"Damn thing is a chimera. Every time we get near to figuring out its parts, it slips away from us." Tony looked up from his screen for a second before he dove back into the rotating 3D model in front of him. Bruce tapped his stylus absently on the table; calculating on the fly, his fingers slid across the screen, marking variables and changing the equations.
"Wheels are off the ground," Steve said as he came through the door. "ETA 8 a.m. Mission successful and no injuries to speak of." He stopped to look at the rapid flow of numbers on the screen. "No luck yet?"
A box popped up on Bruce's computer. "Results are back from the latest simulation. That was fast." He threw the email to Tony who opened the file with a tap.
Leaving a Middle Eastern restaurant on the lower East side, Bruce's head was tilted towards Clint's, both of them in street clothes, wind ruffling Bruce's hair and causing Clint to hunch into his jacket. Clint was laughing, his eyes on Bruce's face, deep in a conversation, if Bruce remembered correctly, about Darcy's latest scheme to get a job with S.H.E.I.L.D.
The photo hung there for a half a minute and was replaced by a second one.
Clint with a hot dog, loaded with chili, relish, onions, and mustard, navigating a busy intersection while trying to keep even with Bruce. Carrying a couple bags from the market, Bruce stepped around a woman with a stroller as he looked at the messy food in Clint's hand, an indulgent smile on his face.
"What the hell?" Steve asked the room in general.
Bruce knew exactly when the third and fourth picture had been taken.
They'd been to see a late movie and come out to a light rain; the rollercoaster of fall temperatures had taken a downward dive and Clint, as usual, hadn't checked the weather before they left. Since Clint was shivering, Bruce used his coat to cover them both, and they ducked their heads underneath to avoid the cold drops. Clint had laughed and said that, if this was one of those cheesy romantic comedies, they'd end up kissing in the rain. The camera had caught Bruce's hand tucked on Clint's bicep and Clint eyes crinkled up, mouth open in mid-laugh.
The next frame was a tighter shot, zoomed in, lines of rain evident in the shot.
Clint had suggested they stop under an awning when the sky opened up and rain poured down. He'd pushed Bruce's back against the wall, bracing his arm on the bricks, saying "leaning is whole bodies moving in like this." He'd leaned in then, faces close enough for Bruce to feel Clint's breath. "Leaning involves wanting... and accepting. Leaning..." The light from the storefront behind them cast a series of shadows on them, lending the scene a romantic mood.
"Might want to frame that one," Tony offered. "Pretty tame stuff, really, considering what's on the internet with me as the star. You could have …." He stopped talking as the second to last picture popped up,pixelated and poor quality, but clear enough to know exactly what was happening.
Bruce's shirt was untucked, half-open and slipping off one shoulder. He was kissing Clint, bodies pressed tightly together, a sense of urgency and passion as they tried to occupy the same space. Clint's fingers were tearing at Bruce's pants, and Bruce's hands clenched tight on Clint's bare ass, just above the leather straps of his thigh holster.
"Damn fine ass on the man, I'll give him that," Tony commented. Steve glared at him, and Tony shrugged in response.
"Tony, do you think that's appropriate?"
And then Tony gave a wolf whistle and turned his head to the each side, taking in all angles of the last image; Steve coughed and dropped his eyes, a blush creeping up his face.
Clint's head and back hung over the edge of the terrace, his arms wrapped around Bruce whose hands were braced on the ledge. Half-clothed and completely consumed in the moment, their lips were locked in a kiss, Clint's legs tight around Bruce's waist, leaving little to the imagination.
"Bruce!" Tony crowed. "Atta boy, kinky devil! How'd you keep from falling off …" He looked intently again. "Is that the purple shirt I picked out?"
Then words appeared on the screen before it went blank.
ENJOY YOUR 15 MINUTES.
"What does that mean?" Steve asked, but Tony was already in motion.
"Jarvis!" he barked. "Check the New York papers for the morning edition. Look for anything about Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, the Hulk, Hawkeye … any mention of Avengers at all. Pull it up when you have it."
"Working on it, sir."
"That was the penthouse, right?" Tony went into one of his manic overdrives, operating three screens at the same time. "How the hell did they get past the security screen? I designed that myself."
"Sir, I have the information you asked for," Jarvis said, and the cover of the New York Gazette appeared, two pictures framed by a blaring headline. On the left was the image of them kissing on the terrace, but the photo had been cropped to show only their shoulders and heads. The printing process made the picture even worse, but the one on the right was clear. It had been taken moments after the earlier ones in rain.
The kiss was easy and slow, the coolness of the rain pushed back by the heat of their bodies as Clint was dragging his lips across Bruce's, leaning all the way in until their chests were touching; a passerby trudged along the street behind them, head down under his rain coat hood, oblivious to the scene under the awning.
GAY AVENGERS IN LOVE, the paper screamed.
Bruce sat immobile, the heat in his face not from embarrassment, but the creeping anger that threatened to swamp his brain. Taking off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled, trying to bring himself back under control; the other guy grew insistent to get out, wanting to protect Clint by breaking a few heads.
"Breath," Steve said beside him. "This is what they want. We can't give it to them." The logical part of him knew that was true, but the jealous, protective part wanted to tear out of the lab and find who was responsible. And the other guy wanted to do even more than that.
"Jarvis, what time do the early editions go to print? See if you can get into the paper's system and shut this down." When he set his mind to it, Tony could move with astonishing speed; he was back tracking the file's path of origin even as he dialed his cell phone. "Marty," he said as someone answered. "Yes, I know what time of night it is. I need you to do me a big favor. What do you know about the Gazette's morning edition printing schedule?"
"Actually, the one in the rain is a lovely image," Steve offered. "It would make a good pencil sketch." Something about the thought gave Bruce enough strength to push the other guy back for the moment, even managing a half-smile.
"I'd like that. I'll frame it and give it Clint for his birthday." Bruce gave a rueful smile, knowing that the can of worms was open now, and there was no going back.
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"Why am I the last fucking person to know about this?" Fury sighed as he paced the length of the small conference room. "S.H.E.I.L.D. rigs are clear on fraternization between agents. First, don't do it. Second, DON'T DO IT. And third, if you're going to fucking break the rule, then you better goddamn TELL ME ABOUT IT! That's all I ask people. Tell me so I'm not blindsided by a phone call at 3:45 a.m. in the morning."
"Look, I know exactly how to handle this. We'll have a little press conference … no, wait, we'll have a big coming out party. Tell them to kiss our ass; it's the 21st century, and who cares anyway." Tony propped his feet up on the table to annoy Fury.
"Don't start with me, Stark. That little stunt of shutting down the presses only made matters worse." Fury shot back.
"Sir, if I may, the real issue here is the culprits behind this. Even I know that breaking into our system to send the file and circumventing Tony's security screen means advanced technology. Could this be A.I.M. again? Or is Victor Von Doom upset about us having the neural inhibitor he designed?" Steve tried to calm the tension in the room, watching Bruce from the corner of his eye. Tony's anger was mostly about his own inability to find answers so far; the more time this took, the more pointed Tony's snark. And Tony was the master of fileting with words.
"May I remind you, I am not a S.H.E.I.L.D. employee," Bruce injected. "And if there are any reprisals against Clint, you can kiss both me and the other guy good bye." His voice was calm and controlled, but Fury still gave him a hard look and Tony snorted at Bruce's choice of words.
"That's not necessary Dr. Banner." Fury said in a calmer voice as he tapped the screen and the emailed photos came up. "Fortunately, these are fairly harmless, so we can work with that. Much as I hate agreeing with Stark, I think we can ride this out. Just go about your normal activities. These things tend to have a short life cycle in the news."
Bruce braced himself as the images chased one another, faster this time; for someone who often woke up naked in public, he was actually very reserved about nudity; the idea of their intimate moments on public display bothered him. But the two photos on the terrace didn't appear, only the cropped version from the paper. Tony winked when Bruce looked askance and Steve gave a small nod. A bit of his tension eased, knowing that the other men had covered for them. Not that he wasn't sure all of the photos would find their way into Fury's hands, but not having to sit in a conference room and watch them again helped him keep his composure.
"Let's start with the why," Fury said as he halted at the head of the table. "Distraction? Divide and conquer? What will they gain from this?"
"It's personal," Clint said as he entered the room, still in his battle gear, dirt and blood smeared on his arms from the last mission. "He rubbed it in Monica's face in Black Mesa, so she's hitting back hard. Destroy the Hulk first, make him a liability, and drive him away from us. Alone, he can be caged. With the team beside him, she can't get him." He stopped beside Bruce and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Turning public opinion against us is a bonus." The pictures kept scrolling, passing the kiss in the rain. "Oh, I like that one. Can I get an 8 x 10?" Clint leaned down to Bruce. "It looks like I'm leaning." He grinned and Bruce gave a shake of his head with a ghost of a smile.
"The interest will last until something else knocks them off the front page," Natasha offered, dropping her tired body into a chair; dried blood spattered her left cheek. "Dirt on politicians is usually worth a couple days, more if we pick the right scumbag to out."
"We are not going to start another scandal for our own benefit," Steve insisted, but Tony's voice overrode the objection.
"Jarvis, send me the file labeled Halloween 2011 please," Tony ordered. "One of those ought to do it."
"Tony, no. We're not going to stoop to their level," Steve turned his chair to look at Stark.
"Okay, I'll pick someone who deserves it," Tony gave him a predatory smile. "One self-righteous hypocrite coming right up."
"Enough," Bruce said over them all, his voice deep with a hint of a growl. "I don't give a damn about the pictures or public opinion, so my vote is that we simply ignore it." He stood up. "I've got test results to check. Tony, I'm sure, would prefer to be working on security breaches. And I imagine Clint and Natasha would like a shower and some sleep."
"Oh, come on, he'd deserve it," Tony said, sliding his notebook over to Clint. "Don't you agree, Barton?" Clint glanced, and then stared at the image on the small screen, clearing his throat. Tasha flicked her eyes over; her only reaction was to lightly bite her bottom lip, but Clint knew she'd seen the picture.
"I'm going with Bruce on this one," Clint returned the notebook, ignoring Tony's self-congratulatory grin. "I certainly wouldn't mind some hot water then a warm bed for 24 hours or so."
Fury braced his hands on the table. "Fine. Find me the people responsible for this. Figure out how they got into a secure system and past Tony's best screening programs. And let me be perfectly clear. There will be NO leaking of pictures or any other material about anyone without my permission and knowledge. Am I understood?"
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No matter what state he was in, Clint always took the time to properly clean and store his weapons. Tony might be a real prick – and dropping his and Bruce's sex photo in his lap with Fury just feet away was a dick move – but he had installed every convenience in the Tower. Clint's private armory was state of the art; as he carefully ran a check of his bow, taking it apart for cleaning, he verbally entered the number and types of arrows lost and damage to be repaired. The digital screen registered his notes and sent an order for replacements instantly. Something about the ritual was soothing, allowing his mind to settle before he went to sleep. For once, the mission had gone as smoothly as a mission could, with only minor hiccups, but landing to find he was a porn star was certainly new. Honestly, Clint could care less; growing up in a carnival almost guaranteed that he was okay with exhibitionism and, well, it wasn't like Stark didn't have a ton of YouTube videos of his exploits that made these pics look tame in comparison. Bruce was what worried Clint, specifically the fact that they been taking things very slow and easy, letting whatever was between them develop at its own pace. Suddenly, they were poised to become poster children for gay relationships, and he wasn't sure how the Big Guy or Bruce would feel about that. He didn't want to even think about it himself; if he did, he'd have to notice they'd been practically living together for a month, spending the nights they were both in residence in each other's bed. A spare pair of glasses had found their way into Clint's nightstand drawer, the one with the table lamp that lit Bruce's notebook while Clint slept. Clint's sweats were folded neatly in Bruce's closet, and his battered paperback copy of The Two Towers was tucked in a drawer in Bruce's labs for quiet days. If Clint really let himself, he'd know that Bruce was more centered – in fact, Bruce had been talked into letting the Big Guy out to play in the practice room twice in the last month – and that Clint was sleeping better, having fewer nightmares that left him feeling half-strangled and sopping in his own sweat.
"I sent the proper paperwork for a workplace relationship to your inbox," he said from the doorway. Clint had sensed him as he entered; they'd worked together too many times for him not to know the agent's scent or pattern of movements. "You'll have to fill out all 27 pages in triplicate, of course. Blood work can be completed in the lab within 48 hours."
Clint turned to find him wearing S.H.E.I.L.D. issued sweats, hood pulled up, arms crossed as he shifted his weight back and forth on feet. Coulson didn't have a lot of tells, but that was one of them; he was joking, poking fun at both Clint and S.H.E.I.L.D's penchant for forms. He looked better than the last time Clint had seen him, less pale, more flesh on his bones.
"Better send me the entire packet – permission to have sex, past partner declaration, kinks and requirements form, and request to file for a joint movie night rotation slot. I'll get right on that." He brushed past the other man, into the living area, tossing his vest onto his favorite red comfy chair. "I imagine you'll have to invent a whole mess of new forms for creating a public scandal … no wait, with Tony onboard those already exist, right?"
Coulson picked up the items of clothing as Clint dropped them, folding them neatly and placing them into the cleaning bin. "Oh, yes, Tony has his own personal set of forms. He never fills them out though. Pepper does it for him." He paused. "You know, Barton, your habit of over thinking things and not talking about them might be a problem. In fact, I hoped Dr. Banner might be here. They want to drive a wedge between you two. Don't let the skeletons in your closet help them." He turned to go. "And don't leave your wet towel on the floor. That's form 4257-c. I'll send one just in case."
Clint was deep asleep when Bruce finally slipped in beside him, and he snuggled up to Bruce's warmth with an unintelligible mumble and a sigh. Bruce had almost not come, trying to convince himself that he needed to keep working, even when the numbers started to run together and he was practically asleep in his chair. He had let the photos feed his doubts about his ability to have anything good in his life. But the other guy had been entirely too restless; only when he could feel Clint's heartbeat, slow and steady against his bare skin, and could tuck his arm under the other man's chest, pulling him close, did he feel the anger start to seep away. Deep breaths, even that slight little occasional snore – the sounds of Clint sleeping were becoming a necessity for Bruce, and it scared him. Ghosting his hand over Clint's bare skin, Bruce settled in and waited for the coming storm.