Things didn't get rough until two weeks after New York.
The first week was a mess of debriefings and psych evals, tense encounters in monochromatic hallways and everyone too busy to stop for a minute and think. The helicarrier needed to be repaired ASAP, personnel patched up and recruiting efforts increased to replace the people they had lost. The press was a howling, ravenous mob and thank whatever Powers were up there that Clint didn't need to be out in public for any of his duties. Tony seemed to have that well in hand.
There might have been a funeral, but Tasha didn't tell him and he didn't ask.
The second week wasn't much better, but people were starting to have time to ask the big questions and that meant Captain America sitting in endless conferences or striding through the hallways of the New York office with Fury, identical frowns on their faces. Clint occasionally trailed them through the vents, but so far nobody was discussing his future. Hill told him to sit tight while they put out more important fires first. Fury was being suspiciously silent.
On Sunday, Clint was stretching in his tiny, utilitarian room after his latest stint on the archery range when he felt a change in the air behind him. Turning, he saw Natasha leaning against his doorjamb, arms crossed and expression neutral. He continued to stretch out his shoulder as he quirked an eyebrow at her.
"What's up?"
"Stark wants us to move into his Tower." She pushed off the doorjamb and moved to sit on the edge of his desk. "Rogers thinks we all need to be in a centralized spot in order to be an effective team. Stark offered his tower and Fury agreed with both of them. We're supposed to show up there in 48 hours. I told Fury I'd bring you the papers."
She pulled the transfer order out of her uniform's pocket and placed it on his desk. Clint rolled his neck from side to side and didn't move to pick it up.
"Do we have a new handler?"
"Fury didn't say. It seems like we'll be self-governing for a little bit. I'm sure if we fuck up we'll be assigned a SHIELD liaison."
Clint sighed. "Fair enough. I'll see you on Tuesday then."
Something soft flashed across Natasha's face and for a second she looked like she would reach out, but slid off the desk and walked silently past him to the door. She didn't close it behind her, and Clint knew it was her way of saying she was there for him. Too bad he wasn't sure there was anyone left for her to talk to.
~A~A~A~
Tuesday found him in possession of an entire floor of his own.
Clint had never had that much space in his life and he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. His floor was minimally decorated, mostly grey and white furnishings, but the empty tables stared back at him like an accusation. It was clear that nobody had lived in this space before him - a clear departure from his rooms at SHIELD. A glance in the fridge told him the kitchen was fully stocked and he abruptly decided that there were too many choices to deal with.
He went back to the living room, flung himself on the black couch, stuffed a purple throw pillow under his head and considered his options.
Clint still didn't have any orders other than to move into the Tower. He'd been on active duty for years prior to this last incident and he realized as he stared up at the ceiling that he didn't know what to do with himself. Downtime at S.H.I.E.L.D. was never actually downtime since there were always mission reports and equipment repairs to make. Phil always had something lined up for him to do.
Before he'd kicked him out of the elevator onto his new floor, Tony had quickly explained that the Tower had an AI named JARVIS and that any questions could be directed to him. No time like the present to try him out.
"Hey, JARVIS? Can you hear me?"
"Of course, Agent Barton. How may I assist you?" The voice came from a small speaker set in the ceiling, nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the textured paint.
"How much do you monitor this floor? Are there cameras?"
"There are no cameras or recording devices on any of the floors except Sir's. I maintain a passive sensing system on your floor. Just say my name and I'll respond. If you need me to provide more direct assistance, I can uplink and operate certain items in your suite such as the kitchen appliances or your shower."
Clint nodded to himself. "Thanks. Do you report anything back to Stark?"
"Sir has given me new protocols similar to doctor-patient confidentiality. Unless you are in need of immediate medical assistance, or being threatened, I cannot divulge any information to the others. This applies to all permanent residents."
"Alright, I can roll with that. Last question - is anybody in the common room right now?"
"Yes, Agent Barton. Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner are both present. I believe Sir is heading in that direction as well. Would you like me to call the elevator, or would you like to use the air vents?"
Clint stilled. "The vents?"
"Sir installed reinforced vents with handholds on every level of the tower. You may use them at your leisure to move around if you do not wish to use the elevator or stairs. He believes in having multiple ways to exit the building."
The archer smiled for the first time in weeks.
~A~A~A~
By Wednesday, everyone had dispersed to their own floors to pursue their own hobbies. Nat had nudged him with her leg as she rose from her seat beside him on the couch, but he shook his head. He'd had enough of the firing range over the past two weeks, even if this one was shiny and new. So now it was just him and the sunbeams in the common room and was it bad that he wanted something mildly terrible to happen so the team would be called out?
He'd tried to go down and help with the cleanup efforts outside the Tower yesterday, but everybody politely told him they had it covered. He hadn't wanted to push any further, so he faded away from the construction site and watched from a rooftop until he couldn't take it anymore. Now that helping was out and with no mission to prep for, he was stuck up in the Tower, looking down at it all.
Clint hauled himself off the couch and wandered over to bar to stare out the window. Resting his forehead against the glass, he admitted to himself that he was bored. He knew he should have been grief-stricken or filled with self-loathing, but mostly he just wished for something to do, something to throw himself into. Anything to break up the emptiness.
He watched the shadows creep up the sides of the building in front of him and then nearly brained himself when a voice right behind him said, "Hey quit moping. I need you to hold this for me."
He spun around, flattening his back to the wall and yep, there was Tony, right in his personal space. He must have been more out of it than he thought if someone could get that close to him, but he accepted the jumble of wires shoved at him while Stark leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle opener.
"Here, hold this for a minute. It's a new Starkphone. Just kidding! It's a bomb."
Clint froze, holding the mess of wire carefully. "A bomb?"
"Just a small one. And you have steady hands, right?"
"Yes, but I like my hands. These hands let me do many awesome things."
Tony shrugged and connected another wire around the bottle opener. "If something happens, I'll build you a new hand. Would probably be better than your old hand." Something snapped into place and started beeping. Tony stared down at it, eyebrows raised, then he flipped it over and pulled out a blue wire. The beeping stopped.
"Can I put it down now?"
"Actually, no. Come with me and don't pull on the wires. Pepper would kill me if we had to patch another hole in the wall." He started walking towards the elevator and Clint had no choice but to keep up.
He spent the ride down to the workshop holding his end of the device perfectly steady on Stark's orders, all of his concentration going into trying to anticipate the stop. Once off, the glass doors in front of them opened smoothly with a murmured, "Welcome back, Sir" from JARVIS.
Habit made Clint take in the relevant details even while he concentrated on following Tony over to a crowded workbench. Two circular holes in the far wall covered by curved metal pieces were clearly intended egress routes for the Iron Man armors lined up below. Three cars sat in the open space to their left with a ramp curving down and out behind them. Metal tables were scattered through the remaining space with gaps large enough for the giant robotic hand to make its way towards them.
"Dummy, bring me the casings and this time be sure you don't drop them!" Tony set his part down on the table and then carefully took the bundle of wires from Clint to put on a cradle set up under a magnifying glass. "JARVIS, displays."
Clint was proud of himself for not twitching as a brilliant blue holographic display popped up right in front of him. Tony reached up and moved some of the pieces around and then pulled down a schematic to overlay the wiring in the cradle.
"Hand me those needle-nose pliers," he demanded as he fiddled with the hologram.
Clint looked around and pulled a pair from the nearest workbench.
"Good, great, just put them down right there by the soldering iron. I lied about actually wanting them handed to me." He picked them up off the table and pulled out a small chip. "Dummy, what's taking you so long?"
The larger robotic arm rolled over with a few thin black tubes and dropped them on the end of the table. The servos whirred, sounding suspiciously like a sigh. Tony looked up at the arm for a second with raised eyebrows. "Really? Backtalk? After everything I've done for you? Fine. Go make sure the fabricator doesn't catch on fire again." The robot sped off with a contented series of clicks.
Clint leaned back against the table behind him and watched the other man work. Wires were attached, reattached, and clipped. The holograms steadily zoomed farther out, overlaying parts previously constructed with new layers to be put in place. It wasn't until the black cylinders were being slotted over the neat rows of electronics that he realized what it was.
"Hold up, is that an arrow?"
Tony flinched violently to the side and made an aborted motion with his left hand. "JEsus, Barton! What the hell - have you been here the whole time? Yes, it's an arrow. I saw your arsenal during the fight and I've got to say, your firepower sucks. You can pack so much more of a punch."
Clint took a step forward to stand hip to shoulder with the other man. They both looked down at the mostly-assembled exploding arrow for a moment before Dummy whirred up and gently deposited an identical arrow on the table to his left.
"When can I test it out?"
Tony leaned across him to grab the second arrow and slapped it into his hand. "I knew I liked you, Barton. Hang onto that for a second. That's a test arrow straight from the fabricator. Same weight, balance, everything as the live arrow, but without the boom at the end." He pushed away from the table and opened a metal cabinet at the end of the workbench.
"I saw your bow during the fight. All this time as a weapons manufacturer and I never thought of making a better bow, so this was interesting. Anyway, I was making the arrows and I thought, hey! Why not make a better quiver too? And this is better. Here." He handed Clint a matte black cylinder without any visible opening. Then he pulled out a bow and hit a button just above the grip. An arrow popped out of the top of the case, fletching first.
"I still need to cut down the dispensing time, but you see where I'm going with this. I even have ideas about a night vision contact lens you could wear, or camera arrows so I can get multiple views of a situation when we're in the field. Seriously, this is going to be great."
Clint grinned, allowing himself to be caught up in the enthusiasm for a moment. He slung the quiver on his back and held onto both the regular and the exploding arrows. "So where do you want me to shoot?"
He spun around and pointed a dramatic finger at the blank wall to their right. "There. Shoot the wall. It's reinforced and JARVIS will get measurements of pretty much everything."
Clint started pulled back with the plain arrow and raised his eyebrows. The bow felt perfectly balanced, just as natural as his current one. "How did you figure out the draw?"
Tony scooted his chair back to the table and started absently swiveling from side to side. "Basic math. Or JARVIS hacked SHIELD. Whichever answer makes you less nervous."
Clint released the string and immediately followed with the faux-exploding arrow. Both smacked into the far wall with a single crack and fell to the ground. Dummy placed another arrow on the table beside him.
"I've got different weight distributions on the next few arrows. Tell me which ones feel best and we can go from there."
Tony leaned back in his chair while he watched, carefully stretching out one shoulder at a time. When he reached behind him to stretch out his chest, Clint noticed the wince and stopped firing.
"You alright?"
"You try having a hunk of metal embedded in your chest and see how you feel." Back to tapping on the arc reactor.
"Sorry, man. I didn't realize."
"No reason you should." Stark suddenly sat up and caught his eyes, studying him. Clint resisted the urge to take a step back. "What about you? Are you alright now?"
"What?"
"You were moping. I thought you might need something to do."
Clint set the bow down on the table and crossed his arms. "So having me hold a bomb was your solution?"
Tony shrugged and started twirling an arrow. "Honestly? I needed that bottle opener. It was the perfect size. Then I got up there and you were all alone staring out that window and I realized you probably didn't have a life. And then I realized I really needed someone to hang on to that part or I might have blown up the living room. I'm all about multi-tasking."
He blinked, absorbing the information. Had he really been that transparent? Trust the infamous Tony Stark to disregard any sort of social boundaries or process and go right to a solution. "Thanks, I think."
"Look, you can tell me to fuck off at any time, I'm used to it. But if you're bored, I've always got something to test down here." A holographic alert popped into existence right in front of his face. Tony rolled his eyes and swiped it away. "If you still need something to do, you can follow me to this meeting. Last time I met with Jerry, he tried to kidnap me. I've got the suits, of course, but it would still be nice to have backup.
Clint grinned. "Can I bring the bow?"
~A~A~A~
AN: So that's it, my ducklings. I hadn't written anything in a long time and I needed something to put me back in the groove. I also really needed to practice dialogue. Right now, this is a one-shot, but I like this idea of Clint and Tony being bros and Clint using Tony to keep himself occupied while he adjusts. Maybe he'll have a cathartic release of his pain over Phil dying, maybe he'll put his circus skills to good use and apply makeup over Tony's bruises for a meeting. If anybody wants to pick up the idea, be my guest. I'm also starting another multi-chapter fic that's Tony-centric again and involves kidnapping, a hacked JARVIS, bugs, and childhood heroes. If there are any mistakes, let me know because this was not even remotely beta'd. Hope you enjoyed!
** Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/2669675. Just transferring my new materiel to my old homestead!