Thanks for the great feedback on the last chapter! Kudos to readers who caught the references to Game of Shadows, 28 Weeks Later, and Tropic Thunder; RDJ and Jeremy Renner have very attentive fans!
Oh, man, Jeremy Renner on SNL was just … awesome … and gave the Muse the little extra push to finish this next chapter in the ongoing saga of our heroes and their trials of domesticity. Super-thanks to Party-Like-A-Hawkstar for introducing me to the phrase "party like a Hawkstar," for thus TipsyMusical!Clint was born…
Unlikely Housemates
By: Syntyche
Day Nine: Dinner and a Show
"Does this feel really strange to anyone else?" Bruce asked, his eyes squinching in the little wince they often did while he spoke; it gave the odd impression that Bruce was pretty much perturbed about everything, and not so much that he was always "angry," as he proudly maintained, but more like he was always "anxious" and "unhappy."
"Nah, this is great!" Tony chirped, tossing his jacket on the seat in front of him as he slid into the opposite booth from Bruce and Steve. "Real, non-burnt food for a change!"
The chore wheel's randomly designated cooking chore wasn't working out so well; failed cooking attempts from Steve, Natasha, and most recently Phil (who was not happy to have been added to the chore wheel, since he considered 'babysitting' a full-time job already), had resulted in a lot of takeout being delivered to Avengers Tower, or - like tonight - dinners out.
"Agreed!" Thor announced gustily, fwipping his cape over his shoulder with a flourish as he hunkered his large and manly frame into the narrow booth space. One grin from the demigod was enough to attract the attention of several waitresses, and over the noise of the ensuing catfight over who would actually wait on Thor's table, the warrior called regally, "Barmaids! Six glasses of your finest mead, please!"
"Thor," Steve sighed - and his heartfelt sigh was enough to add a few swooning customers to the brawl over waitressing for the Avengers - "This is Applebee's."
"I do not understand," Thor rumbled ponderously, his regal brow crinkling mightily. "Do they not serve mead here?"
"I knew we should have just gotten pizza," Phil mumbled longingly; somehow, despite the cramped seating arrangements, he was as immaculately dressed and wrinkle-free as ever.
"I knew we should have stayed home," Clint interjected grumpily, ignoring the scuffle of women winding down behind him as he hooked a chair from a nearby table with his foot and plunked down beside his teammates. He crossed his arms, looking thoroughly put out at being dragged out of the air vents to partake in yet another team activity; Pepper seemed to think that after they'd destroyed most of Manhattan while saving it that the Avengers really needed to do some public awareness and photo ops of them not smashing and obliterating, but doing more "normal people," things. Clint had smartly pointed out that they were part of the Avengers' Initiative because they weren't normal people - except for him, he maintained, he was just a guy with a bow and should be excluded from these sorts of field trips.
Pepper had disagreed, and that was the end of it.
"Oh, don't be such a fussbudget and just enjoy it, all of you," Tony grinned, waving and winking at the battered waitresses (and other random people both in and out of the groaning pile on the floor.) He pointed at Bruce, trying to hide behind his blooming onion. "You need to get out more," - Steve - "you need to meet some ladies under 100 years old," - Clint - "you need to loosen up," - Phil - "you … well, you're kinda scary so I have no suggestions for you since I don't want to be killed by a pinstripe tie," Tony moved on hastily to Thor - "and you need to not be so blah blah blah who stolest minest tightest whitest undergarments and learn how to just order a friggin' beer."
Thor frowned sulkily. "Those were a gift from Jane," he mumbled.
"TMI, Rider of Rohan," Tony waved off the warrior's protests and held up a hand. "Hey! Can we get some service here or what?"
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Clint was used to Natasha not being around; it was a matter-of-fact part of their lives that they were rarely in the same place at the same time, but that didn't make her absence any easier - especially on nights like tonight, where even the large room with the floor-to-ceiling windows that Tony had provided him with was too small, too confining.
He'd been on his way to the roof to quietly celebrate an anniversary he didn't want to remember when he'd passed the music room and for reasons he himself was unsure of, changed course and ducked inside instead.
The archer wasn't too worried about anyone hearing him - it was pretty late - so he snagged the acoustic sitting in the corner and settled it across his knee, checking and tuning with the ease of years of practice. Clint had a smattering of musical knowledge, mostly from undercover assignments, but since he'd been - and was still - unofficially grounded for his part in the Tessaract theft (mind control or no, the Council didn't seem to care), the archer had taken to spending just a little more time here, concentrating more on chords and keys so he'd think less on crazed demigods and unwilling destruction caused by his own hand. In no time he was strumming a Billy Joel tune and humming quiet words he could relate to about leaving reasons behind.
"Hey, did you hear about the dead guy who couldn't sleep?" Tony asked from the doorway, and Clint glanced up curiously, so Tony finished with a small grin, "He had inzombia."
Clint shuddered involuntarily at the reference. "Ha," he said dryly; the archer's callused fingers continued to drift idly over the guitar strings for a few moments while Tony poured himself a drink and settled his lanky body comfortably into a chair, shifting restlessly but tapping the fingers of his left hand in time with Clint's melody. Clint realized that his teammate and cohort in crime clearly missed Pepper while she was in DC - he could relate, since his own partner was currently in Istanbul making bad guys regret they'd ever ended up on SHIELD's radar.
Clint strummed and Tony hummed for a moment, then Clint carefully set the guitar aside and stood with a sigh. "I guess I'm going to bed." He hesitated, a pained look crossing his face at the lie; he had something to do yet that he refused to let slip by each year without a passing acknowledgement.
"Hey," Tony said, opening his eyes when the music stopped, and Clint glanced at him inquiringly. "How about a drink?" the inventor offered. "You look like you can use one."
Clint shook his head. "Nah … I don't really … do that." He shrugged a shoulder like it was no big deal, but Tony was sharper than he was often given credit for.
"A couple of drinks won't make you him," Tony said quietly. "Come on, Feathers … wouldn't you like to just not think for awhile?"
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"You know what's weird?" Clint asked fuzzily; the archer was sprawled upside down in his chair, sinking arrows without fail into a target Tony had sloppily colored on the far wall. "The way Fury walks around the streets like he owns New York. Isn't he, like, the super-secret undercover director of the hugest super-secret undercover agency ever?"
Tony poured himself another drink, only missing the glass a little as amber droplets splashed on the table. "Hey," he mused thoughtfully, "who do you think would win: Nick Fury, or Mace Windu?"
"Who?" Clint asked, and Tony gave him an odd look, a duuuuuuuh look.
"Nick. Fury." Tony over-enunciated carefully. "You know: the guys who signs our paychecks."
"Ohhhhhh," Clint drawled slowly, blinking a little too fast as he thought on that. "Right. That guy. With the lightsaber."
"Right," Tony confirmed agreeably; apparently he also thought they were the same individual, even though one was clearly a fictional character. "Exactly."
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"And then I was like, look who brought a jet to a gun fight! Haha!" Tony cackled. "Classic!"
Clint laughed too; he was wearing his sunglasses and nursing his drink slowly, laughing at Tony's jokes as he wandered from one instrument to the next.
"So what's the deal with you and Romanoff?" Tony wanted to know from where he was lying on the grand piano at which Clint sat poking out a sad-sounding melody that was really harshing Tony's buzz. Tony promptly forgot his own question as he frowned mightily at the bluesy tune from the piano.
"Play Freebird!" Tony demanded, and then laughed his high-pitched had-too-much-to-drink laugh that was usually the signal for Pepper to put him to bed. Too bad she wasn't here. "Hey!" Tony grinned, poking Clint's shoulder sloppily as a thought occurring to him: "Isn't that like your song or something?"
"Sure," Clint said pleasantly, "sounds good. What's yours? Girls Just Want to Have Fun?"
Tony say up abruptly in mock-indignation, spilling his drink on his shirt but thankfully not the piano or much of himself. "Of course not. It's Dancing Queen."
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"That is weird," Tony agreed, adjusting Clint's sunglasses over his own nose and laughing. "Hey, Feathers, check me out! I wear your sunglasses at night!"
"Boooo," Clint retorted, nocking another arrow; he'd temporarily left music behind to loose another round of arrows into the wall. "Lame!"
"Suit yourself, Hunger Games," Tony sulked. "But the eighties were incredibly good to me."
"Okay, old man," Clint teased. "Don't get your pacemaker in a twist."
Tony brightened like a star gone supernova. "Oh! Oh!" he said excitedly, gesturing at his arc reactor, "Wanna see me pop this bitch out and make it flash like a strobe light? It's a great party trick!"
"Ummmm no thanks," Clint said hastily, but then he took another sip of his drink and thought a little harder. "Well, maybe … "
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Phil Coulson had to admit that babysitting the Avengers was actually an easier gig than he'd been expecting based on the initial reports of unmitigated disaster coming out of Avengers Tower. It was an extremely odd scenario, though, all of them living together and basically hanging out between missions like some kind of social club. Frankly, Phil had been amazed that Clint and Natasha hadn't moved out already; it didn't seem like the assassins' cup of tea, but maybe because neither of them had had a normal family life, this was like back pay: annoying but appreciated siblings you couldn't help but grin at.
Phil hadn't forgotten what day it was, but he'd been wrapped up with work on base until now. He'd just been dropped off at the Tower and wanted to check on Clint. The archer could handle himself fine, had been quietly celebrating this anniversary long before Phil had even been assigned to track down the contract assassin Hawkeye, but there were some days a man shouldn't have to be alone.
A knock on Clint's door yielded nothing, so Phil figured roof first, vents next. He was on his way upstairs when he heard unusual noises spilling from down the hall. Phil wasn't prepared for the sight he encountered when his eyes finally adjusted: Clint was sitting at the drum set, clearly just a little out of it, banging away like there was no tomorrow. Stark, clearly a lot out of, was wearing a long black trench coat and an eye patch sloppily hanging over one eye, and was striding around with his clenched fist thumping against his breastbone.
Clint stopped drumming long enough to ask in high-pitched mock-surprise, "Is that Nick Fury? Super secret director of super-secret spy organization SHIELD?"
Tony nodded regally, the eye patch slipping just a little; it might have been patched on with bubble gum, Phil wasn't entirely sure. "Why yes, good woman, I am he, wandering around the streets of New York so everyone knows who I am."
Phil cleared his throat to be heard over the noise. "Gentlemen."
Two pairs of slightly guilty eyes swung to meet his, but the guilt didn't last nor did Phil's stern look; it was hard not to smile at Clint's enthusiastic drumming and Tony's horrible but still recognizable impression, but somehow Phil managed: he had a reputation to uphold, after all.
"What are you two up to?" Phil asked nonchalantly, and his sharp gaze caught on the archer and he breathed a sigh of relief - Clint actually looked happy and relaxed, and it was more than Phil could have hoped for on a day like today.
"Well, I'm doing everything in a half-blind Fury," Tony grinned, and added proudly, "and Feathers is kickin' the ass outta those drums."
"I'm partying like a Hawkstar, bitches!" Clint said tipsily, then hiccupped.
"Are you gentlemen drunk?" Phil asked patiently, and Clint immediately straightened from his comfortable sprawl.
"No, I'm not," - and he clearly wasn't; the archer jerked a thumb in Tony's direction. "But Stark's a funny drunk."
"What? You were just pretending?" Tony demanded, wounded feelings showing, but Clint gave him a beautific smile that soothed his rumpled spirits.
"I was having a great time," Clint corrected kindly, and his hand flashed out quickly to catch Stark before he tripped over his trench coat. "Come on, let's haul your Iron Ass to bed."
"Feathers, you're an asshole," Tony slurred affectionately, the alcohol on his breath making both Clint and Phil wince, "but you're my asshole."
"Ew," said Clint.
"Gross," said Phil, hauling Tony's other arm over his shoulder, and even Tony looked a little discomfited.
"You know what I mean," he protested anxiously.
"I don't even want to know what you mean," Clint deferred, and together he and Phil managed to get Stark's lanky weight maneuvered to his bedroom and across his giant bed, clothes and all, before quietly closing the door on the hot mess Pepper would have to deal with when she got back in the morning.
Back in the hall, Phil scrutinized Clint carefully. "Okay? Heading for the roof?" he asked pointedly, and Clint shrugged.
"Actually I think I'm just going to bed," Clint answered, and if he was surprised by his own answer he didn't show it. Phil nodded shortly, apparently satisfied.
"Happy anniversary," he said quietly, and Clint nodded his appreciation to his old friend.
"Thanks for remembering," he said softly. In his room, Clint knelt before his footlocker, fishing through carefully to retrieve a single picture secured against the lining, the only picture he had left of her. He looked at it for a long moment then sighed, tucking it away carefully until next year.
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I have to admit, it felt weird working even a little angst into this fic, but I adore Clint and Tony bonding moments so there it is. ;D And I feel like there is much more potential for tipsy!Tony and Clint, like I totally underdid it, so any ideas there will be adored and utilized, but this chapter just refused to be completed and I didn't know what else to add for now - and frankly Steve has been demanding more fic time and hijacked the next chapter, and is impatiently demanding that we get on to it, already.
Next: A freak accident switches the Avengers' abilities around … and Steve feels like ice cream.