Tony Stark one shots

One of those days

A/N : I just wanna clarify I am not this smart half this info like the smart stuff I got off google and I also got some smart synonyms. This is a rlly long one didn't expect it to be but it is idk if it counts as a one shot? I've been making this forever hope u like it!

"Come on, Nick, that's bullshit and you know it."  Tony Stark leaned forward and fixed the Director with an intense glare.  He recognized that he might be overreacting, but he was running on fumes at this point.  It had been a week since Loki's failed invasion and the industrialist was still trying to prioritize the chaos into something resembling order.  First, he'd managed to get power back to most of the affected areas of the city by coercing the mayor to link the Stark Tower arc reactor into the local grid.  Next, he had arranged for temporary housing for the volunteer emergency crews that had poured into the city over the following days.  Then he'd convinced the Stark Industries board of directors that the free publicity and positive public image more than offset the costs incurred, but this had taken considerable time and all his personal skills of persuasion to accomplish.  Add those items to the ongoing repairs to Stark Tower, repairs to his armor, press conferences, current research and development projects, not to mention the daily tasks associated with running a Fortune 500 company, and he was working thirty hours out of every twenty-four.  Eating and sleeping were distant memories by the time he finally made it to the helicarrier he'd designed in order to personally assess the damage, figure out what weaknesses had been exploited, and plug the holes in SHIELD's security.  He'd specifically requested Barton as his guide for the walk-through, as the archer had been the one to actually do the exploiting in the first place, but got distracted from the actual damage assessment by the tour itself.  While Stark was brilliant and often brash, he couldn't have made his money without being able to read people and give them what they wanted, or possibly even convince them that they wanted it.  What he saw on Fury's flying fortress set his mental alarms blaring, so he'd gone straight to the man himself.

The Director seemed unconcerned, and steepled his fingers impassively as he leaned back in his chair.  "Agents Barton and Romanov are active SHIELD assets, while Dr. Banner and Captain Rogers are both under SHIELD protection.  Living arrangements offsite are untenable at the present time due to security issues."

Despite his exhaustion, the billionaire carefully schooled the anger out of his voice; he didn't have time to waste on stupidity or pointless fighting.  "Have you noticed the interpersonal dynamics on this tub recently?" He snorted self-deprecatingly.  "I'm not famous for my sensitivity, but I've only been onboard an hour and can already see that housing the Avengers here is going to end in bloodshed if something isn't done soon."

"And what, exactly, led you to that conclusion?" The Director's voice was dry as desert sand as he idly played with a pen on his desk.

Stark rolled his eyes.  "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was the way every agent we passed in the hall shot Barton the stink-eye.  Or maybe it was the way Romanov, who followed us everywhere by the way, kept tossing her knife from hand to hand as we walked, then conspicuously cleaned her fingernails with it whenever we stopped."

A small smile quirked the corner of the older man's mouth as he glanced up.  "Personal hygiene is very important,  Mr. Stark."

The industrialist's own mouth thinned angrily and his eyes narrowed.  He knew when he was being messed with, and didn't appreciate the misuse of his valuable time.  On less hectic days he'd enjoy maneuvering around the spy, but right now he was busy, goddammit!  His voice lowered to a growl as he continued, "And the looks Barton got were nothing compared to Banner; hell, people turned and headed the opposite direction whenever they saw him coming.  He pretended not to notice, but I could see him looking a little green around the gills.  And Rogers?  He's either pounding the shit out of another punching bag, or moping alone in that closet you laughingly call his quarters!  How the heck is he supposed to acclimate to his new time period if he can't even get out in it?  And is it really a good idea to lock up a giant green rage monster on the very vessel he trashed last week?"