Bed of Burning Snarl || amnesia!verse || closed

[stillnotlegolas]

Clint thinks that, quite possibly, he might lose his mind. It won’t be a fast process, going insane, but he’s pretty certain that eventually he’ll just make the step forward right over the edge and go completely and totally bonkers. There are things they’ve been trained for, and then there are things they were never trained for - magic and gods and

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[nottheworsthing]

For all that the situation is still weird and awkward and wrong, lately things have settled into a tentative sort of equilibrium. Of course some things haven't changed. Tony's still holed up in his workshop every waking hour, alternating between doing things nature never intended to the gutted Ferrari and working on the designs for the modified helicarrier, and generally failing to eat, sleep, or keep himself properly supplied with anything other than coffee. Business as usual. Except that now half the time Natasha's there too; making idle comments on whatever he's doing or just...watching. It weirded him out at first. But now he's used to it, it's not so bad. At the very least it's nice to have someone other than Jarvis to talk to, and it's not like she gets in the way or anything.

He's not sure why she's taken to hanging around. Okay, so the workshop's a good place to lay low - mostly because between Jarvis' security protocols and Tony's tendency to cause minor explosions and/or generally be insanely irritating to be around when he

[stillnotlegolas]

Clint is not normally a man prone to worrying about people--he spends his time surrounded by achingly competent humans and super humans and gods--except for Natasha, but he worries about her constantly and that exists as a sort of background constant in his life. But, every now and again? He sees Tony in the middle of one of these bouts of creation he gets stuck in and worried a little for not only his sanity but the state of his body. It's not healthy to spend days awake and eat nothing but coffee and protein bars--

--but Tony has a whole crew of people who have made worrying about him a profession (made a damn talking voice in the CEILING to worry about him), and Clint doesn't figure he needs any sort of lecture. Still--he's going to need to watch those not-quite-burns. And maybe get some sleep. Jesus

[nottheworsthing]

"She's what?" Tony says incredulously, "Natasha? Our Natasha? About so high, red hair?" Okay, so apparently he was just entirely wrong when he thought that there was no way anything could possibly surprise him any more. Give him a good old alien invasion any day. That at least he has some idea how to deal with. This? Not a chance. Assuming, of course, that Clint hasn't just had some sort of nervous breakdown. Or maybe it was drug-related. Something inducing hallucinations at any rate

[stillnotlegolas]

"You have to have noticed," Clint replies, keeping his attention on the model, cutting his eyes over to the engineer once before they return to the glowing diagram. "But look, I mean, I know she's gorgeous, of course I do," And he's just sort of talking now, realizes maybe he should stop, but he can't help it. He's just--he can sort of deal with Nat being Natasha, and he can sort of deal with half of SHIELD still thinking he's a fucking turncoat, and he can sort of deal with the fact the longer this goes on the less likely it is that Nat is ever coming back, but put all of it together and he's feeling a little crazy around his eyes. "but seriously, she's not right, you and I both know that, and just--" He fades out because dammit. He doesn't even know. He can't think about this. About Tony and Natasha and the fact that she looks at him sort of how she looked at Clint when he'd brought this version of Nat into SHIELD a decade ago

[nottheworsthing]

"What's to notice?" Tony replies. He's still mostly convinced that Clint's experiencing some sort of stress-induced delusion. Shaking his head in utter bemusement, he pushes abruptly away from the abandoned welding and crosses the workshop toward Clint, brushing half-finished holographic designs out of the his way as he goes. "Feel free to start making sense at any time," he says sardonically, stopping just on the other side of the main helicarrier schematics.

Goddamnit, he is in no way awake - or failing that, caffeinated - enough to be dealing with this. Calculations and schematics and handling power tools, all these things he can do in his sleep, and has in the past. But anything involving people and feelings? Not a chance. He can be charming when he wants to be, but for the most part his people skills exist on a purely superficial level

[stillnotlegolas]

"Fuck you I've slept recently," He retorts, but completely counteracts any assertion he might have by rubbing his hands over his face and leaving his hair sticking up in a rather ridiculous fashion. He has slept recently, technically, but while the couch in his level of the tower is comfortable for sprawling and sitting, it wasn't made for sustained sleeping and he's just about to lose his mind for want of a decent night's rest. But he's also not about to force himself on Natasha or kick her out of the one place she feels somewhat comfortable. Of course, being locked out of his bedroom every night is doing wonders for his mental stability.

"I'm fine," he adds, as if this would help him be more convincing. "I just--thought I'd come here, and--let you know. About Nat--about Natasha, and what's going on with her, and you

[nottheworsthing]

"Sure you are," Tony replies in tones of deep and abiding skepticism, raising his eyebrows at Clint. Well at least it's nice to be proven right. Yeah, Tony is intimately familiar with 'sleep deprived and incoherent' and he's pretty sure he's looking at a bad case of it right now. Still doesn't explain the weird delusions involving Natasha having a crush on him - which, once more with feeling, what the fuck - but it's something. "Come back when you've slept. You're talking crazy talk."

[stillnotlegolas]

"Dammit, Tony, I'm not crazy," He snarls, tightening his arms across his chest and turning his attention fully to the other man. "She talks to me, alright? And it's come up," Not in so many words, but Clint can't think of anyone else that Natasha talks about with equal--well, he might call it reverence. Respect, certainly, awe, slightly, and a whole lot of something he can't quite put his finger on, but is the closest to infatuation he can imagine for her. He doesn't entirely have enough evidence to make a blanket statement, but he knows her enough to know it might be an issue.

[nottheworsthing]

He opens his mouth to make the instinctive protest of but she doesn't even like me. But even as the words form he stops, because- well, that wasn't exactly true any more, was it? Ever since the day Natasha had first wandered into the workshop, a tacit sort of truce had existed between them. And all of a sudden the fact that she kept coming around made a lot more sense. To say nothing of the way she watched... He blinks a few times, brow furrowing. "Huh."

[stillnotlegolas]

He just lets out a snort and nods, because aha, Tony gets it. And while there's a bit of comfort in knowing he's not crazy, it's not exactly comforting to realize that Tony's noticed enough that he thinks it might be a possibility too. At least, now that Clint's pointed it out to him.

"Right," he agrees, crossing his arms back over his chest and leaning against the workspace between them. "and maybe she isn't Nat right now, but she's still--" God, Nat would kill him for this, or at least punch him. She hated when he went all territorial alpha male on her, and he didn't do it often. Hardly ever, actually, because hell she really didn't need anyone fighting her battles for her, and half the time she fought her own, won them and fought a couple of his on the side, but Natasha isn't Nat and he doesn't--she brings out every single one of his protective instincts, and he knows logically he doesn't need to protect her from Tony, because Tony's a decent guy under all his flash, but he's sort of--protecting her from everyone right now. "--

[nottheworsthing]

Tony's eyebrows shoot skywards. "You know she'd skin you for that, right?" he says incredulously. Out of possibly everyone he's ever met, Natasha is probably the least in need of people being protective of her. And he really can't see her taking well to anyone making the attempt. Even Clint. "Also, 'off limits'? Seriously?"

[stillnotlegolas]

He's well aware. Trust him, Tony, he's got the scars to prove how well she doesn't take it, but, dammit, he's still not--

"I know," He agrees, shoulders slumping just a little as he looks away from Tony. "Doesn't make it less true though. Maybe I'm being crazy about it, I don't even fucking know, but, I just know she's all kinds of twisted up and not herself--" His hands are back at his face, scrubbing over it, like he might be able to make more sense of any of this by blocking out his sight. Dammit. He can't fix it and he doesn't know how and it might never be fixed and somehow this is going to end up being his life. Him waiting for a woman to come back who's gone, and the woman she once was coming to hate him because he can't stop waiting for who she'll be.

[nottheworsthing]

"For the record: still not convinced you're not crazy," Tony clarifies, because it seems like this needs to be said. It's still a bizarre and vaguely unnerving thought to attempt to wrap his head around. Maybe the old Natasha had never liked him, but he appreciated that she was upfront about it. He liked to know where he stood. With this new version of her...well, he's about as far from knowing where he stands as is humanly possible. It's cold comfort than no-one else - including Natasha - has any real idea either.

He shrugs. "Seriously though, it's not like she can't take care of herself," he points out. He has full faith in Natasha's ability to break every bone in his body if he steps out of line.

[stillnotlegolas]

"I'm well aware she can take care of herself," Clint retorts, because really, Tony, he knows that. He's probably been on the receiving end of Natasha taking care of herself more than anyone else recently, and he's very aware of how good a job she can do of it. "But she's also not herself right now."

He can feel the press of his ring against his chest and he tries not to scowl, but it's just another reminder of what, exactly, it seems like he's lost. "So just, do me a favor, alright?"

[nottheworsthing]

Tony's eyes narrow. "Seriously?" he says flatly, his face hardening into the sort of blankly indifferent expression he usually only wears around reporters and other hostile forces. "This is seriously a concern of yours?"

[stillnotlegolas]

Were Clint in his right mind, he might have recognized that expression and responded appropriately. Because, he knows Tony's faces, to an extent--it happens, when you're on the same team and see everyone in a thousand different facets of their lives, and even more when you're actually friends--and he should have seen the absurdly wide warning sign that came with this one. And, well, he's never really had Tony consider him a hostile force before, so he's not entirely certain what he's supposed to make of it.

Except, of course, to push an issue he should have realized was a moot point before it even became a doubt in his head.

"--you think I'd be down here if it wasn't?"