A few days had passed since Steve and Stark had come to blows. The damage to Stark's lab was being repaired, and an uneasy tension had settled on the Tower. After being pulled off Stark by Steve, while Clint waited outside, Natasha had stalked off, leaving Steve to wipe down Stark and put him to bed. Clint had followed her, at a safe distance, and sat quietly in the gym as she took out her frustrations on some punching dummies with a large bo staff. After splintering the staff at both ends, she stopped, her anger having dissipated with the violent workout. Clint hadn't seen Natasha flip like this since she'd joined S.H.I.E.L.D, and knew she was dealing with more than just the injury Stark had tossed at him.
Clint had passed a towel to her, and she'd wiped the sweat off her brow as she placed the splintered staff gently back on the rack. She'd then buried her face in the towel for a few minutes, breathing deeply, and then emerged, calm restored, control regained. Clint had taken her into his arms, hugging her tightly, letting her know that he was okay, and more importantly, he was okay with her. For a few minutes, one of the deadliest women in the world had let down all her guards, with the one person she trusted. She'd left Stark Tower that night, heading back to her apartment, needing the space. Clint understood Natasha. She'd be mortified for having let herself go, and even more mortified for him having seen her do so. She'd never speak of it, and he wouldn't push it.
He was glad that he still had Steve to talk too, otherwise the Tower would have been pretty bleak. They continued to spar together in the gym, following Steve's more traditional military training. He'd introduced Steve to some new fighting styles, and Steve was intrigued by the principles, but was wary about the technique. They'd left off, but Clint had called up Fury and suggested that they send in some instructors for Steve. The first one had arrived that morning, and Steve was in the gym taking a Muay Thai lesson. Clint had taken the day off, to allow his muscles to rest, and was catching up on some reading in his rooms. The Fellowship had just reached Caradhras, when Jarvis chimed in softly on the intercom.
" Pardon the intrusion Agent Barton, but was hoping he could speak with you in his laboratory." "Tell I'll be there in a few," he sighed deeply, marking his page in the book.
"Oh, and Jarvis, if Steve finishes up, don't tell him where I am. He'll probably get worried."
"Of course, Agent Barton."
The smell of paint was still fresh in the corridor , when Clint exited the elevator, and he took care not to nervously tap his fingers the wall, a tic of his when he was entering strange territory. He stepped into the lab, which had been mostly repaired, though a large sheet of tarpaulin still hung alongside one area. Stark was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back to the door, gazing out at the cityscape below him. Clint padded silently across the floor, keeping to Stark's left, out of his blind spot, so as to not startle the man.
They stood side by side, gazing out at the city. Stark exhaled softly.
"I'm sorry, Agent Bar…Clint," he began, still staring fixedly out the window.
"I'm sorry, for what I said…for what I did."
"It's fine, Mr. Stark," Clint replied, his voice cold, ice crackling under every word, "I can understand, that in your mind, I should have been able to take down a demi-god who leapt through a …"
" No, no, please , stop," Stark interrupted, his voice low, "Please. You…you can't understand. I…"
Clint turned to face the older man.
"What don't I understand Stark ? If you think I'm stupid enough to believe that you were just drunk and didn't mean anything, I know better! Being drunk just means you felt bold enough to say what's on your mind! And don't try and tell me otherwise! I may just be dumb soldier, but I know how people's minds work."
Tony swallowed, his gaze still fixed on something outside the window. Clint halted his tirade, looking at Stark properly. Tony seemed…smaller, almost fragile. There was none of his customary bluster and bravado. He wasn't fighting back, lashing out, giving Clint a piece of his mind. He was just standing there, taking the hits. Clint hadn't been there the last time Stark had behaved strangely, but Natasha had been, and she'd explained the difference one night, when Clint had commented on Stark's attitude.
"You didn't see him when he didn't care Clint," she murmured, as they lay together that night. "Stark may come off as an ass, but it's just 'cos he's actually a genius. A rich, handsome, able bodied genius, who keeps the world at bay, with glitter and lights and showmanship. Imagine if every geek in the world had access to the funds that Stark did, while growing up. There'd be no compassion, no empathy, and until he nearly got himself killed, Stark hadn't let anyone come near enough to touch his humanity. Now he knows what it's like to not be powerful, to not be in control, and it scares him. Trust me – Stark might seem like an ass, but don't let that bother you. He's just trying to not let people see how alone he is. It's when he gives up on the world, when he can't force the show, or goes overboard…that's when you really have to worry."
Her words echoed inside him, as Clint reached out tentatively to touch Tony's shoulder.
"Sta...Tony ?" he said, trying to inject his voice with as much gentleness as he could.
Stark turned his head , his eyes still downcast.
"I … I need to explain," he said, his voice so low, Clint almost didn't hear him, "But not here. I know a place, it's not far. Jarvis, could you bring a car around?"
Clint nodded, and watched silently as Tony moved across the room to pick up a jacket and a pair of nondescript sunglasses. He wasn't even walking with his normal cocky stride, just stepping clear enough of the ground to not be accused of shuffling. He followed Tony into the hallway and into the elevator, his mind turning, trying to figure out what was wrong with Tony Stark.