Protractor Playboy
2.
Clint never really could pinpoint when Team Nights became a thing.
One minute they were all practically strangers tip toeing around their new unfamiliar home, except for him and Nat. Then the next they were all expected to gather on Thursday nights for movies and an assortment of games played with concerning levels of competitiveness.
Okay, if he was being honest, he may have a slight idea of how this whole setup began. It may have had something to do with him constantly requesting the other members of the team to ‘freaking square up on the Wii like a real man (or lady in Natasha’s case)’, and 'if I can’t shoot you in training then let me shoot you on this screen at least!’ Until one by one each Avenger got sick of the passionately declared challenges and had starting regularly joining him in the common room for a ‘1v1’, as he liked to put it.
Eventually they were around each other enough for disagreements to arise as to who, what, and when they would play. So, Thursday night became the unofficial-but-still-official time of virtual violence and movie sampling.
Did Clint think it was horribly cheesy and would look really uncool to any super villains who ever decided to crash the party? Yes. Was he slightly proud that he had inadvertently started this? Absolutely.
Pride was the exact feeling he had when he dove onto the large ‘L’ shaped couch on the most frequented communal floor and watched as his teammates meandered in from the hallway. Thor was there first, as per usual. The god strode in with a tangible enthusiasm that he projected like a spotlight. “Hello good friend! And what is on the agenda for this night of celebration and union?” His normal t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms were a noticeable contrast to his overwhelmingly royal posture.
Clint couldn’t help chuckling as he replied, “Two words! Mario. Kart.” The blond haired god’s eyes seemed to immediately gain a dangerous glint.
“It. Is. On!” Clint started outright laughing as the giant of a man sat near him and picked up a controller.
The archer jerked in surprise as a blur of movement over his shoulder caught his eye, and suddenly a red haired assassin was lying half in his lap from where she had just vaulted over the back of the couch. He looked down and his best friend had somehow already snatched up a blanket and was holding a full popcorn bowl. Her gracefulness never faltered, even when she was acting like a total teenager.
“Hey lame-o, you’re gonna get your head smacked by this remote”. He cautioned as he and Thor started off on the track. Nat huffed and poked him in the side hard enough to make his cart on screen waver. “Lay off! A champion is working here!” He protested, eyes never leaving the screen.
“Speaking of working,” a voice chimed in from behind them, “has anyone seen Tony yet?” Steve asked. He was walking in from the kitchenette that separated the TV and dining area.
“ I dunno ask Bruce,” Clint said in a string of words to quick for most people to understand.
“I’m right here Clint,” came another voice from behind him. This one softer and less commanding then the Captain’s.
“I still dunno go look,” Clint rambled again. Third lap!
“Could you go get him? I’m going to order the pizza right now.” Steve replied.
“IdunnohaveBrucedoit”.
“I’m picking the movie right now, Clint. Could you please just go get him?”
“ImliterallyabouttokickThor’sbuttjustonesec.”
Steve’s voice took on that chastising tone that a parent might use with a kid. “Clint, Bruce asked politely. Could you please-”
“IMLITERALLYBOUTTAWINLASTLAPOHMY- THOR!” Clint made a sound very reminiscent of a squawk as Thor’s Wii controller went flying into the TV monitor and put a hole straight through it. Natasha bolted upright from beneath him and everyone turned to stare at the crackling screen.
The Norse god was guiltily rubbing his neck as he avoided eye contact with the others. “Friends, my deepest apologies. It seems that I have once again forgotten to fasten the wrist band which prevents the remote from flying much like my hammer.” His words were undeniably sheepish and his smile was more of a grimace.
A deep sigh was heard from the doorway as the owner of the broken TV walked into the room. Everyone turned to look at him as a greeting. “It’s alright big guy. I was going to replace that one soon anyway. At least now we know remotes can function as replacement hammers if need be.” Tony’s original sigh was replaced with a grin as he set down his empty coffee cup and clasped Thor on the shoulder. “Now, I don’t think tonight will be a movie night.” He remarked, inclining his head towards the remains of the sleek piece of technology.
Clint snorted as he tossed his remote back onto the footrest in front of him.
“How about a board game?” Bruce suggested tentatively. The scientist was seated at the modestly sized dining table, still glancing forlornly at the broken screen. The archer glimpsed the various reactions to the proposal.
“We did that two weeks ago,” Natasha reminded him. She was now perched on the arm rest of the sofa, inspecting the popcorn bowl for the pieces with the most butter.
“We didn’t play them all that night, we can look again and-” Steve began, already moving towards the hall closet. He was very fond of board games.
“Aye, I do believe we have cycled through all of the board orientated challenges.” Thor agreed.
“I haven’t bought more in a few months,” Tony said thoughtfully. “Hmm, I can for next week.”
“What about now?” Clint pestered. Really, they were so impish during these Team Nights. All of them desperate for some entertainment or childish antics to distract them.
Tony’s eyes raked over the surrounding area thoughtfully. Clint followed his lead and halted when he saw the large object across the room near the full wall windows. “Ooh! You know what this means! Pool!” The archer exclaimed.
He was met with a chorus of groans. “For the last time, we are not playing pool with you!” Natasha stated impatiently. She had only made that mistake once over the course of their relationship, and she did not intend to make it again. Her sharp eye held up when searching for tells on a target. But against Clint in a game of aim? No thank you.
“That sounds fun,” Steve commented.
Bruce walked around the kitchen island and stood next to the super soldier, leaning against the cabinet casually. “That’s just because your a genetically enhanced individual with above average cognitive abilities.” The scientist raised his mug to his mouth as everyone looked at him. “You stand a chance, we don’t.” He clarified.
“Nah, I’m going to side with Captain Tight Pants on this one. Let’s cut the chit chat and go.” Tony was already walking off to the beautiful table across the room. Collecting the balls from the bottom, he starting organizing them into a neat triangle. The others got up and followed.
“Really, Stark? You’re going to find this fun?” Natasha asked, skepticism lacing her words. “I didn’t think you were okay with being on the losing side of things.” She may have not been the best player here, but everyone knew that she herself could easily hustle him in a round of pool. If he was going to be bold enough to try to pretend that wasn't true, then she would at least heckle him while he did it.
Tony didn't dignify the barb with a response. Instead, he picked up two sticks and asked cheerfully, “who’s first?”
A few rounds of rock paper scissors and a couple drawn out pool matches later, Natasha had won a close call against Steve, and Bruce had surprisingly (or maybe not surprisingly) beaten Thor.
Finally it was Clint and Tony, and the pair were queuing up to start as their friends acted as an intrigued peanut gallery. “Sorry, Stark. I guess you really played yourself on this one here.” Clint said with a confident grin. “This is just unfair, Natasha, come over here and play me instead!”
“No, no, it’s my turn tweedy bird.” The billionaire said coolly, an unconcerned smirk adorning his face. He was still dressed in neatly pressed slacks and a half tucked in white button up from an earlier board meeting. A navy blue tie was draped haphazardly across his shoulders. His socks had smudges of black on it from his earlier time in the workshop, and his usually coiffed hair had been grown out until he had a floppy bang that hid half his right eye. Pepper had fussed over it all morning, but Tony had simply let it be. Now, standing here, the others couldn’t help but think of him as one of his many self proclaimed- and media infamous- titles. Tony Stark looked like the epitome of a playboy.
Tony grabbed the chalk square and took a sip from a champagne glass he had poured during Thor and Banner’s earlier game.
“Let’s go, playboy.”
Tony quirked an eyebrow at the sparsely used sentiment and put down his glass.”You’re on, Birdbrain.”
The archer was… shocked.
He entered that match as an undefeated champion, and left with one loss to mark in his ledger. Tony Stark had beaten him. It wasn’t a horrible loss, someone from an outside perspective might say. But it still was exactly that- a loss. Anyone with context of the situation would not that it should've been impossible.
The playboy had made a series of impressive strikes right off the bat. All the while, looking up at their friends and acting like some type of showman, rambling about degrees and angles and other gibberish that Clint started to tune out as he got more invested in the game. He understood it, of course, to an extent. He was a trained archer after all. It's just that, years of practice and repetition had made the entire process of aiming a second nature. Locked in stone. He didn't think that much about it anymore in a unique way. All his thoughts about it were clear, precise, and instinctual at this point. “And…. 34 degrees right there, the left of course… just a glance off that wall right there… and….” the confident narration came to an end as a lone ball fell into the pocket and Clint watched as their friends stared slack jaw and impressed. Tony took a deep bow and began blowing kisses towards the walls.
Thor actually started a round of applause, which the others took up in short order. Even in his shock and devastation, Clint was slow clapping right along. “Where the hell did you learn how to do that?” He asked. “Wait, did you bug this table or something? Are you secretly wearing some of the armor?” Clint accused, only half joking.
Tony ignored the accusation and shrugged noncommittally. “How do you think I manage to design all your arrows? Or aim the repulsors on the suit? SI is kind of known for its former weapon manufacturing, to. So it's not like I'm inexperienced in that skill department... kind of need to know how to shoot one to make one. But anyway, how do you think I drew up the blueprints for anything I build?"
“Ummm… you bought them somehow?” Clint says hesitantly. He knows the response is utter rubbish as soon as it leaves his mouth. Logistically, that answer was the peak of ignorance. He even cringes as he says it, knowing it’s offensive but feeling off kilter now that he’s seriously thinking about this. He could practically feel Nat face palming in the background, and Bruce choking on his mug of tea.
“Yeah, not like I’m smart or anything.” The man scoffs and takes a big gulp of his drink. It’s meant to be a joke, it really is. But Tony’s masks are shifting under the heavy scrutiny and he can’t help the indignation twisting his features. One hand tugs self consciously at the bottom of the untucked portion of his shirt, and he fidgets under the weight of everyone’s eyes. The hand that's gripping at his shirt moves up to further muss his hair, making it more disorderly then it already was. Through his rising distress, he sees Clint’s uncertain expression and finally decides to answer his earlier question to divert the ill attention.
Tony gave the archer a look tinged with reproach and simply said, “When I was ten I had to go on six months of travel away from my school with Mom and Dad. Howard was officially listed as my educator, so instead of having me review a textbook, he brought me to some bars and taught me geometry. Let’s just say I had some pocket money that summer.” His tone was light and airy, but all of them could hear the strain behind his explanation.
With an awkward clearing of his throat, he continued talking to avoid the silence. "But then again, when did I not have pocket money, ya know?" He says with a dry chuckle. "I don't know, I'm pretty good at pool now, darts to, so that's cool..."
Steve didn’t miss the way he switched to ‘Howard’ as soon as the man wasn’t being tagged on with Tony’s mom. He was half forming the question of “bars?” when Natasha lightly placed a hand on his arm. He had no idea what to make of it.
Bruce was laughing and walking up to his friend to playfully shove him. “Protractor, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist!”
As they all laughed and started up new conversations to fill up the space, Clint was just thinking one thing.
‘No, definitely smart. A genius, in fact’
He’d try not to forget that one anymore.