A/N

Hello, dear readers! Welcome to Iron Beta: All is Fair in Love and war, the second book in the Iron Beta series.

This chapter is dedicated to Currahee506, who wanted a scene later in the chapter to happen long ago.

Chapter 1

"Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Birthday to you!

Happy Birthday dear Taylor,

Happy Birthday to you!"

I tilt my head and count to ten as I wait for the inevitable other shoe to drop.

"Happy Birthday to you

You live in a zoo.

You look like a monkey,

And you smell like one too!"

"Thanks, Dad." I laugh, "But you just called your Tower a zoo."

"I most certainly did not!"

"Oh, but you did! Second line, you said-"

"Both of you!" Natasha cuts in. "Can we not do this today please? If both of you don't shut up I will start throwing cake, don't think I won't."

"Sorry Natashalie."

"Sorry Tasha."

"It's alright. Now Taylor, come blow out your candles so I can eat the cake if I'm not gonna be throwing it at people."

I chuckle softly as I step towards the table and approach the cake.

The cake is a white frosted beauty with purple hand-piped decorations and frosting letters spelling out "Happy 18th, Taylor!" on top, surrounded by various nicknames such as sparrow or glowstick in fancy script.

I lean towards the eighteen candles and huff and puff as I blow out the candles, making a silent wish as I let my eyes take in my team/family gathered around the table.

Once I come back up, my dad cheers and runs out of the room towards the kitchen, screaming "Let them eat cake!" all the while.

"Shame on you, dad! Nobody ever said that!"

My dad sticks his tongue out at me as he comes back with the cake knife.

I roll my eyes at his childlike motion as he begins slicing the cake.

I gratefully accept my paper plate with a center slice, easy on the frosting – just how I like it – before going over to sit on one of the couches.

Natasha soon joins me, and we strike up small talk about daggers, guns, killing devices, and dangerous things in general.

You know, normal small talk between an eighteen-year-old and her surrogate aunt.

As Natasha tips her head back and laughs at a remark I made, I can feel someone's eyes on us, making me squirm. I glance quickly around the room to find the source of the gaze, and I do.

I eventually look over Natasha's shoulder to see my best friend, archery mentor, and crush of three years, Clint Barton, boring his eyes into Natasha's back. As he notices me watching him, he immediately looks down towards his cake, then shoves his plate away like it has burned him and almost runs out of the room.

I tilt my head and furrow my brow as I try and decipher what I just saw.

"Taylor?"

"What?" I snap, ninety-five percent of my brain fully focused on what I just witnessed and not happy at the interruption.

Then the other five percent kicks in and I turn to see Natasha staring at me, wide eyed at my sudden flare.

"Oh...sorry Natasha. Listen, I've got to go to...the bathroom! Yeah, the bathroom...I'll be right back!" I stutter as I run off, ignoring Natasha's calls and kicking myself for my horrible lying skills.

I stop in front of the bathroom door, but instead of going in like I had said, I look up towards my real plan.

The vent cover. I raise my left wrist and fire a net at it via glove, and leave it swinging on its hinges as I detach. I raise my right wrist, the prosthetic one, and fire into the dark vent space. I use a button on my wrist to pull myself in.

As soon as my boots hit metal, I scurry inside before pausing to think about where I was heading.

Clint running out had something to do with either me or Natasha. He bolted as soon as he saw me looking at him. He probably knew I saw him bolt and most likely knew I would come after him, which I was. He wouldn't be in any of the places he usually frequents, that would be too easy. So he's not in the rafters, vents, his room, or the archery range. He would be in a place he doesn't go to, a place nobody would expect. I ponders this for a moment, before jumping up so fast I slam my head on the top of the vent.

His office! Why didn't I think of that sooner?

When The Avengers split from S.H.I.E.L.D. three years ago, Clint and Natasha were left unemployed, so my dad hired them as connections (their job title reads Private Specialized Team Contact, but that's a mouthful), and they each got an office next to my dad's and mine.

I quickly make my way towards the nearest elevator, dropping out of the vents and stepping inside, pressing the button for business level four. I tap my foot as the elevator crawls upwards, huffing impatiently at the speed.

"Come on Jarvis, step on it, I might be dealing with an emotional crisis here!"

"Right away, ma'am."

The elevator shoots up and soon I step out onto the highest business floor. I pop back into the vents to avoid the bigwigs crawling around this floor and make my way towards the high ranking offices.

I pass over the CEO's office (my dad), the Vice President's office (mine), and Natasha's office before crossing the hall and peering through the vent cover.

Clint is hunched over his desk, his arms crossed and providing a pillow for his head. The purple hoodie I got him for his birthday, the one with the quiver design on the back and the arrow shaped zipper, has his head covered with the hood and the sleeve are pulled over his hands.

I gently ease open the vent cover and drop with a quiet thump in a crouch in front of his desk.

"Clint?" I call softly, "Are you okay?" I come around his desk to lay a hand lightly on his shoulder, and he jumps at the touch.

"What? I-I um, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

I raise an eyebrow in what has been called my really? Are you kidding me? look.

He sighs, and rubs a hand over his face. "No. No, I'm not okay."

I pull up one of the cushy chairs around the room and sit. "Come, talk to sparrow." I invite in a horrible imitation of a European grandmother.

He chuckles slightly and begins. "I...I asked Natasha out on a date earlier."

I stiffen, not because I'm worried she said yes, but because I know that she said no. He's her friend and teammate, that's it.

Clint glances at me and sighs again upon seeing my expression. "You already know what she said, don't you?"

"I'm so sorry, Clint."

Clint sighs again and I move my chair around next to his so he can put his head on my shoulder. I gently run my fingers through his tousled hair as he continues.

"I don't even know why I'm taking this so hard. I mean, there are a lot more beautiful girls on this team, let alone in New York." I can feel the heat build in my cheeks and I am ever so thankful he can't see my blush. I'm the only female on the team besides Natasha, so...

"Have you ever dated anyone, sparrow?"

"Nah, never dated. Well, I did have a crush on this one guy all throughout middle school, but basically thought I was invisible, and then social media informed me he has a girlfriend, one of those beach blonde bimbos." Clint and I both wrinkle our noses at my last words. "I mean, I do have a crush on this one guy right now, but..." I trail off and shake my head sadly.

"Who is it? I'm sure he'd be lucky to have you. You're a genius, you're beautiful, you're courageous and strong, and you can kick major butt. Any guy would be lucky to have you." Clint picks his head up to look at me.

I blush deeply at his words and duck my head to hide my face. I can hear him chuckle softly and then I freeze as he falls suddenly silent.

"Taylor, hey, look at me for a second." He taps my chin up until I'm forced to look him in the eyes.

His beautiful blue-green-gray eyes sparkle as he continues. "You're so determined, you fight viciously for what you believe in, and you protect those you love with the fierceness of a tiger. Any guy would be lucky to treat you like the most precious gold on the planet."

With each word he leaned a little closer, and by the end of his little speech, our noses were millimeters away from each other. Each breath he takes hits my lips, and his eyes stare into my own. His next words were barely audible. "That guy was a moron."

Then he closes his eyes, swallows audibly, and does something I've dreamed of for three years.

He closes the millimeter-wide gap and smashes his lips against mine.

My normally mile-a-minute brain freezes. Fireworks erupt in my head and flash behind my eyes. I breathe in a scent of old wood, leather, and shampoo that is just so Clint.

We eventually separate after a kiss that seems much too short, and we're both gasping and blushing. Clint brings one hand up to caress my cheek as we just stare into each other's eyes for another eternity.

Clint opens his mouth, and I wince and start coming up with excuses for what just happened.

"Taylor Maria Stark, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?"

Wait, say what now?

"What-I-I…I…yes!" I sputter and gape and blush.

Clint – my boyfriend! – laughs and leans in for another kiss, but we both freeze and jump apart when we hear footsteps outside.

And just in time, too – because the door opens to reveal my dad, of all people.

I fight down my blush as my dad looks at me, then Clint, then me again and narrows his eyes. "Am I interrupting something?"

"What? Psh, no, 'course not." I scoff as I glance between my dad and Clint as Clint and I share a glance that says nobody must know. At least, not him.

"Well, I was just coming to tell you we're opening presents upstairs. Coming, birthday girl?"

"Yeah, be right behind you."

My dad nods and shuts the door.

I, too, walk out and down the hall towards the elevator.

But not before grabbing Clint's hand.