Archive of Our Own

"Come on. Out with it, Rogers."

Bucky crossed his arms across his chest and levelled Steve with the most unimpressed glare he could muster. Steve had been tiptoeing around him since he first woke up that morning, and Bucky could spot the 'Steve Rogers wants his own way about something' face in any century.

"What?" Steve said from his position on the couch, not looking up from his book. "Out with what?"

"You're doing the face," Bucky said. "And you have been hovering around me all damn day, instead of spending it hovering around Stark. You quite clearly want something, so out with it."

Steve scowled, like he was annoyed that Bucky had one-upped him and thrown him off his usual 'manipulate Bucky into doing things that are good for him' game. "Maybe I just wanted to hang out," he said. "Maybe I don't want to hang out with Tony today."

"I can't believe you even got that out of your mouth without choking on your tongue," Bucky said. "Your Mama didn't raise you as a liar, Steven Rogers."

Steve's scowl deepened, and then vanished as he sighed, shutting his book with a snap and swinging his feet down off the couch.

"We have a... thing. Every month, a sort of poker night, just the guys. Well, sometimes some of the girls, and Natasha always kind of hangs out and kibbitzes, but, you know, just friends. And you've been doing okay with dinner, lately, it seemed, and Clint suggested that you might wanna--"

"Clint suggested?" Bucky interrupted, alarm bells going off in his mind, because why was Clint Barton suggesting? It was bad enough when it was Steve suggesting, but at least he could work out why Steve was doing it, but Clint? Bucky racked his brains but nope, couldn't find any justifiable motivation for Clint being the one to invite him anywhere.

"Yeah," Steve said. "I didn't think you'd be up for it yet, was gonna wait till next month, but he insisted I ask. And I mean, when Clint gets hold of something, he's not likely to let go."

"Man's like a dog with a bone," Bucky agreed, because he hadn't known the rest of the Avengers that long, but there were some things that were impossible to miss.

"Either that or he just gives up completely," Steve said, nodding. "I think you attending poker night is the former though."

"But why?"

Steve looked at Bucky. "What do you mean, why?"

"Why does he want you to invite me?"

"Beats me, you're an asshole," Steve replied easily. "What d'you say?"

Bucky thought for a moment. At the end of the day he liked playing cards, and it might be fun just to see Steve's face when Bucky agreed instead of doing his usual digging his heels in routine. With that in mind, he threw caution to the wind and nodded. "Sure. Sounds like fun."

Steve stared at him, blinking. "Really?"

"Sure, why not?"

Steve stared some more, and then he laughed, shaking his head. "Damn. I had Sam on standby and several bribes ready to go."

Bucky pointedly gave him the finger. "Since when was Captain America such a manipulative bastard?"

"Don't know what you're talking about." Steve grinned and there it was, that edge of Steve's 'so proud of Bucky for acting like an actual fucking human being' face. The smile softened marginally. "I'm glad you're coming," he said, with such sincerity that Bucky honestly despaired.

"Jeez, it's just poker. If you're done now, get the hell out. I'm busy."

"No you're not. You're just--"

"OUT."

Steve beamed at Bucky as he left, though, so Bucky wasn't quite sure who'd won that round. Frowning at the door, he couldn't help but wonder why anyone who wasn't Steve had bothered to invite him anywhere. Yeah, they might all be okay with him being there in the tower - and after six months, he was actually starting to believe that - but something like poker night? That was what friends did together, not just tower-mates.

"Get it together Barnes," he told himself irritably, determinedly ignoring the faint twist of nerves in his stomach. "You got the invite, you're going."

***

When Bucky came into the common area that evening, the table was already near-full, with only a single chair next to Steve still left empty. The first thing he noticed was the godawful sound of modern synthesized pop music coming from the stereo, and a close second was the person that he didn't recognize, sitting between Thor and Clint. The stranger seemed completely at ease, lounging back on his chair with an arm hooked over the back, turning a poker chip over and over in his fingers. The table was rowdy already, raised voices and laughter loud through the room.

So far unseen by the others, Bucky cautiously approached the table. As he did, the stranger looked up and his face split into a wide grin.

"Hey! The Terminator is joining us!"

Clint punched the stranger's arm. "Be nice, Storm," he said, looking up at Bucky with a rueful grin. His eyes were bright and excited and he had a Band-Aid on one cheekbone, and Bucky didn't have a clue what he'd done to himself this time around, seeing as he'd not been on a mission in over ten days.

Bucky looked away from Clint back to Storm, whoever the fuck that was. "What's a Terminator?"

"Nothing," Steve interjected hastily from his seat next to Tony. "Tony, shut up."

Tony abruptly shut his mouth, and the delighted expression on his face turned to one of affront. He narrowed his eyes at Steve, dextrous fingers still shuffling a deck of cards. "You never let me have any fun."

"I'll remind you that you said that later," Steve said with a hint of a smirk, before he remembered Bucky was there and hastily schooled his face into something more neutral. Bucky watched him for a moment, but Steve very deliberately did not look back up, choosing instead to steal half the deck of cards from Tony, shuffling them to give his hands something to do.

Mildly exasperated with Steve's continuing policy of not being too queer when Bucky was around, Bucky gave up and instead turned his attention to the others. Clint and Sam were dividing poker chips into piles, chatting animatedly and swigging beer as they went. Natasha was sitting on the counter behind Clint and Sam, obviously intending to watch without playing. Thor reached into a cooler on the floor and offered Bucky a bottle of beer. "I believe that a drink or two will help this evening make much more sense," he explained, with apparent seriousness.

"Uh, I guess," Bucky agreed, taking it and flicking the cap off with his metal fingers.

Storm rolled his eyes. "Sure, if you're going to be a pussy and stick to beer all night. This is poker night, come on!"

Bucky stared at him. "Who the fuck is this joker?"

"Johnny Storm, pleased to meet you," the stranger said airily. "What, you're telling me none of these guys have mentioned me yet?"

"We had more important things to be talking about," Tony said. "Like which brand of dishwasher tablet to buy."

Bucky was beginning to get the impression that Tony was not over-impressed with Johnny Storm. For his part, Johnny didn't seem all that bothered.

Bucky dropped into the last empty seat at the table. "You're not playing?" he asked Natasha.

"Hell no, she's not playing," Clint said. "This is a friendly game. Natasha only plays poker when there's blood in the water."

"I'm pretty sure she won someone's soul last time," Tony mused, and Steve chuckled next to him. "I'm ninety percent sure it wasn't mine."

"Better check again," Natasha said. "Chips, anyone?"

"Of course," Thor said, and reached to take the bowl Natasha offered. "What is the wager tonight?"

"Fifty bucks in," Tony said promptly.

"I've got you covered, Buck," Steve said, tossing a handful of twenties on the table. Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but Clint was already pushing piles of chips across the table at them.

"Who you winning for?" Johnny asked Bucky. Momentarily thrown, Bucky looked at Steve.

"Oh, we play for charity," Steve said. "We each pick a cause, and whoever wins, they get the money for their charity. "I'm playing for the local arts center."

"There's an engineering endowment with my anonymous name on it," Tony supplied.

"The VA," Sam nodded, saluting Bucky with his beer.

Natasha poked Clint's shoulder with her toe until he shrugged and admitted, "The local Avalon shelter."

"Tonight, my winnings are for the children's hospital we visited last week," Thor put in.

"Your winnings?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised. "Is that what my hard earned dollars already are?"

"One should approach a contest of skill with confidence," Thor said, grinning.

"You do realise you're playing against a table of soldiers and spies," Tony said matter of factly. "And you have been cleaned out every time we've played."

Thor shrugged. "Maybe my luck starts tonight."

"You think it's anything to do with luck?" Tony asked. "You know what, I don't care. You feel lucky, you go for it, big guy."

Bucky raised his eyebrows at Tony. "Not going to tell us about the math of probability?"

Tony snorted. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Math is banned from poker night," Steve said, sending Tony a warning glance. Tony simply batted his eyelashes at Steve, an innocent look on his face.

"Would I ever try and cheat you, my Captain?"

"Yes," Steve said flatly.

"Please," Tony said. "I know the penalties for cheating."

"And they are?" asked Natasha.

"Sleeping on the couch," Tony replied promptly. "Not worth it."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, just enough. Predictably, Steve ignored him and looked down at the table in front of him, ears going a telltale shade of pink.

"Are we going to flirt or play cards?" Clint demanded. "Deal, already."

Tony obliged, and the game began. It didn't take Bucky long at all to ascertain that there was a definite range of skill around the table, from the practiced veterans (Tony) to the downright hopeless (Sam) and everything else inbetween. Steve appeared to be playing casually, but Bucky could sense a very Captain-America edge of determination about him, so wasn't going to write him off just yet. Besides, he'd played poker with Steve countless times before and knew that he wasn't above playing dirty if the occasion called for it.

Sam's tells were the easiest to read -- he had almost no control at all over his face or his breathing. Bucky thought at first that Tony was almost as easy, but it didn't take long to learn that some of Tony's tells were deliberately misleading, which was almost as hard to decipher as Clint's stony expression. Johnny was just as hard to work out, because most of the time he wasn't even looking at the table, choosing instead to drink and flirt dangerously with Natasha. Bucky couldn't work out if he was genuinely not paying attention, or if it was all a very deliberate act to make himself seem incompetent.

By the third deal, Bucky found he was actually starting to relax and enjoy himself. The beer and scotch were flowing, everyone seemed completely at ease, and there was just enough chatter going on that Bucky didn't feel obliged to constantly join in or make forced conversation. It suited him fine; he found he could sit back and watch the others, learning from observing just as he tended to do at mealtimes.

It was Natasha who drew his attention away from a spell of watching Clint balancing poker chips on the tips of his fingers, grinning across the table like he was deliberately showing off. Ignoring Clint for a moment, Bucky focused on Natasha, because he was pretty sure that the very faint noise he could hear was her clicking her tongue while Sam was thumbing over his cards and debating whether to fold or not.

"Are you hinting him?" he demanded, glaring up at her.

"I am not a cheater," Natasha said earnestly, which didn't mean a damn thing.

Sam twisted around in his seat to look up at her. "Were you? Damn. I missed it."

"I know," Natasha sighed. She cocked her head, studying the table, then shrugged. "Twenty into the pot says Sam's out in the next four hands."

"Hey!" Sam protested.

"Done," Clint said, and ducked Sam's half-hearted swat. "Hey, she usually bets against me. I'm just pleased she's picking on someone else tonight."

"Who says I'm not already betting against you?"

Clint pulled a face at her and went back to his cards, the tiniest of frowns crossing his face. He absently picked up a chip, rolling it back and forth over his knuckles. Bucky found himself drawn into watching again, slightly fascinated by the movement and impressed with Clint's dexterity.

Just as Natasha predicted, Sam ended up out of both luck and chips in short order. He dropped the offending cards to the table with a groan, covering his eyes with a hand.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," Johnny replied happily, turning to grin at Natasha. "Do the honors?"

Natasha smiled and produced a short stack of shot glasses and an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid, which she passed over Clint's head to Johnny.

Bucky stared. "I'm scared. Should I be scared?"

Steve nodded. "Probably."

"Aren't you immune to alcohol?" Tony asked Bucky curiously.

Bucky frowned. "Don't know."

"Well, you're about to find out," Clint said happily. "I bet even Steve could get drunk off of this stuff."

"I'll take that bet," Tony replied, and Steve shook his head.

"Tony, no."

"Tony, yes," Tony countered. "I bet a thousand bucks that you can't get Steve drunk. And if you can, I will give you a thousand bucks anyway."

"So I either come out even or a thousand bucks richer?" Clint said, and turned wide eyes on Steve. "Say, Steve-"

"No," Steve said firmly. "Not doing it."

"But Steve," Tony wheedled, his eyes big, "it's for charity."

"Tony," Steve said firmly, and he turned to meet Tony's eyes. "Not this time," he said, and underneath the hitched smile was a hint of seriousness. Bucky noticed it as well, and Tony obviously did too, because he just nodded.

"Can we try and get Bucky drunk instead? It can be for--"

"So help me, if you say science--"

"I wasn't going to say science."

"What were you going to say, then?"

Tony opened his mouth, closed it again. "Um."

"I think," Johnny said loudly, topping up a final shot glass, "we should just get everyone drunk, and play the game we're supposed to be playing."

"Indeed," agreed Thor, helping to pass glasses around the table.

Bucky lifted his and sniffed at it cautiously. There wasn't much to smell, beyond the burn of alcohol. He was just about to tip some carefully onto his tongue when a sudden flash and flare exploded across the table. His breath caught in his chest and his mind froze, because he didn't know where it had come from and the fire was too close-

"Hey," Clint said softly, and Bucky's wild eyes snapped from the flames to Clint's face. "It's just Storm. It's his thing, he makes fire. Superhuman ability. Don't let it freak you out, just 'cause he's a showoff and an asshole."

Johnny didn't seem too offended by this summation of his character. He lifted his flaming shot glass in a grinning, silent toast to the table, and downed it in one gulp, still burning. For an instant, Bucky thought he saw flames dancing in Johnny's eyes, and then it was gone.

"You light yourself on fire?" he managed to say. "Steve, where do you find these guys?"

Steve shook his head. "Nope, Johnny is Tony's fault, not mine."

"Just because I was over at the Foundation to see Reed yesterday--" Tony protested.

"Your fault," Steve reiterated.

"I'm just too hot, what can I say?" Johnny replied, snapping his fingers to create a short-lived ball of flame in the air. Next to him, Clint made a show of gagging.

"That was bad, even for you," Clint said.

"Yeah, you're easily the least hot person in this room," Tony chipped in, leaning back with a tumbler of scotch in one hand and a challenging smirk on his face.

"Well that's just a lie," Johnny said. "Sure, peak of human perfection and all," he said, flapping a hand at Steve. "And you're rich, so that earns a point in your favour. But for the rest of you," he paused, sighing dramatically. "Sorry."

Natasha knocked back a shot and smiled. "Johnny does actually look a little like a slightly smaller version of Steve," she said.

Tony reared back in affront. "He does not."

Bucky squinted at Johnny, then turned to look at Steve. "I don't see it either."

"There is a certain likeness," Thor said thoughtfully. Next to Bucky, Sam was looking from Steve to Johnny and back again, eyes narrowed.

"Take it back," Tony demanded. "I have excellent taste, thank you, and I object to that comparison."

Natasha was actually laughing. "I didn't say anything about character," she pointed out to Tony, who grumbled, only slightly appeased.

Steve blinked and looked across the table at Johnny with a shrug. "Could be worse," he said, smirking. "She could've said I look like Ben."

"Oh, just when I thought I couldn't adore you any more," Johnny cackled. "You are bad under that apple-pie coating, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes he is," Tony muttered under his breath and then jerked violently, reaching down to grasp his leg under the table and sending Steve an indignant look. "What the hell? Don't look at me like that, you know I'm right--"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve said loftily.

Bucky looked across the table for some sort of rescue. He found Clint, who just shrugged and held out another beer. "Yeah, you'll soon learn that all of poker night talk is actually not about poker. Like, ninety-nine percent of it."

"Again," Tony said. "Ninety-nine percent is not all, and I'm pretty sure you're only doing that to fuck with me now."

"Would we ever fuck with you?" Steve said innocently. "Wilson, deal."

Bucky took the proffered beer from Clint and the cards from Sam, and purposefully didn't move a muscle as he looked down at the pile of crap he'd been dealt.

"Can I just say," Johnny said vaguely, "that Terminator's poker face is one of the most terrifying things I have ever seen."

"His name," Clint said, flicking a poker chip at Johnny and hitting him square between the eyes, "is Bucky."

Bucky frowned across at Clint, and out of the corner of his eye caught the meaningful glance that Natasha and Steve shared.

"If bottle-rocket over there wants to call me Terminator, he can," he said, shrugging.

"Maybe don't commit to that until you've seen the movie," Sam suggested.

"Bottle-rocket?" Johnny repeated scornfully. "I'm the Human Torch."

"Lame," Clint singsonged.

Bucky leant back, folded his arms across his chest. "Why, does someone have to stick a coupla batteries up your ass to get you to work?"

Steve choked violently on his beer, Tony nearly dropped his scotch and the rest of the table erupted into gales of laughter. Sam was laughing so hard he was crying, and even Natasha was cackling delightedly.

"Torch as in fire, not a flashlight, you dumbass," Johnny said, and cracked a grin at Bucky. "I should be offended, but I think you probably get a prize for that one."

Johnny was okay, Bucky decided.

"I fold, anyway," Bucky said, tossing his sorry excuse for a hand onto the table. "Whoever dealt that was out to get me."

"Don't hate the player, hate the game," Sam drawled, a lazy smile curling his mouth. He was leaning back on his chair just far enough for his shoulder to brush Natasha's knee where she was sat on the counter. Surprisingly, she seemed just as okay with it.

"Hey, Buck, go grab some more food," Steve said, concentrating on his cards with such a look of intensity that Bucky wouldn't be surprised if he started giving them motivational pep talks. Tony had slowly edged closer and closer to Steve as the night went on and by this point was leaning into Steve's side with his arm resting across the back of Steve's chair. It was the sort of swaggering pose that Bucky just about remembered seeing Howard Stark pull off, but he wasn't going to be dumb enough to say that out loud.

"Sir, yes, sir," he said instead, and got up and went to the kitchen. He heard laughter behind him and then Clint grumbling, followed by the sounds of a chair being pushed back and footsteps heading towards him.

"I'm either too drunk or not drunk enough to play well," Clint said just behind him. Bucky turned to look at him and took in the brightness of his eyes and the faint pink flush on his cheeks, and decided that maybe it was the former.

"You out already, too?" Bucky dumped a bag of pretzels into the mostly-empty potato chip bowl. "Here, help me out, grab some more beers for the cooler."

"Yes, Sergeant," Clint quipped, and headed to the refrigerator.

Bucky thought about scowling at that, but wasn't really irritated enough to work up to it. He watched as Clint leaned over to fish bottles out of the fridge, perfectly balanced and controlled despite the awkward position and half-tipsy state. "Why?" he asked, not entirely conscious of his decision to do so.

Clint reached further into the fridge, making his shirt ride up to reveal a stretch of muscled back, a strip of toned skin that Bucky quickly looked away from. "Why what?"

"Why'd you invite me in? Didn't have to. Even Steve was going to leave it for a while yet, he said."

Clint looked back over his shoulder, but Bucky couldn't quite decipher the look on his face. "Why not? You've been getting better about the social stuff, we like you, I figured why not?"

They liked him? What did that mean?

"What?"

"Don't act dumb, that's my gig," Clint said easily, retreating from the fridge and leaning back against the counter. "You can't really think we don't like you?"

And wow, this guy was possibly even blunter than Steve could be. "Why would you?"

Clint's face dropped, just for a second, into his bland, nonexpressive poker face. "Christ, Bucky, why wouldn't we? You're a good guy. We all like you. I like you." For a moment, his eyes slid away from Bucky's face, over his shoulder at the table behind them. He paused for a moment, brow furrowing. "And with you here, I have a buddy to be creeped out with when I realise that Steve and Tony are playing footsie under the damn table."

Bucky turned around as if pulled by a string. Sure enough, from this angle they had a clear line of sight to where Tony was sliding his foot up the inside of Steve's calf, and Steve didn't exactly seem to be pulling away. "Have they been doing that for the entire damn game?" Bucky demanded. Steve reached under the table with his free hand to scratch an itch on his thigh, and then slid over to Tony's lap. Bucky had to admire the way Tony didn't react above the table. Much.

"Probably," Clint said, resigned, and then shrugged. "Hey, who am I to judge? If I was sitting next to a guy hot enough to grope, I probably would."

Bucky stared at him, pretty sure his brain had turned off and then on again, and was taking a while to reboot. "Johnny and Sam not hot enough for you?" he managed to say.

"Nah," Clint said. "Not my type. I mean, I'm backing Sam's play for Nat, and Johnny... No. I'm picky when it comes to the D anyway."

Bucky continued to stare, not entirely sure what he'd just heard. "You're picky. About…"

"Let's say, on the scale of Bruce Banner to Steve Rogers, I'm probably between Nat and Tony," Clint told him cheerfully. "I don't mind a dick every now and again, but it's got to be a good one."

He clapped Bucky on the shoulder and wandered back towards the table, leaving Bucky standing there and feeling a little blindsided. He felt there was definitely some part of twenty-first century life that he wasn't quite getting here, but he'd be damned if he brought it up in front of Steve and while everyone was rapidly approaching the far side of tipsy.

Taking the pretzels with him, Bucky returned to the table, swearing to himself that he would stop being confused by Clint Barton and just play a game of damn cards instead. It wasn't that good of a plan, all in all; he once again got dealt a terrible hand which had him folding within five minutes, leaving him with nothing else to do but drink and watch the others around the table.

It wasn't so different from team dinner, really, except for the fact that there had been enough liquor consumed to kill an elephant and that Steve wasn't trying to get people to stop throwing things across the table.

Most of the noise came from Johnny, Clint, and Thor. They seemed to have set up a drinking contest of sorts, and Bucky wasn't sure if Johnny and Clint were being stupid or willfully ignorant in allowing a remarkably steady Thor to goad them into drinking shot after shot of whatever spirit Natasha had provided. The drunker Clint got, the more the poker chips (and pretzels) were being used as projectiles, most of them landing in whatever glass Tony was drinking from, causing him to threaten Clint with everything from being refused new arrows to being evicted. (No one, not even Tony, seemed to believe any of his threats.) Clint throwing things seemed to be a minor complaint when all was considered; as Johnny drank more and more he seemed less careful with his pyrotechnic displays, finally culminating in him accidentally setting fire to a pile of napkins, which Sam had to hastily put out with his beer.

Perhaps most interesting was the way Nat was leaning forward, with her fingers just touching Sam's shoulder, as if for balance (as if Nat ever needed help with her balance). Though maybe Bucky had just told himself that that was what he was going to find most interesting, rather than focusing on the fact that Steve had gone an interesting shade of pink and one of Tony's hands hadn't been seen above table level for several rounds.

By midnight, the game was all but over. Only Steve and Thor were left, and they each had a look of epic concentration on their faces as Sam ever so gingerly laid down the fourth community card in the center of the table.

Tony was scowling violently, having been refused the right to buy in more chips to continue playing a hand before. He'd also been most insulted by Steve planting a hand on his forehead and pushing him back when he'd leaned in for a kiss, with Steve hissing, "Not now, I've got to concentrate," as if kissing was more of a distraction than whatever had been going on underneath the table not ten minutes prior.

As such, Tony was now watching Steve with narrowed eyes, gaze flicking between Steve's hands and his face. After a moment his eyes narrowed further and he cocked his head slightly to one side, lips moving silently as he slumped in his chair. Finally he sat up straight, frowning.

"You," he said, pointing at Steve with a furious glare, "are a cheating cheater. There is only one queen left in that deck, and the ace of diamonds was played three hands ago, and you--"

"Counting cards," Steve snapped, "is completely against the--"

"I'm not in the game any more, and you are cheating, you cannot possibly--"

"I think that's my cue to turn in for the night," Natasha said smoothly to the others, arching a brow just enough. She jumped lightly down from the counter and headed for the elevator, stopping to stretch (just after she'd walked back into Sam's line of sight, Bucky noted with amusement) before disappearing into the dark halls.

Sam hesitated, and Clint rolled his eyes with a groan. "Jesus go," he mumbled. "She does not get more obvious than that."

"Dude, I'm not just going to go--"

"Go and knock, at least, bro. If she opens the door without anything stabby pointing at your junk, you're in."

"You are not helping my confidence, here," Sam grumbled, but he put down his beer bottle and headed towards the stairwell.

"If she stabs you in the dick, I had nothing to do with any of this," Clint yelled after him, gesturing expansively at nothing and almost knocking a bottle over. "Whoops--"

"Not helping!" Sam hollered back, and Clint just laughed, leaning his elbow on the edge of the table and trying to prop his chin on his fist.

"I am not counting cards," Tony was saying matter-of-factly. "You are just a lousy cheater."

"Good enough to get past you," Steve shot back.

"Yep, time to go," Johnny said vaguely, standing up and swaying alarmingly. "Captain America was cheating. I need to go and lie down."

"Hey, if Steve was cheating, who wins?" Bucky asked.

"That would be me," Thor said, with a slow smile.

"What?" Tony gaped, apparently sufficiently distracted from his argument with Steve to stare incredulously at Thor.

Thor's big blue eyes could not have appeared more cheerful or innocent. "I have been aware of Steve's cheating for more than an hour, and using it to my own advantage. Did you think my years as Loki's brother have taught me nothing of guile?"

"Oh, fuck this," Clint said, and stood up. "You're all cheaters, and--"

Bucky wasn't sure what had happened, except that Clint had been standing by the table, and suddenly there was a crash and then he wasn't. The table ended up half a foot across the floor and beer bottles were rolling everywhere. Johnny looked down at the floor beside his feet and started laughing, bending over and resting his hands on his knees.

"Oh man, you tragedy," he cackled. "I win, Barton. See you next time, loser."

"Don't drink and fly," a voice shouted from somewhere under the table. Johnny just replied with a wave, grabbing his jacket and heading towards the elevator, listing dangerously to one side.

"Clint, you okay?" Steve called without taking his eyes off of Tony. They looked to be having the world's most intense staring match, which was going to be the start to either a furious argument, or some pretty incredible sex. Or, knowing those two, possibly both. Bucky was fairly sure he didn't want to know.

"Yep," Clint shouted back.

Bucky edged around the table and looked down at Clint, who was lying flat on his back and didn't even look like he was attempting to get up. "I hope he crashes into a building," Clint muttered.

"He can fly?"

"He's an assbutt," Clint replied, and pushed himself onto his side with a groan. "Okay, standing up, not good. Time for plan B. Get Natasha."

"She's busy," Bucky reminded him. "Doing something to Sam's dick."

"Okay. Plan C. Get Steve."

"Also busy," Bucky replied. Seriously, were Steve and Tony even blinking anymore? "Possibly about to do something to Tony's dick. Or punch him in the throat. Not sure."

Clint made a mournful noise in the back of his throat. "Oh," he said, and Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with metal fingers, vaguely wondering why he wasn't just leaving Clint on the floor and going straight to his own bed. He let his hand fall to his side and then made up his mind; Clint had never been anything but good towards Bucky, and after tonight Bucky was beginning to think that he could count Clint as a friend.

And he didn't know too much about friendship in the 21st Century, but he knew it was probably a dick move to let a friend pass out on the floor under a table.

"Plan D," he said, and leaned over hauled Clint to his feet, letting Clint's arm drape loosely around his neck. "Come on, time to pour you into bed."

"Yep," Clint replied, and took a step, only to stagger and crash into the side of the table again, nearly taking Bucky with him.

"Johnny was right about one thing," Bucky said. "You are a tragedy."

"Eh, what you gonna do?" Clint said, and then yelped as Bucky ducked down and grabbed him around the thighs, tipping him up and over his shoulders in a fireman's lift.

"Whoa," Clint gasped as Bucky straightened up. "Okay, this works. On your marks, Sergeant Barnes. See, Tony, this is why I invited him. He gets me home safe, a true gentleman."

"I'd leave him under the table if I were you," Tony said, still not looking away from Steve and now that was getting a little too weird for Bucky's tastes.

Thor scooped up the pot and folded the money into the pockets of his jeans, which Bucky maintained didn't look half as good as his battle armour did. "Will you need assistance?" he asked Bucky politely.

Bucky shook his head; Clint wasn't that heavy. "Nah, I got him." Thor nodded, bid them goodnight and wandered off in the direction of his own room.

Bucky cast one more glance toward Steve and Tony's stare-off, shook his head, and headed for Clint's quarters. He'd never been in Clint's rooms, but he knew they were on the second highest floor of the tower.

"Not gonna puke, right?"

"Nope," Clint said happily. "But I can see your butt from here."

"Wow," Bucky said, trying to get into the elevator without banging Clint's head on anything. "Okay. Hope you're enjoying the view."

"It's not bad," Clint said. "As far as butts go."

"Thanks, I think?"

Clint didn't make any more comments as Bucky took him the rest of the way to his quarters and dumped him unceremoniously on his bed. Seeing as he'd fulfilled his duty as a friend by getting Clint from the floor to his own bed, he debated leaving him there in a heap, but for some reason knew he'd feel like a bit of heel if he did. Sighing, he first walked forward to pick up the empty glass that was standing on the nightstand, going quickly into the bathroom to fill it up. When he came out, Clint was lying on his back and trying unsuccessfully to tug one of his socks off.

"Tragedy," Bucky repeated, and stepped forwards to put the glass down before grabbing Clint's ankle and efficiently stripping the sock away. "Other foot, idiot."

Clint obliged, sticking his other leg in the air, arms spread out like a starfish. "When d'you get so good at looking after people?"

"You kidding? I grew up with Steve," Bucky said, and let go of Clint's leg. It fell back to the mattress with a thud, and Clint didn't so much as move. He was lying perfectly still, mouth slightly open--

"Barton?" Bucky said sharply, and reached out to touch Clint's face, metal fingers on his cheek. "Clint--"

Clint snorted in a breath of air, lifting his head from the mattress and looking around dazedly. "I'm alive," he said. "I am, I swear. I'm just drunk."

"Idiot," Buck replied, heart thudding strangely in his chest as he drew back. He had a peculiar urge to touch the band-aid on Clint's cheekbone, and frowned at himself as he pulled his hand away, curling his fingers into a fist.

"Hey, Bucky," Clint said lazily, eyes closed. "I'm glad you came to poker night."

It had been insane, and strange, and embarrassing, and more than a little scary. He hadn't acquitted himself very well as a card player, and god only knew what kind of impression he'd actually made on Storm. Despite that, Bucky felt his lips curve into a smile. "Yeah, me too."

He pushed away from the edge of the bed, heading back toward the door.

"Night, Clint."

"What, you're not joining me?"

Bucky paused in the doorway, and turned to see Clint grinning, an arm thrown up over his head and hiding the view of his eyes.

"In your dreams, pal," he said lightly, and edged out of the room before Clint could say anything else. He shut the door and stopped outside, leaning back against the wall and blowing out a breath.

"And just when you think the future can't get no stranger," he muttered to himself, though he had to be glad that JARVIS would be the only one who would witness the small smile hitching the corner of his mouth as he walked away.