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Tony found it a little odd watching Barton in the circus, like seeing your pet cat in the wild, a familiar animal acting in an unfamiliar way, but one that was still completely true to its nature. On missions Clint was all professionalism and hyper focus with only the occasional snarky comment. In the tower – when you saw him - he was so laid back he was practically horizontal, a perpetual comedian with a penchant for involved practical jokes, which often involved him leaving a room over the furniture at speed or even on a notable occasion out of a high floor window to Bruce’s horror.
Here he was a different beast, a wary half tamed creature, alert and sharp. He was polite and friendly, but defended his position with a ready violence that had shocked Tony when a straggling punter had accused them of being “faggots” as they went back to the van. Tony had been exhausted and aching from a ten hour stint fixing a ride in time for the gates opening, followed by an emergency set of repairs to a generator, which had taken the best part of the evening on his back in the mud. Clint had practically had to carry him back, stiff and cold.
Almost at the van they had turned a corner and nearly walked into the man and his friend. The man had launched into the “fucking faggots” for not watching where they were going, following on with a tirade of homophobic abuse. Clint’s response had been swift and brutal leaving the man’s companion to carry him off.
Tony had leaned against the corner of a truck. He was more than capable of defending himself in this kind of situation, even without the suit. The basic self defense Rhodey had drummed into him, for when the alcohol overrode his always poor brain-to-mouth-filter at university, had never entirely left him and Steve had been emphatic on Tony spending time training unarmed, whether he liked it or not. Clint’s response to the drunk however had been over and done before Tony even had a chance to react and Tony had found himself scooped up and carried back to the van.
Back at the van, Clint had been bizarrely focused again, rinsing his bloody hands clean, before boiling water for them both to wash, finding clean dry clothes for Tony, changing his own shirt, and filling a hot water bottle to warm the bed before finally appearing to collapse, sat slumped on the end of the bed. Tony finished washing himself and struggled into the soft cotton pants and t-shirt Clint had left out.
When he finished, Clint was in bed already, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“You okay?” Tony asked.
Clint did not appear to hear him.
“Hey?” Tony touched Clint’s shoulder.
Clint started, staring at Tony, then relaxed.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He said. “Get in.” Clint twitched the covers back.
Tony slid in next to him. The bed was warm and smelled heavily of laundry detergent. It was hard to wash it out completely when hand washing.
Clint rolled over, facing the side of the van. Tony thought he would pull away, but Clint scooted back a little, so whilst he was not looking at Tony, his back was pressed up against him.
Tony lay back in bed trying to think of things to distract Clint, to bring him down to normal, something that would remind him of life at the tower but would fit with the Circus life or could be concealed. Nothing sprang to mind. Clint sighed and pulled up the covers, but Tony could feel he was still tense. Tony turned the idea over in his head for a while before pulling the woefully out of date Starkphone he had brought with him out from under his pillow and sending a text to a burner phone.
It took all of an hour and a half for the quiet knock on his window to sound, a familiar rhythm gently tapped out. They were both still awake and Clint was suddenly alert and tense behind him. Ignoring Clint, Tony reached out and slid the window open quietly. Natasha slipped silently in. Tony sat up so she could move across behind him and snuggle in with Clint then closed the window. He lay back down and scooted up so that this time his back was warmly, but not threateningly, pressed against Natasha’s.
“I knew you couldn’t be far away.” Tony murmured.
Natasha gave a quiet huff of laughter. “One second,” she murmured. “Scoot back.”
Tony moved back for a moment and Natasha tensed momentarily then rolled, flipping Clint into the centre of the bed. Tony rolled back in to bracket his other side, wrapping an arm over Clint and resting it on Natasha’s hip.
“Watch your hands Dan!” She muttered.
“Would I do a thing like that?” Tony’s voice was equally quiet.
“Not if you value your manhood.”
Tony heard Clint chuckle and finally he relaxed.