A Series of Plans

A Word: I have nothing.

.

.

Tony's managed to create a spreadsheet and an entire program devoted to figuring out the exact color of Clint Barton's eyes before he gets smacked upside the head by A Clue.

The Clue is Pepper. Wearing her very best I-will-eat-you-alive power suit and looking the kind of exasperated that makes even the board of trustees back off every once in a while. The smack is literal and comes via a very hard and pointy clipboard she folds under her arms afterwards.

"Ow!" Tony carefully backs away from the table he's been hovering over for the last few hours. The tablet he was using is sturdy and nearly indestructible, but he has some exposed circuitry for the suit that won't hold up so well if Pepper's feeling particularly destructive. "That hurt? What have I done to get you in such a sadistic mood?" He adds a quick, "Lately!" on because she looks ready to start listing things, and Tony's heard more than enough of that to last him a lifetime thank you.

"You're ignoring your email for starters," the clipboard gets thrust back in his face meaningfully and Tony's eyes cross before he focuses on something that looks like a time table. "I don't ask much from you Tony except to send me a few vaguely affirmative answers a few times a day so I can get the things you want done, done," she's close to full on rant mode as the clipboard goes away again. "Now stop mooning over your archer and send me an approval so I can legally get the crews in to start fixing the building."

"Jarvis!" An email pops up on his tablet and Tony doesn't bother reading it before he sends it to Pepper. It's irritating how Pepper keeps running into problems running the company. If he didn't think she'd take full advantage of it to try and get him committed or something, he'd find a way to give her all the legal powers needed to act on his behalf. "And what do you mean 'mooning?' I'm not 'mooning' over anyone!"

"Oh, Tony," Pepper sounds tired and amused all at once as she smiles at him fondly like she hasn't since before they stopped trying to be a thing. She taps a long finger on his tablet bringing back the tracker he'd been idly working on. A swipe of her finger brings up the picture gallery. Dozens of close up pictures of Clint's eyes that are a veritable kaleidoscope of colors. "You're so close to pining it's not even funny reporting it to Rhodes anymore."

"I'm trying to figure out what color his eyes are!" Tony protests because it's a valid question. The man has a serious case of color changing eyes tha Tony thought was only a trope in bad story writing. Blue or gray or even green depending on the light. Tony swears he saw them turn silver once and that's so out of bounds for a reportedly normal human that Tony just had to-

Tony blinks and watches as the gallery continues to shuffle through the available photographs. Sixty three photos from several different times and sources. Many of them in secure enough areas that even with Jarvis' help Tony's sure his hacking was noted. The rest are from the cameras built into the suit helmet that Tony has written a program specifically to capture stills of Clint's eyes.

Damn, his stomach twists as his perception shifts. Tony hates when things like this snuck up on him.

"Wait," Tony stops panicking about Clint to panic over something else far more important. "You talk to Rhodey about this!?"

"He understands my pain," Pepper rolls her eyes before turning on one sharp heel to march out of the lab. "Just ask him out to dinner and get on with it, Tony. And keep up with your emails!"

Tony scowls at the closed doors feeling oddly put out that the two people closest to him have —-once again—- spotted something before he has. "Traitors, the both of them."

.

.

Clint Barton, Tony admits to himself after a few tumblers of fine whiskey, is an attractive man. Not in the traditional sense of Hollywood. He's fit and strong, yes, but not exactly handsome. His body is more than enough to turn any head though, and Tony would not say no at all to a good fuck or two.

Rough and worn are the two words that Tony attributes most to Clint. Goofy and mean come in second place, but those are personality traits that not many people get close enough to the man to find out about. Tony's a little touched that he's one of those people.

The goofy grin that Tony can see on his face through the reflection of his glass is very telling, and Tony scowls. Reaching for the whiskey bottle because, no, he's not dealing with that tonight on top of realizing he wants to bone a government agent.

.

.

Tony spends a good hour feeling pathetic and sorry for himself in the morning. His cheek pillowed against the cool plastic of his porcelain god. The only coherent thought going through his mind is how nice it'd be to have someone bring him coffee, and maybe hang out in the doorway and say snarky things as Tony suffers through the hangover.

"I hate you," Tony tells the damaged organ in his chest that clenches at the thought, his roiling stomach, and the still waters of the toilet. He's way too old to be falling this fast —-again-— for someone he barely knows beyond a few missions, and some truly hilarious debriefings.

"Jarvis," Tony grunts out as he flushes the toilet. Hoping the sound will trigger that one last bout of puking that will lead to him feeling better. "Get me everything we have on Barton, and get Dummy to bring me some coffee or something."

.

.

The main problem -—aside from the whole feelings thing-— is that Tony doesn't have all that much interaction with Clint. A few snarky words traded throughout missions, a helping hand when the man inevitably has to leave a high spot fast, and an occasional middle finger as a farewell salute. It's a sketchy as hell thing to base any feelings off of, and if Tony had caught onto what he was doing sooner he would've been able to head that right off at the pass.

He didn't though, and now he has to deal with it.

He has to find a way to increase their interactions. To get beyond the only meeting for missions block. Daily interaction is ideal, but Tony'll settle for weekly at this point. He can always build up from there.

Funny thing is, Clint doesn't seem to leave SHIELD's flying fortress much outside of missions, and while Tony isn't exactly banned from it he's not likely to go more than ten minutes without finding himself with a totally unnecessary escort. Tony pours through every file and scrap that Jarvis can pull up and begins to work out a plan.

.

.

Plan A is foolproof, hence why it is Plan A.

"My place is pretty big," Tony effortlessly slides in the opening bid after he settles an overlarge pair of sunglasses on his face. They're cheap and not branded, but he can't really be picky considering they've just finished tearing up a good bit of Times Square preventing squid aliens from taking over. He's working on a design to get a good pair to transport well with the suit but so far hasn't found a solution that doesn't take power away. "I got more than enough space for you. Hell, you can have your own floor."

Clint, whose apartment hadn't survived the Chitauri according to the files kept on him, pauses in collecting his arrows. A skeptical look crossing his face even as his fingers continue to run over each arrow. Checking for flaws before slotting them back into the high tech quiver that Tony knows he can do a much better job designing. "You want to give me an entire floor in your tower?"

"Yes!" No, Tony wants to give Clint a very specific floor in his Tower. Tony's floor to be precise, but Pepper's been getting on him about working on his subtility lately.

Rogers, bless his naive little cock blocking heart, cuts in with a pleased smile that probably dropped panties everywhere in his time. "That sounds swell actually. It'd be nice to have the team all under one roof."

"It's not bad," Bruce admits and Tony will totally call him out on the reluctance in his voice later when he's not busy being horrified at his offer being taken totally out of context. "He's much less invasive than you think he'd be."

"Hey!" Tony protests as a SHIELD agent shows up with one of those robes they keep on hand for Bruce. A full five seconds before the first flash of the press can go off. It's a timing thing that Tony has to admit the spooks have down pat. "I'm an absolute joy to live with!"

"You're something alright," Clint mutters, turning his back to the cameras as Natasha materializes out of thin air. He's smirking though and looks thoughtful so Tony lets the insult slide. "Don't know what I'd do with an entire floor though."

"Half a floor then," Natasha cuts in with a frank and considering look that kinda makes Tony's balls want to curl up and die. Just a little. "I won't share with anyone but Clint, and we get final say on the layout."

"I could share a floor with Thor," Steve muses as they all start to walk away from the growing crowd shouting questions. He looks eager and a bit like a kid going away to summer camp. Tony's reminded, abruptly, that the housing section of his files wasn't all that much better than Clint's. "Whenever he gets back that is."

"Whatever you guys want," Tony graciously gives in and stops fighting the misunderstanding, because it actually kind of is a brilliant idea now that he's thinking about it. Clint's nodding as Nat says something about a shared armory on their floor. Which is close enough to agreement that Tony's willing to feel downright charitable. "Mi casa and all that. Let's get some burgers and I'll call the contractors in to start designing."

Plan A is flawless, but, Tony is willing to concede, his timing could use a little more work.

.

.