“Let me just get this straight,” Fury says, and even though his voice is coming through a conference phone and Fury himself is (probably) several hundred miles away, Clint finds himself leaning back defensively in his chair. “Banner and Romanov switched bodies.”
“Yessir,” Coulson says. After coming around from being tranqued, Natasha was put in the most soothing room they could manage on short notice. She hasn’t Hulked out again, yet, but they’ve all come to a wordless agreement that it’s probably best not to test her control anytime soon. At the moment, Pepper and Coulson are the only ones allowed to get anywhere near her.
Bruce is spending most of his time trying not to touch his body, or look at his body, or do anything with his body that might be interpreted badly by Natasha at a later date. Clint’s pretty sure that the first time he has to go to the bathroom he’s going to have a nervous breakdown.
“Rogers is no longer a super-soldier.”
“The original project kept very complete records,” Coulson says. “From what we can tell, Captain Rogers has returned to exactly the state he was in before the serum took effect.”
“Stark’s a woman.”
“Yes,” Coulson says, and for a moment even he looks uncomfortable about this. Tony has decided to cope with his situation by wearing the most revealing clothing he can possibly find and calling everyone’s attention to his breasts as frequently as possible. Tony is, in fact, currently leaning against the edge of the conference room table in a manner that can only be termed ‘pornographic’, wearing jeans and a t-shirt he attacked with scissors.
The ragged shirt and ill-fitting pants should not be nearly as hot as they are, and they should not work so seamlessly with Tony’s very visible arc reactor. Clint mostly blames this on the fact that Tony refuses to wear a bra.
“Thor’s in a coma. And Loki is a child with no memory of being a supervillain.”
“Yessir. That’s an accurate summary.”
“And Barton’s fine? Doesn’t think he’s a newt or anything?”
“Uh, no. Sir.” Clint says when Coulson gives him a pointed look. Actually, being a newt sounds kind of peaceful at the moment. Clint’s fairly sure they don’t have the mental capacity to be this confused.
“In other words, what you’re saying is that my elite superhero team now consists of an assassin who can’t be around other people, a genius engineer who can’t focus on anything but his new breasts, a skinny asthmatic from Brooklyn, a man in a coma, and Barton.”
Coulson actually winces. Clint’s estimation of the situation, never that bright to begin with, darkens rapidly. “Yes.”
There’s a long silence. Clint can’t decide if it’s because Fury’s apoplectic with rage or has put them on mute to hide the fact he’s laughing his ass off.
Scratch that. Fury would just laugh at them. Apoplexy it is.
“I expect that the next phone call I get will be news of a solution to this problem, Agent Coulson.” The line goes dead.
Tony pouts. Very unfairly, it’s a good look on him. “He didn’t even ask for a picture.”
“He has access to the surveillance footage, Mr. Stark,” Coulson says briskly, gathering his things and heading for the door.
“What should we do now?” Clint asks.
“Hm?” Coulson says mildly. “Well, I’m going to go have a drink. I’d suggest you all try not to kill each other before I get back. If you can think of a solution to this, that would be excellent.” He pauses at the door and adds, “And don’t get Mr. Stark pregnant, please. You’re in charge, Mr. Barton.”
Clint gapes at the empty doorway. “I think that was the Agent Coulson version of a nervous breakdown,” he says, and, more importantly, “I don’t want to be in charge.”
Tony’s not listening - he’s looking contemplatively down the front of his shirt. “I think I’m going to go pick somebody up in a bar,” he says thoughtfully. “I think I owe it to my future female sexual partners to learn as much as I can while I have this body. I have a fantastic rack and curves in all the right places and they really should be shared with the world.”
Clint rests his head gently on the table. “Whatever, just don’t pick up Coulson by accident.”
Tony cackles. It’s not reassuring, so Clint waits until he’s gone to take his head off the table.