Chapter Text
"Steve, what the hell are we listening to?" Nat demanded, carrying a tray of muffins to put in the display case.
“Don't know," he admitted, "it's Bucky's day to pick the music." Steve downed some coffee and went back to counting the café’s drawer for the day’s opening.
Nat picked up Bucky's phone and tapped the screen to see the album's cover art: a woman in red standing over a man decked out in red and green with a yellow cape. The band's name and song title were in Romanian – The Intranet at Large by Wanda's Vision. A quick scroll through the album’s other titles gave Nat a firm idea of the kind of Eastern European, experimental, EDM nonsense she was in for. Why did Bucky Barnes have the worst taste in music?
“Tell him to pick something that won’t make the customers’ ears bleed.”
“He said it was just until opening and that the driving beat helps him knead dough for the sdobnoye drozhzhevoye testo .”
Nat rolled her eyes but put the phone back down. “If Bucky’s really looking for something from the Old Country, tell him to try-”
“Tell him yourself. I’m trying to count.” He paused, looking at the bills in his hands, frowned, gathered them all up, and began counting again.
Nat took the hint to leave, gathering up her empty muffin tray and heading to the back for more baked goods to fill the case. It was twenty minutes until open and the tables still needed to be wiped down and the coffee machines started. It never ceased to amaze her, the din of repetitive mornings.
Bucky slapped dough onto the marble surface of the work table in the back room. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck from standing so close to the oven and working through the day’s worth of dough all with one hand. But it was his job, his art. He’d taken up baking after the accident and it had been his therapy. Now it was his livelihood.
He enjoyed it the same way Steve enjoyed making designs in latte foam or Nat arranging the baked goods in the case. They were consumable bits of art. And maybe his was more central to the café’s function, but anyone of them could gas dough. It was his way of giving back, he supposed, to the man that saved his life. Steve had offered him a job when no one else would.
“Hey,” Nat started, picking a pinch of cinnamon sugar dough from the rolls he was preparing, “Eurotrash nation wants it’s music back.”
He told her to fuck off in Russian making her pout mockingly and steal some more dough.
“<Don’t worry,>” he continued in their native tongue, “<we’ll switch to your boyfriend once we’re open.>”
Nat frowned. “<For the last time, I like the podcast because of the unique narrative structure and humorous tone, not because of- >”
“<You like Hawkeye’s hot voice, mladshaya sestra . The sooner you admit it- Hey!>”
Nat socked him in the arm before continuing to load up her tray with some cookies, sticky buns, and an arranged basket of bagels to go out next.
“<You ever think about looking him up, maybe checking out the shelter he volunteers for?>”
She hummed, thinking it over. She answered in English as she backed out the door with her tray, “Smart money’s on him already being taken.”
“Never know until you find out for sure.”
She shrugged at Bucky then left to fill the display case. As she went back for the bagel basket, Steve popped his head up from the dimes on the counter to remind her about Thor needing Tuesday off to get his visa renewed. “I’d just need you to cover the first half of his shift.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“I mean it this time. I’ll take the second half, but I’ve got that art opening at Melinda May’s new gallery and I need to drop off the pieces and-”
“Okay, okay. I’ll do it.”
Steve grinned. “I owe you dinner.”
“You’re up to seven.”
“He’s making you work Tuesday, isn’t he?” Bucky guessed, coming in from the back, wiping his hands on a towel and dusting flour out of his hair. He kissed Steve’s cheek and went to start wiping down the tables. Nat started the coffee machines, answering, “Only half. And he says he owes me dinner.”
“You owe her a nine course banquet and four desserts,” Bucky jabbed back, flashing a grin at Nat. “<At least I make sure you get breakfast.>”
“<You’re a good friend, Barnes.>”
“Okay, okay,” Steve interrupted. “I know when I’m being talked about in Russian.” He closed the register and went to help Bucky with the tables. “I do owe you, Nat, and I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Nat smiled and waved him off. “Rogers, if I held you to that promise, I’d have had to leave your café years ago.” She pointed to the speakers in the corner of the café’s ceiling. “Now, can we please silence this nonsense?”
Bucky sighed but nodded.
Nat pulled out her phone and tapped around a moment before switching out Bucky’s with hers on the aux cord. The pounding electronica was replaced with a snappy intro theme underneath a pleasant baritone male voice that opened, “Tracks, snacks, and jumping jacks. What do all those things have in common? Well they all happened this week with my foster dog, Nelson. You’ll hear all about him and our adventures on this week’s episode of Dog Days.” The music swelled a moment before being replaced by another voice, this one female, rattling on about sponsors.
“Thanks, Katie. Welcome, listeners, to Dog Days – the show where I talk about the fun and FUBARs of pet ownership. I’m Hawkeye, and the voice of the business end of things is the other Hawkeye, Kate.”
“Last week I was the voice of reason,” Kate chimed in.
“And you still are,” Hawkeye answered, a smile evident in his tone. “Which brings us to Nelson, a dachshund mix, two years old, that I got to hang out with for the week as part of SHIELD’s foster pet program.”
“For those of you who don’t know,” Kate interrupted, “SHIELD is a local shelter in Brooklyn who have an embarrassing acronym and have finally started taking the hint to just stick to SHIELD.”
“What? You don’t like Shelters and Humane Interiors Exclusively for Loving Dogs? You know they made it up after calling it SHIELD.”
Kate huffed, and Nat couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. They were so personable, so real.
“Anyway, Nelson. That little dude is a lot of dog in not a lot of body. You like a pet with personality, he’s the one for you. So day one, I start off with…”
Nat let Hawkeye’s voice fade into the background as she turned on the open sign. It wasn’t long before customer’s started filing in, packing laptops and briefcases. The morning rush mostly got their orders to go, but some stayed.
They left the podcast on until the end of the episode, switching over to the standard acoustic mix after.
It wasn’t that Nat minded the guitar strumming or the soft vocals, it just wasn’t as interesting as the anecdotes from the Dog Days podcast. And, okay, maybe Bucky was right. She did like Hawkeye’s voice. Not just because it was precisely the right mix of gruff and pleasant, but it was deep and rich and held so much story in it. He made a whole week of snafus and tender moments with these dogs sound like a conversation with your best friend. And since doing the podcast, SHIELD’s adoption rate had gone up significantly. So what wasn’t to love?
The bell rang over the door and Nat grinned at the regular who shuffled in, still half asleep, hair disheveled and T-shirt rumpled. He smiled gently at her and signed hello. She signed back and then fetched Steve.
As a child, Steve had been sick so often and so severely that it left some permanent damage. His asthma was wicked, his eyesight beyond poor, and his left ear hadn’t heard sound since before the infection it got when he was twelve. So he’d studied some ASL to help with communication – a point, Clint Barton, a café regular for that reason, greatly appreciated. Nat didn’t know how he lost his hearing or if maybe he was born without it. She didn’t know much about Clint in general. But what she did know was that he was, hands down, the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
Sure, Bucky had all the muscles and man-bun look of a Canadian lumberjack washing his flannels in crystal clear streams. And Steve was the sensitive artist-type half covered in paint with delightful stickers on every water bottle and laptop he owned. Sam Wilson, a part-time employee who worked close with Thor, was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, as well as sweeter than sugar. And Thor, well, Scandinavian Viking god aesthetic to a T, complete with washboard abs and shoulders as wide as a house.
But Clint Barton was… an adorable mess. His dirty-blonde hair stuck up at random angles, complementing the day’s scruff on his square jaw. His arms were the perfect bulk of a man that used them daily, staying in shape through manual labor – although what exactly she wasn’t sure. He had broad shoulders, a well defined chest, and she’d seen his six-pack on days when his soft cotton t-shirt was replaced with workout gear. He had great hands, all rough and calloused, veins visible and running up his arms. His smile was often lopsided and his laugh, whenever Steve got him to laugh, was rich and open, like a storybook sky.
But it was his eyes. Oh, god, his eyes. Prairie storm cloud blue-grey, the kind heavy with rain. The green flecks in them surprised her when she’d first seen them, little leaves lit by the sun in front of those storm clouds. His eyelashes were a shade darker than his hair, framing his eyes perfectly with a natural contrast. They were bright and intelligent, big and blue; she could stare at them all day.
And oh, Bucky and Steve knew it.
If the teasing about Hawkeye’s voice was bad, the ribbing she got about openly staring at Clint was ten times worst. He’d always flash her a smile as he left, coffee in hand, pastry in a small white bag that she’d handed to him. He’d sign his thanks and she’d learned enough from Steve to respond. She’d watch his nice ass as he left and only feel a little bad about it.
“I’m telling you, Nat,” Steve started, wiping down the counter and waiting for the next rush to start. “I could teach you some more ASL, you could ask him out. Or I could ask him for you, go on the date as a translator.”
“No offense, Steve, but I don’t think I could relax with you there. I know your agenda too well.”
“Which agenda is that? The one to your lifelong happiness or to get you laid? Because either way it starts with a date with Mr. Blue-eyed Barton.”
Nat glared at him, signaling him to move on. Steve sighed in resignation and went back to cleaning. Nat slipped back into the kitchen to get some more muffins for the case.
“<Your boyfriend is as bad a matchmaker as you,>” she complained to Bucky.
The man chuckled. “<He try to set you up with Barton again?>” He dropped some dough onto the tray, shaping it for cookies. “<You can hardly blame him, what with how you ogle.>”
“I don’t ogle!” she insisted, switching to English. “I… appreciate.”
Bucky scoffed. “You pine.” He set down his dough and turned to face her. “<Natasha, look. I know the whole dating thing hasn’t been a walk in the park for you. But you’re beyond it now, and it’s time to put Alexi and Ivan behind you. Move on and find some happiness.>” He stepped closer and put his hand on her shoulder. “<Because you deserve it.>”
“<And if I find out he’s married like Alexi, or using me to get to my best friend like Ivan and Yelena?>”
Bucky smiled lightly and went back to scooping out dough. “Well then, it’s a good thing you have Steve and me for support.>”
She frowned, not liking the pragmatism of the answer nor the memories the conversation had dredged up. She finished filling her tray and left the kitchen and the past it reminded her of.