Chapter Text
Clint was laser-focused, his tongue sticking out in concentration. His hands were steady, like they always were when he was on an important mission. There was no room for error here. He had to complete the mission and do it well. He could do it, he knew. Failure simply wasn’t an option.
And then Tony twitched, sending the stack of hockey pucks on his forehead to the ground.
“Tony!” Clint complained. “Stop moving! I’m going to have to start counting all over again!”
“I can’t help it!” Tony sat up from where he’d been laying on the carpet. “I’m a twitchy person!”
Clint blew out a breath and started to collect the scattered pucks. “Maybe you should be the one balancing them on my forehead,” he suggested. “I twitch less. And you’re better at Jenga, which has to count for something.”
“Good idea,” Tony agreed. He grabbed the stack from Clint, turning them over in his hands. “I mean, this is largely a stupid idea, but seeing as we’re proceeding with said stupid idea, yours is a good suggestion.”
“Dude,” Clint laid on the ground. “Use normal human grammar. Seeing as we’re proceeding? Nerd.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”
“Nat said I couldn’t break more world records than her and I couldn’t let that stand,” Clint shrugged. Spite was a completely normal motivation. “So you’re helping me break the record for most hockey pucks balanced on my forehead while lying down because you love me and believe in me more than she does. The number to beat is 26.”
“Ah, that explains everything,” Tony drawled, tossing a puck back and forth between his hands. “I get half credit if we do this. And for all the rest that I help you with.”
“Deal,” Clint grinned. It was always fun when he got Tony’s competitiveness into play. There was no way they’d lose to Natasha now, if only because Tony would rather die than admit defeat. “I have so many ideas. Next up is balancing a raw egg vertically on my forehead, which has to be easy, right?”
Tony put his face in his hands. “What did I get myself into?” he moaned.
“Stop complaining and start stacking,” Clint stilled, falling back into mission mode. Nothing could move him now. “We have a world record to beat.”