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Clint's been doing his own laundry for nearly his entire life. It's become a comfort-of-sorts, a ritual. He enjoys keeping his things clean, and he especially enjoys folding his warm, scented clothes. He usually does it all at once on a Sunday. He'll bring a book down to the high tech laundry room that Stark never uses and load up just about all the washers. Washing, drying, and folding usually takes him about three hours, but it's three hours that he enjoys.
Phil's grateful that he enjoys doing laundry because he despises it. You'd think different, what with his nice suits that are "dry-clean only", but it's true.
So. That's what Clint's doing one Sunday when Barnes shows up with a man bun, a sheepish half-smile, and two full baskets of dirty clothes.
"Barton," He greets. Clint nods in response, folding Phil's favorite navy blue sweater without taking his eyes off the other assassin. He likes Barnes, don't get him wrong, but he's still cautious. You don't leave a flame unattended; it might just burn up everything around it without even realizing what it was doing in the first place.
Barnes busies himself with one of the washers. Clint watches, amused, as Barnes kicks and swears and even tries cajoling it to get it work properly.
"Can't bribe a washing machine, Barnes," Clint drawls lazily. He gets nothing but a stink eye from the man. Clint snorts and sets down the jeans he's folding. "Lemme see it."
"You don't have to," Barnes mutters. "I'll get it eventually, I always do."
Clint 'hmm's like he believes him and then flips a few of the switches once he's had a glance at what exactly it is that Barnes'll be putting in the washer. Hot water, heavy cycle for the whites and cool water, normal cycle for everything else.
"Why're you using two?"
Clint stills just as he's about to push the start button and throws Barnes an incredulous look. "Don't tell me that you've been throwing everything in all together?"
Barnes shrugs, "What else would I do?"
Clint rolls his eyes and pushes the start button, and then he begins a lecture on the right way to load a washing machine and how to separate by color.
~~~
Barnes joins him pretty often after that. Clint's not sure why, but Barnes shows up at the laundry room every Sunday just a few minutes after Clint gets there himself. They work mostly in silence now that Barnes has gotten a handle on the whole modern washer thing, but every once in a while one of them will start up a conversation about something.
One week they talk for nearly forty minutes about that TV show that Steve watches - you know, the one where the male cop takes everything personally because he's got kids and the female takes everything personally because she's a female, but they always work it out in the end? That's the one.
"It makes him sad," Barnes informs him as he creases a pair of Steve's khakis. "He likes it when they catch the bad guys, but sometimes they're too late or sometimes everything just goes to shit anyway, and then he's sad."
Clint hums in acknowledgment, folding socks just the way Phil likes them. He'd originally told him that if he liked them folded a certain way, he'd do his own laundry, but he found that Phil's sock folding method was, in fact, much more effective.
"That show makes him look like a kicked puppy," Barnes grumbles. "It's dumb, too. It's the same thing every time. Someone dies or gets beat up, they can't find the guy, they look for the guy, they eventually find the guy, and then they go to court." Barnes shakes his head and mumbles again, "Jus' dumb."
~~~
He has to teach Barnes about dry-cleaning after he washes a very expensive suit with a couple pairs of sweat pants. The outcome is horrific.
~~~
"Have you seen his latest drawing?"
Clint glances up at Barnes from where he's working on the sudoku in this morning's paper and shakes his head.
Barnes sighs and proceeds to chatter about it for the next thirty eight minutes. The man waxes poetically about Steve's skill with a pencil for thirty eight minutes. Clint thinks he might go crazy, but he holds it together.
~~~
"I heard something interesting yesterday," Barnes finally says after nearly two and half hours of silence. Clint's been slightly concerned because usually he can't get Barnes to stop talking.
"Oh?" Clint tips his head and eyes Barnes carefully. He's been twitchy - well, twitchier than normal. He worries a t-shirt that Steve favors between his hands and can't seem to look Clint in the eye. It takes a few minutes for Barnes to answer.
"Heard you were married," Barnes mutters eventually. Clint cocks an eyebrow.
"Well, 'course I am. You've seen the ring, haven't you?"
Barnes nods and folds the t-shirt slowly. "Just - just didn't realize you were married to a man, is all."
Clint's hands - which up until now have been busy smoothing wrinkles and tucking buttons - still. He and Phil haven't been hiding their relationship, but they'd both thought it best to tone it down around the two men out of time for their sakes.
"That isn't a problem," he says carefully, "is it?"
Barnes shakes his head firmly, clenching the t-shirt tightly. "Surprised me, that's all."
And that's the end of it.
~~~
At least, that was the end of it.
Barnes seems nearly obsessed with his marriage, asking how and why and where.
Clint tells him about the short ceremony in Canada. He talks about proposals and dirty tac suits. He smiles fondly while recalling how perfect Phil's suit was - as always. He talks about the kiss at the end, all hard teeth and grasping hands. The officiant had laughed and shooed them out of her office. They hadn't bought rings until later because the ceremony itself was very much a spur of the moment thing. He finds it easier and easier to talk to Barnes as time goes on. They've been doing laundry together every Sunday for nearly three months, and he considers Barnes to be almost like a friend.
~~~
"You should call me Bucky."
So he does.
~~~
It's been seven months of Sundays, and Bucky is not okay. His breathing is ragged, his hands are shaking, and he looks like he hasn't slept in three days. Clint has it on good authority that that last bit is true.
"Bucky - " He begins. His throat dries up, though, and he looks down at the white t-shirts in front of him as he tries to find the right words. When he looks up again, Bucky is shoving white clothes into one of the washers, and he looks lost.
"I almost lost him," Bucky nearly gasps. He abandons the whites in favor of gripping the rim of the machine with both hands. There's a startling shriek as the metal gives under Bucky's metal hand, and he releases it quickly and stumbles backwards. Clint moves forward and pushes him gently into one of the cozy chairs set up in the corner.
"Take it easy," he murmurs.
"Take it-" Bucky coughs out a broken laugh. "Take it easy? Steve almost died."
"But he didn't."
"It was too close."
Clint reaches out a hand and curls it around one of Bucky's shoulders, "It'll never get easier."
Bucky's eyes are definitely lost when he finally meets Clint's gaze. "That's not what I wanted to hear."
Clint smiles sadly, "I know."
~~~
"I'm going to marry him."
Clint freezes briefly where he is pulling warm clothes from one of the dryers. "Oh?"
"I bought a ring and everything."
Clint turns around to face Bucky who looks more nervous than when he'd first asked about Clint being married. "Good."
"How did you - you proposed, didn't you?"
Clint nods, "I did."
"How'd you know he'd agree?" Bucky wrings a washcloth between his hands worriedly.
"Didn't."
"But you did it anyway?"
"Yep."
Bucky shakes his head. "I keep - " He blows out a frustrated huff of air. "I keep thinking he'll wake up and realize just who I am, what I've done."
Clint tips his head and listens intently.
"No one really seems to care, though, especially not him," Bucky murmurs.
"We've all done terrible things, Bucky," Clint reminds gently.
Bucky shakes his head, "Not like what I've done."
"I dunno," Clint busies himself with the dryer again, "I did some things that still give me nightmares even twenty years later."
"Coulson knows?"
"He does."
"What did he say when you first told him?"
Clint finishes pulling clothes into a basket and heaves the basket up onto the nearest table.
"Told me he loved me."
Bucky blinks in surprise. "The first time he told you he loved you was after..."
"After I told him my sins, yeah." Clint looks up at Bucky, suddenly serious, "It was like he knew I was better than the worst thing I ever did, and that was all he needed to know in order to love me."
"Oh," Bucky says quietly. Clint worries for a moment that he's made it worse, but Bucky's hands no longer tremble and he goes about his usual laundry routine with a tiny smile on his face.
~~~
Clint is the best man at the wedding.