What with one really hacked off, barely sentient proto-reptilian thing and another (and an entirely unfair round of 'Not It!' before Tony was ready) he and Barton wind up with somebody's screaming...baby on their hands. Not in his contract, thank you very much, and if it hadn't looked like Steve was going to bust out the Bambi eyes, and Natasha's heinous betrayal during the second round of rock, paper, scissors--anyway, babies, yay! Who doesn't love babies? Apparently, NY CPS who are literally nowhere when Tony makes all the totally correct and responsible noises about dropping the kid on a doorstep and running. Whatever, he makes Barton carry the bassinet to the mansion with a pointed reminder of the big shiny repulser muzzles built into his palms, and swears he'll meet them at the door. He's even nice enough not to blast up in the air that fast, because Barton's a baby whisperer and the thing's stopped crying, finally.
It's pretty clear that Big and Scaly had a real hard on for Times Square, and Tony makes sure to buzz the remains of MTV's big bay windows on his way out, and waves at all the response worker as he passes the cordon they've set up.
"JARVIS, pull out the purse strings, toss a couple thousand to Red Cross, okay?" he says, angling his legs for higher elevation. Sonic booms are always better heard, than felt, and good press reduces Pepper's blood pressure and the lawyers' bills later on.
He can see Barton's crappy dodge double-parked outside the mansion when he lands on crash pad he installed in the garden. A stray tail flip jammed the catches on the chestplate pretty damn hard, so it takes awhile to get the suit off--whatever, he's not stalling--but he and Barton meet up in the entryway to the main living area, and they've lost the bassinet somewhere, hopefully they're not gonna make Tony pay for that, Barton lost it. He's even got the kid sleeping in a little frilly baby bag thing strapped to his chest, all chubby fists and little kicking feet. It's kind of hilarious, like the kid's trying to climb Barton's abs or something.
"Are they supposed to move around like that?" Tony asks, putting his hands in his jeans' pockets and leaning in for a closer look. He wrinkles his nose; Barton reeks. "JARVIS, do babies--hey!"
Barton elbows him out of the way, and goes to sit down in the living room, where none of those other traitors he's let into his home rent-free have dared to show themselves. Tony follows because...whatever, what else is he gonna do, shower? He's pretty sure babies know when you're clean and hone in to fuck that up; Pepper has cousins, he knows things. Barton sets the kid's chest-hugging bag down on the couch, and, like, pets it, or something. Well, maybe him. They make the boys wear blue, right? Are the yellow ducks non-gender specific? The baby makes a funny noise, whiny little scratchy grumbles, and Barton looks up at the ceiling, licking his lips and squinting.
"JARVIS?" Tony says, stepping down to the sunken living room floor. "Lights at 30 percent."
"Yes sir," JARVIS says, and his voice is hushed which--which damn Tony's good, he'd known installing those sensors in the doorway would work out, because that is JARVIS' hangover-level volume right there without needing to be told, or having to inquire for specific instructions. Fuck yeah, Bruce is gonna shit himself when Tony tells him about that, and--wait, that is a disgusting thought. No, Bruce is gonna be really, non-disgustingly happy and Steve will be adorably bewildered by life again, and Tony is going to make so many Hal jokes--
"Any word on the mother?" Clint asks. "That Doombot shot my earpiece out."
Tony blinks, and for a second he can't remember what sort of mother Clint's talking about, unless he thinks of Tony as JARVIS' mother which...no.
"Uh, no," he says, because the only thing Hill ever says to him is usually paired with a reference to something Tony would find painful.
Clint looks up, quiet, but not pants-crappingly still in a way he sometimes is after a fight, and nods at him. He takes his hand off the baby's stomach, and fiddles with the dusty blue strap of the bag it's in. He's in? God, why can't they come color-coded like explosive wires?
"JARVIS," Clint says, looking up at the ceiling which Tony generally finds hilarious. "Can we get an order for...uh..." he looks down at the baby. "How old do you think this little guy is, anyway?"
Tony shrugs. "Usually I let the paternity tests take care of that."
He puts his hands in his pockets and flops down next to Clint. The couch shudders and the baby starts making high-pitched noises like a timer. Clint elbows him again what is up, but before Tony can make him pay for it, Barton's already reaching down, lifting the baby out of the bag with his hands at ten and two, and making utterly revolting shushing noises. He sets the baby in against his chest, cupping its barely hairy head, and maybe Tony should stop staring, but Barton's hand is really, really big next to that baby, and...
"I believe the child to be approximately five months old, judging by his average height and estimated weight, Agent Barton," JARVIS breaks in.
Barton nods. "Okay, then I think we're gonna need, uh, that malt-o-meal stuff that isn't malt-o-meal?"
He looks at Tony. Tony raises his hands. "Hey, you're apparently the expert here," he says.
"I shall place an order for rice cereal," JARVIS says smoothly. "Delivery in twenty minutes."
Clint nods, shushing the baby and rubbing its--no, JARVIS said he, it's a boy--his back. He's making weird snuffling sounds, pulling on the edges of Clint's uniform. Really tiny fingers.
"I used to babysit, sometimes," Clint says, without looking up. "Hold a baby, you'll get a meal, that sort of thing."
Tony bites back his first impulse, and then his second and third for good measure, because occasionally he recognizes that he's a rich son of a bitch and that's more about Barton's past than he's learned in seven months. He stands up, and puts his hands on his hips. "Right," he says, looking down at Barton's rough, carefully placed hands. "I'll just...go find one of Steve's t-shirts so we can get him out of that onesie. No telling what's in New York debris these days."
It's closer to midnight when the SHIELD agent shows up, a very worried mother with her arm in a sling and fire in her eyes by his side. By that time the littlest Avenger has gone through, like, two of Steve's shirts and more diapers than Tony had ever wanted to see (re: two, maybe three, that wasn't his fault) but everyone's still alive and so, you know, no harm no foul.