Chapter Text
A half hour after leaving that God-forsaken deli, Clint still tastes smoked meat and pepper. He makes a beeline for the Tower's kitchen, pulling out anything that looks edible. He's starving, and he needs that taste out of his mouth now.
"Clint?" Steve pokes his head in the room, damp from his afternoon workout. (And Clint might be happily taken, but damn that white t-shirt is distracting.) "You're back! How was it?"
Steve's bouncing like an excited puppy, and Clint almost wants to lie and say it was great, but, "It was awful, Steve. My taste buds are crying."
Steve frowns, and oh great, now he's a kicked puppy. Clint has made Captain America sad. "Really? You didn't like it?"
Clint finds a piece of leftover pizza and crams it in his mouth, then crosses the room and pats Steve on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he mumbles. "We all have our faults. You were bound to find yours eventually."
"Hey!" Steve says, but he's smiling.
Whew. Sad Cap averted.
"So, hey." Clint shoos Steve out of the room and flops onto a couch. Steve hovers awkwardly, because of course he's too polite to sit on the furniture when he's all sweaty. "I did make a new friend when I was out."
Steve looks puzzled. Clint doesn't blame him, because he doesn't really talk to anyone outside the Avengers. He and Natasha had lobbied hard to keep their identities secret and their faces off the news, but it's still pretty hard to meet new people when all you can do is lie to them.
"Yeah, he's an Army vet. Pretty cute, too. Just your type." Clint smirks as Steve's face goes red. "I think he might have PTSD or something, though. Found him having a panic attack in an alley. Will you sit down, already? I'm getting a crick in my neck from staring up at your freakishly tall self."
Steve slides to the floor, his back against the wall. He's wearing his 'there is injustice; I must fix it' face. "Is he okay?"
"I dunno," Clint says. "I dragged him to lunch with me and told him I'd stop by to check on him in a few days. I don't think he really has any friends."
"That's good," Steve says. "Er, the checking on him part, not the no friends."
"Are you collecting strays, Barton?" Phil asks, shuffling into the room. He looks pale and sweaty, and Clint drags him down next to him on the couch. Phil leans into him gratefully, and Clint sneaks a glance at Steve, who's beaming at them.
They'd been a little afraid of Steve's reaction, back when Phil had been released from the hospital and Clint had promptly moved into his room. Steve, proving that he is in fact a superior human being, had not only not had an old-fashioned freakout, but actually hugged them both in congratulations. Clint, who is not called Hawkeye for nothing, thank you, is pretty sure he's working up to an announcement of his own. He's seen the way Steve watches a little too intently when Supernatural is on TV, after all.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says to Phil.
"Mm hm," Phil says. "Because you've never befriended anyone potentially dangerous and brought them home before."
Clint scoffs. "What, like Stark's the only philanthropist in this house? I'm a giver."
Steve and Phil exchange looks, then crack up.