Chapter 10
"You seem distressed, Mr. Barton."
JARVIS has no visible external hardware, but Clint finds himself looking to the ceiling anyway. He runs an anxious hand through his blond hair, already oily from the number of times his fingers have been through his quiff. "I am," he frets. "I can't find Peter anywhere. He's not on the communal floor or in the infirmary and he doesn't even have access to be anywhere else."
"Would you like to give him access to your private floor?"
Now - Clint trusts Peter well enough to be sensible, but not quite to the point where he can be relaxed about leaving a curious teenager with access to meddle with his things. He has dangerous firearms - his spare bows and explosive arrows and a few handguns, just to mention a few - and he knows better than to leave that out in front of a child. "No, JARVIS. Just find Peter for me, yeah? Thanks."
"Certainly." JARVIS goes quiet for a moment. "Peter is located in Sir's private workshop. Would you like me to relay a message or possibly tell him that he is to come to you on the communal floor, Mr. Barton?"
"Can you ask Tony if I can come join the party?"
It's certainly odd to hear of Tony allowing anyone in his private workshop, let alone a kid he hardly knows. He's always been very touchy on who comes and goes in that place and everyone in the Tower is happy to respect his space. No one save for the bots and Tony have permanent access into the workshop, and Clint has only ever been allowed in once or twice himself.
The archer can only hope that Tony isn't attempting to experiment on Peter in some way, or bore him into his grave with his constant stream of babbling.
When JARVIS' voice eventually appears after minutes of silence, Clint startles. "Sir has permitted you temporary access into his workshop. He has told me to tell you that he can and will revoke your access the moment you step out of the room once again," he intones obediently, British voice serene as always.
"Thanks, J. Tell him I'm coming."
"Will do."
When Clint gets to the workshop, the glass doors slide open for him automatically. The familiar sound of AC/DC is turned down for the first time in forever - Clint usually hears it through the floor when he's eating breakfast on the communal floor - and in its place is the peaceful whine of the resident robotic assistants and the occasional echo of a tennis ball hitting the floor.
He doesn't see them immediately. Tony is, as per usual, sitting on his worn swivel chair, his eyes trained onto the Iron Man gauntlet resting on it's stand in front of him. The repulsor on the palm is open, exposing a complicated mass of wiring and tubing that Clint cannot even hope to understand in this lifetime. How Stark manages to build those things, he will never know.
Meanwhile, Peter seems to have taken a liking to DUM-E; he's sitting on the couch at the back of Tony's workshop, throwing the tennis ball for the bot to catch and bring back as if it were a puppy playing fetch. There's a smile upturning the corners of his lips, hair freshly-washed and a mass of fluff atop his head. Clint silently notes that his face is beginning to fill out bit by bit.
In any other situation and with any other person, Tony would have probably told DUM-E to get back to work, but the billionaire seems pretty happy to let Peter play with him for the moment.
"Having a party without me?"
Peter looks up, eyes bright. "I met DUM-E," he says, and Clint doesn't sarcastically tell him 'I know' as he would have with anyone else because he is too darn cute when he's excited, "and now I'm attached."
"What about U?" Clint says, warmth spreading in his chest as he regards Peter. The kid really is looking better and healthier each day he's living at the Tower - the consistent meals are making him look less like a twig and more like the boy he'd seen in that grainy school photo the other day; his eyes are brighter; his smiles are becoming a daily occurrence instead of a rarity.
Seeing him looking better is a comfort to Clint; he's even been sleeping better at night ever since he came to the Tower. When Peter'd been out on the street, he'd stay awake in his bed for a good couple of hours, somewhat haunted by the unwavering knowledge that the kid had been sleeping out in the cold while he's wrapped up in the warmth of his bed. The guilt would eat him alive.
But there's that realization, set right in the back of his mind to be drawn out when he's alone with his mind, that Peter might not be able to live at the Tower permanently after Bruce feels he's healthy enough to be deemed free. It's not that Tony would be unhappy with it - he has no doubts that the billionaire has the space and patience - but their status as Avengers makes it that little more difficult to determine.
"Charging," Tony says, jabbing a thumb in the general direction of the robot's wall charger. Indeed, U is parked and plugged into the wall, his arm lowered to the ground and claw hanging open.
Clint drops onto the sofa beside Peter, who continues to toss the ball to DUM-E. This time, instead of fetching, DUM-E focuses on hitting it back to Peter as if he were playing a whack version of volleyball. It's kind of cute, in an awkward, robot sort of way. "Does Peter have a permanent pass to this workshop?" he asks Tony, watching Peter and DUM-E interact.
"He sure does, except when I lock it down. JARVIS and the bots promised to make sure he won't accidentally touch anything he shouldn't."
"That's more access then I have!"
The older man's grin grows smug as ever. "What can I say," he begins, only pausing to curse when the gauntlet sparks and catches his hand, "I prefer Peter over you, without a doubt. He's so much better company than you." The billionaire sneaks a glance at Peter, eyes somewhat fond. "And he's smart. He keeps correcting my math. And I'm really good at math, Clint."
Peter snorts and says, "debatable."
Tony makes a dramatic noise of defeat and Clint throws his head back to laugh. "You're hanging around Snarky Starky too much, kid," he comments, patting his shoulder affectionately. Peter doesn't shy away from the contact as he used to.
"Please don't call me Snarky Starky," Tony gripes, though it's clear from his smile that he doesn't mind the nicknames whatsoever (he mentioned once that it makes him feel validated?). "I prefer Shellhead or Ironass over Snarky Starky." The gauntlet sparks again but he snaps his hand away just in time to avoid it, dropping his pair of rubber tweezers onto the floor in the process.
Clint opens his mouth to retort, but JARVIS' British intone interrupts him. "Sir, Mr. Barton; Dr. Banner is inviting you to an Avengers' team meeting in conference room 02. He tells me that it is required that all Avengers show up to this meeting as it is mission-related. He says that Peter is welcome to come but his presence is not required. Would you like me to tell him that you will be there?"
(It doesn't escape Clint's notice that JARVIS isn't giving Tony a chance to refuse; the billionaire has a habit of either being seriously late to meetings or not showing up at all, too wrapped up in his work to pull himself away.)
"We're coming, J," Tony replies immediately, waving away the holographic projections scattered around the workshop. He turns off the electricity temporarily powering his gauntlet during its wiring repairs, closing the casing on the repulsor. Then he turns to look at Peter, who seems to have no intention of leaving the couch he's slumped on. "Are you coming, Pete?"
The archer expects the kid to jump at the chance to witness an Avengers' meeting - any kid would, he's sure - so he's rather surprised when Peter tells Tony that he wants to stay behind. "Really?" he says incredulously.
"I won't do anything dumb," Peter says quickly, leaning over to give the tennis ball to DUM-E, who's long arm spins in absolute glee in favour of the gift.
(That goes without saying. Of course Peter won't do anything dumb. Not with JARVIS watching over him like a hawk, he won't.)
"That's okay, Pete. If you leave, ask J to lock it down, yeah?" Tony tells him, and Clint can see even from a distance that his anxiety is disagreeing with his decision regarding Peter's freedom in the workshop from the way that his hands are worrying the edges of his sleeves. "Feel free to tinker with anything that doesn't look important. J will tell you if you pick up anything you shouldn't."
Peter's eyes light up like a firecracker.
.
"I'm not sure about Peter."
Steve has that serious look on his face again and Sam just sighs, silently unwilling to listen to what Steve has to say this time around. The guy may be his team leader and a very respectful person in his own right, but he's just so tired.
Next to him, Clint's brows dip. "What did he do to you?"
"Nothing, but--"
The supersoldier cuts himself, having noticed Clint's face scrunching up, disagreement fresh on the tip of his tongue. He regards the archer carefully for a couple of moments before he continues. "He hasn't done anything, but that isn't the point," he begins, voice steady and calm as ever. "There's something about him, Clint. I think there's something he's hiding."
"No shit, Rogers. The kid probably has a hundred secrets."
Steve's fists clench and unclench, the previous patience in his eyes deteriorating bit by bit. "You're missing the point. Just listen to me for a second, Clint."
Sam puts a hand on Clint's shoulder, his touch reminding him that there's nothing worth getting worked up over. The sharpshooter has always been a little highly-strung underneath the mask of calm he puts on, only falling away when he's feeling an aggressive influx of emotion. There's no doubt that he's angry at the accusatory tone Steve speaks about Peter with.
To be fair, he feels where Steve is coming from. There's something about the kid that gives Sam an odd sort of vibe - nothing threatening or dangerous, of course, just... odd. Maybe suspicious, if he didn't trust Peter as he does. There's really no other way to describe it.
Clint remains quiet, watching Steve, and the supersoldier takes this as a silent greenlight. "I'm not saying that I'm accusing Peter of anything, because, really, I'm not. He hasn't done anything to warrant accusation."
"Then why are you telling me this?" Clint challenges, bristling.
"I just needed it off my chest. I needed to tell you before it started to bug and worry me too much." It's clear by the way he's speaking - low and steady, like he always does in tense situations whether they're on duty or not - that Steve is making a conscious effort to avoid the discussion turning into an argument. "These odd feelings don't settle well with me."
The archer nods, considering. His voice is milder by miles when he eventually asks, "can you tell me why he's giving you an odd feeling, at least?"
"There's a lot of important tech in this Tower. The lower floors store a lot of SHIELD data and technology that is crucially important to the organization. The upper floors - these floors - house the most powerful people in New York and some of Stark's most valuable technology. There are things in this Tower that could do a lot of damage to the team and to SHIELD if it were infiltrated.
"We have a lot of enemies who'd do anything to get into the Tower - even if it means exploiting a kid to gain your trust and to get an opening into the Tower. There are some terribly deranged people out there, Clint - deranged, but clever enough to know that kids are easy to manipulate and hard to accuse." The supersoldier regards Clint carefully. "You see where I'm coming from?"
Sam decidedly inputs, "it's not impossible."
"I don't know..." Steve murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck with an anxious hand. "Maybe it's the paranoia talking."
"Definitely the paranoia," Clint agrees.
"We can't overlook the possibility, though," Sam continues, choosing to ignore Clint's following glower. "Although I personally don't think Peter's a mole, I'm not going to rule it out completely. It's not like we don't know people who wouldn't do this kind of thing. For example..."
A grimace tightens Steve's expression. "Hammer?"
"A bastard," Sam whispers deviously.
For all of two seconds, Clint is quiet and visibly thoughtful - a look seen only very rarely by his closest of friends, for the archer isn't exactly famous for his 'deep thinking'. When he speaks again, his voice is little more than a murmur. "I guess you have a point," he grumbles, "but I don't believe Peter would be a mole. Peter's the most innocent guy I know."
"And that makes him all the more suspicious," Steve says, his left eyebrow cocked smartly at Clint, who blows out a huff and crosses his arms. "Think about it, Clint - who would suspect a kid to be a mole? Who would expect someone like Peter to be attempting to infiltrate SHIELD or the Avengers? You have to think outside the box about these things."
The tension in the room increases tenfold. Clint's right eye twitches and Sam decides it best that he intervenes before the shouting match begins and fists come into the sum. "Look, Steve. I'm not doing to deny that you have a good point, and that it's possible someone is taking advantage of Peter's innocence to infiltrate us," he begins firmly. "But you can't act on them. Not now."
"Peter feels safe here. He may not say it, but I've been looking carefully. He's so much more comfortable and welcome than he was when he first woke up here and... and it's really nice to see him happy, you know? I just worry that letting him know that you feel suspicious about him will damage that. He really doesn't need that right now. Maybe I'm being too protective, but I just want to see the kid happy and healthy and loved."
Clint is smiling. "You're so smushy."
"Shut up," Sam snaps, and delivers a playful punch to his shoulder.
Steve nods. "I wasn't planning on acting on it." And, after a moment, he adds, "he seems like a nice kid."
"He is," Clint says, sounding fond. "He reminds me of my kids at home."
"You're the smushy one," Sam snarks, and Clint giggles, melting against the arm of the sofa they're sharing and shoving Sam in the shoulders with his feet. He bats the archer's feet away as if he were swatting flies. "Now that this is sorted, can I go? Cooking waffles for you lot really takes it out of you. You're like..." he smiles, "black holes of snacks. Snack holes."
"Accurate," Steve agrees.