Chapter Text
Bruce wandered into the kitchen to find it thankfully empty, at least for the moment. Steve's sketchbook was lying out on the table, but he didn't look; Steve was pretty shy about his drawings, and if there was anyone who knew the value of privacy, it ought to be him. He crossed over to the sink, instead, which housed its usual pile of dishes, now - after him being stuck in the lab for the last twelve hours with barely a break - stacked beyond the depth of the sink; there was one bowl precariously balanced against the fawcet, and he rescued it before somebody decided to try stacking something on top of it and overbalanced the whole thing. This crew would probably do so for fun. Most times, Bruce would find it amusing... but maybe not right now.
The small ritual of rinsing dishes in the sink to put them away in the dishwasher, of making a visible dent in the present disorder, was soothing. Yet barely a minute had passed before he heard a door opening and the sound of footsteps. Without thinking, he flicked the tap off and ghosted out, with stealth nowhere near the equal of anything that Natasha or Clint could muster, but enough to carry him to the stairwell back to the lab easily. He paused, there, before the door, considered: if he had fled from potential company so easily, then going back to the lab was probably a bad idea. Not that he'd really been planning on it. The lab contained his intractable data, and moreover an equally intractable Tony, and Bruce had rather had his fill of dealing with people, in general, for the day. The balcony at sunset was a far better place for him right now.
"Jarvis, would you mind turning on the sound-dampeners?" Traffic wasn't his background music of choice. "And giving me a heads-up if anyone comes up?"
"Certainly, Dr. Banner."
"Thanks." He settled cross-legged on the floor and turned his face up to the sun. Bringing order to his own mind was less easy than clearing the sink, but alone in the silence, and secure in the knowledge that he was merely irritated - a natural thing, so far from anger - it was not much less easy.
One floor down, Steve stared at the mysteriously half-emptied sink and sighed.