"According to Ph- according to Coulson, he still hasn't said anything," Clint says to Tony and Bruce. The spy is accompanying the two on the pretext of showing them the way, even though Tony designed the place and Bruce can easily just follow him. No, Clint is with them to make sure the two most unpredictable Avengers don't do anything stupid.

Hah. Like Clint wouldn't just join in.

Bruce sighs. "I wish we didn't have to do this," he says plaintively. "What do we say?"

Tony looks out of the corner of his eye at the doctor. Bruce looks ill-at-ease in SHIELD HQ, in the most unassuming clothes he has in his wardrobe. Brown corduroys - seriously, who wears those anymore? Are they even still for sale? Does Bruce shop in those annoying, expensive second-hand shops that smell of tea and old ladies?

He totally does.

"We got good cop, we got bad cop, we got scary cop," Clint makes finger guns at Bruce, Tony and himself in turn. "You just gotta say what good cop says."

"You're not Bruce Willis and you're not scary, hate to tell you," Tony jokes. His lighthearted tone is lost in the bland surroundings, the identical corridors and clinical, white walls, and it's sucked into the severity of the silence. Great. He's reminded of exactly why he hates visiting SHIELD HQ. It reminds him of earlier trips to Stark Industries Factories with his father and an entourage of people desperately trying to wheedle money out of them - Tony's favourite were the TyMetal people, who gave him all sorts of toys so he would put in a good word with his father.

Hah. He was five. He just liked the toys. Cheap tat, but much better than the complete lack of tat, cheap or otherwise, coming from the open hands of his father. Money flowed everywhere it could be invested, so what would be the point in spending it on a child?

Tony pulls himself out of it. There isn't an available alcohol source for him to get royally trashed off, which is what he usually does when thinking about dear old dad.

Just white walls and white carpets and Clint Barton padding noiselessly through them.

Tony knows Fury had this place designed to piss him off specifically. Just like the one-eyed bastard would.

The kid, still unnamed, is down on the very bottom floor. SHIELD HQ extends several hundred metres below ground, and Tony - who had a hand in the preliminary designs - knows that the bottom floor is meant for the most volatile, awful, and downright uncontrollable criminals. "Barton, should this kid be rubbing shoulders with mass murderers?" Tony says as he watches Clint's thumb on the elevator buttons. "I mean, c'mon."

Clint looks uncomfortable. "I don't know. When they were deciding where to put him, Coulson and Fury had a screaming match and Coulson took a week paid leave. That means Phil lost and-"

"Dear old Saint Nicholas took matters into his own hands. Again." Tony shakes his head, irritated. SHIELD - a textbook example of a totalitarian state if he ever saw one, living in fear of their terrifying oppressor.

"We'll talk to him, Tony," Bruce says.

He doesn't sound very convinced.

And the little Steve living in Tony's head is clenching his fists in righteous fury.

"Hey, guys..." Clint says with his finger on the enter of the passcode to the holding cell. Tony and Bruce turn, both with lowered views of the superspy. His eyes flicker up to the corner, where a camera buzzes in a circle around the corridor. His hands move rapidly; Tony can read sign language, and he's pretty sure Bruce can. I'll tell you at the Tower. Unrest. Camera now.

Tony enters the cell more confused than even he thought he would be.

"Heya, kid," says Clint.

The kid that Tony had first seen - God, was it yesterday? It feels like so much more - sits on the edge of a white bed, the only item of furniture in the severe room. His head is bowed, his left hand pulling the black ballpoint pen across the pages of the standard-issue SHIELD conference notebook that someone (possibly Clint) has sneaked in for him. Out of the stupid costume and the frightened eyes, the kid is actually older, maybe sixteen or seventeen, although that doesn't stop him from being far too young to get caught up in this crazy underground world. His feet are bare.

They took his shoes? What was he going to do with them? Are Nike sneakers really that big of an issue?

"Hi," the kid - teen - says, looking up. His eyes scan right past Clint and focus on Tony on Bruce, the brown irises getting huge. "Oh my God! Doctor Banner! Mr Stark!"

"Hello," Bruce waves a few fingers awkwardly.

"Wassup, my young truant," Tony chirps cheerfully, pushing past Clint and swinging his body up onto the desk next to the young man.

He half-expects Clint to react badly, and doesn't know why he did. "Stark, you motherfucker," Clint says with equal cheer. He waves up at the security camera, drawling sarcastically, "Oh no, Mister Fury Sir Ma'am! I'm afraid the Big Bad Tony Stark overpowered my fainting pansy of a back-up and myself, so whatever happens, I'm so sorry."

Bruce shrugs. "Oh no, I'm Hulking out, call the police," he says in a monotone voice that has Tony suppressing laughter. Trust Barton.

"So... hold up, you guys aren't here to beat me up or something?" The kid swipes his conference book from the table and snaps it shut, but he no longer looks so caged. He looks entertained.

Oh, yeah, welcome to the Stark Show, airing at seven on Saturday Night Live.

"Beat you up? Nah, just get your name. What is that, by the by, while I'm here, feeling generous and likely to give whoever owns that name a bunch of Stark Tech...?" Tony sees Clint roll his eyes at the blatant bribery.

But the kid seems relaxed. "Oh. I thought... I thought you thought I was doing something yesterday. I told you I didn't - whatever. Miles. I'm Miles Morales."

"Okay, cool, Miles. Hi there." Tony shoves out his hand, and, hesitant, Miles takes it. He's out of his depth in his first experience of the true intensity of Tony Stark. "So, Miles, my name is Anthony Stark, multi-billionaire, worth co-operating with me because I'll become your sugar daddy without the sex or the objectification if you just tell me, all casual, over coffee - Clint, can we get coffee down here? - Yeah, a little chat. And his name is Bruce Banner and he's lived in Ho Chi Minh City for a year without causing Big Green Jelly Bean to smash a bunch of houses down. So, want to work with us a little? Or nah?"

So maybe intimidation is the wrong tactic. Miles just looks hunted. "I didn't - I swear, I would tell you if I'd done anything. But the last thing I remember is buying that Iron - I mean, buying a comic book and then going into the street. And then Captain America was yelling at me."

Thing is, Tony believes him.

He turns to Clint, about to ask something serious about what Hawkeye saw on the roof, but Clint is busy flipping the security camera in the corner off with both hands.

Miles lets out a stunned, hysterical giggle. "Oh my God. I think I'm in love with Hawkeye."

"Me and you both, man," Tony sighs over-dramatically, patting Miles on the shoulder. "Brucie-kins, you want to call Fury and tell him to get his leathery ass up to the Tower conference room? The Avengers are going to have a little meeting."

Bruce winks. "Of course, Tony. Don't do anything rash."

Clint barks with laughter. Tony just shrugs. "I make no promises."

"Nice meeting you, Miles," Bruce says, slipping out the door. "Tony's going to be fine. He's only a bit much for the first few months."

Miles smiles wanly.

Tony takes out his StarkPhone and opens the recording app. "Okay, tell me everything you remember. Start from the start. Don't leave anything out."

Miles takes a deep breath, and begins talking.

A.N

Sorry it's a short chapter, I'll be writing a 2k+ one to be published within the weekend. It's discouraging not to get very much feedback - thank you to those who have already reviewed! - but to those ghosts reading, could I ask you to review/follow/favourite? It'll take five seconds and mean the world to my motivation, which is pitiful at best. Thanks!