I don't even know what to say about this chapter. Seriously.

Unlikely Housemates

By: Syntyche

Day Four: A Little Too Much You

It had quickly become a well-known fact throughout Avengers Tower that Tony Stark didn't bother with proper spelling. There was absolutely nothing that compelled the genius-inventor-chore wheel designer to even try; if it didn't get auto-corrected by Pepper or Jarvis, you were on your own in deciphering Stark's garbled messages.

This wasn't a problem for any of the other Avengers - they were slowly learning each other's odd quirks and triggers - except for the Avenger for whom English was not his first language.

On this particular day, Clint found himself utterly, completely, and inexplicably bored. He'd already been to the indoor range three times, the gym twice, and through the air vents a time or seven: he'd actually managed to map out a complete path through the vents that would ensure he wouldn't actually have to walk the halls of Avengers Tower at all if he so chose.

It wasn't in Clint's nature to sit still unless he was on an assignment that required it. Unfortunately, the Council was still working through Clint's involvement in the whole Loki thing, and Clint was essentially grounded until further notice. He'd only really agreed to move to Stark's because he very clearly wasn't welcome on SHIELD bases right now, and Natasha had kicked the crap out of four agents who'd dared to look at Clint like he didn't belong there. For her sake - and because Phil had very calmly asked them to create as little extra paperwork for him as possible since he was extremely busy right now - Clint had irritably acquiesced, and now the man famous around SHIELD for being an antisocial loner was living in a college-style Avengers House nightmare, complete with togas (courtesy of Thor as a towerwarming gift), group dinners, and game nights.

It was exhausting and ridiculous, and Hawkeye felt stupid and useless. It wasn't the first time he'd been grounded, but it was the first time he'd been so without an end date in sight.

This afternoon Clint was prowling the halls aimlessly, munching on a fluggernugget, when he wandered past the immense and impressive game room - not like a trophy room, but an actual game room with air hockey, a pool table, skeeball lanes, and an entire area of video and computer gaming equipment complete with a half-dozen enormous TVs for multiple player action.

Something seemed … odd about the actions of the lone individual inside, so the archer doubled back, and leaned in the doorway with a smirk.

"Hey, Thor. Whatcha doin'?" Clint asked curiously, watching as Thor methodically removed his weapons and cape, setting them aside reverently over the back of one of the couches.

Thor glanced at him, a wide smile breaking across his extremely proportionate face. "Greetings, tiny archer!" he boomed cheerfully, the strength of his voice reverberating around the room. "Did you also receive the Man of Iron's invitation on your cell-u-lar device?"

"Invitation?" Clint raised an eyebrow and reached out to take the proffered cell phone; Thor's moved on to undoing buckles and cinches, and Clint estimated he had about three minutes to figure out what's going on and then get the hell out. "To what, exactly?" he asked cautiously as Thor's belt thunked! to the floor. Clint hastily looked down at the screen in his hand for answers.

He immediately recognized Tony's texting style, squinting to make out the words - not an easy thing to do, because even though Tony was friggin' brilliant, he couldn't spell worth a damn and his texts were horrendous.

"'GR 4 inst 3. Rning l8 - bare w me,'" Clint read aloud slowly, and first he remembered that riiiiiiiiight, new Call of Duty out today and Tony had wanted them all to meet in the Game Room at 3 to give it a go. Then Clint reread the last part of the text and sputtered on a choked gasp as he realized what was happening when Thor shrugged out of his overshirt with a languid stretch worthy of a supermodel.

"Um… Thor … " the archer began awkwardly, thinking it was ironic that he had to explain proper spelling to someone since he'd never had much formal education himself, but Tony would probably piss himself if he walked into the game room to find Thor waiting to compare their manly bodies …

And then Clint stopped.

And smiled.

"So you're meeting Tony here at 4 to … ?" he prompted, and Thor grinned ferociously.

"Compare physical attributes and war wounds!" he finished cheerfully, pleased that humans were not as meek and modest as he'd first thought.

Clint nodded, suspicions confirmed, biting his bottom lip to keep from grinning like a maniac. Instead he asked carefully, "Is this … something you do … often … on Asgard?" and Thor pumped his fist in the air enthusiastically, so exuberantly cheerful it actually made Clint feel like he should make an effort to research Asgardian customs so the demigod might feel a little less homesick. Not this custom, though: there was no way in hell he was participating in this little tradition.

"Of course, noble Hawkeye! My friends and I would often compare our strength and bodies, particularly after a glorious battle in which new victory scars are acquired!"

"Mmhmm. And you did this … naked?" Clint asked, trying desperately to ignore the mental image of the Avengers men parading around the locker room making a comparative study of their teammates.

Thor's brow rumpled as he finally began to get the impression that something wasn't quite right. "Of course," he said ponderously, "how else to best admire each other?"

The way Thor worded this struck Clint as uproariously funny, but with some stern reliance on SHIELD's extremely thorough anti-interrogation techniques he managed to keep a straight face. "Of course," he agreed. "Just so. Absolutely right."

"Do you not also do this?" Thor questioned hesitantly, and Clint nodded vigorously.

"Yes. Yes, of course we do," he assured, and maaaaaybe he felt just the littlest bit evil. But it wasn't his fault he's grounded and bored.

Thor smiled broadly and went for the buckle of his pants. "Excellent! Will you join us then, noble archer? I'm sure you have some fine scars to display!"

Clint coughed back a giggle at the invitation and squeaked, "No, no, I can't." He dropped his voice conspiratorially, still heroically trying not to hurt Thor's feelings. "Natasha doesn't like it when I show off."

Thor nodded in complete understanding, and Clint added helpfully, "But I'll just see what's keeping Tony. And Steve."

Clint ducked out of the room, texting furiously. Steve, just down the hall, received Clint's message and immediately and Captainly strode to the game room just in time to be greeted by more Thor than he had ever wanted to see in his entire life, including the seventy years of it he'd spent asleep.

A few moments later, Tony sped in, Call of Duty in one hand as he read Clint's message to report to the game room ASAP. He heard Thor's raucous laughter as he bumped into Steve's shoulder; Tony snapped his phone shut and looked up for the duo. "Cap! Thor! Are you Lethally Blondes ready for some action … "

Steve was making small choking noises in his throat, ironically frozen where he stood. Tony's eyes darted over Cap's stiff shoulder to land on a completely naked Thor grinning at him expectantly as the demigod announced gleefully,

"Come, let us bare together Captain of America and Man of Iron! We shall share glorious tales and compare battle scars while we indulge in wine and song! Bring on the wenches!"

"Barton, you are a dead man," Tony muttered.

OoOoOoOoOo

Okay, I honestly don't know if this scenario is funny to anyone else, but something like this is exactly what I picture every time I see the misspelled phrase "bare with me," and this little plot bunny that wouldn't go away was actually how this fic came to be. Consider it exorcised, and again, apologies if no one else found this funny… bare with me, I have a weird sense of humor.

Ha! See what I did there? lol.

Next: Of course the quarantined Avengers can amuse themselves like normal adults, right? Right? Fury finds out the expensive way that he may need to assign a babysitter to his elite team … and fortunately, he knows just the agent for the job.