Author's Note:

Oh look another Avengers one-shot, what a surprise. Once again, this one is short and pointless. It'd been sitting unfinished for months until recently and heck, I just love any sort of feedback. One-shots are better than nothing, right? Maybe?

Okay, so my headcanon doesn't fit the comic canon. Sorry about that. The first time I saw the Avengers I got sorta latched on to the headcanon that took Clint's "I see better from a distance" line seriously. You'll see what I mean. This is set a while after the movie - I'd guess at least a year or something. Anyway. Moving on.

I don't own Clint or Tony. If I did...well that would definitely be interesting.

EDIT: Expanded into an eventual six-parter. More explanation in chapter 2.

Tony: set approx. 1 year after Manhattan

"You had a little too much coffee there, Legolas?"

Clint didn't bother looking up from his papers. The only initial indication he gave to hearing the question at all was a pause in his tapping of the pen in one hand. After a moment, figuring playing deaf wouldn't really work, he let out a short sigh, opting for the simplest response.

"Why?" He felt the other man lean on the opposite end of the table and could tell he was being scrutinized, examined like a stubbornly malfunctioning piece of technology.

"You've been blinking like crazy. At least twice the normal rate. Now unless you've got some supply of crack I don't know about…"

"You watch my blinking rate?" The archer looked up, fighting back a smirk and settling on a raised brow as he considered Tony carefully. Tony simply shrugged, leaning forward a little more with his eyes narrowed as if he were making sure not to miss anything.

"Caught my attention. Just because I can't see a mile doesn't mean I'm blind. What's up?" Clint paused before scoffing lightly, turning back to his work.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"That's crap and you know it." He frowned a little, eyes lifting as the older man pulled out the chair opposite him and sank into it. He was suddenly more serious than normal, though not by much. There was a slight slump in his posture that gave it away and the way his hands folded rather than immediately going for something to mess with. "Natasha's still recovering from that last job and you were lucky to get out intact yourself, but even that sort of thing doesn't make you wince every few seconds. I'll ask again; what's up?"

There was a short silence between them before Clint shook his head with a small, reluctant grin.

"This is what I get for actually living around people," he muttered, more to himself than his teammate. "Should I feel flattered that you're watching that closely, Stark?"

"You're avoiding the question, Barton," Tony shot back immediately. After a pause Clint sighed.

"What's blinking got to do with anything?"

"I've got three doctorates, alright? I know things, despite some allegations." Ignoring the slightly incredulous look he pressed on. "Could be caused by stress, fatigue, withdraws from medication, something neurological…if I'm going out on a mission with a guy whose job it is to see everything, I'm seriously hoping his brain and eyes are getting along properly."

"I'm fine. Seriously, it's just –" Tony leaned forward without warning, suddenly blowing a sharp puff of air as much into the other man's eyes as he could manage. Clint barely withheld a curse, jerking back and rubbing at them automatically before a hand closed on his wrist and pulled it away. "What the hell, Tony?!"

"Look at me." The mixture of confusion, indignation, and slight shock made him obey instinctively and Clint stared at the genius, now painfully aware that he couldn't keep from blinking quickly in an attempt to get his eyes to stop stinging. It fell silent again before Tony leaned back again, releasing his hold on Clint's arm. There was a rather curious look on his face, but it was the archer that finally broke the silence as he ran a hand over his face.

"What the hell was that supposed to accomplish?" he growled. "Dammit, I think you spit on me some, that's disgusting…"

"No idea," Tony admitted with a slight shrug. "Seeing if they'd explode or something."

"Explode –"

"I'm a scientist; I conduct experiments. That one just didn't prove anything." He tipped his chair back on two legs, hands folding behind his head. "Now we could keep testing things or you could just tell me what's going on."

"I told you there's nothing going on."

"And I told you that's crap. Might as well spill, buddy. I've got all night." Clint considered this for a moment before he raked a hand through his hair impatiently.

"Remind me why I agreed not to kill you regularly?" he muttered and Tony smirked.

"Because we're best buddies now that you live in my house. Isn't it obvious?" After a moment's thought he added "I could always raise your rent."

"You don't charge us rent."

"Precisely." Damn, he's stubborn…Tony seemed perfectly content to sit staring as his teammate wrestled between giving in, actually sharing something about himself – something he had sworn he wouldn't do when he joined the rest of the Avengers in the tower – or having Tony bug him until he got the answer somehow.

"I'm not going crazy," he said finally, leaning his arms on the table again. "It's just been a long day and…contacts are bugging me."

It was a rare moment when Tony Stark didn't have an immediate answer, and in any other circumstances Clint would have been a little proud to have caused one. The older man finally shook his head, cracking a grin.

"Well if any of these contacts are decent-looking, I'm sure I could take them off your hands –"

"You know what I mean, Tony."

He actually gaped for a split second before blinking twice and leaning forward more. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" The billionaire's frown grew and he shook his head once.

"No, no way in hell the great Hawkeye needs contacts. What are these, special government lenses that let you instantly print out images of what you see? Code-breaking lenses? Facial recognition built in…?" He trailed off as Clint reached up, carefully pulling one off of his eye and holding it out.

"Test it if you like. You're not gonna find anything except a pretty damn strong prescription." Tony stared at the concave lens actually looking a little dumbfounded.

"You're serious. Clint Barton – the guy who never misses a shot – has to correct his vision?" Clint actually chuckled, drawing his hand back to peer at the contact himself.

"'Hawkeye' is a bit of a misnomer," he admitted. "I see great from a distance. Better than most. Up close…blind as a bat. Usually isn't a problem, but I've been doing paperwork nonstop today. Haven't had a chance to take them out."

Tony continued to stare a while longer before he suddenly sat back with an exhaled breath that quickly turned into a snort.

"Nobody tells me anything," he muttered, his expression one that could only be called a pout. "Who else knows?"

"Natasha found out a few years back. Phil sorta had to know, since he trained me, and Fury was the one who made me actually get the damn things. He said something about not letting me use headaches as an excuse to get out of paperwork every day." Clint smirked a little, shrugging once. "Not too surprised you hadn't been told."

It fell silent between the two men for a few moments and Clint could faintly make out Thor's booming voice from somewhere on the floor above. When Tony spoke again, his voice somewhat lower and his eyes had decided to fixate just over Clint's left shoulder.

"Nearly got killed by this thing." His hand rose to tap absently at the arc reactor glowing through his shirt. "Kept the shrapnel from getting to my heart, but it also decided to start poisoning me at the same time."

"I know." Brown eyes snapped back to Clint quickly and narrowed a little.

"You know – dammit, Natasha told you, didn't she?" The archer tilted his head in a sort of 'what can you do?' gesture and Tony sighed, his serious air vanishing in a second. "And here I was thinking I was getting even."

"What," Clint couldn't help scoffing slightly, "you're trying to trade information?"

"I'm a businessman. Trade's important isn't it?" Tony paused, brow furrowing as he thought. One hand ran over his face unconsciously but stopped about halfway down and Clint could see him running a finger along a faint scar on his jaw. "They usually edit this out of any profile shots. Probably don't want people to realize how long it's been there."

His gaze had gone distant this time and any traces of his usual smirk were gone. The archer's mind went racing immediately to the personnel file he had pulled up on the man across from him – maybe slight paranoia, but he liked knowing what sorts of people he was working with – and after a moment it remembered who exactly Tony's father had been. Howard Stark was revered for his inventions, just as his son was, but SHIELD knew the dirty secrets that the press had usually been kept out of. SHIELD knew about Stark's drinking problem, and there had been a small confidential noted added that mentioned how his son had occasionally been spotted with bruises that couldn't be explained away.

"Tony, you don't have to –"

"I'm supposed to trust you guys, aren't I?" Brown eyes met blue ones and Clint was momentarily frustrated that half of his vision was blurry at this distance with one contact out. He nodded after a pause, ignoring the voice that whispered hypocrite in the back of his mind, and Tony shrugged one shoulder in what might have actually been a self-conscious moment. "My dad wasn't exactly the saint the press made him out to be. He had high expectations and got…frustrated when I didn't live up to them. Not uncommon, but for some reason no one expects it from families that have everything."

Silence fell between them again and Clint kept his eyes on the papers in front of him. He wasn't used to people actually…opening up to him in any way. Natasha did, but for years they had been all each other had. Tony Stark, the man with an ego to match the size of his tower, the man who had saved the world a few times over, who kept himself smiling for the press even after he had nearly been killed – he just didn't seem the type to suddenly decide to acknowledge that his childhood hadn't been ideal, especially not to someone who kept to himself as much as Clint did.

You're supposed to trust these people, Clint. You've got five partners instead of one now. Can't manage much if you don't know who they are.

He could feel Tony shift slightly, just enough to indicate that he was about to stand up, and found his mouth talking of its own accord.

"My dad sucked too." Clint could practically hear the engineer's eyes snap back to him and kept his carefully averted. He absently ran a finger along a jagged scar on his left arm – old and faded, but still there – and let out a breath. "We didn't have paparazzi on us; doubt that would've stopped him anyway. Mainly went after my brother, but it was really whoever was in the way…killed himself and my mom when I was six."

Well, that had probably been stupid decision. No one knew about his family – he didn't try to make it general knowledge. SHIELD had it in his file, of course, from the occasional domestic disturbance report to the time Barney had actually been taken to the hospital for a broken arm. They knew, factually, what had been going on when he was growing up, but it looked so clipped and clinical on paper. Not like anyone had access to his file anyway.

He didn't think Tony would answer after at least a minute of silence. It was a bit of a surprise, then, when the man scoffed lightly – that wasn't exactly an expected response, either.

"Guess we turned out all right, all things considered." Clint looked up and actually found himself returning Tony's slight grin.

"Guess we did." They held eye contact a moment longer before Tony cleared his throat quickly and looked away again, gesturing at the contact still in Clint's hand.

"That your normal prescription?" Now that was a normal response; things get too close for comfort and the topic is quickly shifted back to something he knew. The archer nodded and didn't bother stopping the lens from being plucked out of his palm and held up to the light. "You've got spares, right? Mind if I do some tinkering?"

"You're not putting in lasers," Clint warned and the other man actually chuckled.

"Not yet," he agreed. "SHIELD's still got nothing on my tech, though – hell, I sell them half of their stuff these days. I can get it a lot more precise with a little work." After a moment, Clint went against ingrained instinct and shrugged, pulling his other contact out and handing it over.

"Knock yourself out, Stark. I'm blaming you if I get reamed for the paperwork tomorrow."

"I've seen worse. I think all that filing is starting to rot your brain, anyway. A break'll be good for your health." He got a bit of a mischievous grin as he stood. "After all, I am technically a doctor."

"Not a medical one, surely?" Clint asked, pulling a rather melodramatic grimace. The idea of Tony in scrubs was almost laughable, and the idea of him working in a hospital was worrying.

"Not technically," said doctor conceded, "but it sounds impressive anyway." He turned away and strode a few steps before pausing to glance over his shoulder. There was something unfamiliar in his expression, something that Clint had only seen in very brief flashes before when Tony thought no one was looking. It looked almost…vulnerable those times, but this time around he could see traces of something else – maybe gratitude.

After a moment he smiled – an actual smile, too, not a smirk or that press-smile – and nodded once. Clint didn't even realize he had returned it until after the fact. The door on the other end of the room swung shut quietly and he focused on putting the papers back into their respective folders and getting them stacked under one arm, making himself at least get the files somewhere out of the way before he went up to see Natasha.

Well, he was supposed to trust this team…he just wasn't sure when it had actually started happening.