Sympathy for the Devil
He approached the colossal building, sounds from the city bouncing off the glass, up and up and up. What he could sense of the tower faded after about thirty stories but Foggy had helpfully informed him that it poked out into the sky like an oblivious needle trying to hide in the hay. He approached the sheets of glass, stopping for a moment to try and hear where the door was, a small whistle of air, slightly warmer than the rest.
He was sure he looked suspicious when he opened the door. A relatively well-dressed, beaten-up blind man making very little effort to hide the trash bag he was carrying, entering Stark tower - uninvited. The sounds of the city echoed off the twenty-foot high ceilings, the pillars lining the edge of the space, and a broad desk in the center. As the door shut, the glass did a relatively good job at blocking the sounds of the city, in that they were muffled enough to not be overwhelming but still audible, allowing him to “see”. Thanks to this development, Matt approached the desk with ease, surprised that security didn’t stop him. He was greeted by a pleasant young woman and was taken aback when she referred to him by name. He was halfway through explaining that he didn’t have an appointment (though his visit was vital and time-sensitive) when a whooshing noise sounded from above the ceiling. The noise made its way through the floor above and down to ground level, a slight whirring sounded before he heard the three heartbeats. One bounded towards him, low to the ground, something metal chattering as it moved. A dog?
“Hey! Speak of the devil!” Clint’s voice sounded across the space. An unamused huff from the other heartbeat, no audible footsteps, though it did move - Romanoff. Lucky crashed into Matt’s legs, sniffing at him, licking his hand and then at the bag. Matt lifted it out of the dog's reach, causing the dog to whine and return to Clint’s side.
“Whaddya got there?” Clint asked.
“Stark needs to see this,” he said, avoiding pleasantries, “now.” The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could leave. The sooner he could get back to the cramped little office with Karen and Foggy. The sooner he could go back to the normalcy he found in beating up bad guys around Hell’s Kitchen.
“Hold your hooves, Devil boy,” Natasha said, tugging the bag in his grasp. He let her take it.
“Tony’s in meetings today,” Clint added, “You can wait upstairs with us until he’s done?”
This wasn’t going as planned. Take the bag to someone more qualified - check. Now he could leave and, like Jess said, forget about it. But the way the windows blocked the sounds of such a busy part of the city was almost heavenly, and he’d be an idiot to give that up so quickly.
He joined the two agents - and dog - in the elevator, and ascended more floors than he could count.
Before the elevator stopped, a voice emanated from the ceiling.
“Ms. Romanoff, your training session with Mr. Rogers begins in five minutes.”
“Thanks, J,” she replies, stepping through the now open doors, trash bag in hand. The smell of something chocolatey wafts down the short hallway, small crashing noises coming from a little further away. Lucky bolts toward where the noise is coming from. Clint steps out too, stopping after a moment, realising Matt isn’t following him.
“You coming?” he asks. Matt steps out of the elevator, the doors close behind him and the contraption moves off back down the shaft. Matt takes a moment to listen. He can just about hear two floors below, maybe one above, but the floor and ceiling muffle the noise surprisingly well. Almost too well, as he struggles to hear where the walls are. He hones his senses on Clint, and gingerly follows him down the hall.
He was glad he did. There was more noise here, coming from further into the space. Some sort of sparkling noises every now and then, an upbeat music that seemingly got faster the longer it played. Shuffling coming from behind some sort of barrier, a dividing wall perhaps?
He gets to what he assumes to be a kitchen. The source of the chocolate smell and sweet taste in the air is radiating from a spot in the wall with soothing heat. Box cookies. Now he was closer he could smell all the additives and preservatives, the combination left a taste in his mouth not too dissimilar to the trash bag Romanoff had taken off with.
“Not a fan?” a voice asked, the sound bouncing off a surface then up to him, a counter?
“Too artificial,” Matt replied. He put out a hand and found the edge of the countertop, following it along to where he could hear Clint shuffling through a cupboard.
“Sam, did you use my good chocolate for those monstrosities?” he asked.
The sound of cutlery clattering and splashing into the water as Sam busied himself, avoiding the question. “Not cool Wilson,” Clint’s voice sounded, standing now, “not cool.”
Clint’s steps disappeared towards the shuffling further into the room. Matt followed, catching himself gracefully when descending a step he hadn’t noticed.
“You missed Koopa Cape,” a voice sounded. Clint tensed, let in a sharp intake of breath, then a slow breath out.
“That’s fine. Completely fine. I didn’t want to play that course anyway.” Clint slumped down next to the nearby couch. The voice from before chuckled, deep baritone. Until it stopped abruptly.
“Who's your friend?” the voice asked.
“You’ve m-” Clint cut himself off, shuffling as he sat up, Lucky jumped from his spot on the couch onto him. “This is Matt, he’s waiting for Tony.”
“Ah,” the voice sounded again before something shuffled from the same spot. Heavy steps moved towards Matt. It was only then, as he focussed on the sound of the person approaching him, that he heard a familiar noise. A high-pitched whining. It was partly muted, the sound only resonating from what Matt thought was the elbow. It was strange to hear it without the crunching of gears or inner mechanics.
Clint laughed from behind them. “Bucky, are you really trying to shake his hand?”
The heartbeat in front of Matt sped up significantly. “I, um, I wasn’t - why? Should I n-”
Before he could embarrass the man any further, Matt held out a hand and was taken aback at how firm the shake was. He pushed the concern - that Bucky didn’t remember who he was - to the back of his mind. He’d never been careless with his identity, but he’d spent almost a month fighting with the avengers a few years ago. He’d have hoped that he’d made an impression. Bucky walked back towards Clint and Lucky, sinking down next to the two. Matt followed suit, leaving a comfortable distance between himself and the others. They may have worked together before, one might even consider them familiar, but they were far from friendly. The three sat quietly for a moment until something in the kitchen beeped.
“The monstrosities are done,” Sam called from the kitchen, words grated with mock anger. At least, Matt hoped it wasn’t genuine. Lucky bounded over to Sam, followed quickly by the two previously sitting avengers. The sound of him fighting off the hound as he opened the oven and took out the tray carried was interspersed with a flurry of insults. When offered a cookie, Matt refused. Nothing would convince him to lay a finger on them, even if the chocolate was, in Clint's words, ‘the best taste known to man’. They all settled back on the couch, obscene chewing noises making Matt choke back a gag.
“Netflix?” Sam suggested. The others hummed, mouths full of the artificial-smelling cookies.
“Matt,” Bucky said between mouthfuls of cookies, “Totoro or Porco Rosso?”
“I’m sorry?”
Clearly, his confusion was apparent as Clint practically choked.
“Oh my God!” Clint shouted, “You haven’t seen them?” Matt bit back a laugh.
“You could say that,” He replied, unable to hold back the smile from his own joke. He could feel Clint staring at him, uncharacteristically silent.
“Totoro first,” Bucky said as Sam started pressing the buttons.
Matt settled into the couch. It was nothing like his. This one was all soft fabric and would sink far further than necessary, as though it was eating him whole. The movie began with a fanfare of horns.
“Hey,” Matt nudged Clint, “Do you mind putting the audio description on?” A beat of silence. “Sure,” he said, fumbling with the remote. With that, the four of them, with Lucky sprawled across their feet, settled in and watched the film.