“And that’s basically when I decided Scott had replaced Tony on my list. Or at least bumped him down a spot.”
“Hmm, the list.”
You heard him tapping away, probably at some major hacking espionage thingy.
“Of course, I’d still rather see you than any new Superhero.” You assured, and you heard his chuckle reverberate through your veins.
“I’m not the jealous type,” he mused.
“Well, you never know. People change,” you teased back, shaking your pajamas out from under the blankets, the phone tucked under your chin like an old-fashioned landline. Most people used headphones; but something about the screen pressed against your face made you feel closer to him.
“Well I don’t think you’ll ever change from being a night owl. Now go to sleep.”
“It’s afternoon there, Clint. Mind your own business.”
“You’re the one calling me. Thereby making it my business. Your own fault.”
“Touche.” You slipped into an oversized Thor-print nightshirt that Bucky had gotten you as a joke, through which he managed to piss off both Tony and Clint in one move.
“Give Tony a goodnight kiss for me.” Clint drawled in an annoyingly sexy voice.
“Go fuck yourself.” You growled.
“Still on hiatus, you two lovebirds?”
“It’s just a fight. A very, very long fight.”
“Almost indefinite, I’d say.”
“Don’t push it.” You curled into a ball beneath the covers and wished you could keep him on the line until you fell asleep.
But that wasn’t part of the deal.
“Guess I’ll let you go then, Hawk.”
“Sure.” The tapping had stopped; either he’d successfully infiltrated a maximum security interface, or he’d finished checking his email at an e-café. “Sleep well.”
“Stay safe.”
The crack in your voice mixed with the crackle over the line as you listened for the dial tone.
You’d never hang up first.
“2 PM? That’s a new low. Or late.”
“Shut up, Tony.” You grabbed a banana from the counter with a scowl, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks, but you still woke up every morning with a freaking hangover.
“If it’s for beauty sleep, I’d say you need a couple more hours.”
“Quiet.” Nat the Cat snapped from the coffee table, intensely focused on a Scrabble game with Bucky. Using German tiles.
“I’m having a great time staying sober, thank you very much Iron Stomach.”
“If you’re going to be so grouchy when you wake up anyway, you might as well start boozing again.”
“What’s the matter; miss your drinking buddy?”
Nat the Cat and Bucky froze mid-duel, er, game, as you and Tony came the closest to flirting you had in, whadyaknow, weeks.
“Get real, (y/n). I can have 3 supermodels doing shots on me with a snap of my fingers.”
The tension dissolved, into a kind of bitter stalemate. Nothing new, really.
“With you, you mean.”
“Potato, Ruffles.”
You rolled your eyes and grabbed the pot of coffee from under the espresso machine, determined to drink it in sullen silence away from an audience.
“That pot’s like 5 hours old, hon,” Nat the Cat called, but you took a large swig and continued down the hall.
“Nice going, dipshit.”
“Go back to your Deutsch, Douche.”
And Bucky had to give Tony points for that.
Now if only Tony could earn some points with you.
“I even gave him an out today. Or, in, I guess.”
“Mhm.”
You imagined him picking up a coffee while scoping out the building across the street. Maybe you were just part of his cover as a mild-mannered bystander.
Or maybe he wanted to hear your voice too.
“As usual, he responded with an assertion of his superiority. Or my inferiority. Take your pick.”
“Do you two ever talk at all?”
The question felt strange; not from Tasha or Steve, but from him.
A semi-detached observer, more looking over than looking in.
“Well, it’s Tony. What do you expect.”
“I think you can give him a little credit.”
It was a mild suggestion, but for some reason it really rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe because if anyone knew how hurt you were by all this, it would be him.
“Hey, I’ve given him plenty of chances. And my door’s always open. It’s always been open.”
“It wasn’t a criticism on your part.” Clint was probably just clarifying, but you found some comfort in the thought that it might have been a reassurance.
“Problem is, he thinks the door’s open for something else. Or at least, he assumes they come one after another. Always a caveat, this one.”
“Well, it is Tony.” Statement of fact or relenting, it made you laugh either way.
“I talk to you way more than him.”
“That’s what happens in a fight, usually. The two parties stop communicating. In case you weren’t familiar-“
“Shut up.” You wondered if he smiled then, at the thought of the pout that crossed your face just now. Like it was imagiception. You pouting, him smiling; you thinking of him thinking of you, or maybe him thinking about whether you thought about him. Round and round until you found yourself staring forlornly at the ceiling again. “Anyway, I like talking to you more.”
“Same.”
They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. But one word can have a thousand thoughts behind it too.
Like did he really mean he liked talking to you?
Or was it a natural courtesy, like a ‘what’s up’ or ‘not much, you’?
Was it your voice, or your words, or you yourself behind it all, that drew him back?
And if any of it were sincere; would he ever make the call first?
“You falling asleep?”
If only; but the silence that passed between you at night was filled with questions and you questioning yourself.
Never a peaceful drift into dreamland.
“I’m awake still.”
“Well, you should change that.”
You smiled, getting into the familiar nest of sheets. “Don’t tell me what to do, Clint Barton.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.”
The word caused a hitch in your throat; or maybe it was Tony marching in angrily and snatching the phone away.
“Leave my girl alone, Hawk!”
And without a sweet dreams or take care that would warm your heart as the two of you bid adieu, Intruder Stark hung up your phone and threw it onto a pillow.
The first time Clint didn’t have to hang up first.
“What the fuck, Tony?!”
“No, (y/n). The fuck is with you?!”
“You storm into my room and chuck my phone, and you’re asking what’s wrong with me?!”
“Yes. Because while I’m draining Jack and Cokes like there’s no tomorrow, alone, you’re snuggled up with Legolas practically fucking over the phone!”
You would’ve strangled him if his accusation wasn’t so absurd.
“I never asked you to destroy your liver, Stark!”
“It’s my kidneys, (y/n). And I was doing it because of you!”
“Don’t blame me for your alcoholism!!”
“I’m not! I’m blaming you for my heartbreak!”
The two of you were facing off again; but this time, he’d clicked his safety on first.
“You had to know this separation was killing me.” His voice had lost all semblance of combat.
“There’s easier ways to express it.” You baited him; because even a small thing like that could make him rise to the challenge. To challenge you.
“Not for me.”
And just like that, the status quo changed.
“I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to, (y/n).”
“Your grasp on the language is spotty at best.”
“I mean, real talk.”
“The two things you’re really serious about are usually liquor and sex.” Your tone had changed as well; like you were just joking again.
Like old times.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.”
“That’s one of your favorite phrases, Tony. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’ I got you a shot glass that says that exactly.”
He let out a long-suffering sigh, putting his hands on your shoulders.
“But I always want to hear you.”
You turned away, feeling something pricking at your eyes.
Normally, he would’ve pulled you in and kissed you; but for some reason he stepped away this time.
“You knew that, (y/n).”
You shook your head; not a denial of his statement but a half-hearted refusal to accept the situation.
“You chose to call Clint, all those times. When you could’ve knocked on my door instead.”
“Do you blame me?”
It wasn’t a rhetorical accusation; but a genuine question.
Was it wrong to have wanted both of them?
“No.”
Whether he would’ve had the right to be mad was murky at best. But this moment was pristinely clear.
“But you have to choose now.”
“I’ve always wanted you, Tony.”
“I know.
But you wanting me isn’t enough anymore.”
You looked away at the phone, laying on the bed like a pirate coin peeking out of the sand.
There was no blink, no notification, no missed call or even simple text of ‘r u ok.’
And that hurt the most.
“I don’t think he sees it the way you do, Tony.”
“Maybe not.”
“I don’t think it means anything to him, at all.”
You bit your lip hard, a sick exaggeration of the times when Clint would tell you ‘Nighty night’ to make you laugh, or when he’d teach you a curse word from whatever country he was speeding through.
All the times you’d closed your eyes to bask in the solace of his voice;
And it had never been, would never be that way for him.
So you wouldn’t be making one last phone call, a tearful goodbye, because he’d always said he’d step off the moment he came between Tony and you.
He was just someone to talk to when you had nothing better to do.
Maybe because that’s what you were to him.
“I was just another voice on the line, Tony.”
As he searched your eyes for the tears you’d be pushing away, you knew that he’d always been your favorite Avenger.
And you’d always choose him first.
“But it meant something to you.”
And you knew you’d cry your eyes out for days to come, as you locked and unlocked your screen waiting for the call that would never come.
And that you’d be crying your eyes out in his arms.
“Guess I’ll be giving it up for you, Tony.”