5. Chapter 5

Clint was not relaxing, and that pissed him off, which annoyed Pepper. She finally gave up on him and let the baby-dyke named Kate take over serving him drinks. Kate was bitchy and took no shit from Clint, which he actually found a bit of a relief. Pepper was too polite, sometimes.

"What crawled up your ass and died?" Kate said, plopping his drink down in front of him.

"The beer." He grimaced.

"God forbid I serve you expensive microbrew."

He knew she was rolling her eyes as she spoke. He held up the glass. "You didn't."

"Hell no I didn't, you're too cheap."

Clint laughed despite his mood. He could hear Natasha working on her routine onstage, practicing with her usual fanatic perfectionism, snapping at Stark's lone and sadly-used stage hand/sound tech. Kate left him alone to finish cutting fruit for the imminent after-dinner rush of drinkers, so Clint sat and nursed his beer. He had cut back on the drinking a lot since he started doing his show at Stark's nearly a year ago, but he did have a reputation to maintain.

It was odd to him to be a part of a team again, and he hated admitting how much he had missed it. He was a loner by nature, but then so was Natasha and, surprisingly, Steve. They all had their histories and they liked their space. Clint had been a sniper and usually worked alone, except that he never really did. When he went in the field, he had a unit he worked out of and a team who had his back. He sometimes spent days on a perch, waiting for a shot, but there was usually someone checking on him in person or over a comm. In his rush to get away from everyone and everything after his injury, he forgot how much he had come to rely on his military "family." He stopped answering letters and emails and let everyone go, not realizing how being blind and alone would mean crushing loneliness in the long run, rather than the freedom Clint had chased.

He had that sense of belonging back, a little, at Tony's trashy dive bar. Natasha lived with Clint, renting out the second bedroom he never used for anything. Even Steve had crashed with them for a while before finding a very small studio in the same complex. Tony hired Steve as a bouncer for the rest of the week, so Natasha stopped worrying about how the huge kid was going to feed himself. Clint figured it wouldn’t be too long before Tony shanghaied the guy to live with him anyway.

So they all had their roles to fill, and Clint did not want that to change.

But the smooth, calm and slightly arrogant voice of Phil Coulson, Nick Fury's war dog, heralded something dangerous on the horizon. Tony had told them all about the real reason he had stopped by to talk to Steve, and they all laughed it off, but Clint's stomach had not unclenched since that night.

I had liked what he heard at first. Coulson's clipped sentences reminded Clint of the military. Then Clint had opened his mouth and ruined things, like he usually did, but he excused himself because Coulson had acted like an ass anyway. As if loyalty didn't count for anything…yeah, Clint couldn't respect that.

Although he couldn't stop wondering what the guy looked like.

"Are you thinking about Coulson again?" Natasha pulled up a chair next to him. She sounded a little breathless, but he doubted anyone else would notice a hair out of place on her. She held a lot of pride in looking effortless in everything she did, even if she half-killed herself to do it.

"Who?"

"Liar." She snickered.

Clint sighed heavily and finished his beer, knocking it on the bar to signal for another one.

Natasha leaned into him. "Your entire show was angled to where Pepper told you he was sitting."

"Whatever. You're imagining things again."

"He's your type, you know," she said casually. Clint heard her spin on her chair. "He's about your height, a little more slightly built. Late 40s, receding hairline, cute smile, well cut business suit. The entire dweeby package you like messing up so much."

"Fuck you." Clint shifted uneasily, unhappy with what that description did to him.

"You wish he would."

Clint folded down, resting his head on his arms against the bar. "Nat." He whined, which was terrible, but she was laying it on thick and he deserved some sympathy.

She did, at least, pat his back.

After a moment he straightened up. "It's more that Fury guy. He's trying to steal you away."

"You think he can?" She smiled as she talked.

Kate slammed a beer down in front of him and he reached for it tentatively, wondering if it was explosive and whether he should be worried. It seemed like a normal beer, though, if kind of malty.

"I don't know, can he?" Clint put the bottle down again.

"Maybe. I've said no to him before and I don't like the fact he won't respect that, but I do like the idea that Coulson talked to Tony about. Modern burlesque theater. It's got potential. But you know, if we bail, you're coming with us, right?"

Clint shrugged. "That would be awkward for everyone."

"Not for me, and not for Steve. But he's not getting one of us without the other two, and I think Tony's getting ready to put a cock ring and a leash on Steve."

Clint choked on his beer. "Don't say that!"

"You're gay, Clint. You should know all about cock rings at this point."

"Please stop talking."

"And you need to stop worrying."

"Whatever."

Nat was silent for a while, and Clint wondered what she was up to. When she spoke again, it was with a lovingly cruel smirk to her voice. "Pepper says Coulson might be coming back again soon. You should practice a new routine for him. Might work this time."

"I hate you so much right now," Clint snarled, going back to his beer as Nat's deep laughter rang out next to him.