Clint's channel-flipping when Tony wanders in, plops down on the couch, and lists over into his lap with a sigh. Clint got used to this long before he married Tony, so he just lifts his arm out of the way and props it on top of Tony's head when his husband is settled. "Steve kick you out of the hospital?" he asks, and flips channels again.
"And took my phone," Tony says, sounding aggravated. "He said something about sleep, but that's bullshit, everyone knows I don't need sleep, sleep is for the weak."
"Oh," Clint says, ignoring the ramble, "okay, that explains why you only texted me seven million pictures of Amy instead of the twenty million you sent of Elizabeth."
"My daughters," Tony says, with as much dignity as he can given his position, "are the most beautiful, wonderful, perfect children ever to grace this planet or any other. Everyone should get to appreciate their amazingness."
Clint reflects, not for the first time, that it's a damned good thing those girls have Pepper and Steve, because otherwise they would be the most spoiled rotten kids in existence. "And you wonder why Steve sent you home. You sound stoned."
"'M not," Tony says, half-muffled by Clint's thigh. A moment later he adds, "Well. High off fatherhood. You wait until you have kids. Then you'll see."
Fat chance, but Clint doesn't say that out loud. He just pats Tony on the head and flips some more channels, and they might have eventually fallen asleep like that except Director Fury comes in and wings a package at Tony's head.
Clint catches it, because really, he's the only one allowed to be that kind of asshole, and then drops it on Tony's shoulder, because he is that kind of asshole. Tony yells a couple of obscenities at them both and sits up, package in one hand, rubbing his shoulder with the other. "The hell was that for?"
"Seven million pictures," Director Fury says, and disappears again. Not that Clint knows what he was doing here in the first place. Come to think of it, he's been spending a disturbing amount of time around the tower and Tony. Clint isn't sure he wants to know why.
"Fuck you too!" Tony yells after him, then looks down at the package. "That's freakishly heavy."
"What's in it?" Clint asks, leaning over. It's just a plain brown-papered box, addressed to Tony and sent by SixBySix.com. He knows that site, is kind of fond of it, actually, because they weren't afraid to joke about Tony collecting Avengers but didn't secretly believe it.
"This may surprise you, Clint," Tony says, "but I don't actually have X-ray vision. Working on it, though."
If Clint's surprised face upon this revelation bears a striking resemblance to his bored face, well, that is a total coincidence.
Tony ignores him anyway in favor of ripping into the package. He opens things like a five-year-old on Christmas morning, shredded ribbons and scraps of paper flying everywhere and fuck reusing the box, he's Tony fucking Stark and he can buy all the boxes in the world if he wants.
Clint has no idea why he loves this man, sometimes.
Anyway, Tony shreds the packaging and in the midst of a rain of cardboard, holds up a bubble-wrapped plaque with a puzzled expression. "What the hell is..." he begins, unpeeling the bubble wrap, then starts to laugh.
Clint would ask, but Tony's laughing that particular deep, chesty laugh that means he won't stop for a while, so Clint just takes the plaque out of his hands. "Six Gods Honor awarded to Tony Stark on receipt of all five marriage licenses—wait, they really did it?"
Tony slithers down off the couch and collapses in a laughing heap on the floor. Evidently they really did do it.
Tony sticks the plaque over Avengers Tower's front door. Which is just so much like him that Clint can't even.