Written for xComet260X.
a fluffy drabble characters trying to woo one another [be it out of the blue/Valentines Day, feel free to specify.]
The oppressive heat wave continued for the ninth straight day, and Clint filled his mind with images of New York City in the snow, cold wind biting against his fingers and nose. Didn't help. Whoever had been selling that 'visualize and you'll feel better' line was a con artist, just another sideshow carny at work. Nothing relieved the humid air that made walking outside in this small town in Peru more like swimming fully clothed.
The mark hadn't moved in the last 27 hours, working tirelessly in the small rural hospital, seemingly oblivious to the miserable conditions. He'd taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his worn purple shirt, but he made no other concessions to the heat, which had to be stifling in the sick room with nothing but a few working ceiling fans to stir the air. Tightening in his scope, Clint could see the sweat rolling down the man's neck as he bent over the bed of a very frightened and very sick young girl; with a smile and a gentle touch, he soothed her with a wet cloth, talking to her until she feel back into a troubled sleep. How he could deal with this, day after day, watching children die from preventable diseases, from things easily solved by clean water or a simple vaccine?
The man finally left after he stumbled with exhaustion; another doctor took his place, and he walked out the door to head back to the small room he called home, nothing more than a bed and a table above a local bar. Clint had established a presence at a back table there, just another gringo down on his luck, having come south to make a fortune and lost everything along the way. It wasn't that bad a gig, he thought as he slid into his seat; the food was decent and the tequila was watered down enough that he'd have a pretty clear head if anything happened.
"Here's your food, senor," Peiro was the owner but at this time of day he was also the only staff besides Luis behind the bar. "Catfish ceviche. Very good." He sat the plate of food down in front of Clint along with a cold cerveza, ice still clinging to the side of the brown bottle.
"I didn't order this." All his senses went on high alert as he surveyed the room; his eyes settled on a familiar purple shirt at the bar.
"The doctor said you earned it," Piero explained.
Bruce Banner turned his head, his warm brown eyes amused as he caught sight of Clint's blue-green gaze. Raising his bottle, he saluted Clint and winked.
"Yeah. It has been a long day." With only the slightest of nods in return, Clint started on his food.