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The emergency room should have given him a frequent visitor punch card, Clint decided. A come ten times and your next visit is free! kind of deal. With how often he ended up there, he really could have used it. He even had his own room (Bucky, one of the nurses, had written his name in Sharpie on the board, and the rest of the nurses, all of whom recognized him on sight, put him in there if the ER wasn't full to bursting)!
Bucky had already come and gone to take his vitals and admonish him for landing himself in the ER again, so now Clint was waiting for the doctor to tell him what he already knew. He had a concussion and a sprained ankle from falling while trying a parkour move. It hadn't been his smartest plan, as Natasha-- his best friend who'd driven him to the ER-- had been reminding him loudly until he guilt tripped her into stopping with a reminder of his grievous head injury. She'd taken to glaring at him instead, which was much better for his headache.
Clint shifted on his bed, wincing when it jostled his ankle. The doctor was taking longer than usual; it must have been a busy day. Dr. Potts was normally scarily punctual.
As if thinking about him summoned him, a man in a white coat waltzed into the room. It wasn't Dr. Potts, but someone Clint had never met before. With his track record at the ER, that was a huge surprise.
The new man had messy brown hair, as if he'd been running his hands through it all day. He looked a little harried, never a great sign in an ER doctor, but his whiskey eyes were steady where they met Clint's. The tag on his shirt read Dr. Stark.
"Hello," said Dr. Stark. "My name is Dr. Tony Stark, but you can just call me Tony. I'll be checking you out today."
Clint almost said mind if return the favor? but he bit his tongue at the last moment. Flirting while concussed rarely ended well for him.
"Are you new?" he asked instead, then flushed. "Sorry, the concussion has completely removed my filter. I’m Clint Barton."
Tony laughed quietly. "Don't worry about it," he said, reading Clint's chart quickly. "To answer your question, I've been working at this hospital in pediatrics for almost ten years, so I wouldn't exactly call myself new. I am new to the ER, though, filling in for Pep-- Dr. Potts."
"Is she okay?" said Clint with a frown. In the years he'd known Dr. Potts, he'd never even seen her take a sick day.
"She's finally taking time off for her honeymoon after I threatened to steal her husband if she didn't," said Tony. He smiled. "But I promise, you're in good hands with me. Now, let me see that ankle, please."
"I'm pretty sure it's sprained," said Clint, his mind finally shifting from wanting to flirt with the hot doctor to focusing on breathing through the sudden agony as Tony poked at his ankle gently. He bit down on his lip as Tony rotated it.
"I agree, but we should order you an x-ray just to be sure it's not fractured at all," Tony said, stepping back and scribbling that on his clipboard. "I'm assuming you can't walk on it?"
"I mean, if you were to put a gun to my head I could hobble," Clint shrugged. "But it would be a very awkward and ungainly hobble. A bad time for everyone involved."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Well, since no one here will be putting guns to your head, I'll make sure you get some crutches before you get out of here."
"Yeah, that sounds better than hobbling," Clint agreed with a smile. "That's a very smart idea, doc. Ten points to Ravenclaw. Are you a Ravenclaw?"
"Now, about that concussion," Tony continued, heedless of Clint's ramble about what Harry Potter house Tony belonged in. Tony glanced at his chart. "It says here that Bucky-- Nurse Barnes, sorry-- says it's mild. That's what it sounds like to me, too, seeing as all you reported symptoms-wise was a bit of dizziness and pain. You don’t have any memory problems? Nausea?"
"None of that, don’t worry. It feels mild," said Clint. He spread his hands. "I get a lot of concussions, so I'd know."
“In that case, I recommend a few days of both mental and physical rest before you get back to your regular activities,” said Tony.
“Yeah, I know,” Clint said, scrubbing the back of his neck.
Something in Tony's face shifted. He glanced at the door, making sure it was shut. "Clint," he said somewhat hesitantly. "You're in the ER a lot. I'm looking at your record, and--"
"You want to know if someone's hurting me?" Clint finished.
Tony nodded. "Anything you say is just between us. If there's something going on, we have resources and people that can help you get out of the situation."
"You're a good guy, doc, but there's nothing going on, I promise," said Clint. He stared at Tony, willing him to believe the truth. "What happened today was an accident-- I was doing parkour and I slipped and fell. That's how it usually happens, honestly. I'm a bit of a klutz, so I maybe shouldn't be jumping around on roofs, but no one is hitting me. Besides, I'm single anyway."
Clint winced. He hadn't meant to say that last bit out loud.
Tony looked relieved, though. "I believe you," he said. "But you need to be more careful. If you keep getting concussions, you're going to end up with permanent brain damage, you know."
"Natasha-- my friend-- would say that I already have it," Clint said airily. "She's the responsible one. She drove me here, actually."
"Maybe I should ask her if she wants to order some scans for you, then," teased Tony. He flipped through his chart one last time. "Speaking of scans, I'll put you on the list for x-rays. As long as that confirms that it's just a sprain, you're free to go right after. Nurse Barnes will be in here in a little bit to talk to you through wrapping your ankle up so you can do it by yourself at home."
Tony turned to leave. Clint didn't even think, he just spoke. "Wait!" he called. "Can I have your number? In case, uh, I have questions?"
Clint smiled hopefully and tried not to look pathetic in his hospital gown with his ankle swollen up like a balloon. He was sure it didn't work, but it was the effort that counted, right?
Tony faltered. "I can't go out with patients," he said apologetically, not bothering to beat around the bush.
"If my ankle isn't broken, I won't be your patient anymore," Clint pointed out with all the persistence of a dog going after a slice of pizza. Maybe that was just his dog.
"Then let's hope it isn't broken," a glimmer of a smile graced Tony's lips. "Ask me again when you're discharged."
"Oh, I will," Clint promised, something warm blooming in his chest and chasing the pain away. It could've been the painkillers finally kicking in, but watching Tony look back over his shoulder when he left the room, Clint figured it wasn't.
(For the record, Clint
did
ask for Tony's number again when he was discharged. Tony gave it happily along with a swift kiss on his cheek and a promise to take him out to the best coffee in the city.)