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It starts as most things do in the Tower, with a debate about the most popular Avengers. Tony's sure in some way he's started it, probably by insulting Steve again, but now, sitting on the chair as he runs countless statistics to prove he's better than Captain America, he can't exactly remember. After about fifteen minutes or so, he rolls his eyes, lying his tablet face down, and resigns. "Captain America is more popular than Iron Man."
Steve does his best to not look smug. He fails miserably.
"But," he adds because he's Tony and resigning himself to the fact that he isn't the best at something just isn't going to happen. "I'm the Avenger you'd want to grab a beer with."
Steve shrugs, convincing himself he can live with that, and Natasha, who hasn't really been paying attention to their conversation lets out a dry chuckle. He isn't entirely sure if it's because of him or something else, but he allows himself to believe it's him.
And then Clint falls out of the vent on the ceiling. He's up and dusting himself off so quickly Tony wouldn't believe he just fell on his ass if he hadn't seen it. "At least you represent something!" It's the first thing he shouts, and Tony isn't really paying attention because he's looking up at the ceiling vent Clint just fell out of.
"Are you going to explain what you were doing up there?"
Clint looks back up at the ceiling and shrugs. "It's a good vantage point." And it hits Tony now, that this is his life. Too long ago he welcomed five strangers to come live with him and threw consequences to the wind.
Looking back on it, he really wishes he had thought about the consequences.
"As I was saying," Clint says just loud enough to drag Tony's attention from the ceiling and back to the man. "At least you both represent something. I mean, when you think of blue, you don't think of the water or the sky, you think of the walking American flag!"
"That's not the compliment you think it is."
"And, Tony, when you think of red, what do you see?"
Tony allows himself to think about it, really think about it. He envisions red, tries to see his suit zipping through the air, and he's only half successful. The image churns, the red becomes more vibrant and life-like, losing its metallic shine. It takes entirely too long for him to realize he's imagining red hair instead of red armor. He blinks, once, twice, and focuses his eyes back on Clint.
"Iron Man. I think of Iron Man."
"Exactly!" Clint launches into his explanation about his lack of color representation, and Tony promptly zones it out.
(He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, pretending not to notice the pair of green eyes that watch him curiously. He wonders if she somehow knows.)