The Avengers end up being official a few weeks later. Clint likes that he'll be sitting on windy rooftops a little less. He's been doing that for over a decade and he could use a break, even if said break involves aliens.
When he's about to open the door to HR to get his paperwork done, his phone buzzes.
Let's celebrate. My place. 6 p.m. I've got booze.
Clint is annoyed for a few seconds before he dully accepts that Stark would find out his phone number whether Clint wants it or not; the man could hack S.H.I.E.L.D and find about Phase 2, so nothing online is safe.
'Bet you do,' he says under his breath, tapping his fingers at the phone and wondering if he is expected to write back or something, when the phone buzzes again, making him flinch.
Tony won't come by until at least 8 p.m. so don't come too early and waste your time. Pepper Potts.
Clint frowns, wondering if she has some kind of Stark-control system – how else would she know what he's texting people? – but well, that's not his business. Eight sounds all right and if Hill finds something to do for him for the evening, he'll skillfully ignore her and sit back enjoying Natasha being badass and protective and insubordinate, all at the same time. Fun.
Back in his apartment, after a day of going from place to place and fulfilling his bureaucratic duties, Clint realizes that he has no idea what Stark really meant by that invitation. Should he dress casual? Elegant? Wear nice underwear – who knows, Stark is a playboy, right? Should he bring a housewarming gift or anything else?
Finally, after two of those fancy little glass bottles of coke and a few texts exchanged with Natasha, he puts on black slacks, sneakers and a blue shirt. No gifts, she said. That's a relief.
Wear blue. Brings out your eyes, Natasha texted and Clint swore to kick her ass for that during the next training, but in the end he decides to listen.
At 6 p.m. sharp he's, per Stark's instruction, at the back entrance to the building and says his name to the mini microphone hidden by the black pad. At least Stark doesn't have his fingerprints. Yet, a voice in Clint's head add a bit ominously.
The light by the door turns green and Clint slips inside.
'I sent you, per Miss Potts' request, a note that Sir is not likely to come down before 8 p.m.' a toneless voice says from everywhere around, making Clint's head snap up scanning the vast empty hall for any sign of life. 'I apologize for the inconvenience.'
'JARVIS, right?' Clint asks, shifting a bit. He remembers the A.I. from the one time he was at the tower, back when Avengers came back to take care of Loki.
'Miss Potts says you can join her in the penthouse,' JARVIS says, ignoring Clint's question, and an elevator on his left opens. It takes less than fifteen seconds to get to Stark's personal floor; pretty impressive given the number of floors the elevator passes smoothly.
'Agent Barton,' Potts greets Clint as soon as he steps out of the elevator. She's wearing impossibly high heels and a tight dark green dress, looking more like she was going to a charity ball than a small party at home. 'You clean up nice.'
Clint smirks, mentally beating Natasha up – it's not likely to happen in real, sadly – and nods.
'Thank you –'
'I think everyone else is coming at eight. You did get JARVIS' message, right? Sorry for the mess, Tony is like that, he's expected to always be fashionably late and he thinks everyone does the same. I think he's reinventing silicon chip today, but who knows. These things can change at any moment,' she finishes, taking a deep breath, and gestures at Clint to follow her inside.
'I was curious what's happening at a part before it starts. I guess,' Clint explains, wondering if his words make sense, but it seems they do, because Potts laughs. 'And I just lost my old job, so I had nothing to do.'
'I come here when I have nothing to do, too. It happens about one time in ages, but the view is nice and the interior – it calms me down. It's aesthetically pleasing. Not exactly a zen garden, but I take what I can.'
'The view is amazing,' Clint agrees, walking up to the glass wall, staring at the perfect picture of a sunset over the ocean. 'I like high places. Comes with the job,' he explains.
'Mhm,' she mutters skeptically and then she starts cutting something, the regular noise of a knife touching a cutting board surprising him. 'It's not just that, is it?' she asks as he turns around. She's staring at the herbs she's chopping skillfully.
'I grew up in a circus,' Clint says with an ease that surprises him. 'It feels safe.'
She nods, frowning a little, and looks up.
'You like cilantro?'
'I love cilantro,' he assures her, moving a bit closer.
'I had a feeling you do,' she says, smiling at him, and starts to slice shallots before putting them into a frying pan with a bit of butter and olive oil. For a few moment Clint watches, fascinated, as she continues to move around and cook without getting as much as a drop of water on her expensive-looking clothes.
'I can do that,' he says when she takes out bacon that apparently needs to be sliced.
'Thank you, Agent Barton,' she smiles, handing him the big knife, pleasantly heavy in his hand.
'Clint,' he corrects her, letting his hands work automatically.
'Pepper,' she says, chuckling. 'Not the best kitchen joke.'
They both laugh, before going back to work, and Clint by some miracle or osmotic Pepper-power manages not to mess up his clothes until the rest of the team arrives.
A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little piece of self-indulgent fluffiness :)
