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an iron fist made of words and an air duct made of metal (really terrible metal)

Chapter Text

Really, the argument had started like any other.

It was something about the team, it had to be; Steve thought they should gather in this formation, Tony thought they should gather in the opposite—“Tony, you can’t be at the front by yourself—“ “Yes, I can, the suit will—“ “You can’t always rely on the suit, you know that? You aren’t the suit, and what if—“ “I’m the closest thing to the suit, Rogers, now, c’mon, I’ll be fine, just can it with this—“—and then more things were said, and they fired and fired until they weren’t talking about the Avengers, or the suit, at all.

“I just don’t get how you’re so ungrateful, Tony, please, you can’t just—”

“Ungrateful?” Oh, this is the part Tony remembers like a dream, with faded edges but crisp inner lines. “Look, Captain Rogers, I’ll argue with you about anything, but when it only boils down to me, and things that I am, I won’t. Sorry that I can’t stick around for another few punches in the face, nice talk we had here. See you.”

The look Steve gave him there looked like a knife had been stuck in his back. His eyes grew wide and lucid, but slowly took on a very lidded, tired look; he backed away before Tony did, and did a swift jog down the S.H.I.E.L.D. hallway. Tony checked to make sure that he had not, in fact, been jabbed.

It took Tony a week of tossing and turning what he said before he realized what had made Steve run instead of jabbing back; he would’ve taken less time {probably} if he wasn’t so focused on the weird things Steve was doing around him.

He’d nod to Tony in the hallway just like he did to everyone else on the team, instead of pressing his lips into a tight line; he’d listen to Tony’s ideas, and even implement a few without qualm. Tony would lightly, lightly start the fuel for an argument, but Steve wouldn’t have it. He’d say something like “Thanks for the input, Mr. Stark” or “That’ll be all, Stark”, but the second was only when he was really angry. It was easy to tell when he was biting his tongue to keep himself from arguing, because his jaw would clench and his brows would draw together, and—Tony remembers the one time he fired and insult, just to see what would happen.

Steve just got up out of the meeting room and walked out.

And, alright, Tony would’ve gone after him to apologize if Natasha hadn’t grabbed his arm and pulled him out.

“Listen, Stark,” And ouch, that was never a good way to stark a conversation, especially with Natasha. “I really don’t get you, honestly.”

“What?”

“He’s trying to be the bigger person here, Tony.” She shifted her eyes from Tony to where Steve had begun walking. “Why don’t you try to be an adult, too? It’d be a nice look on you.”

There was a softness to her words that Tony didn’t expect, and he assumed it came from her respect from Steve. Tony nodded slowly, unprofessionally, before walking down the corridor. He could apologize, yeah. Apologizing was easy.

When Tony found Steve, he was sitting against a wall, fiddling with his thumbs.

“C’mon, Rogers, don’t tell me you were waiting for me?”

“No, I just—” He stopped and narrowed his eyes, as if he just understood it was Tony there, not anyone else. He sighed deeply, and Tony watched his chest rise and fall. “Steve.”

“What?”

“Quit calling me ‘Rogers’, or ‘Captain Rogers’. Call me Steve.”

“Ah, uh, alright. Sure. Now look, I figured that I’d come and…” His words fell into the blank space of the corridor. He really didn’t know what he was doing.

Steve stood up, not missing a beat, and shook his head. “No, Tony. Don’t apologize.”

“I was egging you on the whole week, Steve, come on—”

“And I was the one throwing punches.” He seemed to flinch at his own words, as if he didn’t believe them, before stepping through a door Tony hadn’t even seen.

He didn’t bother to chase Steve, because he knew that was a closing statement if he’d ever heard {or seen} one.

***

“’Throwing punches’?” Pepper asked, raising one carefully sculpted brow at him. “And that’s what he said?”

Tony nodded, eyes draining the coffee he was holding; it was still awkward to be around Pepper, at least he felt—if she thought so, she did a good job of not showing it. But Pepper always did a good job, so Tony wasn’t that surprised, really.

Pepper sighed lightly, and smiled; it wasn’t sweet, like an “I-feel-for-you” smile, it was almost like she was laughing at him. “Tony,” she began, tone airy; Tony could swear there were notes of mockery sprinkled in.

“Is this the part where you tell me it’s all my fault?”

“No, okay, maybe. Just shush, Tony.” And then she giggled, and it was one of the first times he had heard her laugh at him since before—it. “Steve’s a good man, Tony, he is, you two just—rub each other the wrong way, really. You’re opposites. But it’s clear that… He thought he was, ah,”

She paused and pursed her lips before continuing. “He thought he was being like a bully, Tony.”

Tony laughed, because really?—Captain America: the bully.

Oh. ’Sorry that I can’t stick around for another few punches in the face’. ‘And I was the one throwing punches’. Oh.

“Judging by the face you just made, I’m assuming you pieced something together?” She smiled and rose from the table. “I’ll talk to you later, Tony. And don’t forget about those reports, I need your signature on them by Friday.”

***

It took Tony four days to find Steve, because he was so quick to escape from meetings when they were over that Tony didn’t have a chance, not even in the suit. He asked Natasha for help {she laughed}; he asked Bruce, too, and Thor, and they both shook their heads and smirked.

That’s how he ended up in a S.H.I.E.L.D. air duct with one Clint Barton and one Clint Barton’s incredibly stupid jokes.

“Come on, this is fun, Tony! Just some good male bonding time, right?”

Tony scoffed. “Barton, if you ever say ‘male bonding time’ again, I will hit you.”

“Now, Tony,” he said, still stifling giggles {the man giggled like a school girl, for Christ’s sake}, “aren’t we finding Steve so you two can have some nice male bonding time?”

“Barton, as soon as we get out of this damned air duct I am going to smack you.”

“Oooh, fighting words those are, Tony. Steve wouldn’t like it if I returned you damaged, would he?”

Tony tried to swipe at him, but Clint was faster, and he rounded a turn with excellent speed. “Clint,” Tony bit out, and no, he was not going to laugh, “If you honestly think that I’m trying to court Captain America then I hope you’re in for some heartbreaking ne—shit!”

Yes, Tony Stark just fell through an air duct because he was trying to find someone so he could apologize. “This is the last time I ever try to apologize to anyone ever. And fuck you, Clint.”

“Oh, god. Tony?” Clint’s words could’ve portrayed worry, if he wasn’t laughing horrendously in between them. Tony looked up and saw Clint’s head poking through the hole, and his face was flushed from copious amounts of giggling.

“Tony?” And that was someone else, and it sure as hell wasn’t Clint, because Tony was staring at Clint, and yep, Clint’s eyes widened significantly before he giggled more and scurried away. Tony swore he whispered ‘mission accomplished’ into a walkie-talkie; then again, he did just fall from the ceiling to the floor. Oh, and Captain America saw. Right.

“Tony, are you alright?—was that Clint up there?” His arms were folded and his brows were tucked together in a neat furrow, and Tony wondered if that was his ‘I’m worried because you’re hurt’ face or his ‘I’m worried because you’re insane’ face. Maybe it was a mixture of the two.

Tony didn’t reply for a while, because he didn’t quite know what to say. He was trying to run the odds of this happening in his head, but he couldn’t quite piece them together. Where were they, anyways?

“So, was there a specific reason you decided to fall into my room from the ceiling, or is this normal for you?”

There couldn’t be odds for this, nope, this had to be impossible. Out of every room in S.H.I.E.L.D., he fell into Captain America’s—and Clint. It was Clint.

“Fuck you, Clint, fuck you!” He screamed it as loud as he could and pretended not to hear the ‘you’re welcome, Tony!’. “—Uh, well,”

Steve was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed along his chest; he looked like a statue of something, locked in place, and he was smiling at Tony, smirking if anything. Progress, Tony thought, we’re making progress.

Then his face shifted and he pushed himself off of the wall. “Are you sure you’re alright, though? It was, ah, an interesting fall, I’ll go as far to say.” Then he laughed, and if that didn’t sound amazing, Tony didn’t know what did.

Then he smacked himself, because no-no-no, he could not like Steve, no way. Steve gave him a wry look. “I’m not making a very convincing case that I am fine, am I?”

“Not really.” He cracked another smile and offered his hand to help Tony up.

Tony was trying not to think of how weird this was, because just yesterday they had been avoiding each other like fire and ice; just a week ago, they had been in their effervescent rut of arguing, and now it seemed—it seemed like they were friends, or acquaintances at the least. It was different, and peculiar, but it felt normal.

“So,” Steve started again, this time wearing a mischievous grin, “Am I going to have to force you to S.H.I.E.L.D. medical, or will you go without qualm?”

Tony bolted.

Well, he tried to: he let go of Steve’s hand, and ran straight for the door, but he did not account for Steve trying to grab his shirt. He writhed free, giggling {he was pretty sure there were three people giggling: him, Steve, and that son of a bitch Clint}, and then he ran right into the wall.

There was a “smooth moves, Tony Stark”, from the ceiling, and then an “Oh, god, Tony?” from beside him.

Tony tried to say “don’t take me to medical” but it sounded more like “domtnmmektjomedicllll”.

Steve understood anyways. “No, Tony, I am definitely taking you to medical.”

And that’s how everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. {and everyone in the Avengers} had a video of Steve carrying Tony wedlock style.

Tony would be sure to give Clint something real special, maybe something that exploded and was full of shit. And then, maybe, some new arrows or something, because he did owe him that at least. Maybe Natasha, too, because she had to be in on it—Clint doesn’t think of that stuff on his own. And hell, why not to Bruce and Thor as well? Plus, if he and Steve were almost friends now...

Tony figured out how to give everyone a gift while Steve was carrying him out of his room: it was dank and boring, and it didn’t even have a window. Tony knew that Natasha and Clint had to stay here as well between missions, and they wouldn’t let Bruce go because—of, well, the Hulk.

So, Tony decided, he’d move them into the Tower. Or the mansion. Or something. They’d all be together, yeah. It’d be “for the good of the team”—that’s what he’d tell Fury, he’d like that. “Improved work ethics” would be another good one, too. 

Chapter Text

Fury didn’t take the news like Tony thought he would.

“Nice one, Stark.” And then Fury did what could be described as a guffaw, but Fury doesn’t guffaw.

“So,” Tony said, making it a point to waggle his brows, “That’s a yes?”

Fury’s face fell like a two-ton truck down a mountainside. “No, Stark, that’s a hell no.”

“C’mon, it’s like a headquarters. We’ll all be in New York blah blah you know, right where shit happens! We can hold meetings there and if it’d make your head shinier Coulson can have a room. Or a closet. A coffin. For whatever he is. Please?”

If at all possible, Fury looked even less impressed. “I’ll think about it. Now get the fuck out of here, Stark.”

Tony tried his hardest not to smile at that, because if there was anything he should’ve taken from his childhood it was that “I’ll think about it” meant “no”, but he could only contain it until he was outside of Fury’s office door.

“So you’re moving us into the mansion?!”

Tony whirled around and saw Clint, the little shit. “Oh no. Not you. You’re not invited.”

Clint huffed and did a scarily accurate mimic of a little girl’s voice: “I’m gonna tell my mom on you!”

“Oh, yeah, because Coulson’s gonna make me invite you. Ha-ha.”

“If it comes to that, Stark.”

Tony jumped. “Oh fuck it all, seriously?”

Coulson’s eyes looked amused as he shoved a thick stack of papers in Tony’s hands. “Here, you’ve been approved. And I expect a jacuzzi in my room for this, Stark.” He was gone just as quickly as he appeared, footsteps falling down the hallway.

“How’d he do that so quickly?” Tony asked, turning to Clint.

“It’s easier on the brain if you just accept it.”

***

Tony had to make a note to himself that saying “Avengers Assemble” via text was not an apt way to get everyone to meet somewhere, because they showed up at the shawarma joint decked in their uniforms. And they did not look happy.

“Tony, we use that if there’s a problem,” Steve said, forefinger and thumb on the bridge of his nose. They’d gotten a booth and free food, though, on the plus side. “Not if you want to have lunch.”

“You all should’ve assumed that if I texted the address of a restaurant that it wasn’t serious, I mean really? Earth’s mightiest heroes, everyone.”

“Don’t you try to peg this on us, man.” Clint looked nervous; he kept fiddling with his outfit. “Look at all of these people staring. I bet they think we’re, like, impersonators or something.”

Natasha smirked. “Bruce’ll show ‘em impersonation.”

Bruce snorted airily and then sighed, smoothing his pants with his hands. “And they’ll never see it coming.”

There was a good round of chuckles and then the food came; everyone ate quickly, because they were quite ready to leave and change into civilian clothes. “Okay,” Tony started, eying everyone individually, “guess what?”

“We get to move into the mansion!” Clint said, looking way too damn happy for ruining the surprise.

Tony threw his hands up. “Seriously, Clint? Goddammit. Well, yeah. I talked to Fury and through an act of God—“ Clint coughed and said “Coulson”—“He said we could all be there, like a headquarters. You’d all have your own rooms, yada yada yada, details, whatever. So! You’re all in, right?”

They all seemed to exchange looks with each other and then shrug in unison. “You sure about this, Tony?” Steve asked, giving him a wry look.

“Sure as I’ll ever be, Cap.”

“It won’t be terrible, I don’t think. Beats S.H.I.E.L.D.’s shitty windowless rooms anyways.” Natasha smiled, an honest smile, and everyone was a bit taken aback. Natasha wasn’t one for big smiles.

Thor slammed his hands on the table. “That is a remarkable thing for you to do, Tony! To offer to house all of us, it is truly a testament of your character!” He was smiling and basically being Thor, no surprises there.

Bruce looked a bit uneasy. “Are you sure—with—the other guy, Tony?”

“It needs renovation anyways.” he said, planting a grin on his face. “Well, I guess you guys can go back to whatever you were doing. I’ll text you the details and when you guys can come by, okay?”

“That’s all you called us here for? You couldn’t have just sent a text or an e-mail or something, Tony?” Natasha stood and crossed her arms.

Steve snickered. “He was excited, let’s let him off for this one.”

“Really Steve, really?”

“Are you saying you weren’t excited to tell us?”

***

The actual, literal “moving them in” part was not fun, even though Tony had rented out half of the moving trucks in the area. Steve and Thor said that they didn’t need to get movers, as they could do it, but the others were less inclined to watch them have one of their little competitions, so Tony still got movers.

“Thor and Steve could compete using their own stuff,” Natasha had said, “not my stuff.”

Everyone on the team held similar sentiments, so Thor and Steve were having a great time seeing who could throw the sofa the farthest.

That, as to be expected when being played by a god and a super soldier, did not end well. Steve spun and whirled the couch and it nearly took out a moving truck; as if that wasn’t funny enough, Steve felt so terrible about it that he was reduced to a blushing, tomato-hued mess. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, oh my god, oh my god what if someone was in that truck I’m so sorry—“

“Captain,” the head mover had said, “shut up.”

Everyone especially liked the head mover.

(Steve still apologized after that, but then the head mover said “son, don’t make me smack you upside the head”, so Steve stopped.)

The person who had the most stuff was Thor, and it surprised everyone a bit. He had tons upon tons of boxes of knick-knacks and things from Asguard; he had two sofas (well, one now), six beanbag chairs, and a mini-fridge, along with the “necessities” of a room. And lots of battle armor, but they didn’t have to keep all of it in their rooms.

“Jesus, Thor, you been going to college between missions?” Clint was carrying a beanbag chair from the truck to the house. “Seriously, what the hell? Where do you even buy beanbag chairs with a pattern that resembles bus seats?”

“I was told by the clerk that they were of top quality and that they were a “steal”, so I helped myself to all they had. Jane has the rest of them, she will be bringing them by later.” Thor looked mildly proud of himself.

Clint, however, looked like he was going to throw up. “Where are we even going to put these?”

They ended up all on Thor’s floor, and you couldn’t see any of the hard-wood floor beneath them. At least Thor was having the time of his life rolling along (but sometimes his foot would get stuck in a crack and he’d curse the beanbags to something-or-other).

After everything was moved into their rooms, they all began to migrate towards the living room; unpacking could be done later, they figured. Thor straight up flopped onto the floor; Natasha slumped into a big chair, and Bruce took the one next to her; Steve drooped onto one end of the couch, Tony collapsed in the middle, and Clint sat on the other end. He slid off onto the floor soon after, grumbling and groaning but not making an effort to get back onto the couch.

“We should’ve let the movers do all of it. Or at least Thor’s mega-beanbags.” Clint slid further onto the floor. “I swear if I ever see one of those again…”

“Hey,” Steve said, stifling a laugh, “you’re the one who wanted to try to carry three at a time.”

Clint mimicked Steve’s words, moving his hand like a sock puppet. “Blah blah blah, blah blah, I’m Steve and I can carry four blah blah if I had six arms I could carry thirty blah blah, yada yada.”

“Quit bein’ jealous of the super soldier, Clint.” Tony said, smiling, “Take pride knowing that if you gave him a bow and arrow, he’d hurl it like that sofa.”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about the sofa incident.”

“No, you told us not to speak of it. I’m just doing my job and ignoring what you say.”

Steve snorted and did his effortless half-smirk before lightly shoving Tony with his shoulder. Tony shoved back harder. “Oh no, Cap, no. I’m not playing that with you, I’ll come out of it with serious injuries.”

Steve laughed and then shoved back, but it was obvious he was being careful, because Tony was right. So Tony drilled his fingers into Steve’s side, trying to tickle him.

There was an immediate reaction—Steve yelped, not screamed, not bellowed, he yelped and then started giggling (much like Clint does, Tony realized), and then he was flailing, and it was just so fucking funny that Tony started cracking up and then Bruce barked, a big, throaty laugh as well, and then everyone was laughing, except for Clint.

Clint was crying, he had laughed so hard he was crying, lying on the floor like he’d been wounded. And then everyone was watching Clint, because there was a moment of fear where they thought he was choking on something; Thor went up behind him and smacked, and Clint ended up with his face in the couch cushion.

And then everyone laughed more, and Steve was blushing and Clint was too; Bruce and Tony were silently snickering, and Natasha only bore a smile. Thor was heaving on the ground.

It took them all a good bit to regain their composure. Clint was still giggling, though. “Jesus, Steve, who wouldda thought?”

Steve shrugged, still blushing, and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I…?”

Thor stood up. “I am next in line for being forced to bellow!”

Everyone laughed again, but it was more concealed giggling than anything else.