Tony hit the desk, fingers curled in a frustrated fist, causing the very small, very important pieces of his current project to go flying.
"What in the hell is that noise?!"
The noise he was referring to was the loud scuffling sound that had been coming from some where in the ceiling of Stark tower, right above his workspace.
"I've had just about enough of this." Tony grumbled, setting down his tools in a huff and walking over to the air vent set in the wall.
Flashlight and screwdriver in hand (philips head), the man carefully set a foot on one of the lower shelves of the bookcase that was positioned oh-so-helpfully so it's top corner met with a corner of the air vent.
"Alright you little beggar." He muttered, fiddling with the screws. "Let's see what's up here."
Setting the face of the vent down on the top of the book case, Stark leveraged his way onto the ledge and turned on the flashlight, peering into the dark.
The vents the go around the workshop were built to whoosh in extra amounts of fresh air and occasionally water, though that was very rare. The scorch marks had never fully washed off and much of his work had been damaged.
As he wedged himself up the vent through almost sheer force of will, it occurred to Tony that he probably could have checked the security systems to find the mysterious source of scuttling.
Seeing the cause on a monitor would never, ever be as confounding as seeing it in person.
When Tony poked his head up over the ledge of where the wall and ceiling ducts met, Tony found himself near face to face with none other than Clint Barton, dressed in a worn AC/DC shirt and light jeans.
Sitting, quite cozily, curled up in what could not be called anything else but a nest. A nest composed of newspapers, faded clothes (mostly shirts), and various odds and ends with an old Coleman lantern.
Clint himself had book in hand, bow leaning against his thigh, and had a bag of cheese puffs open beside him.
He paused, hand ferrying a chess puff half way to his open mouth, and met Tony's dumbfounded stare.
"Clint?"
"Uh. Yeah."
"What in the hell are you doing in my ventilation system?"
"Um." The cheese puff finished its journey.
"Yes? I'm waiting."
Clint mumbled something, his complexion reddening slightly, though it was hard to tell with the current lighting.
"What was that?"
"It's nice."
"Oh… kay… What's with the nest?" Tony leaned forward to get get a closer look at the jumbled mess.
The newspapers all featured Avengers related headlines, or articles. Most of them were of himself, while quite a few others featured lovely photos of Bruce as the Other Guy, and Steve looking awkwardly at the camera. The t-shirts-
"Hey! That one's mine!" Tony reached out to grab his Black Sabbath shirt when he noticed an arrow being aimed at his forehead.
"How are you even able to draw that in here?"
The arrow remained stable.
"Alright, whatever. Not like i don't have three others." Stark muttered. "You never answered my question. Why the hell are you in my ventilation system? I bet you would be just as comfortable in a tree somewhere. Does Fury know about this? Did he put you up to this?"
Clint sighed and set his bow aside. "No. I'm here because I want to be, and if you tell any one I'll kill you."
He squirmed under Tony's raised eyebrow.
"And because the sounds from the workshop are comforting okay? I don't do well in silence."
Make that alone. Tony added privately, mentally pairing up the various shirts with their owners.
He could spot Bruce's right away because they were usually torn, Clint had made a pillow from one of Natasha's old blouses.
Now there's a can of worms. Tony rolled his eyes.
"Just don't do anything stupid."
Clint stuck his tongue out. The picture of maturity.
A week later, once more sitting at his work table, metallic scuttling was heard above his head.
Tony smiled.