Summary: Less than a month ago, they saved the world from a hostile alien invasion (aka Loki's temper tantrum). Now they face their biggest challenge yet in getting their archer to realize he is worth saving before they lose him for good. Or how the Avengers became more than just a dysfunctional ticking time bomb.

Pairings: slight Clint/Natasha

Warnings: Just general spoilers for the movie… but everyone should've seen it already by now so no worries!

Disclaimer: If I owned anything having to with the Avengers I would be a rich, happy woman. Instead I am a broke, happy woman. One out of two isn't that bad. I also don't own 30 Seconds to Mars or their wonderfully awesome song, Savior.

Author's Note: So after a few weeks of lurking, reading and doing a horrible job at consistently reviewing, I've finally decided to throw my hat into the ring and share something that I wrote. This is way out of my usual comfort zone (hello Glee projects waiting on my laptop) so please be gentle. Also FYI, this is a denial/fix-it fic because I know it would take much more than a magical scepter to take out Phil Coulson. Enjoy!

Until you crash
Until you burn
Until you lie
Until you learn
Until you see
Until you believe
Until you fight
Until you fall
Until the end of everything at all
Until you die
Until you're alive

Don't save me, don't save me, cuz I don't care
Don't save me, don't save me, cuz
I don't care

-Savior, 30 Seconds to Mars

It was nearly four in the morning when Tony Stark managed to stumble bleary eyed yet fulfilled out his lab. With a self-satisfied smirk, he noticed that he was the last one out. Bruce gave up hours ago murmuring something about food, sleep and basic human needs and functions. Personally, Tony was of the belief that Bruce was getting soft. A couple of weeks out of the slums and he was getting used to things like running water, beds and hot food. He was spoiled. But eh, honestly if anyone deserved to be a little spoiled after being on the run for the past few years, it was Bruce. Even if it did cut in on their science time. Tony yawned as he followed the lingering scent of Indian takeout to the kitchen. He continued his slow zombie like shuffle down the hall before coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of something that didn't belong. Or rather it belonged, just not where it currently was despite all of Tony's best efforts to curb this nasty nocturnal habit.

"We really need to stop meeting like this. You do know you have a room, Barton," he called out before approaching the archer seated on the window seat overlooking the city. The agent's back was facing Tony and it appeared that all of his attention was focused on the view from the window. But Tony knew better than to assume he was totally unaware of his surroundings. Still, Tony wasn't taking any chances trying to sneak up on the man. The tower was dark but there was enough light from the buildings outside to see the curve of Clint's bow near his clenched fists. It would not do well to sneak up on the guy. He knew for a fact how fast he was to draw and just how deadly his aim was. No, sneaking up on Clint was not a good idea.

"I'm aware," Clint murmured in response. He didn't turn away from the window to look at Tony, nor did he bother to meet his gaze through the window's reflection. "I'm good here."

"Of course you are," Tony drawled. He wasn't surprised. He had received some variation on that answer since the minute the man moved into the Tower.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, lost in thought. Of all the Avengers, Clint was the one that confused him the most. That was saying something, given that he now worked and lived with a socially and culturally challenged time displaced super soldier, an Earth impaired god, an assassin who probably had more weapons on her person than Tony had witty comebacks and a reclusive scientist who was redefining the term 'anger issues'. Still of all of them, it was Clint that he just couldn't get a handle on.

He'd come across him in his past dealings with SHIELD and the man he met then was nothing like this man now. When Tony briefly encountered the infamous Hawk it was while Coulson was forcing him to apologize to a few of the junior agents that he was apparently terrorizing with his bow. The apology consisted of little more than taunts coupled with a smirk that wouldn't stop. However, it was apparently more than Coulson expected so the issue was apparently considered to be settled. Tony remembered being both impressed and amused that someone working under Fury had a functional personality and a sense of humor. He liked him from that very moment. He was looking forward to getting to know that agent. But instead they had this quiet, pale imitation of him. And while Tony liked Clint, he just wished that they could crack this surface and get through to the man he used to be.

"You need something more for your room?" Tony asked, grasping at anything to keep the archer engaged in the conversation, to shake him out of this blank state he seemed to exist in lately. Clint turned his head slowly towards his teammate with a raised eyebrow. "I mean Bruce asked for a laptop and a bathroom with indoor plumbing. Thor got a bunch of those pillow pets he saw on some stupid infomercial one night. Steve's room looks like an art supply store exploded. Natasha won't let me in her room but I'm pretty sure it's pimped out. So tell your Uncle Tony what you need? A dart board with Loki's face on it? A Blu-ray player with the complete Lord of the Rings extended editions collection? The Hunger Games trilogy for your iPad? An iPad?"

He was well aware he was babbling but it was his coping mechanism, especially when faced with the unnerving silence that was Clint Barton. The agent stared at him for a few more tense moments before shifting his attention back to the busy streets below them.

"It's late. You should probably get some sleep. Ms. Potts said you had a meeting in the morning. She'll be back early."

"We both should, you know… get some sleep," Tony pointed out. "In bed. Well preferably our own separate beds but you know if it helps you can…."

"I'm fine," Clint insisted, and if Tony listened carefully he could hear just how very fine he was not. The tone was too brittle, his shoulders too tense. Tony could hear him practically screaming that he was not ok but he had no idea what to do about that.

This wasn't his area of expertise. He could build Clint a bow that would put his current one to shame. He could build any number of gadgets and gizmos that could make the archer more comfortable in the Tower but what he couldn't do is fix whatever was going on in Clint's head. He didn't know how to talk to him, or rather how to get Clint to talk to them. He knew Natasha was having similar problems. If the Black Widow, his damn partner, couldn't get him to talk, then Tony knew it was next to hopeless…. But he couldn't help but try.

"Uh, Barton, you know that if you ever wanted to, uh, talk," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, nervously. "We're all here."

Clint glanced over his shoulder with a carefully blank expression. "There's nothing to talk about. Night, Stark."

With that, the conversation was effectively over. Tony stood in his spot for a few more minutes before shuffling towards the kitchen once more. He found a plate set aside in the one place Thor wouldn't bother to look, the microwave. They were making slow but sure progress with integrating the god into their world but kitchen appliances were still a mystery to him. It worked to their advantage as Thor had an appetite the size of his hammer. He tended to eat anything that wasn't nailed down… or hidden in a microwave. Tony made a mental note to thank Bruce for hiding his food.

Though they called his favorite place, Tony barely tasted the food. His mind was stuck on the archer in the window. He knew that if he went into the room that was designated as Clint's, he wouldn't find anything in there that would say it was Clint Barton's room. He would most likely find the agent's few belongings still packed up in the bag he used to bring them here. Clint wasn't settled. He wasn't comfortable. And Tony had no damn idea what to do with that. What was the use of being a genius if you couldn't use your genius to help your friends? On that note, did Clint even consider them friends? Great, yet another thought to join the other troubling ones running around in his head.

He finished his meal, which could've been cardboard for all he tasted of it, and placed the dirty plates in the dishwasher, steeling himself for the walk back to his room. He knew he would have to pass Clint again. He knew that he would try to get him to go to his room again. He knew he would fail. But he was going to keep trying. That's what friends, or a dysfunctional group of superhero freaks with severe psychosocial issues that were forced into a domestic situation, were for.

*Short, I know. But if there is any interest this story is pretty much half written. Anyway, thanks for reading! Ciao for now.