ahollowman | (no subject)

Clint Barton, Phil said, was in Darrow. Clint Barton, Phil said, was not the Clint Tony knew and didn't really like all the time actually, quite frankly. He was another guy, like the guy Tony knew in some ways, and not like him in others. Which Tony considered was very probably an improvement.

(He should be less of a dick about Clint, but in his defense, the last time he'd spoken to a Clint Barton, the conversation was not kind to Tony.)

This had all been before Tony had seen a picture of who he was looking for. While the guy in the photo was definitely the essence of Clint, he was also better looking than the one Tony was accustomed to. Like, on the scale of one to ten, he was at least a point five abive Tony. Which was ... terrible, seriously.

Tony pulled up behind the guy, jogging, and panting a little, in an outfit of sweats and sneakers that cost Tony no more than five bucks a piece.

"Really? Jogging? That's the worst hobby. It's so bad people used to make jokes about it. It was like, that guy obsessed with A/V equipment, people who were into show dogs, and joggers. Weird nerds. Dog yours?"

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"Uh..."

Okay, so, the word vomit? That, I'm used to. This is Tony Stark, after all, a guy whose brain works about fifty times faster than anyone else's. Even on a good day, it's not exactly easy to keep up, and I've still got to get over the hurdle of-- Oh, hey, Tony Stark is back.

Again.

Besides, I heard less than half of what he just said. The hearing aids help, but with street noise, and him being behind my bad ear, it's a pretty fun guessing game. I'd bet that a good third of it was bull$#!+ anyway.

Something about show dogs. Okay.

"Yeah, can't you recognize a champion, when you see one?" Lucky yipped, tongue lolling, one-eyed and scarred and maybe he lists a little to one side. He's a good boy, he's just been through hell.

"How's it going, Stark?"

"Uh," Tony said, and followed it with a Jesus because the dog, who was not a show dog, had turned around to give him a look of bliss. Which was insensitive, maybe, but Tony hadn't been prepared.

Tony tried to keep up with the jog. This Clint, in addition to being handsomer than the other, was also taller. And Tony was a former binge drinker who'd had heart surgery. The serious shit, bypass and everything. Who ran for pleasure?

"Could be better actually, could be loads better. I broke the Avengers, half the team is hiding in Africa, including the other you, I'm on a world of shit-lists, and Pepper left me. So business as usual, right? What the hell are you up to here? Doing the thing with the arrows?"

"The one with the wife and kids? Yeah, I heard about that one."

It's not like I'm bitter. I don't think I'm ready for kids, and a wife? I've been there, completely ruined that. But still, I get this weird impression that the other guy is better at being me by a mile. Which kinda stings.

"I don't know. It sounds like, if you were going to get trapped in an alternate dimension, now's a pretty good time for it."

"Yeah, that one. Believe me, I was more surprised to find that out than literally anybody else."

He finally found a reasonable stride to keep up with Clint and Dog.

"And maybe you're right. That is certainly a way to think about it." Tony wasn't sure if it wasn't the selfish way, but it was A Way. "Gives me a chance to unpack. Mentally. Nobody here has threatened to kick my ass. Yet. You doing okay?"