Time to go

Texting isn't for hiding from the deaf

Tony clenched his fists at his sides as he moved robotically out of the infirmary.

You are going to make a great parent someday. The words danced around his cranium and he almost laughed before sitting down in the middle of the stairwell.

"Someday." He said to the blank walls. "I wonder what day that was supposed to be? The day I was born, or the day he sent me to boarding school?"

It felt as if his heart had been put through a meat grinder. He had tried so hard to put his father behind him, and to section off that part of his past into a little box. Then that man had taken that box and upended it right on his feet. And like marbles, these memories went everywhere, falling into the darkest corners of Tony's mind, hiding in spots that he never knew existed, and lurking on the edges waiting to roll under his feet and send him reeling face first into a pit of hate.

Tony rubbed his eyes ands checked his watch. 4am. Guess I might as well get a head start on today's work.

He made his way toward the lab, but not before a slight detour through the kitchen to steal a bottle of liquid courage.

________________________________________________________________________________

Clint woke up to the nudge of a boot in his gut. He was awake suddenly and sprung up to see an exasperated Steve looming over him. And if that wasn't terrifying enough, Steve's lips were moving, but Clint couldn't hear a damn word.

Shit! Where the hell are my hearing aids? Clint dug through his pockets in a frenzy, but came up empty handed. The annoyingly small devices were missing. They were probably stranded somewhere in the twisty mess of his blanket, or in some other perplexing spot. This wouldn't be the first time he had put his aids in his pocket and found them in his sock. (Don't ask how, he wasn't awake when it happened.)

Knowing that he wouldn't find his hearing aids without tearing apart his makeshift bed, Clint turned to look up at Steve, who was still talking.

Guess we're going to have to lip read. Clint grumbled, then turned his focus to Steve.

It took exactly .009 seconds for Clint to decide that this wasn't going to work, when Steve was angry his accent came back and he talked faster than a runaway freight train.

Tone he is in the hab? No. Tony is in a cab?

Hi, didn't you stake knee? Not even close.

Does he even know I'm partially deaf? Oh god. He's staring at me! Did he ask a question? Clint sighed. Time to start talking.

Clint absolutely detested speaking when he couldn't hear,especially if the person didn't know he couldn't hear himself. He always felt as if he was speaking underwater. His words came out garbled and unidentifiable. There was nothing like the horrible looks on people's faces when he was forced to converse without his aids. Some thought he was "touched" (see:crazy), some asked him what his diagnosis was, but most just gave him a look of utmost pity. Like he was some poor wounded lamb that needed coddling.

Clint hated that look.He didn't need someone to hold his hand. He didn't want their sympathy.

"Steve." He finally ground out. "Hearing Aids."

Steve's face dropped, then a look of realization came over him. This look was then followed by a look of pure fear. Steve didn't know any sign language.

Clint groaned internally (or it could've been externally too, but Clint couldn't hear it so it was internal for him). Finally he mimed a pen on paper with his hands and motioned to a nearby table.