Bad Lines
Notes: Way too many words for what was supposed to be short and cute. I got tired of staring at it, and I still don't have the handle I want on the twins.
.
.
Clint blames Tony because anything this cosmically wrong has to be the man's fault. The fact that Pietro is as likely to take a swing at Tony over listening to him is immaterial. The twins are slowly coming to terms with the Stark legacy and it's still possibly Tony's fault.
"You're so beautiful I forgot my pick up line," gets muttered right into his ear between the elevator and his door. He's got an impression of hands on him, everywhere and gone too fast to pin down, before he's alone again. The small vortex of air being displaced the only sign of the bane of his entire existence that he's growing all too familiar with.
Clint scowls at nothing and continues to his room. Giving more than a passing, regretful thought to the apartment he gave up to be on hand for this latest expansion of the team lineup. With his luck the more annoying Maximoff twin wouldn't find the distance any kind of deterrent at all though.
The snide remarks and sass have been a steady thing since Pietro pulled off the whole miraculous rising from the dead thing. Or maybe it was Wanda who did it. Clint really doesn't know or care anymore. He's so over the dead coming back and doesn't trust a corpse to stay that way anymore even if he were to perform the autopsy and cremation himself.
The fact that being riddled with bullets hasn't done a damn thing for the arrogant ass still rankles more than a bit, but everything about him rankles Clint according to Natasha.
"You're too similar," she'd said with a grin that had been the spiritual sister of the six minute and fourteen second long voice mail of a man laughing hysterically Clint had gotten from an untraceable number not long ago. An unfamiliar sound because Phil Coulson has always been too in control to allow himself that kind of indulgence before. "Accept it and do what you always do."
What Clint always does is get by. Sometimes by the skin of his teeth and there's no way he's anything at all like that asshole. He slips into his rooms quickly. Paying close attention to the air around him until he can throw the locks, because the little shit had gotten around him once before to take a few more decades off Clint's life and he's learned to pay attention to his surroundings in an entirely different way than he's been used to.
There's no hum to the air or displacement this time though and Clint lets himself relax. Probably for the first time all day going by the screaming muscles along the back of his neck that protest. He's been tense as fuck all day long. Ever since Pietro introduced the next level in this game he's playing where the end goal seems to be utterly destroying Clint's sanity.
The pickup lines had started this morning even before Clint had gotten the necessary dose of caffeine. Which was patently unfair. No assault should be launched on a man before he's really awake, and he's paid for that all day. That first spit-take had really been all the encouragement the speed freak needed to take the whole game up, and no matter how unimpressed an air Clint gave off for the rest of the day -a hard task because some of the lines he's heard are awful little gems of hilarity- the man hasn't let up once.
Clint tilts his head up to address the ceiling. "I hate Stark."
There's no answer, and Clint feels the fission of unease he gets every time he indulges in the habit of addressing the AI that's no longer omnipresent. Jarvis had always had a way with his dry words of putting Clint at ease, and he misses it terribly now. Vision may sound like Jarvis, but his thought process is entirely his own with barely enough touches of both Jarvis and Tony to be familiar.
He sighs loudly and flips on the television to something mindless before slumping down on the couch. Ready to kill a few of his aching brain cells before the night is over.
.
.
"This shirt is very becoming on you," arms come around Clint from behind and fingers pluck at the shirt just above his chest. Heat presses into his back even though Pietro puts a good few inches between them. Clint's groaning internally even before the man can get the last line out. "If I were on you, I'd be coming too."
Clint gets an impression of the satisfied smirk as Pietro circles him slow enough to be seen before taking off. He glares at the afterimage of blue the man leaves and feels his fingers twitch for the bow he's been forbidden from carrying in the Tower outside of practice. Too many holes punched into the walls from the times he's tried to shoot the smug asshole had apparently been enough to overcome Tony's amusement at it all.
That or Pepper had put her stiletto clad foot down. Either is likely really.
"It'll look like an accident," Clint growls when Nat's door opens and she strides out. Face serene and slightly amused enough to let him know she caught some of that byplay. "I'll get Wanda flowers and a white rabbit. She'll never know the difference."
Nat shakes her head and doesn't comment. Already over the whole thing. She's said her piece to him, and Clint knows she won't speak about it again unless she's particularly amused or annoyed. "Maria has a favor."
"Well, shit," Clint turns and Nat slips her arm through his, matching her steps to his stride perfectly enough that he has a pretty good idea of what this favor is going to entail, and he's already regretting it even as they head to the elevators. "Please tell me I'm not going to be wearing a tux."
Nat's nails bite warningly into his arm and Clint sighs. Easing up on his scowl and practicing his best smarmy smile in the reflective surface of the elevator as they take it down to the lobby to go meet Maria and hear all about her scheming plans that may or may not fall in line with something Fury needs done.
.
.
Clint spends the next three days in undercover hell aboard a cruise ship where every hour is formal hour, and Nat shines like the kind and bubbly gem of a woman she really isn't. Thank fuck he's playing boytoy to her genius startup this time and only has to smile and let himself get felt up by way too many slightly drunk success stories instead of talking.
"This cannot possibly be that important," Clint groans into the really soft mattress of their room while they sleep off an imaginary hangover just like everyone else on board. Nat's heel and toes dig into his back when she props them up to carefully paint yet another shade of red on her toenails. "I'm sure there are dozens of junior agents in need of being broken in that Fury could have lent her."
"The new meat doesn't deserve milk runs yet," Nat says and flexes her toes. Clint's nose is filled with the chemical smell of nail polish. "And the older agents are still slowly being reintegrated. It's an easy job but the intel is too important to trust to untested agents and agents without proven loyalties. Stop complaining and just enjoy the break."
Clint lets that stand for a moment before turning his head enough to give her a hard stare that she ignores with long practice. A break. Even though they're both officially off the SHIELD -or whatever name Fury's running it under now, Clint hasn't bothered asking for the official story and just keeps calling it as it is- payroll they're still agents. Still get the anonymous amounts of money placed in their various accounts, and can expect the same amount of outstanding health coverage that goes beyond what the human body should be physically capable of. Included in that bundle is the same policy SHIELD has always had when dealing with milk runs, the agency's version of a vacation.
"I don't need a mental break," Clint grunts when Nat pushes her foot down hard enough to make him groan a bit. His side is still tender even after a few months of time and training. It's all in his mind, he's been assured, but it still kinda hurts. "I don't!"
"What you need is more than what SHIELD can afford to give you," Nat says with a frown that's as edged as her words, and that's enough to cut his second protest off. She's tipping her hand more than usual and he reads more than a bit of weariness in her that implies he's not the only one she's talking about here. "This isn't anything we were made to handle."
Gods and aliens and magic. Her words from what seems like a lifetime ago still echo in his mind with the nightmares that never really ended, they only evolved to include different things. Enhanced humans and artificial intelligences gaining independence.
More and more often lately Clint's been feeling the press of years on him. His age, something he'd never thought of before, suddenly one more weight dragging him down in this world filled superhumans and things well beyond his capacity to understand.
Clint's human. Plain and simple, he's just a guy with a bow and a finite quiver of arrows that've been running out more and more often with each mission he goes on. He's hitting his target each time and seeing things before anyone else, but it doesn't seem to be enough anymore. Doesn't seem to be doing one damn bit of difference in this new age, and that combined with everything else really makes him feel like an old man. Hobbling along after the younger crowd, shaking his bow at them, and saying, 'In my days...'
Nat's fingers press into his shoulder and when he focuses on her again he can see the faintest trace of lines around her eyes. The beginnings of wrinkles that she'll never allow the world to see, and the slightest slump in her shoulders that no one but he has ever been privileged to know is there. "We're needed. The world needs us more than ever now. We can't afford to go off the grid for a yearlong break or they'll all forget what limits are."
She's got her own demons, and her own history of experimentation. Clint knows she's enhanced. Maybe not to the same level as the twins, but it's there all the same. Still, she's the one person on the team closest to him when it comes to physical limits, and to know she's feeling the stress of pitting herself up against their teammates too is relieving. An unspoken form of solidarity.
Clint misses the days when it was just them. When Phil was their handler and they breezed through the most suicidal looking missions with hardly any sweat or blood shed on their part. When they were seen as legendary people in the eyes of most other agents. Mythical almost for what they'd done, and what only they were capable of doing.
"Seems like a joke," Clint says and Nat follows his thoughts easily, because they've know each other too long not to get the other instantly.
"Some people would say it's insane," Nat goes back to her toes with a small smile that's absolutely the most genuine he's seen out of her lately. Ever since Banner jetted off, and Clint wishes she'd let him talk to her about that 180 she pulled there. She's keeping it close to her chest though, and he knows better than to push when she's not ready to talk. She'll get there eventually, and then he can pull out the reasons for her going from 0 to 195 on the man. Then, depending on the answers he gets, he might or might not help her track the man down to drag him back.
"Yeah, well that's us, right?" Clint rolls over so she's propping her foot up on his stomach and giving his side a bit of a break. He reaches down to wrap a hand around her ankle loosely. His grin feels like a shadow of what he's used to giving, but at least it's not painted on this time. Like every smile he's given for far too long now. "I know it looks bad, and it'll probably end up a lot worse. But fuck it, who else is going to be crazy stupid enough to go running with gods and superhumans?"
Nat smirks down at him. Pleased by his response. The rest of the three days is still hell, but Clint finds himself enjoying it even though the exchange goes off without a hitch and neither of them end up pulling out the hidden weapons they've been itching to use.
.
.
"Where have you been?"
The accent is light, like the one that Nat will never admit she worked hard to lose that first year in SHIELD. Clint's more than a little surprised to hear it as he looks over at Wanda kneeling up on a couch in the rec room. She's wearing a mix of red and brown in layers that Clint privately thinks of as her witch chic style. Sort of punk crossed with hobo that Nat has quietly admitted is cute on the young woman.
"Took a break," Clint answers because Nat doesn't look interested in talking as she pads into the kitchen that's down the hall. Barefooted and the edges of the very expensive dress she'd worn dragging on the floor in a way guaranteed to ruin it. "Ran a milk mission for SHIELD that involved too much fancy stuff. Didn't think anyone'd notice us gone."
Clint walks up to the couch and sets his hands down on it to look Wanda over. She's not been a timid thing, but she has been very quiet. Often keeping her words to herself in a way that Clint knows isn't shyness and is all calculation. She's not like Pietro at all in that way. She's been watching them all since coming to the Tower. Seeing them interact and judging them before slowly inserting herself amongst them. It's a lot like what Phil does, just slower and more thoughtful, so Clint's left her alone to do it. Unlike some of the others.
"We did," Wanda gives him a smirky little smile that brings to light every single way she's one of a set. Clint can feel his fingers itch just from instinct. "My brother's been sulky all weekend."
And now Clint's fingers actually twitch for the collapsible bow he'd meticulously placed back in the armory before going further into the Tower. Damn it. Not even five minutes home and he's already daydreaming about firing a few shots into the brat.
Fingers run up his arm, breaking him from his thoughts, and Wanda's smiling warmly now. There's still laughter in her eyes as she reaches high enough to tug at the loose bowtie he's still wearing. "This looks nice on you. I did not think something like this would suit you."
"It doesn't," Clint snorts as he pushes back from the couch. Vague thoughts of raiding the fridge before going to his rooms to shed and burn the formal suit filling his mind. "That's the thing with undercover though. You ha-"
The crash is loud and makes him jump. He spins but there's nothing he can immediately see and it's half a second before the cursing starts up. Slavic of the kind in the region the twins are from and absolutely furious going by the volume coming from down the hall where it bends out of sight. Clint stares for a moment and feels his eyebrow arch as he wonders what the hell Pietro ran into, and if it's something he can repeat to use to his advantage against the cocky bastard. The curse grows faint before ending and Clint doesn't see the telltale signs of the young man returning.
Wanda folds herself up into a little ball on the couch and laughs. Uncontrollable and loud. The kind of laughter that will have her crying a little, and probably can't be shared like that freaky little communication the two of them seem to have on at all times. Clint shakes his head but can't help smiling as he walks away to join Nat in the kitchen. Amused enough to shake the edges off his irritation.
.
.
"Your body is like a piece of fine art," Clint hears as he's unlocking his door, and Pietro is actually walking towards him. Smirk in place and no sign at all of what had to be a massively wounded ego that had kept him away from the impromptu gathering that had happened in the kitchen when the whole team had seemed to find out Clint and Nat were there dressed to the nines.
The teasing had all been aimed his way and the compliments Nat's. Which was nothing less than Clint expected from them all, and the ease of it had loosened something in him that Clint hadn't noticed was wound tight. It keeps him from tensing immediately as Pietro slides his way uncomfortably close to Clint. Trapping him against his own door.
"I'd love to pin you up against the wall," Pietro says with a shit eating grin as he's practically breathing the same air as Clint. The little bit of space between them vibrating with the contained energy the man has.
Clint snorts and turns so that he's facing the asshole. This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous and Clint's done trying to play the responsible adult here. Pietro's a grown ass man, and can handle getting some shit dished right back out on him. It's not up to Clint to try and play reasonable in this situation, and maybe that's been his real problem.
Clint is bad ideas and even worse ideas that barely manage to work by some uncanny luck he's never questioned. Reasonable and responsible just aren't words that should ever be attributed to him, and Clint kind of gets why Hill and Nat were worried enough about him to throw a milkrun his way now.
"Not happening, junior," Clint snarks and gets the pleasure of seeing Pietro's eyes go wide in outrage for a brief moment. He'll lay off the kid comments the day that Pietro lays off the old man comments. "Be realistic here. I've got a knife and a penis, and one of them will be going inside you. Soon if you don't back off."
It feels damn good to see Pietro's jaw unhinge just a little, and that look of shock is the last thing he sees before he slides into his rooms. Throwing the lock loudly so that the other man can't get any last words in. It feel like a victory and Clint struts more than a little on his way to peel himself out of the penguin suit.
He's still blaming Tony for starting this particular round of snark, but he's safe to assume he can blame Nat for being the one to end it because Clint's not letting that little sassy shit win this time.
.
.
"Your body has 206 bones. Do you want one more?"
Pietro doesn't waste time. Clint's not even out of his room the next day before the man's in his space again. Eyes bright with the challenge that Clint's finally responded to. He takes the time to ignore him by taking a large drink from his mug. Clint's not sure why he'd never thought of putting a coffee machine in his own bedroom before to avoid being ambushed like this, but he's not Tony Stark who works in mysteriously insightful ways when he wants to.
The few seconds are enough to make Pietro impatient because he follows up almost before Clint can pull the mug back down. "Because I'll be the largest bone in your body."
"I think my femur would have something to say about that," and it might not be the sharpest comeback Clint could throw, but it's still ass early in the morning. It's enough to get him a bright grin to match the look in Pietro's eyes before he's gone. Off to do whatever it is he does when he's not annoying the shit out of Clint.
It's a little like something slotting into place that has been eluding him for a while. This one-upmanship interaction. Fuck, but he's really been out of it if it's taken him this long to clue into it. Clint shakes his head and heads out to face the other early risers.
.
.
"I wouldn't call it depression," Bradley says. His hands steepled before him precisely. Just like every other stupendously paid psychologist/therapist -and hell if Clint knows the distinction even after all this time- employed by SHIELD. "That's a serious mental condition that I know you are familiar with, Agent Barton. I think what you've been experiencing is just the normal response to the events you've experienced."
Translation: You're totally fine, now stop bitching and step up your game.
Well, maybe not the last part. All the head shrinks he's seen have always been one hundred percent against Clint's 'trivialization' of his 'feelings'. Bradley'd probably end it at fine and say something encouraging that will make Clint look for the Lifetime movie crew.
"Honestly, it sounds like you've worked through it in a perfectly healthy and rational manner," Bradley continues, and Clint isn't imagining the slight tone of amazement in those words. The man's lasted longer than any other shrink Clint's been to, so he lets him have that moment. Mostly because Clint himself is amazed that anything he does can be considered healthy or rational. "Do you want a sticker? I have purple stars."
Clint slowly raises his left hand, considers it, and then unfurls his middle finger. Maybe he's been seeing Doctor Bradley a little too long.
.
.
"What. Did you hit up a preschooler?" Tony asks as he stares at the sheet of purple stars he pulled out of Clint's back pocket. The foil glimmers in the fluorescent light of the lab and Clint doesn't bother trying to snatch them back from him because that's just fuel for the fire that will end with stickers being put on everything. "Or is Speedy expressing his affections in an even more juvenile manner than before?"
"Kid's adore me," Clint says as he cases out the lab. Junk lays scattered everywhere, but none of it has moved much since the last time he took a tour down here. Tony's attention seems to be fully on the coding he's been working on nearly nonstop for a good long time.
The few lines he and Nat have sent to the brains of SHIELD have suggested it's a replacement for Jarvis. Which is really inevitable because Tony still addresses the AI like he's in place, and the frustration of not getting a response back is worse in him than anyone else. The man's absolutely fine with Vision, dotes on the robot like nothing else really, but it's clear he misses Jarvis.
"Some more than others," Tony says with a smirk and the sticker sheet goes fluttering to the tabletop beside him as he swings his chair around to fix Clint with the filthiest grin he has. His eyebrows waggling stupidly.
"I will get you back for that," Clint promises with the blandly pleasant smile he learned from Phil. "Someday, sometime. When you're least expecting it. I don't know what I will do exactly, but I have time to plan my revenge."
He means it, and Tony knows he means it. The man only laughs though before turning back to his code. "It's great to have you back with us, Tweety."
.
.
Back with us.
Tony's words echo and resonate a little too much for Clint's comfort as he wanders the Tower. Still a little too unfamiliar with the layout and that right there is a sign isn't it?
He has been distant. Even before they'd been sent to break up the slew of Hydra bases that had eventually led to the whole mess with Ultron. He'd missed too much going on with his teammates, but he can't bring himself to regret the year he'd gone nearly silent. His head had still been messed up like nothing else when he'd found out about Laura.
That had been a punch to the gut that Clint really needed. Something out of the blue and totally unexpected to drag him from the hell of his own nightmares that were always tinged blue.
Clint hadn't heard from Barney in way to damn long, and even knowing he could use the resources of SHIELD to track the older man down Clint hadn't done it. Their parting still too much an open and long festered wound for him to want to rehash it. Maybe he should've done it though. Tracked the sorry bastard down to see what he'd done with his life afterwards. Seen it with his own eyes while Barney was still breathing at least.
Seen him with his wife and kids on a farm. An honest to fuck farm. Clint's still more than a little thrown by that even though Laura had been all too happy to show him the pictures. Barney hauling hay, on a tractor, and even one of him grinning as he builds a new room. Grinning at the camera with the kind of light and cheer that Clint hadn't seen long before they ran from the long line of foster homes they'd been sent to after their parents bit it.
Laura's Barney had been that old Barney that Clint had clung to for too long. The one that had made him stick around even when he became more familiar with Barney's scowls and harsh words than his smiles. The one that had only died when Clint was spitting up blood from a careless backhand Barney had to have learned from their old man. It's a hurt that Clint never really got over, and it hurts doubly worse when he finally got the request to see him only to arrive in time for the coffin to be lowered in the ground.
"He regretted it," Laura had said softly one night. Her fingers tracing the lines of the IV drips that had been constant in Barney's last days. The smile tired but still there. "He never said it but I always knew when he was thinking about you. His eyes would get so lost."
It'd never occurred to Clint that Barney might have been looking for him all these years. It left a shitty feeling of guilt in his mouth when he stood over the grave. The earth still soft as he looked down on one more gravestone.
Clint didn't feel the least bit sorry about all the time he's taken getting to know his family. His niece and nephew one with the woman who'd straightened his brother out with a strength of will that Clint admires.
They understand. Got it as quick as Nat did the first time he took her to meet Laura and the kids. When Laura had treated them both like old friends despite it only being the second time she'd spoken to Clint. When Cooper and Lila hadn't hesitated to call Nat 'Auntie' and had given her the same amazed hero treatment they'd given Clint.
Sure, it's been a bit of a dick move letting Tony think Laura was his wife, but it'd been worth it for the stunned silence alone. Seeing Tony at a complete loss wasn't something that happened often enough for Clint not to exploit it whenever he could, and Laura had been game for it. The woman had a streak of mischievousness in her a mile wide.
Still, Clint's been absent more than he's been here, and it feels a lot like waking up now to walk through the place and memorize the layout.
.
.
Clint likes Wanda. She's not the kind of person that people dislike on principle, but when things start to go red around her he gets uneasy. Not because Wanda throwing shit around with her mind is a rightfully terrifying sight, but because the full potential of her abilities doesn't end there.
"It takes effort," Wanda says one day and Clint gives her a flat look but doesn't bother misunderstanding her. He's not been secretive of his issues. Full disclosure and all that. "You already know what to watch for. I can't take you by surprise."
"Nope," she's already tried and it was the searching fingers picking through his mind that had let him know she was there. The warning brush if a foreign mind so familiar to him that he'd reacted on instinct. Shutting his mind down with a suddenness that had hurt her as much as the stun arrow. A neat little trick Clint had picked up from a specialist after Loki. "You got to understand though, I've got some hang ups over that. I'll never like knowing I'm around someone who can mess with my head like that."
Wanda hums thoughtfully and watches Clint line up and nail a few shots. The targets moving as fluidly as ever just without Jarvis' comments. "But it is not personal."
It's not a question but an observation. Wanda's not offended in the least.
"Nah," Clint twirls an arrow around his fingers with an easy grin. "I like you just fine."
It's true. Wanda's a sweetheart. A terrifyingly powerful sweetheart who can carry a grudge like nothing else, but Clint knows lots of women like that. Wanda's smile is big and understanding. A touch sly too as she innocently asks, "And my brother?"
"That," Clint punctuates his words with another arrow slammed into a target harder than necessary so the sound echoes in the shooting range, "is entirely personal. Now get over here and let's see how many arrows you can catch."
Wanda stands next to him and the red in the corner of his eyes makes him uneasy, he doesn't think it ever will not, but Clint's a professional. He doesn't let his unease rattle him, and he won't be letting it influence their teamwork. Wanda, for her part, doesn't let her mind wander to touch his like she does for the others, and Clint's rather grateful for the consideration.
.
.
"Here's your first wish," Clint says as he ducks into the building through a window devoid of all its glass. The shards crunch under his feet as he flattens himself against the wall. One eye out on the active street. "What are your other two wishes?"
Pietro's laugh is sharp and pained enough that Clint takes his eyes off the action long enough to give the man another assessing look. The sight of blood seeping through his clothing sends a chill through Clint that he quickly shunts away to deal with later. There's not nearly as much now as there had been then anyway. No point in freaking out about it now.
"Morphine," Pietro is quick to say with a grimace as he moves the slashed cloth of his pants away. The skin underneath isn't whole, but Clint can see that the blood is already stopping. It's not the same kind of superhealing that Cap does, but it's pretty close. "And for you to get off my back, old man. I will be fine."
That's true. For him it's barely a scratch and Clint calls it in that way because he's not the only one who'd seen the man skid to an inglorious stop. "Senior Gonzales is just fine. Lemme just get a band aid on it and we'll be back in the fight in no time."
Clint selects an incendiary arrow and sends it out. The blast clears the immediate area and ignites some spilled fuel he's been keeping a careful eye on. The blaze is enough to keep the enemy off them for a good few minutes. All the time they need really.
"Do you have the dinosaur ones?" Tony calls out and there's enough strain there for Clint to know the man's up to his neck again. "Or, oh, the Dora ones!"
"I'm not a cartoon mouse," Pietro growls as they both ignore Tony. Clint kneels to take a closer look at the cut. Looking for debris mostly because it won't matter how fast the man heals if he's healing around something. "That name is stupid. I refuse to answer to it."
"Then come up with a better one," Clint flips out a knife to cut the flapping cloth away. It won't stay attached when Pietro starts running again. In fact most of the leg won't last now that the structural integrity of the cloth has been compromised. Clint smirks and readies a few lines to use when the battle's over and they're on their way home. "You're a speedy little rabbit and if you don't come up with something snappy enough Stark's going to do it for you."
"I already did but you all vetoed me!"
"Iron Man, your six!" Cap breaks in with barely there patience and there's a cut off grunt over the line that means it came too late. "Hawkeye get him up and both of you get out here. We've almost got this under control."
Almost but not quite. Nat and Wanda are out kicking ass but their promised backup hasn't shown up just yet, and they can't keep holding back if no one's here to take the prisoners. They're going to have to scrap the 'take them alive' part of the mission parameters to contain the situation.
Fine by Clint. He's getting tired of taking lumps just to fit with the squeaky clean image PR wants to send to the rest of the world.
"Quit squirming," Clint gets an arm locked around Pietro's leg to hold him still. The hard muscle of his thigh jumps under Clint's hand, skin burning too hot, as he studies the bared wound. It's as clean looking as possible and Clint gets a low, almost animalistic growl when he gets a finger too close. "Easy, brat, I'm just trying to see it."
"There's easier ways to get between my legs," Pietro grits out and the leg Clint's not holding bangs up against his side before curling suggestively around his lower back. The pain's mostly gone when Clint looks up. Eclipsed by that shit eating grin that just gets bigger and cockier each time they trade horrible pickup lines. "I'll even reenact the New York Battle if you want. I can lay down while you blow the hell out of me."
There's a strangled groan over the line and Clint feels himself start to grin, because that's not the normal pained groans that get thrown around during a fight. That is a Grade A 'What Is Even My Life Anymore' groan. The kind that Cap only ever uses on the field. Off the field and he'd be snickering along. Man's still uptight by modern day standards, but he was a soldier for fucks sake. It doesn't matter what time period they come from, a soldier will always laugh at crude sexual humor.
Unless they're in the middle of battle. Then it's a whole other type of game.
"Later," Clint stows the lines because there's pale pink skin stretched over the wound now. Barely enough, but they're out of time. Clint can hear the thumping sound of running feet, and Pietro's legs fall away easily when he stands back up. A couple of smoke arrows in hand. He taps the canister to get the other man's attention and nods out the window. "Ready?"
"Always," Pietro's a blur even before Clint's smoke screen goes off. Too fast to cover his exit but more than enough for the man to use when he arcs back around to clear the area for Clint
.
.
Clint's eyes are the best on the team, and probably in the whole world. He sees things better than most people can imagine. Spotting everything long before anyone else can.
Usually.
He's blindsided the day Steve stops talking basketball and turns a seriously assessing gaze on him. A frank one that sees way too clearly. The same one Clint remembered the first time he'd met him. When Clint had been a newly unbrainwashed nobody that the man had no reason to trust so much. It's a gaze that makes Clint sure Steve earned that Captain rank of his. "You know he's not joking, right?"
"Dolan?" Clint asks after a few seconds of trying to puzzle together who was joking about what.
"No," the wind blows hard between them and Clint easily keeps his seat on the railing despite the way Steve's muscles bunch in an unconscious preparation to catch Clint. Always an amusing reaction when they're out on the terrace of the Tower. "I mean Pietro."
Clint lets his eyebrows climb as high as they want, because the newly coined Quicksilver had responded to some minor ribbing over color coordinated names from Tony by tampering with every bottle of alcohol in the building. Replacing the contents with either plain water or appropriately colored listerine. "You mean he really was trying to poison Tony this morning?"
"No, not that," Steve snorts but his lips quirk in amusement. No one had laughed harder when Tony found out what had been done earlier than Steve. "I mean about the, uh," Steve coughs and circles his hand in the air a few times before continuing almost sheepishly. "The flirting. I mean the whole really bad pick up line thing you guys do."
Clint squints and stares a bit. Mind not really catching onto the meaning of what Steve's saying.
"He's not joking. Well, too much, it is kind of- Anyway. He's not joking much when he says them," The sheepishness is draining from him as he looks right back at Clint and doesn't take the words back. A bit of confidence kicking in as he explains. "We talk a lot, and he's been asking for advice. I think he just likes the nonsense Tony's been giving him better for some reason."
They talk. Which is not a surprise. Technically, Steve and Pietro are pretty close to being the same age. And they're both subject to Tony's random fits of introducing pop culture to the team. Steve for being out of time, and the twins for being relatively deprived in general. According to Tony anyway.
That they end up talking is not a surprise, that they might talk about what Clint thinks Steve's alluding to does.
"So, you didn't know," Steve musses and there's that little devilish hint of a smirk on his face that no one believes the man capable of. "We couldn't tell if you were just acting ignorant or not. Didn't see that coming?"
"Don't even," Clint sits up straight to glare right at the smiling man who isn't doing any sort of a good job of hiding his laughter. "Oh, fuck off, Cap."
Clint jumps down from the rail and walks away before he can find out who won what on the bet that's been going for a while if Steve decided now was the time to hit him with a curve ball.
.
.
Clint's not stupid. He's not dumb and he's not slow no matter how he can act the part when needed to. He can be dense though, and too stubborn to see what's right in front of his face at times. They're faults that Clint knows he has, but he's comfortable with them and deals just fine.
Dense and stubborn.
Yes, Clint's always been that, but he'd honestly thought he was getting better at moving around those faults.
Clint rolls the arrow between his fingers. Checking it over visually and by feel. They're practice arrows and get replaced at a rate that's frankly astonishing to him, but since Tony's bankrolling it he doesn't protest. It's still good practice to check them over to make sure they're good. The habit is also calming and almost meditative. He's used it for years now to order his thoughts.
It's not that big a surprise that there'd been something real in all the bad flirting. Doesn't take a genius to know a man doesn't make a pass at another guy -horrible and joking as it was- unless there's some honest bit of attraction there. That's perfectly fine really, because Clint's just as guilty of it as Pietro.
They're a couple of good looking guys, and Clint's never really been all that bothered with gender. He has and will always be a big fan of variety. It's no skin off his back to admit that Pietro's a good looker. Everyone on the team is, and Clint's appreciated it. In a clinical sort of way where he enjoys it but hasn't let his mind wander too much farther with it than that.
Being in SHIELD has taught Clint all the down sides to developing lustful thoughts to coworkers that he really doesn't have a chance of acting on. He's gotten himself into a few nasty little spots because of it, and that had been more than enough to teach him that distance was best. It's better to just keep his thoughts away from that slippery slope until he sees some sign that there might be something mutual.
Which, apparently, there has been. He just hasn't noticed, and he's damned if he can figure them out now that he's trying to pinpoint them. Well, other than the bad innuendo which he's pretty sure actually had started out as a way to annoy Clint before it changed somewhere.
The downside to not letting himself consider anyone he works with in an even vaguely sexual way is that Clint hasn't thought about it when it comes around to smack him in the face. Hasn't even made up his mind if he really is attracted to them, or if he thinks it would be worth it to go after them. Which is why Clint's holed himself up in the practice range to think about it. Winging it and coming up with a plan right out of his own ass is all fine and good on the field, but Clint knows better than to go with that type of thinking when it comes to relationships.
That way has led to Bobbi and those few months with Nat. Wonderful times that ended with so much hurt and pain that Clint's still honestly surprised at times that they still even talk to him.
Clint flips an arrow around. Feeling the weight of it and letting it balance on his finger. Judging the balance critically. It's perfect because nothing less than that will ever be acceptable to Tony.
Pietro is attractive. Attractive in a way that Clint can really appreciate. And maybe Clint has taken the time to appreciate him a bit more than he should once or twice. The man's clothes are skin tight out of necessity, and he's got the lean but tightly muscled build of a runner.
He's still trying to figure out what's up with his hair. He'd pegged him for dying it before, but Tony's not been able to find any trace of chemicals on it. It seems to be a natural byproduct of the experimentation he went through. Either way, the white hair that shades to dark works for him, and Clint admits now that he wouldn't mind getting a hand in there just to feel it and see what kind of noises Pietro would make if he pulled.
Ok, yeah, that's definitely lust. So, first question answered. He'd bang the hell out of Pietro quite happily. Now onto the second question he's got to figure out, and this one is a hellacious one that he always has problems with.
Would it be worth it to even try?
Pietro's a good guy. He loves his sister more than life itself, and does the right thing when it counts. The guy goes out with them and genuinely wants to help people. Wants to make the world a better place as much as he can.
He also annoys the ever living fuck out of Clint. Goes out of his way to do so in fact. He's cocky too. Proud of the powers he has, and still way too arrogant that he has them. He's got a complex about doing things that can rival Tony's. Always making sure everyone sees what he does. Looking for approval and going off to do something stupid when he doesn't get it as fast as he thinks he should. And that temper of his snaps all the time.
It also cools quick, and Clint's seen the man humble himself enough to honestly apologize a time or two. He's got a wicked sense of humor that tempers the sass he likes to throw at Clint, and Clint has to admit that helps with the annoyance of his barbs. Which doesn't do much to help the thought that Clint would be very likely to sleep with him and then promptly smother him with a pillow afterwards.
Clint laughs lowly and sets the last arrow back into the case. Mind as ordered as it'll ever get, but still filled with too many questions. Hell with it, he thinks, he's never been that good at thinking through relationships.
.
.
Clint goes with his next best option when thinking doesn't do him any good.
"You're having fun," Nat accuses as she pours them both a generous shot of an amber colored whiskey that has no name, but goes down like honey. A warm fire and Clint knows he's over the line in drunkenness. A state he usually tries to avoid, but it's been a long day and he deserves a little mellowness.
"I always have fun," Clint lies because they never speak truths when either of them gets this way. "Life is beautiful and everyone should have fun."
"I wasn't being serious," Nat catches onto their game and puts the bottle down to rejoin him on the couch. She fits under his arm perfectly in a way that Clint used to think meant something stupid. When they were both younger and didn't understand how damn nice it was to just be themselves with someone who had no expectations at all. "You've been grumpier than usual lately. I just wondered what the sudden upswing of mood was for."
"Did you know that Pietro hasn't meant a single word of his flirting?" Clint asks and gets an amused look that tells him all he needs to know about how far this things gone. He hates his teammates, just a little bit.
"No one knows that," she tips her glass up so she can laugh at him over the rim. "You're so perceptive, Clint. I am utterly amazed by you."
"You're the funniest person I know," Clint takes the vicious pinch when it comes and takes a slow drink. He's starting to lose the taste of the whiskey, and that means he's going to have to switch to water soon or he'll pay for it in the morning. "Saw that coming from a mile away, and I know exactly what I'm going to do about it now."
Nat's silent for a bit. Thoughtful as she spins the glass in her hand. The light of the room glints off the golden liquid and Clint almost loses himself in it before she speaks. The sound startling him out of a doze.
"Don't think about it. You make the best decisions when you run headfirst into dating someone," Nat smirks at him, but there's an air of caution around her eyes as she looks over at him. "Don't think about yourself first. Let yourself get pushed into it."
He's drunk too much. It takes him a little too long to untangle the truth from those lies. He laughs a little and sets the still full glass down on the side table before slowly getting up. He should've started spilling his thoughts sooner in the night, but the drink had been too smooth. He grins down at Nat and knows he's listing a little too much. "Hey, you don't know me that well. That's is exactly what I'm the best at."
Nat's laugh follows him out into the hall.
Clint puts a hand up against the nearest wall and makes his way through the darkened halls towards his set of rooms. Two floors up because Clint was the last to cave and move in so he got the rooms closest to the labs. He's only been woken up by one explosion since moving in though so it's not all that bad. Even if waiting for the elevator seems to be taking forever tonight.
The whiskey. Clint loves and hates alcohol. He loves it when he's warm and tipsy, but he hates it as soon as that warmth has worn off enough to leave him cold. Or hungover. It slows his thoughts too, and it's not until he's got a hand holding him steady that Clint realizes he's not alone in the elevator.
"Slow on the uptake, old man," Pietro laughs out loud and through his eyes as Clint turns to scowl at him. His hand doesn't move except to jerk Clint away from the wall. "A little drunk are you?"
"A little," Clint can admit as he steps back and stands straight. It's got to be close to two or three in the morning, but Pietro looks awake and alert. Dressed in the same clothing he always wears. Clint bats away the hand that tries to come back to steady him as the elevator slows. "I'm fine! Not that drunk."
"Yes you are!" Pietro looks utterly delighted. More so when Clint just glares harder. Surprisingly enough, he doesn't take the chance to slip in a few lines. He even keeps his hands to himself as Clint walks down the hall. Mostly. Clint's not so drunk he doesn't notice the barely there fingers against his back when he lists to one side or the other.
"You're a tired drunk," Pietro sounds terribly amused and Clint has to stop to fix the man with another scowl. His hand curls over Clint's shoulder. Clint notices the heat of it before he realizes he's leaning into it. "And grumpy. It is, what is that word? Ah, adorable."
"I am not adorable," Clint protests in a steady and clear voice. He's proud of himself for not slurring and points a very steady finger at the other man's chest. "Adorable is a word you use for puppies and kittens and beats, brat."
Clint emphasizes each word with a poke to the chest because the first one makes Pietro's shoulders shake. By the last he's actually laughing. Low and almost under his breath but it's still a laugh and it feels like a victory.
Less of one when he realizes he can feel the laughter shaking through the man because his left arm is slung over Pietro's shoulders. His legs have also decided they'd rather go to sleep than support him.
"Oops. I thought I timed this better," Clint tells the floor as he's pulled over it. He's pressed close against Pietro and the crazy heat the man throws off isn't helping the tiredness he's feeling. "You're hot."
Pietro makes a distressed little noise as he props him against the wall next to his door. He looks deeply conflicted and Clint watches in fascination as he doesn't say the first thing in his head for probably the first time ever. "It is my metabolism, and we will be revisiting this conversation in the morning."
Pietro's got his keys but they're both inside before he can protest. Moving past the living room and straight to bed where Clint loses his pants and shoes. In which order he can't remember. It does matter as the thick blanket is dropped over him and sleep calls. Words are said but he can't tell what language they're in as he passes out.
.
.
Clint's in the stage of hating the taste of water when Pietro shows his face. A dull headache throbs in Clint's temples as he waits for his body to absorb enough of the water to quit bitching at him. It does not get better when he looks up into a smugly grinning face looking at him from across the table.
"You called me hot," Pietro announces with a pleased as fuck air. He bats his kind of stupidly bright green eyes at Clint in a coy manner. "I did not know you felt that way about me, old man."
So, drinking with Nat? As usual, has done nothing to help Clint answer the question he's been wrestling with. It's just given him a headache and a slip of the tongue to deal with.
It's also given him more food for thought because Clint is a sleepy drunk, but he remembers his drunken moments all too clearly. Pietro could have taken advantage of his state in any number of ways, but he'd held back even his sass and just put Clint to bed. Saving it all up for when Clint was sober and able to think clearly.
Clint knows a large number of guys who wouldn't even be half as considerate. Including himself.
"That was a statement about your freaky body temperature, dumbass," Clint says to the pout and continues quickly. "I called you adorable. Really. I'm the one who was drunk. I shouldn't remember these things better than you."
Pietro's face does a complicated thing before settling on its default smirk and Clint almost laughs at it. At Pietro deciding adorable was good enough.
Good enough. Fuck. Clint grimaces and when he blinks Pietro's gone.
Nat was right. They are too much alike, and Clint's remembering some of his younger days. When a smile was good enough to keep him happy and pathetically mooning. When he'd done stupider and showier things just to keep earning that smile or kind word. Right up until it wasn't good enough.
When he blinks again there's a couple of pills next to a refilled glass of water. Clint sighs and swallows them dry.
.
.
"You want him but you don't think you should," Nat summarizes as they weave through the streets. A set a glasses for her and a hat for him all it takes to go unnoticed. They're lucky that way really. Steve has to actively work not to be recognized and neither Tony nor Thor even try. "This is not different from any other relationship you've had, Clint."
"Sure it is," Clint disagrees. "For one thing he does-"
"I'm already bored of this," Nat cuts him off curtly. She scowls a little at him over the rims of the glasses, which is every bit as hot and chilling as she means it to be. "I've given you my opinion already. Let's skip to the part where you ignore me and jump headfirst into doing what you want to do anyway."
"It's a bad idea," Clint dredges up after a silent moment. A protest that sounds weak even to his own ears.
"Of course it is," Nat smiles a little. All amusement now that she's let off a bit of her impatience with him. Her next look is downright fond. "But that's what you're so good at, isn't it?"
It's the truth.
Clint's life is nothing but a long series of bad ideas and what they've formed him into. He's made bad decisions about living, working, and relationships. Bad ideas left and right for so long that sometimes Clint doesn't even realize they're bad anymore. And when it comes to seeing people? Clint's bad ideas get even worse.
Thing is, given all he knows now about them all, Clint knows damn well he wouldn't hesitate to make them all over again. As shitty as some of those times had been, Clint's still got more good memories than bad.
"Fess up," Clint gives Nat a lazy grin. "You've got money on me making a move today don't you?"
Nat neither confirms nor denies as they keep walking. "If you make it obvious before tonight's event is over I'll give you your usual cut for stacking the odds."
A potentially nice chunk of cash depending on who all has gone in on the pool. Clint nods solemnly. "Deal."
.
.
It'd been only a matter of time before the overworked PR people wrangled them into a public event. The harried staff hired by Tony after Ultron so easily turned the public against them do miracles with them really, but that doesn't stop Clint from resenting the pretentious party he's forced to attend just to show off the new members to the media. Wanda's excited, Pietro is Pietro, and Vision takes it all in the same way he takes everything. With fascination and a dry little comment. Clint's bored of it even before the cameras stop flashing at every twitch he makes.
The new guy assigned to manage Clint's image -whatever the hell that involves- reads him correctly enough to hustle him off the staging area before he can do something disastrous. Clint's released into the wilds of the place rented out for them with the unspoken allowance to disappear as long as he makes a visible appearance every hour. A deal he'd struck with the fire breathing woman who heads up the whole department, and is even harder on the workers than the Avengers as a whole are. Clint's stopped trying to remember the names of his handlers weeks ago. They rarely last long enough to make it worthwhile.
Clint smiles blandly at a few titters and bland questions from the people who showed up early. He escapes fairly easily, but the attentions all on the new Avengers tonight. There's a second floor to the big room. Rented out by Tony and closed off to give them all a place to slip away when they need it. Clint always abuses the privilege and this night isn't any different.
He watches from the safe distance as people pour in. Business people, public people. There's famous people and rich people mingling with the assortment of hard workers that Steve always seems to manage to get admitted to these things. Mostly all civilians with some military and more than a smattering of undercover SHIELD circulating. Keeping an eye on things and generally being on hand if needed.
The room divides itself fairly quickly in a predictable fashion that Clint's seen before. Steve and Tony both attract a certain kind of crowd, and those two kind rarely seem to overlap easily. The smart crowd that Bruce is mildly comfortable with is clustering around Vision already. Curiosity prodding them to engage the robot. Nat's taking Wanda through the crowd. Two sharks in matching red and black dresses making the people part before them with their smiles. A front for Wanda, but Nat's been teaching her how to make even a mask seem real enough to keep people at bay.
He doesn't see Pietro and that doesn't surprise him. No handler would be able to keep up to the short tempered man and keep him from causing a scene so it had been decided to let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do. Clint's not the least bit surprised to see the door on the far end of the balcony shutting, or feel the familiar displacement of air.
"Fuck me if I'm wrong but you want to have sex with me," Clint greets and eyes the glass Pietro holds out not sure if he wants drink anymore after last night. The challenging smirk he gets from Pietro eggs him on though.
"You are wrong, but I think the Captain would have words to say if we fucked here," the curse comes out sharper than Clint is used to hearing it with the accent. Pietro makes a show of leaning against the wall next to him and taking a slow sip from the delicate glass he kept for himself. "Your pants bother me though. Feel free to take them off. I'm sure no one will see that up here."
There's truth laced in every exchange they've had, but what truth is still something Clint can't see clearly. Not that it matters. He's already made his mind up about it. He's just been delaying.
"You don't want to have sex, or you don't want just sex?" Clint asks and turns his head to fix his eyes on Pietro. To watch the way he goes utterly still for barely a second before he's vibrating in place again. A barely perceptible bit of motion that he seems incapable of stopping. "Because I've got a preference myself and it'd be great to see if we're on the same page for once."
If it were anyone other than Pietro, Clint would say the look he gets is one of hope. But it is Pietro and the man would put Nair in Clint's shampoo if he dared to utter that thought.
"Your lips look lonely," Pietro says with that grin that Clint doesn't really want to wipe out with his fist anymore. "Would they like to meet mine?"
"Asshole, I would've accepted a simple yes," Pietro doesn't move away when Clint moves around to stand in front of him. Caging him in against the wall with his arms.
"I spent a whole hour looking up these lines. I don't want to waste them," Pietro reaches out for him first. Eagerness in every line of his body as he hauls Clint in. Vibrating more than usual, and his hands move fast enough it feels like there's six of them on Clint's arms. He's careful not to let them linger and cause friction burns on Clint.
"Honestly, I'm a straightforward kind of guy. I always preferred, 'Hey, wanna date me? Check yes or hell yes,'" Clint manages to say before Pietro loses the slim bit of patience he's been holding onto.
Kissing the man is a lot like Clint imagined it'd be. Pietro's hot all over, and the vibrations go straight through Clint until it becomes an easily ignored background sensation. Stubble scrapes along his face, and that makes the soft lips slanting against his own all the more shocking. Clint gets a trace of something waxy that's vaguely fruity -the thought of Wanda and her collection of endless chapstick is there and gone too fast to register- before Pietro's lips open under his tongue. The moan trapped between them could be Pietro's or Clint's.
Clint leans into him and Pietro falls fully back against the wall with no protest. His arms winding eagerly around Clint and legs parting slightly. Enough to get them pressed together from lips to knees. Clint has the presence of mind to get a hand in the loose hair and angle Pietro's head just enough to deepen the kiss. Sucking on the agile tongue that presses back against him and enjoying the deep groan that gets him.
Pietro pushes back and Clint leans back in. Placing a series of small kisses along his bottom lip as the man pants a little. Sharp teeth nip hard at his lip and Clint flinches back even further to scowl at him. "Ow. Dick."
A light giggle turns his eyes back, and Clint wonders how he missed the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter going off. Maybe two of them. Clint grins lopsidedly at their audience. "Ladies, can we help you."
"No, keep on doing what you're doing now," Nat waves her hand negligently at them. Attention fully on her phone as she taps at the screen. Her smirk telling him all he needs to know about where those pictures are going. "Tony owes me a new wardrobe for this."
Wanda's more than a little red in the face, but her smile is broad and happy looking. She looks between them for a moment and Clint's expecting her to talk until Pietro laughs, and he realizes the twins are doing their creepy mental speech thing.
"Share with the class, kids?" Clint casually extracts himself from Pietro. Pushing away enough so they're not a few measly layers of clothing away from actually fucking in front of Pietro's sister. A thought that does a lot to cool him down more than a bit.
"Or what, old man?" Pietro smirks and after a barely noticeable moment winds one arm back around Clint. Low on his back and cautiously, like he's waiting for Clint to push him away. A reasonable thought since they haven't really gotten around to the talking thing that Clint knows he should have led with. "You'll ground us?"
"Ok, yeah, that old man shit is going to have to go," Clint leans back so that Pietro's arm is trapped in place. It's enough to relax him for the moment, and Clint figures that's as good as any talk. "You're making me feel like a creepy old pervert casing a middle school."
Pietro has something to say about that. Nothing good going by his smirk, but Clint's saved from whatever it is by Tony shouting from below. "I call bull! There's no way that could have happened so soon without outside interference!"
"He has no faith," Nat smirks and puts her phone away. She turns slowly and elegantly before tossing her head back towards them. "You have five minutes to decide how public you want to be. Less if Tony decides to challenge my winnings."
"Public?" Pietro asks, and there's a touch of dread in it that has Clint grinning.
He looks at both the twins and nods towards the floor below. They're out of sight from the public, but it's clear that heads are turning. Looking up and scanning for what's set Tony off.
"The Avengers are public figures. Private doesn't really exist for us in a lot of things. You guys have been lucky up till now," and that had been skillfully managed to give them as much breathing space as they needed to settle in with the team before throwing them to the vultures. Clint leans over enough to brush a kiss against Pietro's chin and steps away. He gives Wanda's shoulder a friendly squeeze because there's more than a touch of dread on her face too. Reality settling in and overtaking the excitement from before. "You two take a few minutes. You probably won't get more than that for the rest of the night. Just remember, don't show any fear or they'll eat you alive."
Clint leaves them with the same words of wisdom that had been given to him the first time he'd been thrown out into the center ring of the circus. There's really nothing else to do to prepare them that hasn't already been done. Clint licks chapstick off his lips as he heads down to defuse Tony and see about pulling as many curious reporter away as possible.
It gets easier when he feels fingers walk up his arm to his shoulder, and can feel the buzzing of Pietro right behind him. Too close to be socially polite, and they're getting looks already. "Where's Wanda?"
"Dancing," Pietro says in amusement and Clint turns around to see that the woman's somehow convinced Vision to join her in the little area cleared for it. Vision's joined her but he's not doing much else despite the clear instructions she's obviously giving him. "Eventually when the moves compute for him."
Which is going to be more than enough to keep her safe for a little while longer, but it won't do much for Pietro. His presence has been noted and Clint can almost feel the reporters who got in circling. Their eyes already analyzing everything about him.
And about Clint too because Pietro's settling himself against Clint's side in a way that can't be mistaken at all. Clint wonders if he can slide a bet in on the top headline in the morning focusing on the gay or age aspect first. "You ready for this then?"
"Always," Pietro turns a broad grin on the closest of the circlers. A woman with a shrewd smile that doesn't really reach her eyes as she boldly strides towards them. Phone angled obviously as she takes pictures. "Bet they didn't see this coming at all."
Clint snorts as one of the PR handlers sidles up from behind. Ready to step in if needed, but Clint's feeling kinda lucky about this night. "We've got to get you a better catch phrase, Pietro."
They start the first informal interview with a minute long clip of Pietro laughing.
.
.