A/Ns:Okay, so I know I have more updating to do, but this got stuck in my brain and I thought it would be better to finish something than to have it hanging around taking up brain space. So yeah, this got done.
From a Shell should be updated soon (see: the end of the weekend). I know I was going to have done this week but life has totally fucked that up. (also there was this small thing called Writer's Block, but we don't talk about that).
Much love to those hanging in there with my other stories! You guys are the reason I keep writing! So please keep up with the wonderful comments!
1.
The first time Tony noticed Clint had just saved his freaking life, it happened so fast that honestly he almost missed it.
Mid-battle Tony found himself completely immersed in robots (despite the fact that technically he was in a robot himself). There were so many of the bastards, that Iron Man was having trouble even taking off once he had landed.
Bots shot at him, launch grenades at him, and just plain threw things at him, one in particular seemed to have a fondness for VW Beetles, so much so, Tony was sure the bastard was going out of his way to hunt more down. In general, they were making him very, very annoyed.
Natasha stuck close to Captain America's side, about two blocks away. She had gotten hauled under at one point and it had taken a combination of Thor and Steve to get her back up right.
Hulk on the other hand was having the time of his life. He, happily, swatted the robots out of the air, and smashed them into the ground. Any other time, Tony would have found the sight of the Hulk, hanging off the side of the Sears Tower grabbing at bots like the proverbial King Kong of Chicago, absolutely hysterical.
But today was simply not Tony's day.
The robots seemed to have developed a sadistic fixation on him, after about a half hour of fighting.
After an hour, they were converging. One even completely disregarded Thor and turned to run after Tony. The god of thunder was irked to say the least, feeling he had been in some way deemed an unworthy opponent.
Safe to say, it was that particular robots last mistake.
Still, Tony was fighting for his life, shooting, launching small missiles, throwing them at the Hulk, whatever it took to get the bastards to leave him alone.
"Uh, guys, some help here please?" Tony asked, as a yellow Beetle went sailing past his head.
"We're coming as fast as we can," Steve said, sounding barely out of breath over the comms.
Six more rounded the corner, catching sight of him and sprinting towards him.
Before Stark could do anything to get rid of the ten all ready surrounding him, and deal with the new six, an alarm blared inside his helmet. He spun around to see an arrow fly by his face, pinning a grenade to a nearby robot.
Iron Man blasted off, the explosion taking out the surrounding ten, and Tony led the remaining six on a tour near the Hulk.
Fifteen minutes later, Jarvis hacked his way into the robots and dropped them all on Tony's command.
It wasn't until they were back at the Tower, and Hawkeye was getting various scratches patched up and his ribs taped up by Medical staff that Tony even thought of the arrow that had sailed by his face, knocking the grenade off its path.
"You saved my life," Tony said, mildly impressed, because the more he thought about it, the more he realized the blast from that damn thing would have probably blown the face plate through his actual face.
Clint looked up, and shrugged, wincing a bit when it jostled his ribs. "Don't mention it," he grunted out.
"Well normally, I wouldn't but, you actually did save my life," Tony is so grateful Steve is on the other side of the room to not hear this. He catches enough shit about not being a 'full member of the team' because he refuses to go to "team-bonding" activities. And did that not sound like torture to anyone else?
Pushing the nurse away, Clint stood, his body an array of bandages and taped ribs, but Tony can see the hard muscles underneath them, he has to swallow around the sudden dryness in his throat.
"I said, don't mention it," Barton growls, and stalks out of Medical, ignoring the shouts from Rogers to get his butt back to a bed.
Thoroughly confused, Tony glanced over to Natasha, who had a considering look on her face. He gave a look to the door and then back to her. She frowned but said nothing.
Since it was clearly getting him zip, he sighed and let the nurse continue to clean the gash on his leg.
Whatever just happened, he was sure it would be the last time he would have to say thanks to the sourpuss, so he wouldn't need to mention it again.
2.
The second time it happens, Tony has to wonder if there's something written in the universe that says if something's going to fuck up, it had to do so in his general area. Otherwise, how the hell did he get into a situation where he was trapped inside room with nothing but his Stark Industries ID, his phone and a bomb that was about to go off?
"Two minutes and counting," he said into the phone.
Someone huffed on the other side, probably Natasha.
"Understood, Tony, just hang in there," Steve reassured.
Hang in there? Tony rolled his eyes. What exactly is he supposed to be hanging onto exactly? The phone, the ID, or the BOMB?
"Hawkeye's e.t.a is one minute," Natasha said, the phone being on speaker helped hear her. "The building is clear, but they still have to clear twenty floors of sub-basement to get to the top level."
"Will it be enough time?" Steve asks, and despite lowering his voice, Tony can hear him.
There isn't an answer, so Natasha might be saying something too low for the speaker to pick up or just shrugging.
"Hawkeye's on his way, Tony," Steve says, voice strange with what is probably worry.
Well, that sure made him feel loads worse.
Steve and Nat and...Bruce (maybe?) start discussing something away from the phone. Tony can barely make out every other word.
"-elevator systems aren't-"
"-why Thor should have-"
"-no time now, Steve," Nat's voice starts getting closer which means she's moving back to the phone.
"What's wrong now?" Tony asks, he hopes she won't dodge his question.
"The elevators aren't responding. Clint's going to have to come up with something to get you both up in time. There isn't enough time for Thor to come get you," Natasha fills him in. He's suddenly really grateful for her, because he knows Steve would have said something useful like 'it'll all be okay'.
"One minute twenty," Tony fills them in, and realizes yes, there wasn't time for anyone else. It was Clint or no one. Originally, when they had arrived and Tony had found himself staring at a timer, there had been a debate as to who should go get him. Both Steve and Thor believing they were qualified for the retrieval had began trying to figure out who would be better suited. While Natasha tried to bring them back to point, Clint had simply slipped away and let them know when he had been a quarter way down.
Hearing Steve chew him out via comms while in earshot of the phone had been both amusing and annoying. Now it was clear that he and the archer might go down with this twisted plot.
"One minute," Tony says, as the clock reaches 1:00. He hopes this isn't going to be the last minute of his life.
"Hawkeye's coming around the corner toward you. He's says stand back," Natasha reports.
Backing up, Tony hopes that whatever Clint is going to do to get the door opened (another reason Thor may have been the better choice) won't explode.
There's a short bang and then the door simply falls in to the floor, harmlessly. Clint's standing there, entering through the lingering smoke, and Tony really has to fight the urge to make a smart-ass remark about the billowing cape that Hawkeye could be rocking.
"Tony now!" Clint demands, upon seeing him. They both take off out into the hall, Tony right on his heels, because yes, running away from the bomb.
They slide to a halt outside of the elevator, Clint moving to begin prying the doors apart.
"I thought Natasha said they don't work!" Tony feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 45 seconds, his brain supplies helpfully.
Clint tosses a smirk over his shoulder, as he opens them.
"Have a little faith," he says, then gesturing for Tony to get in.
They both get in, before the doors slide shut again, but Clint's all ready moving, all ninja-spy moves as he hops up on the rails and removes a ceiling panel. He jumps down and maneuvers-slash-pushes Tony up through the opening before jumping up through.
"Great, we're on top of the elevator, how is this saving us?" Tony really has to learn to keep his snark in check during stressful situations, but Clint just snorts before pulling his bow from his back.
He draws an arrow, hooking something onto his belt before shooting it straight up. Smoothly he puts his bow back around his body and pulls Tony right up to him.
Sucking in a breath, Tony wish like hell he didn't like the way he can feel Clint pressed right up against, a strong arm going around his back and just holding him to the hard body in front of him.
"You better hold on," Clint smirks.
"Oh you've got to-" Tony barely has a second to wrap his arms around Clint before they are both being dragged up through the air at a truly alarming speed. Squeezing his eyes closed and keeping his face pushed into Clint's chest, Tony concentrates on the feel of Clint's arm just holding him in place, like he weighs nothing. By the time he's almost afraid he's going to do something stupid like look, it is over. Hawkeye shoves him through the propped open elevator doors.
"Run, now Tony!" he demands, angling his body to step out as he undoes whatever was attached to his belt.
Listening seems best, and Tony takes off again, so happy to see daylight outside the building. He's a few steps from the doors, when suddenly he's knocked to the ground, as Clint lands hard on top of him.
The explosion makes everything around the tremble and shake and then a wave of fire flows out over them. Debris crashes all around them, and the noise from the blast is so loud that Tony's afraid his ears will bleed.
It takes several long moments for things to settle. In the distance Tony can hear shouts and sirens. He knows he should move, but Clint is still draped over him, a comfortable weight that makes him feel safe. Just another moment he thinks.
Then there are hands, and Natasha screaming for Clint to wake up and Tony realizes that the archer hadn't been keeping him there to keep him safe. He was unconscious.
Stretchers appear, and people are helping Tony to one and rolling Clint onto the other. The genius is confused for a moment why they are keeping him on his stomach and then he sees the mess of burns and cuts all along Clint's back, his vest having done what it could to save his skin from the brunt of the explosion.
"Tony?" a croaked, broken comes up from the stretcher. Clint rotates his head and catches sight of the genius.
"I'm fine," he says, wanting to reach out and touch the archer, but afraid he'll only hurt him at this point.
Barton gives a small nod, before slipping unconscious.
It takes some time but Hawkeye is back out with the Avengers soon enough. Tony won't say 'thank you', not wanting to repeat the first time, but he does spend an exuberant amount of money and time developing a better vest for the marksman.
When Clint asks what prompted the vest, Tony shrugs and says he was bored. The grin he's given in return stays with him for an even longer time after.
3.
A night out on the town with the Avengers should have meant that Tony Stark knew how to behave. He was hanging around with Captain freaking America, he knew better than to lip off to some drunken asshole who could cause a problem.
Correction: he should've known better.
The comments had started innocent enough, and Tony had developed a thick skin over years of being dragged through the press. He was willing to let the assholes be assholes for the sake that none of the others seemed to care. Thor and Steve didn't seem to take the homophobic remarks personally, but Tony wasn't sure if it was because they hadn't heard or neither really knew what they meant.
Natasha had shook her head discreetly to Clint at one point, when his hand had gotten tight around his beer bottle. But overall, it seemed they were just going to let it slide. Besides, they were off-duty, right?
After a few beers, (Tony's definition of a few, not Thor's) the group seems to want to move on anyway. But Tony had gone to take a leak, waving off the others to go stand outside after they had settled the tab.
He was heading out to meet them a few minutes later, making a last second sweep to make sure no one was waiting for him or still hanging around. Seeing it was all clear, he had every intention of leaving the bar.
"There goes another one of those cock-sucking faggots," one of the assholes slurred as Tony passed by. He freezes, the anger that had been ready to boil all night, lighting up again. Knowing he should just leave, Tony tries to shake it off and gets another few steps before...
"Yeah, walk away you mother-fucking faggot," comes the next slur.
Arching an eyebrow, Tony turns and smiles, as he saunters over to their table.
"You know what I've been wondering?" he asks.
The biggest guy, the one with the mouth, is about the same size as Steve. He tightens his grip on his beer when he sees Tony turn around.
"I've been thinking, why a guy like you is so concerned about my sexuality," Tony says, unable to help himself. "Afraid I'll turn you down, big guy?" he winks.
The man shoves the table aside, beers and chairs go crashing aside, as he takes steps to Tony. It's obvious what he's going to do, and Tony easily dodges the first few swings. But then his friends join in.
One gets a solid blow to Tony's stomach and he doubles over as he gasps for air. Stark barely has time to get upright before another one lands squarely on his jaw. He sucks in much needed air when he sees one draw a knife.
"You know, I think this fight just went above my pay-grade level," Tony says. He tries get away, but one of his buddies grabs both of his arms. Someone is shouting in the background as the guy with the knife begin to drive it forward.
A hand suddenly shoots out and seizes the man's wrist, and Clint steps forward twisting the wrist as he looks around.
"What luck boys, because I think it just moved onto my level" he says, a dark glint in his eyes. He disarms the knife guy, sending him and the knife to the floor.
One of the others steps forward and barely blinks before Clint has him stumbling back to the bar, holding his neck. Two more come up, one with a pool stick, and Tony even winces when Barton breaks it across the guy's back.
The big guy is the only one left, and he draws another knife. Clint stares him down, even though technically, he has to look up a little.
There's a sudden flurry of twists and lunges, Tony can barely keep up with where the knife is as he realizes the big guy isn't a two-bit thug like the rest.
When they begin to grapple, Clint trying to keep the knife out of range of his body, and the asshole doing his best to stab him. They struggle, before Clint's arm snaps forward as the guy's hand drives the knife toward Clint's stomach.
Jerking aside, Barton gives a roundhouse kick that sends the man flying. He crumples to the floor several feet away and doesn't move.
"Anybody else got a problem with fags?" Clint demands, taking a hard look around the bar. He's standing stiffly, like he's likely to have to take someone else on.
The bartender speaks up, "We ain't got a problem here, son, but you might want to have that looked at." He gives a nod toward Clint's stomach, hidden under a blue t-shirt and leather jacket.
"Did he get you?" Tony asks, coming forward and pulling the jacket aside. Spreading out along the blue shirt, was blood from what looked like a pretty deep gash.
"It's fine, but you better pray the others went on ahead," Clint says, wincing when he peels the shirt back from the wound.
"Why?" Tony asks, and feels a little better when it does seem to be mostly superficial.
"Because if Nat sees this, she's going to-"
A sudden spew of Russian cuts him off, as Natasha marches over, in her jeans and green blouse. She takes one look at Clint's stomach, even though he tries to hide it, and grabs his ear.
There's a litany of Russian, Tony has no hopes of ever understanding, but he does understand the way she drags him from the bar by the ear. He's thoroughly amused until they are out on the sidewalk and she promptly shoves Tony toward Steve, who takes one look at Tony's swollen jaw and starts ranting too. In English unfortunately.
They spend the rest of the night in Medical, Clint gets six stitches, while Tony gets an ice pack. After bribing a nurse, they manage to score some jell-o and spend the rest of the night laughing about Clint's opening line about 'pay-grade's and how Tony clearly makes more money than him.
He won't admit it, but Tony finds he's really glad to have Clint watching his back.
4.
"Hand the drink to Mr. Stark, Agent Barton," the man says, his arm choke holding Natasha, who looks extremely pissed off, every other word out of her mouth is Russian and Tony knows this is bad.
The glass is steady in Hawkeye's hand, despite the fierce look in his eyes. Tony's eyeing the security guards, who seem to be waiting for something to happen before they make a move. Steve's circling behind them, ready to move once Natasha is clear.
"Don't you fucking dare-" Black Widow's words are cut off as he tightens his hold.
"Shut up, Nat," Clint barks, his face a prime example of 'if looks could kill', but she looks scared, which bothers Tony more than anything else.
It wouldn't have been so bad, if the guy hadn't tried to slip Tony poison right under two highly trained agents. Clint had grabbed the drink before Tony could and the poor excuse of a villain had grabbed Tasha, who had for once been caught off guard.
Tony doubted he'd be invited back to this event again, as people were being ushered out and men with guns were coming in. Though, plus side, he wasn't being forced to make small talk anymore. So there was that.
"Give the drink to Mr. Stark, now, Agent Barton," the order comes again with a pained gasp from their friend to accent the man's point.
Stretching out his hand, Tony feels an eery calm settle over him. He knows he's going to take the drink, he'll down it just to save Natasha. He's strangely okay with going out this way.
Of course, Clint has other plans.
With the smuggest of smiles, Clint tosses back the drink, swallowing it down, before tossing the glass back over his shoulder.
"I hope you have a Plan B," he says, grinning like an idiot.
Before anyone else can react, Nat wretches herself free from the guy. Grabbing his arm, she twists it up and behind him. She starts yelling in Russian at the guy before getting a knee in his back and putting him into the ground. Hard.
Tony can't even appreciate her moves as he finds himself moving, pulling Clint towards him.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" Stark demands, cupping the archer's face.
"You think I was going to really let you drink it?" Barton asks, but his smirk is failing and panic hits Tony.
Coulson is suddenly there, jamming a needle into Clint's neck, without preamble.
"Ow, boss, warn a guy," Clint says, but the smile that should be there, isn't.
"How do you feel? What are the symptoms?" Coulson demands, looking a monitor that is connected to the needle.
"Blurry vision, light-headed, a little nauseous but that may be the scotch," Clint sways a bit on his feet. Tony, still holding him, helps lower the archer to the ground. He won't admit to the way his grip tightens or that he manhandles Clint to lean on him.
"Goddamnit, it's a dose of dehalcynate," Coulson says, and Tony thinks it is the first time he's heard the agent swear.
"How bad?" Barton asks, sitting now, head resting heavily on Tony's chest.
"Above what you've been exposed to. Shit! You're heart rate's spiking. Medics!" Coulson yells, withdrawing the needle.
"Hate the 'ospital," Clint's words start to slur as he seems to be fading fast.
"You've got to stop saving my life," Tony says, because he'll be damned if he's saying goodbye.
"Gotta 'eep youuu saaafe," comes the reply before paramedics appear, taking the archer from Tony.
The next week Clint sits in Medical recovering from the near overdose. Tony spends every second with him. He tries to not think about the tightness in his chest whenever it crosses his mind about how badly things could have gone.
5.
The charity event was going off without a hitch. Tony had a glass of champagne in his hand (nasty stuff) and Clint Barton at his side (better stuff).
"Nat, guy at my two o'clock in the double black Windsor has been following us around the loop, discreetly ask him the hell his problem is," Clint said, lowly into the communicator.
Well, at his side was relative. The important thing was that Clint was in a gorgeous tuxedo and forced to follow Tony around for the evening. Who cared if Clint was his bodyguard for the evening, that hadn't made him stop introducing him as 'William' the Parisian bonbon that he had met when "Will" had been sight-seeing in New York City.
But each time had Clint's eyes crinkle with a smirk it told that he was enjoying it too, so Tony puts his all into the performance. He enjoys the feel of wrapping an arm around Clint's waist and pulling him close and the way the archer murmurs sweet nothings in French into Tony's ear. The whole night feels like a test of his self-control and it does take every ounce to not push his super-secret spy friend against a wall and make him moan.
Instead he settles for being guided discreetly around the room, while pretending to be plying his boytoy with expensive champagne. It honestly wasn't the worst way Tony had spent an evening.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Natasha corner the man in the double black. It's clear the man isn't a threat, when he makes vague gestures towards Tony and Clint. She smirks and says something low into the comm.
A half-second later, Clint rolls his eyes.
"What?" Tony asks, still a bit grouchy for not being given a comm for the evening. Clint had pointed out that he was suppose to be off-duty and that the others had it covered.
"He was trying to find a way to steal me away from you," Clint murmurs, frowning and drawing closer to Tony.
The growl that threatens to come out of Tony's mouth doesn't really surprise him much. He's known for a while that he'd like to wine and dine Clint and take him to bed and then make him pancakes in the morning (okay, have Jarvis make them. Same thing). Still, he hasn't brought it up, because he's a little afraid that Clint will reject him. That he's projecting feelings of desire into those gorgeous blue eyes.
It doesn't take long for them to make the circle, all sorts of people clamoring to speak with Tony about one thing or another. They are paused in front of one of the windows that overlooks a side-street between this building and the next one.
Clint's leaning against Tony, like the proverbial boytoy he was supposed to be, grinning at Tony like he's handed him the keys to the world.
Then a serious look crosses Barton's face, one that usually comes from bad guys showing up on his radar, and it takes a moment for Tony to tense up, expecting a blow to come any minute.
Nothing does. What does happen is, Clint grabs Tony's shoulders, putting the genius's back to the window and kisses him.
A kiss barely describes what goes on, Tony thinks. He's shocked at first, unprepared to say the absolute least, but then his body responds naturally. And god, Clint kissed like he shot arrows, with precision, focus and confidence. He knew how to coax Tony's mouth open with the barest sweep of a thumb against his jaw, how press forward enough to make Tony come to him. It hot and heavy and Tony hadn't been ready to be kissed like that...Ever.
When they draw apart a moment later, Tony is still close enough to hear Natasha in Barton's earpiece, saying something about sit rep, but Tony. Does. Not. Care. He can feel every inch of Clint's body that is pressed up against his. They are both breathing hard from the kiss and Tony swears he can feel his blood rerouting to his pants. He wants to ask what the hell is going on and where did Clint learn to do that and can they please fucking find a bed/table/flat surface to keep doing that. But the words never get a chance to leave his mouth.
"When I say drop, I want you to hit the floor, understand?" Clint says, blue-ish green eyes staring right into Tony's brown ones.
"What-"
"Tony," Clint's mouth smirks a bit and Tony wants to kiss him again, "I promise, everything is okay and I'm going to get you out of here, okay? Can you nod for me?" Rough fingers rub affectionately along Tony's jaw.
He gives a small nod.
"Good, now we only have a second, okay? You have to hit the floor when I say so, and no matter what you stay down, yes?" Clint's fingers against his skin is the only thing he feels. Tony's stomach bottoms out because the seriousness held in Clint's eyes only comes when something violent is going to happen.
There is only another slight nod to indicate he can do that.
"You don't have the suit, so no heroics, right?" he's looking over Tony's shoulder, out the window, but the way he keeps shifting tells him that whatever he's looking at, he isn't getting the whole picture.
"Nat, five to go," Clint says, pressing his lips to Tony's once more. He pulls back and takes a quick glance around. Someone behind Tony moves, and Clint draws his gun.
"Drop!" he shouts, and Tony flings himself out of the way. Gun shots take out the window, and then there's silence when something falls back to the ground.
Not something, he realizes, someone.
Looking over, Tony finds all the breath in his lungs vanish and his heart begin to beat out of control. Clint's lying there, blood seeping through his pristine white shirt.
Adrenaline hits the genius and he scrambles to pull Clint out of view of the window, ignoring the sick trail of blood it leaves.
"Clint? CLINT?!" Tony shouts, ripping open the shirt, not surprised to see a bullet-proof vest Fuck lot of good it did, Tony thinks as he pulls that off too.
The bullet hole is small, not some huge gaping wound, located too far down to have hit his heart, Tony prays. Blood's flowing fast as he jerks out of his jacket, before pressing it to the hole.
Suddenly Clint's eyes flutter open, and he gazes up at Tony with half-lidded blue eyes, then he lets out a high gasp of pain.
"Nat," he says, "eighth floor, two windows in. I clipped him, and Tony's safe."
"And you're shot!" Tony exclaims, "has she called the medics?" His hands shake when he presses down and sees more blood coming out around Clint's back. Frantically he starts pulling off his outer shirt.
She's saying something back, because Clint winces and smirks a bit. "You say the sweetest things, Nat," he says, then lets out a cry when Tony shoves the second makeshift bandage under his back.
"You're bleeding from both sides, you stupid son of-!" There's so much blood, more than Tony ever wants to know exists, more than thought even existed inside a body.
A hand settles over his, and Tony looks up at Clint who smiles. "It's okay, Tony," he sounds calm, and that just serves to freak Stark out more.
"The hell it is!" he states, looking around to figure out where the help is.
"I liked playing Will," Clint says, making Tony look back at him. Barton's face starts to look pale, and there's blood at the corner of his mouth.
"Well, if you haven't noticed, it looks like he just saved my life. I'll probably have to keep him around." Tony takes the hand covering his and squeezes it gently.
"He'd like that. He probably fell in love with you about the same time I did," Clint says, then gasps and spits up some blood across the same lips Tony had been kissing not two minutes earlier.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he demands, because if he had known they wouldn't have even been at this stupid party. Tony could have been taking Clint apart in his bed instead of lying here bleeding out.
"I know," Clint gasps, and struggles for a breath, "that you like your playboy status," he continues to struggle for air, as Tony sees paramedics coming towards them.
"I didn't want," the archer's hand loosens and slips a little, "to be another conquest."
Hands pull Tony up to his feet as the paramedics slide in next to Clint. He twists in the arms, finding himself burying his face into Thor's chest, as he tries to keep the sudden tears in his eyes at bay.
+1
The beep of the monitoring machine in Clint's room has started to grate on Tony's nerves. He found that it annoyed and reassured him every few seconds and he really wanted to punch it a bit.
He wasn't sure how long he had been there, but he knew that the dawn was just breaking over the horizon. SHIELD Medical personnel scurried about the halls, he hated that they had all ready done all they could do for Clint. Now it was just waiting.
Sitting up straighter, Tony put a hand to his back, a dull ache having formed there some time over the last hour. He kind of hated that they had all this technology and hadn't thought to put in some comfy chairs.
Or a coffee pot. He sighs, standing and stretching, he walks around the room a bit. It looks fairly normal, though Tony can't help but wish they could have moved him to a better room. Everything in him screams to fix this, to do something to help Clint. He doesn't even try to deny his feelings anymore. Tony Stark has fallen head over heels in love with his teammate. And it still doesn't sound the like the worst idea he's ever had.
"Fuck," he mutters to himself and heads out of the room. He's always shit without caffeine, and feels relatively okay with letting Clint sleep without a guard on him.
The break room in Medical is empty, thankfully, and Tony fixes his coffee in peace. He's heading back when Natasha falls into step with him.
"What are you doing here still, Stark?" she asks, not much with the small talk.
"You know what I'm still doing here," he states, because if anyone did, it was her.
"I know he saved your ass, but that doesn't explain why you're still sticking around," she narrows her eyes at him when he glances over.
"I care for him, obviously," Tony says, then covers it up with, "Plus he keeps doing all this noble shit and saving my life."
That gives her pause before she stops when they reach Clint's door. "Sit with me," she says, dropping into one of the chairs that line this section of the halls.
Sighing, Tony supposes he's here if anything changes, and sits down.
"This isn't the most noble thing I've ever seen him do," Natasha says after a moment of silence passes. She's obviously struggling with something, so Tony gives her a moment.
She sighs and fiddles with her fingers before leaning back. "Several years back, we were part of a joint mission with the newly formed Afghanistan government. They were bringing their intelligence organization on board with the rest of the world, and needed some credibility so to speak. So they sent one of theirs with Clint and I to take down some low-life gun runner in Africa."
Running a hand through her hair, she looks older than Tony had noticed before. She looks tired.
"The mission goes smooth. It was a cake-walk even before they sent Clint and I. The guy they sent really enjoyed working with us. He and Clint especially seemed to hit it off. They got friendly over the few days," she levels a look at him, and Tony understands exactly what kind of 'friendly' they were getting. He tries to ignore the flash of jealous it sends through him.
"We are all un-winding in a bar after the completion. Clint and I are just waiting for the arrival of Coulson, who's coming to collect us. It's clear after a few beers that Clint and the guy are just itching to go back to the hotel and I tell them to get out of there. I send them away," she sneers and frowns.
"Four hours later, Coulson is there and Clint is gone." Her eyes find Tony's and he can tell how hard this is for her to talk about. He realizes that she probably feels guilt for sending him off with the guy.
"It takes us four days to track and find the-" she mutters something in Russian. "He's taken the time to torture and nearly kill Barton. This guy just wanted to torture a real, blonde haired and blue eyed whole blooded American, and Clint just fell into his lap."
She shakes her head, and takes a slow breath that reminds Tony of Bruce's mediative breathing.
"He slips in and out of consciousness for days, barely holding onto life. Coulson and I were called in to say our good-byes, but he clung to life through it. Fury got word that the Afghan government wanted their man back. They were embarrassed, and were offering anything to keep this from becoming news in the international community," she says with twist of disgust.
"Please tell me Fury say no," Tony interjects.
"He was going to, but then Clint finally woke up. Fury offered the deal to Barton, he said he would do whatever he wanted," she gave a small smile.
"See the thing was that during this time, a civilian had been taken hostage by some terrorists inside Afghanistan. It was all over the news that he was missing and Clint knew through us that the Afghan government wasn't doing anything to aid in the recovery, but that they did know something. It couldn't be proven of course, and without their aid, the military was looking in all the wrong places," she looks at Tony with a sad look in her eye.
"So, Clint did the only thing he could think to do. He offered the man, who had tortured him for days on end, back to his government in exchange for the information needed to rescue the missing man and the promise that SHIELD wouldn't expose the details of the act."
Tony shakes his head, disgusted, "Why the hell would he do that? Give that man back his life in exchange for some random civilian? That's stupid."
She shrugs, a thin smile gracing her lips. "I don't know. He's never told me why. Maybe he felt sympathy for the man, being held against his will. Maybe he just didn't want to deal with having either of the men's deaths on his conscious. Either way he did..." she paused.
"And two days later, Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes found the civilian, wandering the desert after facilitating his own escape."
The words settle over Tony in a sickening wave of realization. Standing, he almost stumbles when his knees threaten to give out. He takes a few steps, dropping his coffee before leaning against the nurse's counter and puts his face in his hands.
"Fuck," he mutters, and takes a long slow breath. Suddenly he turns to look at Natasha, but his thoughts are a jumbled mess and he slides down to the floor.
Finally he settles on, "Why did he never say anything?"
"He didn't want you to know. He'll probably hate me for telling you, but you deserved to know," she summed up.
"What happened to the man that t-hurt him?" Tony couldn't bring himself to say the word 'torture'.
"Dead," she said in a way that Tony had heard others say 'it's supposed to rain'. He also knew it meant that he shouldn't ask any more questions about it.
Before either of them can say anything else, a nurse comes out of Clint's room. She smiles when she catches sight of Tony.
"Agent Barton is awake and asking for you Mr. Stark," she says.
Tony's on his feet and slipping into the room, not caring if Natasha follows in or not. His brain is still trying to process the monumental information that was just dumped on him, but he has to see Clint.
Indeed, Stark does find him awake, looking groggy as hell, skin pale and ashen from all the blood he's lost. Clint has bags under his eyes, probably had been there before but look more pronounced now that he looks like death warmed over.
"Hey, you're still here," Clint says, smiling though it doesn't really help him look better. He pauses when he catches a good look at Tony, then swears softly under his breath.
"She told you, didn't she?" he sounds oddly angered by it, and Tony pauses before nodding.
"Goddamn it, Natasha," the archer swears and sighs. "Look, Tony, I'm sorry for all this. It wasn't fair for her to burden you with-"
"The truth?" Tony asks, cutting in.
There's a strange look that crosses over Clint's face, before he shrugs.
"Were you ever going to tell me?" Tony asks softly.
Clint shrugs again. "It wasn't really something that I thought needed being brought up."
"Is that why you keep saving me?" Tony asks, thinking back to Clint's sharp, 'don't mention it.'
He snorts. "No, that's because you are a fucking magnet for trouble and can't seem to manage getting dressed without being blown up or shot at."
Stark winces at the 'shot at' part, but otherwise can't disagree.
"And what you told me before? When you were bleeding out?" Tony asks, keeping still. "Does that still apply?"
Sighing, he nods. "Both parts. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable, but I'm no good at being just another conquest, Tony. As we stand I can handle your...proclivities," both of them flinch at the word. "But if I was...with you, I couldn't..." he scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't think we should do this now."
Moving carefully, Tony gently sits into the chair that he had pulled up prior to getting some coffee.
"You told me you love me," Tony says, honestly unsure of where they stood.
"Tony, I just-"
"Clint," Tony interrupts. "Isn't that what you said? Does it still hold true?" He wants to take his hand but hesitates to do so yet.
"It holds," comes the reluctant answer.
"Then let's worry about everything else, when the time comes," Tony says, taking his hand lightly, careful of the IV there.
"But-" the archer is cut off when Tony places a small kiss to the palm of his hand. Clint looks worried, but nods softly.
"Now, I do believe you need some rest and some jell-o. Doctor's orders," Tony smirks.
"Blue," Clint suggests.
"Red," Tony argues.
"Ugh, fine, anything but green," he concedes.
"Good, and I'll let Nat know she can come in and harass you for ruining a perfectly good evening," Stark said, standing to go back outside.
"I ruined? I got shot!" Hawkeye protests.
"Yes, do try to avoid that. I can't have a boyfriend who spends this much time in Medical," Tony says.
"Boy-boyfriend?" Clint asks, his grin lighting up his face. Iron Man gives a quick nod.
"It's all your fault, freaking trouble magnet," the archer grumbles, but the smile still in place.
"Guess you'll have to keep saving my ass, huh?" Tony says, hand on the door handle.
"Each and every time," Clint replies, a soft but stern look on his face.
Then things, Stark thinks, will probably be okay.