Chapter Text
Avengers’ movie nights became a bit of a thing about the same time Thor came back to earth. Between the confusion of a soldier out of time and a misplaced demigod, the team had their hands full trying to explain everything there was to know about the time and planet. Tony suggested movies, which made sense, since most Americans spoke pop culture more than plain English. Jarvis compiled a list that began with the early films shown in Steve’s time and continuously was added to as new movies came out. Once or twice a week, on no set schedule, they watched at least one old movie and one newer movie. Tony came to as many as he could, but more than any of them the genius was, quite simply, busy. He ran a multi-billion dollar company, worked as Iron Man, worked on the other Avenger’s tech, took contracts from SHIELD, and tried to be around as much as they wanted. The man barely ate or slept.
Tony often ran late, and they started the movie without him. Clint hung out on a perch with a view of the entrance, so he could see the billionaire come in. Up in the shadows near the ceiling, he wouldn’t be surprised to discover that the others had largely forgotten his presence. They often did - not out of malice, just by virtue of his general silence and practice at disappearing, habits he had yet to break from undercover work and sniping jobs.
Sure enough, about halfway through the movie, he saw a form slip past the open door, loosening his tie, entirely unnoticed by the others - even Natasha. The so called party-boy of New York was nearly as sneaky as the two assassins were, when he wanted to be. Two minutes later, Clint’s eyes were drawn away from the movie by another flicker of motion at the door. Sock feet under raggedy old jeans trailed up to a hip resting against the door frame for support, bracketed by hands loosely tucked into pockets. An old well-worn hoody with too-long sleeves looked as soft and warm as a sleeping bunny. Clint grinned a little when he noticed hair already stuck in awkward spikes from oil and engine grease; before his eyes landed on Tony’s face. He felt his jaw drop slightly.
Tony looked over the others on the couch, closing his eyes for a moment as their chatter got a bit louder before fading again. The usually wary, ice cold and rock hard eyes of the Iron Man softened around the edges, drooped a little and seemed to exude light, instead of reflecting it in a hard steely glint. They drifted across the scene spread before them, as though trying to envelop it all in their warm chocolate depths, despite dark shadows of exhaustion threatening to consume them. A tiny smile touched his lips, slightly higher on one end, as if the face it belonged to couldn’t quite understand how to express the emotions its bearer held. As slowly as the expression had appeared, it almost made Clint jump when the marvelously real expression vanished in one sudden violent spasm, consumed by a brief glimpse of fear before settling back on Tony’s default, ‘you can’t touch me,’ grin. The billionaire was gone an eyeblink later, vanishing into the empty caverns of his enormous tower. Hopefully to sleep.
“Clint, what is it?”
He blinked, drawn back to reality as the lights came on and the credits rolled. “Nothing.” He replied thoughtfully. Natasha eyed him for a moment, and nodded; she trusted him not to lie if she needed to know. “I want popcorn. Anyone else?” he asked, climbing from his perch and heading for the kitchen to a chorus of ‘yes, please’s.
Only to draw up short in surprise when he saw Tony slumped over at the bar, one foot resting on the bottom rung of his stool and the other dangling loose, breathing light and even. The coffee machine hummed quietly; in the eight minutes it took for coffee to finish, the man had managed to fall asleep. “Hey, genius,” Clint said softly, with a light touch to Tony’s shoulder.
“Not asleep. Just resting my eyes.” Tony replied very carefully.
“Well, I think sleep is on the menu. We’re only human, can’t keep going forever.”
Tony’s eyes flickered open. “Can too.” He said, glaring with all the force of a drugged kitten.
“Sure. Come on, up you get.” Either he had finally gone insane or Tony leaned into his touch. “Help me make popcorn and then you can crash on the couch in the rec room.” Long silence. If Tony fought him on this, Clint might just drug him. He might not need to; Tony verged on collapse, at the moment.
“Yeah. Okay,” breathed the other man, looking intensely relieved.
Ten bags of popcorn later, they returned to the movie, tossing out the bags as the others greeted Tony and thanked them both - before staring stupidly as Clint dragged the exhausted engineer over to the empty couch (the Avengers tended to huddle together around the loveseat and the other couch) and held his feet in his lap. “If you don’t sleep,” the archer said. “I am sitting on you.”
“Duly noted.” Tony replied, rolling his eyes. “What are we watching?”
“Kung Fu Panda,” Steve responded on automatic, obviously still trying to digest the sight of the two most reclusive Avengers closer to cuddling on the couch than they had ever seen before.
“Awesome,” Tony managed to mumble as the movie started rolling. Clint rubbed a thumb over Tony’s ankles, motion hidden by the darkness, and felt Tony relax further as he used his other hand to munch on popcorn. The billionaire was out in minutes. Much to his surprise, Clint caught himself stifling a yawn of his own by the time Shifu began training Po, and his eyes drooping ten minutes after that. Natasha’s right there, awake, he thought. I’ll just… just a few minutes…
“Wow. They both managed a full night’s sleep.”
“What the hell? No, seriously - they’re sleeping? Holy shit.”
“If I’d known all it took to make you swear was sleeping, I’d’ve done so months ago.” Clint said, without missing a beat.
Not only Steve, but Bruce, Thor, and Natasha reacted to that - the boys jumping and cursing under their breath, Natasha with a sharp inhale. Clint opened his eyes to see them all gathered around, Natasha with a camera he zeroed in on instantly. Why… Blinking, he glanced down at the warmth under his hand. Where Clint had merely slid down the couch a bit and sprawled in his sleep, Tony had somehow managed to turn himself around entirely and curl up like a cat against his side, head on the archer’s lap under one of his palms.
“Huh.” Clint said, intelligence leaking from his every orifice. “Uh, Tony?” he poked the billionaire in the side, lightly. “I need coffee.”
Tony blinked up at him blearily. “No. You… pillow.” He replied, and his eyes promptly fell closed again. It took three more tries to get the genius moving, much to Natasha’s amusement - the others vanished into the kitchen and dispersed by the time the three made it there. By the third cup of coffee, Tony was back to wary and defensive by-way-of sarcasm. Clint sighed and let it go, responding in kind, until Natasha had gone, leaving the two to their own devices.
“And I can probably double your arrow limit, and, uh, sorry for falling asleep on you, mr. teddy bear.” Tony said. Clint almost missed the unnecessary apology, stuck between an entirely unrelated topic and sarcasm.
“Awesome - and seriously, dude, it isn’t a problem. I’ve been meaning to brush up on my teddy bear skills. I figure if I ever run into another rabid one, I can just hug it to death.”
“No, just no. That thing” meaning said rabid teddy bear, which was actually a thing and how was this his life, had been surprisingly difficult to destroy, “was utterly terrifying.”
Clint wondered if that applied to him as well. Tony seemed more guarded today. But maybe that only seemed to be the case, now that Clint knew there was something to look for beyond the snarky playboy mask.
Now. How to get that smile back on Tony’s face?
He stumbles across one way completely by accident, and he almost misses it because he’s so exhausted. He’s covered in dirt and possibly blood, and possibly raw sewage. He showers less than energetically, and it puts him in a slightly better mood. And then, wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and package in hand, he makes his way into the depths of the tower, to The Workshop.
Tony is surrounded by pale blue light, gesturing emphatically at the ceiling; a disagreement with Jarvis, then. He seems to be enjoying the argument, though Clint isn’t really coherent enough to understand it at this point.
“Holy f- Jesus Clint, don’t do that -”
“Sorry.” he said vaguely, focusing on anything except, well, Tony was damn attractive, wasn’t he. “Brought you a present.” He’d found it in a little kiosk at a mall. It was an overpriced trinket that he doubted Tony cared for, and could definitely buy himself, but it had reminded him of the billionaire, and he’d bought it on impulse, carefully wrapping it and tucking it away where it was unlikely to break even with angry mobsters chasing him down upon realizing he was undercover.
Tony’s jaw dropped and he stared at him, but he recovered quickly. “Well hand it over, Legolas!” The man unwrapped the box like he would be reprimanded if he so much as crinkled the paper. Clint frowned; wrapping paper was meant to be ripped apart and torn to pieces, tossed to the side and dealt with after the fun.
A slight gasp drew his attention back to the billionaire. Tony’s face softened into a true smile that stole Clint’s breath away. Gently lifting the clear glass box filled with sea glass in perfect, arc reactor blue, Tony’s eyes found his.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Clint shrugged, and yawned.
“Go to bed.” Tony said, amused but still so strangely gentle.
“Gone.” Clint replied, meandering away.
(When he woke up the next morning, he made his hypothesis after figuring out what had prompted Tony to make him some of the Good Coffee instead of leaving him to scrounge for Folger’s like the others, since none of them could figure out the genius's coffee machine.)
Clint didn’t see anything that really drew his eye the next mission, or the next. During a terrible snowstorm in the Alps, though, he had a chance to look around the lodge where Tony had put him up, stating that if he had to go to the god-forsaken edge of eternal winter, he was going in style. Clint was very grateful. The small gift shop drew his eye, and he found himself wandering and looking at the various silly trinkets.
The small stuffed rabbit, dressed in a red sweater and carrying skis, instantly shot to the top of Clint’s ‘stupidest tourist purchases ever’ list. Reaching out to touch, though, he quickly saw the appeal; never had he felt a stuffed animal so ridiculously soft. Correctly interpreting the look on his face, the shopkeeper smiled at him. “I can take off the sweater if you wish, dear.”
“Non, c’est bon. Tony’ll think it’s funny.” He said.
“Your partner?”
“Not yet,” Clint told her with a grin, refusing the discount she offered and informing her he could most definitely afford it in flawless French, much to her delight.
“Hey, brought you a present.”
Tony laughed genuinely for a full ten minutes at the silly little thing and refused to let Clint take off the sweater. The happiness lit his face like the sun, and Clint stared unabashedly.
Yeah. Not yet.
“Let’s order a pizza, watch a movie or something. You look like you haven’t been sleeping again.”