Clint barely managed to get Steve to his room before the tranquilizer wore off – thankfully the dose had given him an extra minute that he hadn't anticipated. He had eased Steve onto his bed and stepped back before the Captain came around. Clint was impressed. Apart from a destroyed shirt, most of Steve's injuries were superficial, cuts that needed to be cleaned, a particularly bloody one right above his eye that might require stitching. He realized he was still shirtless, not having taken the time to dress again when Jarvis had chimed in earlier, and smiled to himself at how he must have looked, flipping into Stark's lab, shirtless and gleaming, firing arrows.
"A modern day hero," he murmured to himself, allowing himself a chuckle, leaning against the wall, and watching as Steve regained consciousness.

Steve looked around, surprised to find himself in his room, even more surprised to find a shirtless Clint there with him. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Clint's bare muscular torso.
"What happened,"he asked, reaching up to examine the cut above his eye. Clint moved quickly to intercept him.
"Natasha and I had to step in. You and Stark were getting out of hand. I hit you with a tranq-row," Clint explained.
"A tranq-row?," Steve asked, confused .
"Oh – a tranquilizer arrow," Clint clarified. "Stark got one too, Natasha stabbed him with it."

Steve snickered, catching himself as Clint looked at him in amazement. He couldn't imagine Captain America snickering. He'd seen Steve politely smile at the antics he and Natasha went through, but he never thought he'd see the normally dower man snicker. He watched as Steve resumed his normal facial expression, and felt a pang of regret at having made the man pull himself back. Placing a First Aid Kit on the bed, Clint pulled on surgical gloves , and grabbed the antiseptic spray and some swabs.

"Please remove your shirt," he said, in his most lecherous pornstar-doctor voice, waggling his eyebrows at Steve, who chuckled obligingly and stripped off his shirt, wincing as a cut on his chest twinged. Clint had seen the Captain shirtless several times, but he was constantly impressed by the man's stunning physique. His mind flashed to a scene from a movie he'd seen with Natasha recently, where some mildly cute guy had pulled off his shirt ,and his love interest had exclaimed in frustration , "It's like you're photoshopped!". Clint couldn't stop the smile that reached his face, as he pictured the same young woman looking at Steve's intense body right now. He figured there'd definitely be drool involved.

His reverie was broken by Steve, demanding to know what was so funny. Clint explained, moving closer , hands gentle as he swabbed the cut over the Captain's eye. Steve relaxed, closing his eyes , and letting Clint do his work. The seconds ticked by, and Clint was finally done. No stitches necessary, and it seemed unlikely the Captain would die of a random infection.
"There, all done," he quipped, sitting back and removing his gloves.
Steve opened his eyes, his hand reaching up to inspect the bandage that covered the cut. Clint grabbed his hand before he could mess up his handiwork.
"Thank you, ," Steve smiled, "Can I have a lollipop?"
Barton barked out a laugh, though his mind was in a slight uproar. Steve's hand was surprisingly soft, but strong, and combined with the beatific smile that had spread across his face, Clint's heart was beating a little faster than it should have been. Blaming it on post-adventure adrenaline, Clint laughed, and cuffed Steve on the shoulder as he stood up.
"Maybe once you've cleaned up a little. Why don't you hit the shower, and explain to me what happened with Stark ?"
Steve's smile dropped so fast, it might never have been there. Ignoring the sudden change of expression, Clint moved to the dresser, pulling out a shirt, pants, and a towel, giving the Captain time to think. As he pulled open the drawer containing underpants, he was amused to see that after six months, Steve had finally made the switch from boxers to boxer briefs. He even had a fun looking red pair in there. The man was definitely full of surprises, Clint mused, as he grabbed a pair of plain black boxer briefs, and added it to his turned around, arms full, and walked towards the Captain, who was now standing sheepishly at the foot of the bed.

"Well ? I think I deserve an explanation ... why'd Natasha and I have to come in, and save Stark Towers from being completely destroyed, by Captain America and Tony Stark no less?"
Steve took the pile of clothing from Clint, murmuring his thanks, not quite making eye contact. He moved to the bathroom, leaving Clint alone in the room. Exhaling in frustration, Clint cleaned up the gauze and gloves, dumping them into the garbage disposal unit that led to the incinerator. He helped himself to one of Steve's plain white t-shirts, and sat on the bed, waiting for the Captain to come out. He realized that from his vantage point, he could see into the bathroom, the door of which the Captain had left ajar.

Steve was leaning in front of the mirror, still half dressed, looking at his face in the reflection, his expression one of conflict. With a sigh, he straightened up, moving to unbutton the front snap of his pants. Clint found himself unable to look away, even though his inner voice was ordering him to,"Look away Clint. Give the man his privacy Clint. Come on Clint, don't be pervy. He's your friend Clint. He's Captain friggen America. He's….hot damn. Wow."
Clint stared wide eyed, as Steve slowly slid his pants off, the fabric rustling against his incredibly muscular legs, leaving him standing there in a pair of pale blue boxer briefs , that clung to his frame, emphasizing the curves on his very impressive posterior. Pausing to place the pants into a laundry basket, Steve leaned into the shower cubicle, turning the faucet on, letting the shower warm up. He then turned around and slipped his hands under his waistband, ready to tug them down. Clint ripped his eyes away at last . There were some lines he wasn't going to cross, and seeing Captain America completely naked without his knowing, seemed way too wrong.

"Jarvis," he croaked ," How're Nat and Tony doing ?"
" is currently connecting to an I.V. to sober him up. He's still unconscious, but his injuries have been tended to. He was mostly bruised, with minor cuts on his arms. Is there anything else I can do for you sir ?"
"No, thanks Jarvis."
Steve's voice echoed from the bathroom.
"Was that Jarvis ? Is Stark alive?"
"Yeah, he's good, Natasha's with him now. He should be coming around in a while. Do you want anything?"
"Would it be alright if Jarvis brought us in some food. I'm starving."
"Sure thing Cap. The usual ?"
"Yes please. Thank you Clint."
"No problemo Captain. Jarvis ?"
"Yes sir, Mr Roger's usual is on its way up. I took the liberty of adding some things for your own consumption."
"Thank you Jarvis."
Clint settled back onto the bedspread, facing the doorway, not trusting himself to peek into the bathroom.

Steve stood under the showerhead, letting the hot water pound down on his skin. He was grateful for Clint's company , but he didn't want to cause his friend unnecessary pain. He reached up to massage his hair, fingers brushing against the bandage that Clint had placed on his cut.
He smiled , remembering the gentleness the deadly archer had used, the way those hard calloused hands had cared for him, idly wondering how Clint's lovers felt when he placed those hands on them.

The thought brought a jolt to his body, and he found himself staring down at an unexpected arousal.
" Did I just…thinking about .. Clint ? Pull yourself together Steve, you're tired, and you're being...although his hands do feel very nice…and he does have an incredible chest … not to mention the way his eyes change colour depending on his mood… and the way he always includes you in a joke, instead of making you the butt of it .. and the way he bites his lips when he's shooting…his back muscles…the way he can climb… Steve, stop. He's taken. You're fantasizing about a man, and a taken man. Stop it now. "
He shifted the shower setting from hot, to cold, gritting his teeth against the shocking change in temperature – but it had the desired affect. His arousal vanished, and he hurriedly exited the cubicle, toweling himself off. As he pulled his clothes on, he decided that he'd be honest with his friend. It's what Steve would do, and it's what was expected of Captain America.

Taking a deep breath, he ruffled his hair with his fingers, pulling it into a semblance of a side parting, then stepped out of the bathroom.
Clint was lying on his bed, wearing one of his shirts, one arm across his eyes, the other resting on his stomach. Steve resisted the urge to lie down next to him, pulling out a chair from under the desk, and placing it next to the bed, as Clint cracked open an eye from under his arm.
"So Captain. Are you going to tell me what happened, or should I just ask Jarvis to replay the security feed ?"
Steve took a deep breath, and started talking.