Clint's memory of the battle on New York, and the days before and after it, are pockets of crystal clarity amid a whole lot of nothingness. Loki's control scares him still, months after he was taken, and so Clint holds tight to what hours he remembers. Should Bruce speak up, Clint would remember him. He wouldn't necessarily be completely relaxed, of course, but well, who would be in a place like this? A former, and so very brief, teammate would be welcomed.

As it is, Clint breathes shallowly, straining his hearing to place anything unusual despite the general noise of the rats. There's a faint rustling sound, the only hint that the person in the tunnel is still there, but it's not enough to pinpoint. Clint's fingers tighten around the heft of the crowbar in his hand, the dark of the tunnel working against him. He doesn't dare speak up again, lest the other person is targeting him, and takes quiet steps forward.