I was going to make this into a One-Shot but it got away from me...
Please disregard any weirdness in the time-line, I'm taking some artistic freedom with it.
Also, I'm no scientist and very bad at science. Please disregard the bad or faulty science-talk, but I'm open for suggestions if you can give them constructively.
Constructive criticism is always welcomed, but flames will be ignored. If you don't know the difference then don't comment at all.
Clint Barton, mostly know to the world as Hawkeye, was bored.
Nothing was happening. No crazy robots, no evil aliens, no mutated cockroaches (and hadn't that been an interesting afternoon!) and no psychotic overlord that wants to enslave the human race.
The first week of nothing had been a blessing! A whole week of relaxing and doing whatever they wanted.
'Well, almost', thought Clint as he thought about the Avengers' Theme Park(TM) that he and Tony had spent an entire day designing only for the drawings to disappear, and then reappear in the blender the next morning.
Clint blamed Natasha.
The thing was: now it was three weeks ago since they had been called out for a mission and Clint was slowly losing his mind in boredom. Tony was building away on some thing or another, Bruce was playing with some chemicals in his own laboratory, Steve was in his room drawing, Natasha was reading a book (she wouldn't tell him what it was about, but Clint was suspecting a love-story. That woman was a scary closet romantic...), Thor- who was actually on Earth for once -was spending almost all of his time out with his girlfriend Jane, Wanda and Vision was off travelling the world since neither had seen much of anything with their own eyes before, Sam was out on his veteran-volunteer-therapy-thingy, and the tower's newest resident Bucky Barnes- also known as Steve's childhood friend and the Winter Solder -was locked up in his room doing God knows what.
Clint had already finished all of the paperwork that had been piling up from previous missions during week two when the boredom was only starting to creep in, the new target-range had been used to the point where he could do it with his eyes closed and his hearing-aides turned off, no one wanted to go out to do anything, and there was nothing for him to do in the tower.
As it was, he was sitting in an office somewhere in the tower (he thinks it's the 15th floor).
The office was unused, and Clint wasn't even sure what an office was doing on this floor since all the floors above the 10th had restricted access ever since the Avengers decided (or rather since Tony decided) to make this their home-base.
The office was fully equipped, with a desk, a chair, paper, pens, a cork-board, a shelf with empty folders, other small office material, and even a computer and a printer. The computer had been taking his boredom away momentarily, but there is only so many cat-videos you can watch before they all start looking the same.
He was leaned back as far as he could in the chair, while stretching out his legs on the desk, staring up at the ceiling. About an hour ago he had snatched up a paper and a marker from the desk and made a crude target and pinned it to the ceiling, and had since then been flicking tacks up with his thumbs.
With a sigh he put away the remaining tacks and looked up at his masterpiece.
Up on the ceiling was a crude drawing of a man, with a cape and horns, absolutely covered in tacks of different colors. Two green ones was sticking out where the eyes would be, four black ones were clustered together tightly over the mouth-area, the hands- that were raised in a surrender-position -had on one blue one in each, and then rest of the body had red ones sticking out in, what might appear like a random pattern for most, but Clint knew that they were most of the vital areas of the human body.
Clint was pleased with his work.
Maybe Tony will let him keep it where it is so that he can come back and admire it later?
With a deep sigh, Clint removed his legs from the desk and straightened his chair with a bang that echoed inside the bare office. Putting his elbow on the desk and resting his chin is his hand, he surveyed the desk and his eyes was caught by the small box of paper-clips sitting innocently at the corner of the desk.
Picking it up he brought it up to his face, while contemplated the possibilities.
The box said '100 metal paper-clips for your everyday needs'.
As a light-bulb went of in his head, Clint let a truly devious smile spread across his face.
"Oh, this could be fun!"