The flight back to the Tower is quiet. Clint watches the world go by out the windshield, contemplating their situation. He shares the occasional conversational glance with Natasha, who's thinking just as hard behind a neutral mask.
There's a lot to think about regarding the snap decision the Avengers have made. On paper it seems like the right thing to do; in practice, Rogers had a point back there. None of them are equipped to handle a child. There's a huge mess to clean up, a penthouse to childproof… not to mention consuming every bit of knowledge about child development and psychology they can get their hands on in such a short amount of time. Beyond that, Tony's progress is clearly abnormal in several ways. Just don't ask Clint to name any of them, because he knows exactly fuck all about any of this.
It's the same for Natasha. Her shrug tells him that she's retained only the most basic of knowledge, and likely only in how to talk to children to get them to do her bidding or get them out of the way.
Steve is clearly uncomfortable with handling children. Not just from his words back in the cockpit, but also in how he's seated now. When Clint glances behind him from the copilot's chair, he's sitting ramrod straight with a faraway look in his eyes. He's also frowning slightly — neither he nor Thor really ever got the poker face down. His mouth isn't actually downturned, which at least means he's trying, but there's tension around his eyes and a line between his brows that's very telling. After the incredibly awkward fiasco from earlier today, he probably doesn't want to start shit by saying something confrontational.
It'll come out eventually, though. Captain America always speaks his mind.
As for Bruce and Thor, well….. He's not really sure where Thor stands in regards to all this. His vocal support doesn't mean much in this case. They've got no idea how Thor is with children and no opportunities to witness Asgard's child-rearing as a whole. Greeting kids on the street is one thing. Having a crying toddler in your ear at three in the morning is a whole nother thing. And in terms of Bruce's ever-tenuous control of the Hulk, things might not go well. SHIELD can never decide whether Banner is enough of a threat to lock away or enough of an asset to allow him to run around under simple observation instead. Clint himself isn't sure, either. The doctor is a nice enough guy, really. The Hulk? Not so much. Too smash-happy.
Damn. The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders what the hell Fury was thinking when he agreed to let them take the kid in.
They touch down on the landing pad and file out of the jet in silence. The broken glass has been swept up by the dozen SHIELD agents currently crawling around the penthouse, carefully and deliberately staying only to the public areas of the penthouse common area. They had to have gotten Potts' permission to come up here, god knows what they had to say to get in. She's aware that Tony would never normally go for it. The man, surprisingly, does his own cleaning. Natasha says that it's because he doesn't trust anyone from the outside to do it, and Clint kinda gets that. Especially with the whole "don't hand me anything" tic the man's got. That's a little out of bounds even for normal genius billionaire eccentricities.
The silence is only broken when Bruce opens his mouth. "Jarvis-" he calls absentmindedly, then visibly double-takes when the AI doesn't respond.
"That answers that question," Clint can't help but comment, disappointed. It makes sense, though. From what he knows (and SHIELD doesn't), Jarvis would never sit quietly by while Tony or the team struggled. Still, a shadow passes over the doctor's face.
"I'm gonna go check out his mainframe," he says in a low voice. The team collectively nods and Bruce breaks away from them, stepping carefully around the dark stains on the floor on his way to the elevator. It does an eye scan before allowing him in, and he glances back at the marks on the floor before disappearing behind the doors.
SHIELD cleanup does topical damage first, deep cleaning last. Those stains won't go away for hours.
Rogers casts a troubled look around the open space. Aside from the cleanup crew, the area is now basically empty. The broken furniture and decor has been cleared away, including the cracked vase Tony never let anyone touch.
"They'll be gone in a couple of hours," Natasha offers, gesturing to the crew with a tilt of her head. "We can wash up and meet when they're done here?"
"Good idea," Rogers compliments her. He looks overwhelmed; just as Clint is starting to realize the enormity of their decision to parent a genius toddler, Steve has had this on his mind since he first laid eyes on tiny Tony. "Are we agreed, then?"
"Sure," he agrees, as does Natasha. Thor strides off toward the elevator with a contemplative expression. After a pause, the rest of them follow.
Three hours and fourteen minutes later, he, Natasha, Steve, and Thor meet back up in the penthouse living area. The couch was torn to shreds, so there's a cheap but visually similar version out while the proper replacement is presumably on order. The four of them sit, waiting on Bruce, who they texted with a request to come up as soon as he finishes assessing the potential damage. Normally, at this time of day, they would all be settling in for dinner. It's supposed to be Tony's night to decide, and he usually chooses takeout of some sort since his only other option is cooking aggressively healthy food. With lentils. Natasha hates lentils. Stark didn't even know what boxed mac n cheese was until (surprisingly) Bruce's first night on cooking duty.
But Tony's not here right now.
The elevator chimes softly, the doors sliding open to reveal a tired, rumpled Banner. He's mid-yawn when he steps into the room, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
"I tried," is what he says when he catches them all watching. "There wasn't any actual physical damage. Tony set up a bunch of manual quick fixes. The part that wasn't quick was figuring out how to get to them," he added with a wry smile. "Hopefully I did it right, or we'll only ever hear Jarvis again if we stop by the Malibu house."
Seemingly on cue, a muted hum kicks up around the room. It's the not-noise of electricity, the kind you don't notice until it's gone. Or unless you're Natasha, who perked up a split second before it started. Thor smiles, slow and wide.
"Jarvis, my friend!" he calls, jumping to his feet. Rather than immediately respond, there's a series of quiet beeps.
Bruce's half-smile fades. "Maybe I didn't…." he trails off. Thor wilts.
Steve stands up, prepared to put some hands on shoulders or something equally supportive-Captain-like when Jarvis finally speaks.
"He's gone, isn't he?"