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When Clint asked why he was he was getting so many these Hydra-suspect-stalking jobs, he honestly wasn’t expecting a straightforward answer. Nat had a similarly busy schedule but he already knew that, no details but enough to see he wasn’t being totally screwed. And as it turns out, Steve was, technically, benched.
Seems his SHIELD responsibilities had been set aside for what was essentially babysitting. Bucky couldn’t be trusted on his own if Steve was sent out on an operation and SHIELD custody was out of the question. He wasn’t told why but he could imagine. He could understand that neither of them would want Bucky in the sole hands of SHIELD, which so recently was Hydra wearing a mask.
So here Clint was, picking up information on his next assignment and, with it, his share of the slack. He shouldn’t complain, it seemed wrong to blame Captain America for anything. He shouldn’t complain. But he was still going to.
Even though most of his attention was on scuffing his shoes just so to get the best squeak between the soles and the floor with each step, he still clocked the man to whom he owed his most sarcastic thanks. Through the open door of the side room, he could see Steve himself staring down several sheets of paper on the table and Bucky with his chair back near the far window focused on whatever was in his hands with a face like thunder. Excellent.
Clint veered towards the doorway and leant on the frame then knocked redundantly on the frosted glass wall, “Evening, gentlemen,” he beamed. Bucky’s attention flicked up to him with a dull glare. Steve returned with a polite smile and shuffled a couple scattered pages more orderly in front of him.
“Morning,” Steve returned with a glance at his watch and a little nod to himself. Of course he was right, it was only like 10am.
“They got you doing extra homework to make up for not getting to play outside?” Clint asked, strolling a few steps forward to stand by the table and glance at the paper, not allowing himself to linger on what might be confidential for too long.
“Something like that,” Steve stole a brief look over his shoulder at Bucky who was eyes down again, “Apparently there’s a lot of important jobs other than fighting.” When Steve looked back to him, Clint saw an odd look in his eye but one he felt he wasn’t supposed to understand. He brushed it off.
Clint pulled a spare chair away from the table beside Steve, “As long as you’re not resting on your laurels with the rest of us chumps out in the cold,” he conceded and dropped heavily into the wheeled chair, giving it a shove with his foot in the same motion to carry him until the back bumped the windowsill. Bucky stared at him critically at him out the corner of his eye.
“Hey, look who’s getting with the program!” Clint crowed and scooted closer to Bucky. With every inch that narrowed between them, the stormy sniper’s eyes got narrower until Clint reached out an arm, casual and controlled, and plucked the cell phone delicately from Bucky’s hands.
“Excuse me,” Bucky objected, a very lacklustre protest.
“You are excused.” Clint sat back with the Winter Soldier’s phone and turned it over in his hands, the weight and shape were different from his own phone and he didn’t care for it at all.
“Is there any particular reason you’re here?” Steve queried and fiddled a pen between his fingers, he had turned his chair around and Clint could see that aggravating concern creeping into his expression.
“No, just making sure you don’t get any more vacation than I do,” Clint managed to wrangle the unfamiliar controls enough to close the news page and flip around the home screen which was woefully devoid of anything interesting, only utility and informative apps. “Who has a Blackberry anymore?” he added and gestured scornfully at Bucky with the device.
In his peripheral, Clint could see Steve open his mouth to interject but he was cut off. “Touch screen typing is kind of a hassle when it only recognises one hand,” Bucky retorted matter-of-factly and took his phone back with the metal hand.
Clint smirked and rolled his eyes theatrically, “That’s no excuse for lack of taste. Sometimes style needs to win over practicality,” he chided and couldn’t help a grin at Bucky’s slight grudging smile and the discomfort radiating off of Steve. He drew his own phone from his pocket, lit it up, unlocked it and offered it to Bucky, “Check that out. Style.”
Bucky took the iPhone and turned it over to raise an eyebrow at the bright yellow back, “Looks like a kid’s toy,” he jibed and likely began flipping between the many screens of apps, “Definitely a kid’s toy, this is a total mess.”
“It is not,” Clint half lied. He knew where everything was but he knew it had no business being there.
“What do you even use this for?” Bucky asked and sat back in his chair, his left hand idly touching his thumb to each finger back and forth as he focused on the phone.
Clint had to ponder on that for a second, “The regular stuff. Movies, music, looking at pictures of cats, posting photos of my dinner on the internet, extreme selfies, making virtual people run and jump and stuff…”
“Important stuff then,” Bucky quipped.
“Oh yeah. We’ll make you a Twitter then you’ll understand just how important it is,” Clint promised. He was very proud of his follower count, second only to Tony on the core team.
Bucky smirked and offered the phone back, "I bet. Pretty sure my phone could do all that," he assured Clint who took it and regarded the home screen.
"Maybe, but bear in mind that doing it in style is an option. And believe me on Twitter, Steve will vouch it's good," Clint said with a nod towards Steve, who had turned back to the table at some point
Steve shrugged without looking round, “It’s alright.”
Clint looked up from the multitasking manager he’d opened to mouth ‘it’s good’ with a nod to Bucky, who quirked an eyebrow and smiled a little in response. Unconsciously, Clint opened the last app used and then did he realise what Bucky had been doing, “Hey, did you add your number on here?”
Steve’s head whipped round to stare at them and at the same moment, Bucky’s attention seemed to be drawn to a lot of absolutely nothing out the window, sly amusement clear in his smile.
“Did he?” Steve echoed incredulously but Bucky resolutely ignored him and Clint couldn’t say anything, partly because he wasn’t sure what to say, partly because he couldn’t tell if he should stay and savour the moment or flee whatever Cap was about to do.
He decided to side with caution for a change.
“Well, this has been productive but some of us have assignments to see to so I’m gonna bounce,” Clint announced confidently, he stood and put his phone back in his pocket.
“Okay…” Steve said, voice steeped in suspicion. Clint didn’t need to meet Steve’s eyes. Oh no, he could feel them.
Clint waved a hand over his shoulder as he headed for the door, “Later guys!” he chimed and was gone though he didn’t fell free from the Captain America intimidation until he was totally clear of the facility.
What did Steve say?
Nothing, weirdly.
You’re in trouble!
Yeah, that’s probably what that is.