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Clint walked into the kitchen, kicked his purple heels off, and hopped on the counter like he always does. The left one flew under the table, and he sincerely has no idea where the right one went. It’s not like it matters, really. He only needed it for one mission, and now the mission is over with positive feedback from him and not so positive feedback from Fury.
Whatever, he did what he needed to do and nobody died. That, in his books, is a mission well done. So why does he feel like there is something still bugging him?
Actually, he doesn’t need an answer to that. He knows why something was still bugging him. It was the dress.
Granted, it is a very pretty dress, beautiful even. It is the same shade of purple that matches the shoes and the same shade that happens to be one of his favorites.
It’s form fitting and short, so it is easier to move around in. It might be a bit too short for him to be sitting like the way that he is, if Stark walking into the kitchen with an empty cup of what he presumes is coffee, and says “No one wants to see your grey boxerbreifs Barton.” Without so much as a blink of any eye.
“You can go fuck yourself.” Clint says, purposely spreading his legs wider in a typical male fashion.
“Oh, so you’re hitting on me. I see how it is.” He finally looks up at him after refilling his cup and does a look over. “Have you always been in that dress?”
“Ever since this conversation started, yeah.” Clint is tempted to shuffle over and get a cup of his own, but everyone knows not to get between Stark and the coffee machine until he has had at least three cups. It could get ugly. “Be sure to remind me to never let you drive before you had your coffee.”
“Be sure to remember I never leave the house without my coffee.” He finished that one and started on his second cup.
“Or the lab.”
“Now you’re getting it.”
There was a pregnant pause before Stark broke it with his usual charm and subtle remarks. “So is there a reason you’re wearing a woman’s dress or are you just winging it?”
Clint looks down at his clothes instinctively. “It isn’t a woman’s dress. I’m wearing it. It’s a man’s dress.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “So, is there a reason or not?”
“I had to do it for a mission.” Clint said, strangely saying it differently than the lighthearted, teasing way he was talking a minute ago. The words felt weird and heavy in his mouth.
“You don’t sound too happy about it.” Jesus Christ, if Stark could notice it then it’s really obvious.
Clint shrugged. “Uh, it just, something bugged me about it, that’s all.”
Stark looked at him for about a minute. “If you want to talk about it I can get Bruce, or maybe Pepper. I’m shit with emotions.”
“I know that much numbnuts.”
“Now you’re insulting me. I might not even get Pepper if that is how you’re going to treat me.”
“Hey, just because I look hot doesn’t mean I’m your date. I can insult you as much as I want to, you stunted bastard.”
“It is five something in the morning, you’re living in a place I am paying for, and sitting on counters I bought. You can’t insult me.”
“Oh I can’t?” Clint raised an eyebrow. “But Natasha can? That is not fair.”
“It is fair because she scares me.” Stark said it with no hesitation and like it didn’t mean anything. Which it didn’t, because hell, she still scares Clint sometimes too.
“Touché.”
There is another pause and, just like last time, Stark is the one to break it. “Okay seriously, this is like, the eighth time you changed the subject. Something is wrong in your already fucked up mind, and you should spew whatever it is while I half listen and drink more coffee.”
“You sure are a great therapist, you know that?” Clint knew that he was stalling; he just needed to gather his words correctly. He never was all that good with his words. It’s just one of those setbacks that comes with living a part of your life in the circus without a full high school education. He does better with body language.
“Bite me.” Was all he said before moving his hands in a ‘go on’ measure.
Clint sighed, “Okay, so for the mission I had to wear this dress I picked out myself.”
“Which explains why it’s such a horrendous shade of purple.”
“Shut up, I’m venting.” Clint snaps back playfully. “Anyway, I’ve dressed as a woman before when the mission calls for it. Normally it took like, three hours for me to not look like crap and two more hours to be convincing, but whatever. I dressed as a woman before. I looked good enough and I got the mission done before anyone realized I was not a woman in any sense of the word.”
Stark looked like he would comment on it with a smartass remark, but he, surprisingly, held back. Surprising not just to Clint, but to Stark himself too.
“But this mission just called for me to wear the dress. Nothing special except the dress. Didn’t even tell me to shave – they actually said that I shouldn’t!” He almost let out a bark of laughter, but he held back. He didn’t know why he found that funny, he just did.
It was Stark’s comment of “That also explains a lot. Like your armpits.” That pushed the chuckle out.
“And on the mission, I wasn’t a lady. I was a guy in a dress. And that was funny, I guess.” That was the part that bugged him. Because he was a joke.
And yeah, he has been the butt of many jokes in his lifetime. Both growing up and being a grown up. Reasons vary, but he never likes it.
“I finished the mission though. Did just as well as I would have any other mission. I didn’t like it. Still don’t. Probably never will like it.”
Stark just looked at him, with the coffee cup in his hand at waist length. He had this look in his eyes that obviously said that he understood what he means; he didn’t have to be a spy to know that. He understood what he meant to be the joke. He understood what he meant by being there purely to be something to laugh at.
A part of him wondered if there was something more to Tony than what he knew already. Maybe he didn’t have an as ‘glorious’ of a reputation in high school and college than he did when he was an adult.
It’s something that he knows not to ask about.
“Well, now I know what types of jokes not to tell.” Tony joked. Because he’s that kind of person. They both are. Jokes are constant. They can be used to defuse a situation or as a defense mechanism. “It’s getting late. For you that is. I still have work to do. ‘M gonna go back to the lab.” He raised his (refilled) coffee cup as a goodbye and moved towards the door.”
“Thanks,” Clint said. Considering who they both are, it meant a lot more than just a regular ‘thanks’. Thanks for Tony listenting to other people bitch about their problems. Thanks for Clint to bitch about his actual problems and not fake ones for once.
Tony waved in a gesture that said ‘hey, doesn’t matter’ with his back turned even though it did matter.
Maybe he and Stark – Tony. Maybe he and Tony can get along better than they suspected.