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Clint finds him down in the lab.
"Tasha's disappointed in us," he begins without preamble. "Says she thought we'd have gotten our heads out of our asses by now."
Tony snorts. "Thought Romanoff was smarter than that. What was she expecting? Kumbayas and hair braiding? You dropped a car on me. I got you thrown in jail. Our mutual silent treatment is completely reasonable."
Clint huffs out a small laugh, coming to hoist himself up on the table beside where Tony is working on his armor. "I know. But this - the whole Avengers thing. It meant a lot to her. So she doesn't quite understand -"
"That we weren't really friends in the first place?" Tony finishes on a guess, finally looking up at the other man. Clint is nodding with a frown on his face. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Barton, from one asshole to another I admire how deeply you own it, and your family is amazing so clearly you've done something right in your life, but you and me?"
"We were okay."
"We were okay," Tony agrees, and that was all they were. All they needed, really, to work together. "I didn't miss you when you were gone. For some reason, I want to apologize for that."
"Don't. Feeling was mutual." Tony accepts this with a nod and gets back to work. Barton swings his feet like a child and looks up at the ceiling. "Natasha and Steve had this whole idea of the Avengers as a family. I coulda told them years ago that wasn't us, but they needed to believe it. And I wanted it for them, wanted it even more for Wanda."
Tony pauses in his work, looking down at his hands, watching the bones flex under the numerous scars left behind by sharp metal and soldering irons. "Yeah, I suppose Maximoff deserved a soft landing after everything."
Clint's voice is quiet and reproachful. "You really hurt her."
"I hurt everybody," Tony corrects, just as softly. He puts down the tools he was working with and looks up at Clint. "If we're going to compete from Most Traumatized, Wanda's got some stiff competition. At least she can still walk unassisted. What do you want, Clint?"
Barton winces the smallest amount at the mention of Rhodey, eyes narrowing at Tony. "Are you even sorry?"
"I hurt everybody," Tony repeats in a near snarl. "Maybe we weren't a family but we were still a team. Of course I'm sorry, jackass. Are you, or did you get a free high horse with your Team Cap t-shirt?"
"Jesus, Tony," Clint says, leaning away. Tony settles further back in his chair, rubbing at his heavy heart and taking a steadying breath. Clint watches him warily. "You've been holding that in since I walked through the door, huh?"
"Fuck off, Barton."
"Maybe Tash has a point," Clint says, absolutely not fucking off, instead placing his hands on the edge of the table like he's bracing for something before looking Tony in the eye. "What I said about Rhodey wasn't right, man. Yeah, I'm sorry. I shoulda left Wanda at home, shoulda stayed with my kids. Shoulda called Natasha first thing. And I still stand by most of it, but I made a lot of mistakes."
"Changed my mind. I am not hosting this pity party, Barton," Tony sighs tiredly.
"Shut up, Stark, just lemme talk." But Clint, for a long while, remains maddeningly silent. Long enough for Tony to break out his mostly empty whiskey bottle from underneath his desk, take a long sip, then hand the bottle off to him. The archer takes a deep swig. "I want to be square. You and me. Not like before. We're not okay anymore, Stark."
"No," Tony agrees. "We are not okay."
Clint nods. "And I'm fine with that. Natasha can suck it up. She wanted a family; well, its not really family until you've hated everybody else's guts."
Tony steals the bottle back with a roll of his eyes. "I don't hate you, drama queen." Tony doesn't have the space left within him to hold any hatred for Barton.
Clint watches him with a indefinable glint in his eye. It disappears and he seems to come to a decision. "Me neither. Point is, the thing you're building here with the team and the kids - I like those kids, Tony. I'd never wish this life on my own brats, but I can't decide for the rest of them. I'd like to do the best I can by them. But you and me, it's gotta be square."
Tony takes a long sip, then holds the bottle out to him. Not friends and not okay. But better, maybe. "Teammates?"
"Teammates," Clint agrees, draining the last of the bottle.
"Square deal."