AN: This is the new chapter! I uploaded 9.5 at the wrong time (it should've been 10.5). It should be fixed now!
Tony and Clint woke up sprawled on the floor of Tony's Stark Tower penthouse, both clutching their heads and begging Jarvis to please close the blinds to block out the morning sunlight.
"Jesus, it feels like Thor's just been pounding away at my skull with his damn hammer," Tony muttered, dragging himself into sitting position and leaning against a wall.
Clint gave a twitch to indicate a nod of assent, "Yeah," he mumbled into the floor, still unable to turn over onto his back. "I swear to god I'm never drinking again."
The two of them were silent for a while, the only sound being Jarvis's smug voice (could AI robots even be smug?) announcing the weather and humidity for the day. "Shut up Jarvis, please."
Tony pulled himself to his feet (Clint was still face down on the floor) and hobbled his way over to the kitchen. He came back with two large glasses of water, and a handful of Tylenol. He then settled down next to Clint's prone body and nudge him with his foot.
"Hey. Barton."
Clint mumbled into the floor again.
"I got some painkillers for you." Tony nudged him harder with his foot.
Clint finally managed to turn over, coughing as he did so, his arms back over his eyes as if to block out his pounding headache. He mumbled his thanks and managed to hoist himself into sitting position as well. He crossed his legs and rested his head on his elbows, his elbows on his knees.
He reached for the painkillers in Tony's outstretched hands, eager to get them into his system as fast as possible. "Ah ah ah, wait one second." Tony withdrew his hand, giving Clint a calculating look.
"I figure I don't usually have this much leverage over you, and there is something I've been dying to know. No painkillers til you talk, buddy."
Clint groaned. "Isn't that blackmail?"
Tony shrugged. "Nah, I don't think so. Blackmail would be if I already knew the answer to my question and demanded painkillers from you to keep me quiet. Just details though. I think the principle might be the same…" Tony tapped his chin with his index finger, as if really considering this.
"Ugh, what do you want, Tony. You know I can just get some back in my room right?"
Clint had flopped back to the floor, not making a very good case for his statement. Tony snorted. As if Clint could walk back to his room in his condition. Hilarious.
"Well, if you wanted to go back, that's your call. You sure you can walk to the elevator, take it all the way down to your apartment like, ten floors down, and then get yourself to your room? No problem." Tony gulped down more of his water. "Me, though? I'm gonna have my chef whip me up a bloody mary, and probably go back to sleep. Won't have to move more than twenty feet. You could join me," he ended with a singsong-y voice.
Clint's eyes shifted to the black couch in Tony's living room that he wished he'd fallen asleep on instead of the floor. But he had an idea of what Tony was going to ask him and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to deal with that right now.
Then his head gave a painful jolt and he relented. "Fine, Tony, what the hell do you want?"
Tony grinned victoriously and slid a single Tylenol towards Clint. "Just what, exactly, is going on with you and the good doctor Bamer?"
Clint sighed. Truth be told, he'd been expecting this question for a long time. Natasha was the only one he'd told about his itty bitty little crush, but with all the time he spent with Colleen, the others were bound to notice. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We're just friends. Like me and Tash." Comparing her to Natasha probably wasn't helping his case, seeing as how he'd fallen in love with her all those years ago, but this damn headache was just too distracting.
Tony rolled his eyes. "First off, probably not the best comparison you'd wanna use right now." Damn, so Tony had caught that mistake. "Secondly, did you and the Widow fall asleep in each other's rooms like, every other night? I mean, maybe you are just friends. You did stay at my place last night. Oh the rumor mill must be working overtime. Enough people think you're gay as it is—"
"TONY!" Clint ground out, angrily. "I am not gay, no matter what half of those damn fangirls think," (Tony snickered), "and how exactly do you know where I spend my nights?"
Tony laid back down on the floor, pillowing his head with his hands. "Oh, just a simple matter of watching the video footage for the 80A hallway of apartments." He glanced at Clint. "C'mon, you know those security videos are totally free for me to access. It's only inside the SHIELD apartments that I need Fury's approval to see too."
Clint threw Tony a dirty look. "You're such a snoop. You sure you're not secretly a sixteen year old, gossipy girl?"
Tony laughed. He did have a big mouth.
"And we were just sleeping," Clint grumbled. "Nothing…nothing's ever happened."
Tony laughed again. "And of course you want something to happen, right?"
Clint tried shrugging, but any movement was hell on his headache. "Nah, man, we're just friends."
Tony nodded sagely. "Yeah, definitely. Just friends." Then he rolled his eyes. "Jesus, get better at lying. You're so transparent, Clint."
He heaved himself to his feet again, stumbling over to his empty bed (Pepper was back in DC for the week). "Well, good luck to you and your friendship. You can crash on my couch if you want." He then directed his voice to Jarvis, "JARVIS! Tell the chef to send me up a couple of bloody marys, and a few extra vitamin packed smoothies. Gotta get rid of this hangover. And get a couple of IV bags in here too, my head is killing me."
Clint slumped back to the floor and wondered if there was any chance Tony would keep his mouth shut about this. Probably not.