going back the way he came. Hulk continues to mess around with the dent in the floor, but it doesn't budge, and his heart's no longer in it anyway. he half wishes Clint had stayed longer, if only so he could channel his anger at him. As it is, he already feels the rage dying down into a slow simmer.

He glances back absently and feels his eyes widen in surprise before hopping up onto the ledge and sniffs. The cookies are freshly baked, chocolate chip and marshmallow with just a hint of cinnamon, and Hulk smiles as he bites into one. It's soft and chewy, just the way Hulk likes it, and it seems almost silly now when he thinks about how he had gotten into a snit just because his cookies were missing this morning.

There's a noise from above, and Clint's head pops out from the vent. He's smirking smugly at Hulk, but with a half-finished cookie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, Hulk really can't bring himself to care. He nudges the plate over with his knee and watches Clint reach for a cookie, narrowing his eyes when he grabs the largest one. The anger bubbles familiarly under his skin, but Hulk chooses to ignore it. He'll pick at it later, let it burst, but for now, Bruce is at peace.