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Bucky slumps against the bartop props his chin in his hand and watches the screen hanging above him. He’s just finished the day’s accounting work in the back office at SHIELD, the bar his best friend Steve opened right after college.
He’d walked out and headed straight for his favorite stool, Steve already uncapping a beer and sliding it down the bar in his direction. Bucky’s brain felt fried and he was looking forward to zoning out to whatever New York sports team was playing.
“Long day?” Steve asks from behind the bar, wiping up a beer spill.
Bucky groans in response and takes a long pull of his beer. “Numbers are numbers no matter where you go, they shouldn’t get so damn confusing,” he grumbles.
Steve huffs a chuckle before his brows pinch together in concern. “Nothing we gotta worry about, right?” he questions.
Bucky waves him off before motioning for another beer. “Nah, Stevie we’re good.” And they were. Better than good actually if Bucky had the numbers right (which he did). SHIELD had been open for going on five years now and despite a rocky patch in year two, the bar had only been increasing in revenue and customers since.
Steve asked Bucky to come on board to handle all the finances when it was clear he couldn’t do everything despite his raging desire to. Bucky hadn’t been sure at first, he and Steve had known each other since they were kids and Bucky had felt slightly like he was getting something handed to him without working for it.
He’d joined the Army straight out of high school while Steve started working on his business degree. By the time Bucky was discharged after his run-in with an IED, Steve was already in the middle of his third year. Ever competitive, Bucky rushed through his accounting classes, took courses over the summer and graduated the year after Steve (Steve went a fifth year and called it his victory lap, while Bucky was silently grateful to have the support as long as he did).
Steve opened SHIELD right after graduating and begged Bucky to join him the day after Bucky had his diploma in his hands. Despite Bucky’s reservations, he’d been grateful to skip the job hunting process and once he got a look at SHIELD’s finances knew that he was desperately needed.
Two and a half years later the two of them have made SHIELD one of the most popular spots in the neighborhood. They’ve got a steady stream of regulars who are local to the area and are always busy on the weekends with 20—somethings dying to try Bruce’s latest flatbread creation.
Tonight’s pretty slow for a Tuesday and that’s fine with Bucky since it means he won’t get roped into closing with Steve. All he wants is to enjoy his beer, watch a bit of the Nets game and then head home to crash.
He zones in on the game, still in disbelief that the Nets somehow managed to snap up Irving, Jordan AND Durant. By the time he regains focus Steve is standing in front of him, snapping his fingers right in front of Bucky’s face. He startles and knocks his empty bottle over where it rolls off the bar before being deftly caught just before shattering.
“Woah, hey thanks man,” Bucky says and looks up to pair of blue eyes that could rival Steve’s. Steve, who is applauding the man softly and inviting him to take a seat at the bar next to Bucky.
“You sir,” Steve starts. “Have done me a huge favor and saved me from having to clean-up glass which very well may be the worst chore I have to do around here. For that, I owe you. What are ya drinkin’? On the house.”
The guy laughs and shrugs and Bucky has to avert his eyes back to the game once he realizes he’s cataloged the way the man’s eyes crinkle at the corners.
“I’ll take whatever he’s having” he replies, jerking his head Bucky’s way.
Steve uncaps the beer and sets it down in front of the night’s hero and lifts another in Bucky’s direction.
“Buck? Another?” he asks and Bucky’s quick to shake his head no. He’s already had three and if he starts a fourth he’ll start getting a bit too comfortable. That normally wouldn’t be a problem on such a slow night, but he doesn’t want it to happen in front of the stranger who’s hotness factor jumps when Bucky notices the Nets hoodie he’s wearing.
Steve nods and heads down to the other end of the bar to close out a couple of tabs while Bucky contemplates staying to finish the game or finally heading home. He thinks home is probably his best bet when the guy next to him speaks.
“So ‘Buck,’ was it,” he asks, flashing another smile Bucky’s way.
Bucky gives him a lazy grin back. “Bucky, actually. Well, it’s a nickname. Middle name is Buchanan, so. Bucky.”
“Clint,” the man responds. “Not a nickname. Just Clint.”
“Just Clint could be a nickname. Be a pretty shitty one but,” Bucky trails off with a shrug because what even. It’s been a while since he’s tried his hand at flirting, but going straight for insults probably wasn’t a sound strategy.
To Bucky’s surprise, Clint laughs. “Fuck off, man,” he says easily, tipping his beer to his mouth. Bucky tries—and fails—not to stare at the way his lips wrap around the bottle.
He averts his eyes back to the TV and as the third quarter ends with the Nets in a sizeable lead Bucky knows it's time for him to head home.
“Yo Steve,” he calls. “Gonna head out, see you tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow. I got to go to Stark’s to check out his new batch of microbrews so I got Jane on the bar with you for the night. But Thursday, you and me. It’ll be like old times.” He smiles all wide and genuine and Bucky’s so tired he can’t even make fun of Steve having to still deal with his ex for business purposes.
“Good luck with that,” is how he responds. “And make sure to take care of our new favorite customer, Just Clint.”
Steve smirks knowingly at Bucky while Clint glances up from his phone in confusion.
“Want another round, Just Clint?” Steve asks and Clint flips Bucky off before laughing and declining.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” he says. “Gotta be up early in the morning.”
“Understandable,” Steve replies. “Bucky will just have to get you next time.”
“Y—yeah, of course,” Bucky stammers. He sends an evil glance Steve’s way before standing and shrugging on his jacket.
“Alright fellas,” he calls over his shoulder, eager to get out before he—or Steve—can say anything else embarrassing. “I’m out.”
——
Wednesday’s shift goes by without incident. Jane is easy to work with and always willing to grab more ice, the actual worst chore at the bar in Bucky’s mind. He doesn’t see Clint again, not that he’s really expecting to or waiting on him or anything.
He texts Steve around 1 a.m. as the bar begins to thin out toward closing time.
Bucky: okay, spill. How awkward was it with stark today??
Bucky doesn’t expect Steve to respond, but immediately the three dots pop up and he awaits the response.
Steve: bout as well to be expected i guess. don’t know how he makes me feel like an asshole when i’m the one who got dumped but
Steve: got us three new drafts to tap
Bucky: his loss. excited about the beer. let’s try em tomorrow night, yeah?
Steve: sure thing. thanks buck.
Bucky closes up the bar with Jane and heads home, immediately crawling into bed. Sometimes he’s so exhausted from work sleep finds him fast and easy while other nights the buzz of the nightlife leaves him with a spike of adrenaline and no outlet to use it on.
He spends the sleepless nights sprawled on his couch, SportsCenter droning on while he dares them to say something negative about Eli Manning. These are the nights he’s grateful he and Steve are no longer roommates—he can handle insomnia in whatever way he likes without the chance of worrying Steve.
When he finally wakes up it’s a quarter after one in the afternoon (a byproduct of working until close). He drags himself out of bed, quickly changes into some workout gear and mixes up a protein shake before heading out to meet Steve at the gym.
The blast from the IED that tore Bucky’s arm apart required multiple surgeries and extensive physical therapy visits to help him gain full use of it again. Even still he has to keep up with his workouts to ensure his back and shoulders stay strong enough to support all the metal that lives inside where the bones once did.
Steve is a good workout partner, as equally serious about the exercise and not too chatty on most days. Today is not one of those days.
“So,” Steve starts, racking the weights he was using for bicep curls. “You get that guy’s number from the other night?”
Bucky glares as he busts out the rest of his overhead presses. “What’s it to ya, nosy?”
Steve whines. “Buck c’mon. I saw the way you were lookin’ at him. My love life is a mess, let me live through you.”
“Your love life might be a mess, but mine is nonexistent pal,” Bucky replies. “Maybe I’ll get his number if he ever comes in again.” He’s pretty sure the odds of him seeing “Just Clint” again are pretty slim so it’s an easy offer to make.
“Gonna hold you to that, punk,” Steve says. “Let’s shower and get the hell outta here. You’re buying dinner tonight.”
By the time they get to the bar for their shift, the place is decently packed and Bucky joins Jane and Sharon behind the bar while Steve does his routine walk around the place to say hi to some of the regulars and new faces.
Bucky settles into the work, pulling beers and pouring shots with ease. He’s having more fun behind the bar than he’s had in a while, cracking jokes with Steve and casually flirting with the customers to pull more tips. There’s a bit of a line forming even with the four of them working and Bucky has to call out to get the attention of the next guy. “
Hey Rangers Hat,” he yells. “What can I get ya?”
When the guy finally looks up from his phone to order Bucky is shocked to see “Rangers Hat” happens to be Clint. First a Nets hoodie and now the Rangers hat? I’m screwed Bucky thinks but “Hey man! Good to see ya again” is what he gets his mouth to say out loud.
“You sound surprised,” Clint says, smirking. “You had to know I’d be back after Steve gave me free beer.”
Bucky snorts at that. “One-time deal I’m afraid. Unless you manage to save the day again. What are you drinkin’,” he asks again because as much as he’d love to keep talking, he does have other customers waiting to order.
“Oh! Uh, lemme get a pitcher and three whiskey sours,” he says. “I told my friends about this place and they came with me to check it out.”
“Aw, tellin’ your friends about me already, huh,” Bucky teases as he pulls a pitcher of one of the new Stark drafts (Clint hadn’t specified so Bucky figured it was bartender’s choice). Clint sputters a bit at that before giving a grin and shrug as Bucky pushes the drinks Clint’s way.
“You wanna open a tab,” he questions and Clint’s response is cut off by a redheaded woman squeezing herself next to Clint.
“There you are,” she says. “Sam sent me to make sure you didn’t get lost. We should’ve known you were too busy flirting.” She hands a credit card over to Bucky. “Here, open up a tab with this. Drinks on me.”
Clint tries to protest until Bucky cuts in. “I can already tell you don’t wanna argue with her pal.”
The woman gives Bucky a look at that. Not quite a smile or a smirk, something in the middle. “Smart man,” she says. “What’s your name?”
“Bucky.”
“Bucky,” she parrots, stretching the “Y” out. “So you’re the reason Clint just had to come here again.”
He smiles at that. “Pretty sure it was Steve givin’ him free beer and that’s the real reason he’s back.” He turns to get Steve’s attention. “Yo Rogers, over here!”
Steve finishes serving a drink and walks over, grinning as he stares at Clint in recognition and the woman in appreciation.
“Clint! You’re back,” he says. “And you brought a friend!”
“Natasha,” the woman supplies. “Nice to meet you, both.” She’s giving Steve a full smile now, one Steve is returning.
“I’m gonna get these drinks back to Sam before he really thinks I got lost,” Clint says. “Maybe I’ll talk to you later?”
“Sure,” Bucky responds. “We close at 2 tonight, but if you’re still around at like 1:00ish it should be winding down.”
Clint nods and moves to grab the drinks, Natasha helping. Bucky sees a napkin in her hand with something scribbled on it and turns to Steve as they walk off.
“Gave her your number?” he asks, pouring a round of shots for the girls in front of him. “Yup,” Steve says proudly, arms crossing over his chest. “Your turn now, pal. No excuses.”
——
In the end, Bucky doesn’t need to ask Clint for his number because Natasha does it for him. When he sees her come back over he assumes she’s wanting to talk to Steve, but she stops in front of him and asks to close out the tab.
Bucky hands her the receipt and waits for her signature before realizing she’s also written something on the back. He arches an eyebrow at her. “Shouldn’t you be giving Steve your number, not me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, he didn’t even wait an hour before he texted me while he was on a break. That,” she gestures to the paper. “Is Clint’s number. Just in case he chickens out on giving it to you.”
Bucky raises his left eyebrow to meet the right. “Is this a test? This feels like a test.”
She smiles back at him raising her arms in a “who’s to say gesture” and Bucky’s convinced it’s a test and finds himself determined to pass.
Clint makes his way over not five minutes later, trying to play casual as he leans against the bartop. Bucky closes out a few tabs and stows the receipts before stopping in front of him.
“Nat didn’t say anything embarrassing, right,” he asks. “Whatever she said, assume it’s 78% true, but also that she’s making it sound worse than is.”
Bucky laughs. “No pal, nothing embarrassing I swear. She did inspire me a bit though.”
Clint groans. “Oh no, don’t listen to her please.”
“Ya sure about that, doll?” He lays it on a bit thicker than he usually would, the way he does with customers when he’s trying to outdo Steve in tips. It seems to work just fine on Clint. “‘Cause I was gonna ask for your number, but if you’d rather I not then.” He trails off with a shrug.
Clint looks dazed for a second before snapping out of it. “Okay wait no. Please listen to Nat if that’s what she was saying. Here you wanna just give me yours? I’ll add it to my phone right now.”
Bucky recites his number back to Clint and feels his phone buzz in his back pocket a few seconds later. “There! Now we have each other's number,” Clint says, giving Bucky another grin. “We’re gonna head out, but I’ll text you.”
“Great,” Bucky replies. “Talk to you soon, Just Clint.”
Clint groans. “Aw, nickname, no. We gotta come up with something better.”
Bucky hums back. “It’s either that or Rangers Hat,” he says. “That’s all I got to go on.”
Clint squints at Bucky in confusion until Bucky gestures at the top of his head.
“Oh the hat okay got it,” he grimaces. “I guess Just Clint is better than that.”
“We’ll workshop it,” Bucky says. “See ya around?”
Clint nods and waves, heading to the door where Natasha and a tall guy Bucky assumes is the Sam Clint had mentioned earlier. Bucky raises a hand in goodbye as the leave the bar.
“So,” Steve starts, coming to stand next to Bucky. “You get his number.”
“Yes, you ass. I got his number. And you and Natasha?”
“We’re going out Saturday,” he says, with the biggest smile Bucky’s seen on him in weeks.
Bucky claps him on the shoulder. “Glad to see you happy. That smile is good on you.”
Steve’s smile turns fond. “Back at ya Buck.”
——
They quickly fall into an easy stream of constant texting, broken up slightly by Bucky’s late nights and delayed sleep schedule, but he finds that Clint’s often awake in the early hours of the morning too.
One night when Bucky lay awake at 4 a.m.—too keyed up to sleep—he sends off a ramble of thoughts thinking Clint would see it later in the morning at an acceptable texting hour. To his surprise, little gray dots pop up not a minute later, Clint typing out responses to Bucky’s string of questions.
Bucky: i know why i’m awake but why the hell are you??
Clint: nightmare. What’s your excuse?
Bucky thinks his answer over. He could say the same and not even really be lying, except he’d have to actually have fallen asleep for the nightmares to come. He’d learned fast how feeling keyed up and anxious always led to waking up in a cold sweat, scream ripping from his throat. Steve would always come rushing into his room ready to help in whatever way Bucky needed, sometimes with a hug, other times just by being a calming presence in the room.
It was the reason Steve had fought so hard when Bucky first brought up getting a place of his own. Steve forever wanting to protect Bucky from anything that could harm him, holding on to some weird form of self-guilt that Bucky had been hurt in the war and Steve hadn’t been there to stop it.
Bucky found it a bit ridiculous and while he’d not wanted to cause Steve undue worry, he’d spent months talking it through with his therapist and knew being on his own would be good for him. And it had been. The last four months hadn’t been exactly smooth, but keeping up with his workouts and having a mainly predictable work schedule had eased the transition.
But he still got the nightmares occasionally and even though he’d never admit it to Steve he sometimes wished he didn’t wake up alone. He learned to recognize the feeling better and nights when he was sure he would have a nightmare and didn’t want to deal with it he’d just, stay awake.
Bucky contemplates trying to explain this to Clint, getting a feeling the man could probably relate in some way but decides against it.
Bucky: arm is bothering me. can’t sleep
Which, again, wasn’t a lie. He’d felt a few twinges of pain towards the end of his shift and by the time he’d made it home, he had shooting nerve pain down to his fingertips. He knew if he tried to sleep like that he’d just be awake in another hour so he hadn’t bothered.
The three gray dots return before disappearing and coming back as if Clint is typing and deleting each thought. When a message finally comes through it’s an address with instructions to be there in 20. Bucky doubts it’s a booty call—not that he wouldn’t be interested under different circumstances—and finds himself intrigued enough to throw on his jacket and boots and walk to wherever the hell Clint is.
The streets aren’t empty—Bucky’s never seen a Brooklyn street empty—but it’s quiet and calm and puts him more at ease. As he gets to his destination he sees Clint waiting for him in front of a brick building.
Bucky gives him a small tired smile. “Hey,” he says softly. “Where the hell did you bring me?”
Clint throws a grin at him over his shoulder where he’s bent over unlocking the garage door. “Come inside and see for yourself.”
“Uh, no offense but I kinda like my life. You’re not gonna Dexter me or anything right,” Bucky says, watching Clint disappear into the building.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly tell you if I was,” Clint replies from behind a layer of plastic tarps. “Now would I? C’mon in, I wanna show you something.”
“Okay,” Bucky grumbles as he walks in after Clint. “Your funeral once Steve finds out you’ve murdered me.” He privately thinks that Steve would find some way to bring him back to life just so he could kill Bucky again for following a practical stranger to a building in Bed-Stuy anyways, but figures it’s a little late to rethink it.
When he finally catches up to Clint at the back of the building he finds himself staring a long wall with “Hawkeye” painted on in huge purple letters. The “H” is an arrow and the “A” has a target painted around it in yellow. Bucky turns to Clint with a mixture of confusion and excitement because whatever this is, it’s gotta be pretty fuckin’ sweet.
“Hawkeye?”
“Yeah,” Clint replies with a grin. “Hawkeye Archers. It’s gonna be an archery range once we get everything all set-up. The lanes will be here,” he points down to the far wall. “And then I’m thinking since we’ve got so much space I can convince Sam to add an indoor obstacle course too. That’d be sick.”
Clint continues to take Bucky around the building, pointing out all the ideas he has for the space. There’s lots of work to still be done, more framework and dust than any real structures, but Bucky is more interested in watching Clint gesture wildly in excitement anyways. He feels a fond sense of warmth staring at the way Clint’s eyes crinkle at the corners while he talks.
“You said something about Sam?” he finally asks when Clint pauses to take a breath.
“Yeah! Did I not explain?” he questions sheepishly. “Sorry I got caught up in showing it all off. Sam has a non-profit he started to encourage kids in the area to be active and stay out of trouble, stuff like that. When he offered to help me open my own range under the foundation I couldn’t say no. I showed up on his doorstep three days later and we got to work.”
Bucky hums, impressed. “That’s amazing Clint,” he says softly. “Sounds like you’ve got a good thing going.”
Clint tries to brush the compliment off. “It’s something I wish I had growing up,” he shrugs. “If we can give some kids an outlet and opportunities that keep them outta trouble and set ‘em up for success we should at least try.” Bucky can see some deeper emotions swimming in Clint’s eyes so he smiles, but doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.
“Well, you brought me down here,” he starts and raises his eyebrows. “Do I get to see the amazing Hawkeye do his thing? That’s your new nickname by the way.”
Clint smirks back. “Now we’re talking. You think you can handle it?”
Bucky’s never been one to back down from a challenge. “Let’s find out.”
Clint shoves him down onto a stack of gym mats before disappearing into a room and coming back with a bow and a quiver of arrows. “Alright,” Clint says, nocking an arrow against the bowstring. He holds eye contact with Bucky as he releases the arrow where it lands dead center in a target. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
Clint goes to work after that, shooting multiple arrows at once and splitting three in the center while Bucky watches—thoroughly impressed and slightly turned on. He waits until Clint’s dropped the bow before he’s pushing him against the wall and kissing him.
Clint kisses back enthusiastically, threading the fingers of one hand into the short hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. His other hand grips at Bucky’s jaw and he pulls back, letting out a breathless laugh. “I take it your impressed?” he asks and drags his thumb across Bucky’s bottom lip. Bucky’s response is to get his mouth back on Clint, his neck this time, and slides a leg between Clint’s. Clint’s hips thrust against Bucky and he’s hard against Bucky’s thigh. Bucky drags his hand up under Clint’s shirt, fingers tracing across abs and up to his chest and Clint lets out a whine.
“Not that I’m not enjoying this,” he cuts off with a moan as Bucky’s fingers trail down to the button of his jeans. “Because I do i just...wanna take this slow if that’s okay with you?”
Bucky takes a half step back, separating their lower bodies and leans in for a soft kiss. “Slow’s good,” he replies. “I like slow. How slow you talkin’ though cause we did meet in a bar.”
Clint laughs and pushes back on Bucky’s chest. “Not snail’s pace slow, you ass. Just like a stroll around the block kind of slow.”
“I don’t know pal, “ Bucky says, shaking his head. “Sounds pretty fast to me. If you want slow we gotta start somewhere small.” He pauses and rubs a hand across his chin, pretends to be deep in thought. “I got it,” snapping his fingers. “You’ll come with Stevie and me to the Giants game on Sunday. His parents have a suite and they let us take it over one game every season.”
“Football?” Clint replies incredulously. “I said slow, not straight.”
“Fuck off,” Bucky laughs and grabs Clint in a loose headlock. “You’re coming whether you like it or not, anyways. Steve is bringing Natasha and she said you’d come and I quote ‘or else.’ It’s a group date. So slow.”
Clint lets out a noise of disagreement. “Nat can’t make me do anything.”
Bucky gives Clint a look that says “you’re full of shit,” which—fair.
“Okay,” Clint backtracks. “Yes she could and yes she does all the time and no I would never say no to her, but that’s not why I’m coming!”
“Whatever you gotta tell yourself, sweetheart,” Bucky replies, planting a kiss on Clint’s cheek. “I’ll see ya Sunday then.”
——
Bucky doesn’t see Clint in the days leading up to Sunday, mainly due to their busy schedules, but partly so Bucky can keep teasing Clint about how slow they’re going. They keep in contact through texts, Clint reassuring Bucky that “Yes, he does like football, it was just a joke” and Bucky sharing bar gossip about Natasha and Steve.
“I think he’s in love already,” Bucky tells him over the phone Sunday morning when they both have a bit of free time. “I haven’t seen him like this in well—ever I think.”
“You didn’t hear it from me but I think the feeling is mutual,” Clint says back. “We should start placing bets on how soon the proposal comes.”
“Nah, I don’t have a death wish,” Bucky replies laughing. “I’ll see you later alright?”
“Yeah, Sam and I will meet up with you guys. He’s bringing his girlfriend Sharon and her shift at the hospital doesn’t end for another two hours.”
“Sounds good, can’t wait to see you.” He ends the call and heads over to Steve’s to catch the train to the stadium.
They arrive and meet up in the parking lot with Hope and Scott who have been tailgating with more of their friends, including Bruce, Jane and her boyfriend Thor. He teams up with Steve for a few games of cornhole and knocks a few beers back before sending his location to Clint so that they can meet up and head inside.
He cranes his head around looking, wonders if Clint will show up in a classic Manning jersey or if he’ll have upgraded to a Tate or Barkley.
He’s typing out another text when Steve nudges his arm. “Hey, you didn’t say Clint was a Jets fan. How’s that gonna work out?”
To Bucky’s absolute horror he sees Clint walking over with two people who must be Sam and Sharon, completely decked out in Jets green. Sam is too and Sharon apparently is the only one who has taste because she’s in a Giants shirt, blue hat pulled down over her blonde hair.
“I didn’t know!” Bucky hisses back at Steve and sure it’s dramatic, but being a Jets fan is the worst thing Clint could be after a Yankees fan.
“Hey,” Clint calls, smiling brightly. He comes over to wrap Bucky in a hug which Bucky responds to stiffly. “Everything okay?” he asks as he pulls away, hands resting on Bucky’s shoulders.
“Yeah,” Bucky forces out. “Everything’s great.”
Clint gives him a strange look but doesn’t question him any further. He moves away from Bucky and introduces himself to the rest of the group, falling quickly into a conversation with Bruce and Thor. Sharon comes over, hand out to shake Bucky’s.
“Hi, it’s so good to meet you,” she says enthusiastically like she really means it. “Finally! I’m with my people!” She gestures at his jersey.
Bucky chuckles weakly. “Don’t know how you do it. Datin’ the enemy,” he shakes his head, serious and Sharon laughs.
“Lots of yelling on Sundays in our place,” she says. “But it’s all in good fun. He can’t help he was raised with the wrong team.”
Bucky snorts. “Pretty sure he could. Needs to come away from the dark side.”
“Nah, I like him just fine the way he is.” She walks away to tuck herself under Sam’s arm and he drops a kiss to her head as he continues talking with Jane and Steve.
Bucky knows he should go talk with Clint, knows that he’s being ridiculous. He really hadn’t considered that his and Clint’s sports tastes wouldn’t line up after the Nets hoodie, Rangers hat and Mets shirt. He figures it was just too good to be true for Clint to be a Giants fan too.
By the time they’ve made it into the stadium and up to the suite Bucky hasn’t said more than three sentences to Clint, one being “here’s your ticket.”
Clint grabs his hand as he’s walking into the box, pulling him away from the doorway. “Is everything okay,” he asks. “Did something happen in the three hours since I last talked to you?”
Bucky huffs. “Everything’s fine. It’s just...nevermind it’s stupid.”
“Would you mind telling me anyways,” Clint asks softly. “Cause everything doesn’t seem ‘fine.’”
“It’s your jersey,” Bucky blurts out loudly over the crowd noise.
“My...jersey,” Clint parrots back.
“And the hat, and the face paint, all of it.”
Clint blinks in surprise before letting out a loud string of laughter. Bucky walks into the suite, leaving a laughing Clint to follow.
“Oh my GOD,” Clint manages to say, still laughing. “Are you telling me.” He stops to wipe the tears gathering in his eyes. “Are you telling me that you’ve been an asshole since I got here because of the jersey I’m wearing?”
Bucky glares back, feeling slightly embarrassed. “How was I supposed to know you were a Jets fan! I can’t date a Jets fan!”
Clint tries to sober up, but he’s still chuckling when he starts talking again. “I’m not a Jets fan, man. I’ve never lived in a place long enough to pick up sports team loyalties. This is Sam’s jersey.”
Bucky blinks. “But the Nets hoodie! And the Rangers hat! The Mets shirt!”
Clint’s laughter picks back up. “Those we’re Sam’s too! I just threw them on as I was walking out the door because that’s what I do. I didn’t care what was on ‘em.”
Sam interjects at that. “Man, I was wondering where all my shit kept disappearing to!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Clint waves him off. “Bucky?”
Bucky opens and closes his mouth, doing a pretty decent fish impression before grabbing Clint’s wrist and dragging him towards the door.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Steve calls after them laughing. “Please, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do Steve,” Natasha retorts and Bucky looks back in time to Steve’s face bloom bright red. Yeah, he’s gonna tease him about that later, but right now he’s a man on a mission.
“Bucky,” Clint says, pulling up short to a stop. “Where are we going?” He looks amused which Bucky is thankful for.
“Where do you think?” he replies, a grin coming to his face. “We’ve gotta fix this. We’re going to the team store, baby.”
They make it back to the suite just in time for kickoff, this time with Clint in Giants blue. “
Is everything to your liking now, your highness,” Clint grumbles, just a bit.
Bucky pulls out his phone and snaps a photo of them, both grinning into the camera. “Yep,” Bucky replies and posts the picture to Instagram. “It’s pretty much perfect.”
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winters0ldier all sharks no jets #GiantsPride