Chapter Text
Boredom is dangerous. Clint has always known this, so he does a pretty good job of keeping himself busy. Or rather, the circus and then SHIELD do a good job of keeping him busy. The little downtime he's allotted is devoted to recovering or preparing for the next mission. Clint doesn't have much in the way of an attention span, and whenever he gets bored, he gets into trouble.
He has a feeling he's about to do just that now.
Things have been sporadic since the whole mess with Ultron. Not that Clint's complaining so much because that was a severe shitshow, and he isn't keen to jump back into that level of madness again so soon. He took a few months off afterward to spend time with his family. Between the updates on Nathaniel's progress, Laura keeps sending him exasperated texts about the disaster Clint made in their dining room nook before he got called out on a mission, despite his reassurances that he'll finish the renovations soon. It's a familiar song-and-dance with them since they first moved into the farmhouse and Clint vowed to refurbish the place.
Clint couldn't stay there nearly as long as he would've liked before he got called out again. There were clean-ups to handle and missions to run for a SHIELD that was only getting its feet back beneath it. Not to mention, they are down a couple of Avengers, with Bruce going AWOL and Thor off-world, and then Tash and Cap were busy training their new recruits.
A long string of missions dragged him all over the world, but at the moment, Clint is cooling his heels at Avengers Tower, waiting for intel to determine his next mission. It's been five weeks, and he's starting to climb the walls; a guy can only spend so much time at the archery range or the gym before it gets old.
Clint makes his way to the communal kitchens - he's run out of coffee on his floor and needs his morning fix - when he notices the television is playing in the living room. He hesitates, instinctively settling into a defensive position; last he knew, he was the only one at the Tower. Clint silently nudges the door open enough to peer inside. Almost immediately, he recognizes the dark-haired figure perched on the back of the sofa, profile illuminated by the television and the tablet in his lap.
Usually, Tony does a better job of announcing his imminent arrivals - the guy has an honest-to-god schedule of public appearances posted online - so it's weird for him to show up unexpectedly, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Pepper's in town doing some PR thing, and Tony doesn't like to be left behind if he can avoid it. He handles being bored even worse than Clint does.
Satisfied that the Tower isn't under attack, Clint continues to the kitchen. He finds his favorite beans on the shelf that holds more variety than most coffee shops in Manhattan - Tony might not remember to eat for himself, but he does a brilliant job of keeping the kitchen fully stocked - and then settles in to wait for it to brew. He polishes off some toast while it finishes and cradles the cup as he enters the hall.
For a moment, he deliberates, but the glow of the television still seeps out around the door to the living room, so Tony hasn't left. Getting involved in Tony's current pet project could be a terrible idea, but he's also bored out of his mind, and even he can't handle another day at the shooting range. Aware that he'll probably regret it, Clint enters the room.
"What're you watching?" asks Clint curiously.
Tony startles so hard that he nearly falls off the back of the sofa, making a rather undignified noise. "Christ, Barton, I'm getting you a bell," he hisses. "You're almost as bad as Ginger Spice."
"Tash'll kill you if she ever hears you call her that," Clint points out. Tony waves a dismissive hand, his attention already back on his work. The film clip on the television looks like a scene from an action movie, apart from the newscast crawl across the bottom: Vigilante apprehends members of Chinese mob. "What's this?"
"New player," says Tony, flicking through a series of pictures on his tablet faster than even Clint's sharp eyes can make sense of them. "Hell's Kitchen's got itself a vigilante."
"Oh, yeah, I heard something about that," says Clint. On the grainy security camera footage, a figure in red takes down four guys with a string of jujitsu and parkour moves that would make Bruce Lee retire in shame. "The Devil of Hell's Kitchen."
"They're calling him Daredevil now," says Tony, and Clint snorts into his coffee mug. Tony's lips quirk wryly. "My sentiments exactly."
Clint watches the looped news clip for a moment, thoughtful. "So, what's it to you?"
"Not big on vigilantes," says Tony, scowling.
"Right, because you've never done things outside the law," Clint says sarcastically. Tony shoots him a raised eyebrow before going back to his tablet. "Honestly, I think it's about damn time. I've done work in that area. Hell's Kitchen was a sketchy ass place on its best days, and it's only gotten worse since - well, Loki. It could use somebody to clean up the streets a bit."
Tony flicks his fingers across the tablet, and the images jump to the television screen. Articles and news segments scatter among still shots of the Devil's masked face, both the black one and his new horned gear. Tony leans his elbows onto his knees, frowning at the screen, and mutters something Clint can't hear.
"Wanna share that with the rest of the class?" says Clint.
"Right," says Tony, and he almost looks apologetic for a second - or at least the Tony equivalent of apologetic - when he turns his head to face Clint properly. "Said I'm also not a fan of people who hide their identities." Clint remembers Tony's argument with Cap about superhero registration, requiring people with powers and advancements to be monitored. As a spy - even if he's not exactly got secrecy on his side now that he's a (reluctant) public figure - Clint's naturally opposed to the idea, but he's not in the mood to argue that this early in the morning.
"Yeah, well, can't begrudge a guy a little anonymity," Clint shrugs. "Not everyone likes the limelight as much as you."
Tony rubs the heel of his hand against his sternum, an old tic he hasn't quite gotten rid of even though the arc reactor is no longer there. "Men who hide in the shadows are hard to hold accountable for their actions," he says lowly, and Clint suddenly wonders if this is coming from some personal experience.
"Besides," adds Tony, suddenly bouncing up to his feet enthusiastically. The abrupt mood swing might've startled Clint if he wasn't used to that behavior from Tony by now. "If a new guy is playing for our team, I'd like to meet him."
Clint huffs. "In my experience, vigilantes aren't much in the way of team players."
"That's just because he hasn't met me yet," says Tony, shrugging. Clint can't stop the bark of laughter. "What, you think you could do better?"
"I know his sort. I think I'd have a much better chance than you," Clint argues. "This isn't the kind of thing you can just bullshit your way through on charms and bravado. And that's provided you can even find the guy. You can't just hop a cab down there and expect him to be waiting."
"Course not, I'd never take a cab," says Tony, shuddering dramatically. "You know how filthy those things are?"
"You know what I mean," says Clint. "This guy doesn't want to be found. He's not going to just show himself when as high-profile a guy as Iron Man shows up on his doorstep. This sort of thing has to be handled low-key, and we both know you're incapable of flying under the radar."
Tony arches an eyebrow in challenge. "You wanna make this interesting, then? Hundred bucks says I can find him first. Another hundred says I convince him to come back to the Tower."
"You're on, Stark," Clint agrees without hesitation, taking Tony's proffered hand and squeezing a bit harder than necessary.
Tony smirks and picks up his tablet again. "May the best man win."
Only as he's in the lifts back to his floor, hands curled around his cup of room-temperature coffee, does Clint realize exactly what he's gotten himself into. He's about to go out and hunt down an incredibly competent and violent vigilante with questionable morals and alliances and try to convince him to play with the Avengers. It is, without a doubt, one of the stupider things he's done on a very long list of stupid things.
Oh well, Clint thinks as he logs into the SHIELD network from his laptop. At least I'm not bored anymore.