Work Text:
Bucky stopped outside the door to Clint's apartment, trying not to drop the the drink tray of coffee and the bag of pastries as he shifted them so he could knock. Just as he raised his hand, his enhanced hearing picked up what sounded like a thing falling and lots of cursing. Knowing what a disaster Clint was and worried he'd hurt himself, he set the food down, quickly picked the lock, and hurried in to the apartment.
A loud crash and even louder cursing had him running down the hall to the bathroom where he found Clint tangled in the shower curtain in a heap on the floor, a dark, stinky goop was splashed all over the sink, mirror, wall, floor, and Clint. Clint looked up at him with a sheepish grin.
“Hey, Barnes.” He said as he struggled to untangle himself. “What'chya doing here.”
Bucky freed him and helped him to his feet.
“I heard the noise; thought you might be in trouble.” Bucky told him as he looked around at the mess. “I was right. It looks like a bomb went off in here, what happen?”
“Uh... a bomb went off.” Clint mumbled.
Bucky stared at him; an eyebrow raised in a you really want to stick with that accusation. Clint shuffled around, trying to clean up, but mostly just smearing the goop around and making Bucky's eyes water from the stench.
“What is that stuff, toxic waste?”
“Yeah, I've been redecorating my bathroom with toxic waste.” Clint snarked. “I'm calling it teenage wasteland.”
Bucky glared at him as he slapped his hand away from where he was half heartedly trying to wipe off the sink.
“Stop, you're just making it worse.” He ordered. “Do you have any cleaner?”
“I think there's some under the kitchen sink.” Clint grumbled.
“Get it and some paper towels or rags.”
Clint shuffled out of the bathroom, mumbling about bossy people, while Bucky looked around, surveying the mess and trying to determine its cause. The epicentre of the disaster seemed to be the sink. Closer inspection revealed a plastic squeeze bottle with some of the goop in it and two smaller bottles. Bucky picked up one of the smaller bottles was labeled colour #259 and everything became clear.
“Why do you dye your hair?” He asked when Clint appeared in the doorway.
Clint sighed as he stepped around Bucky and set the cleaning supplies down beside the sink. Bucky waited while he started cleaning.
“I started getting grey hair in my teens,” Clint told him. “just a few at first, not even noticeable. It steadily got worse. I was completely grey before I was thirty.”
He wadded up the shower curtain and shoved it in to a garbage bag.
“I was enough of an awkward dork that I didn't need looking old added to it so I started dying it.”
“Now you know my deep dark secret.” He mumbled in embarrassment.
Bucky stuffed the paper towels he'd used to wipe up the mess with in to the garbage bag.
“Always knew your lack of proper hair care was just an act.” he said with a grin, “All this time you've been using it to hide your vanity.”
Clint stomped out the door. Bucky followed to the kitchen where he picked up his keys and wallet.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Walgreens, I need to get more dye, I really need to cover my roots before we get another call out.”
“You buy your hair dye at the corner drugstore?” Bucky yelped in horror.
“Uh... yes.” Clint replied. “Where else would I get it, some fancy assed salon? Can you really picture me in a place like that?”
“No, just no.” Bucky told him as he grabbed his arm and started dragging him out the door.
Outside, he hailed a cab and shoved Clint inside. Clint's numerous attempts failed to get him to say where they were going and left Clint pouting in frustration. Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of a brick building. Bucky paid the driver and started dragging Clint inside. Clint managed to get a glimpse at the sign on the door as they passed though.
“Job Care? Where are we?” he demanded. “Buck, why did you bring me here?”
Bucky sighed as he stopped and looked at Clint.
“It's a non-profit group that helps the homeless and low-income folk get jobs.” He explained. “They offer everything from helping write a resume to providing clothes and grooming for interviews.”
He walked over and opened a door, flicking on the lights as he gestured Clint to follow him in to a barber shop.
“I volunteer here.” He continued as he bustled about a work station. “I started out just cutting hair but have learned quite a lot about styling and colouring too.”
He turned and looked at Clint, just a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.
“I thought I could do your hair, if you want.” He said. “It might not be as good as one of those fancy uptown saloons but it will be a million times better that a drugstore dye job.”
“Who knew the badass Winter Solider was a secret stylist.” Clint said as he practically threw himself in to the chair.
Bucky just snorted as he pumped the pedal to raise the chair, then unfurled a plastic cape and covered Clint with it. Clint watched as he moved around, measuring and mixing chemicals with calm efficacy.
“Why keep this a secret?” he asked.
Bucky gave a one shoulder shrug.
“It's mine, ya know, separate from the guy who was the Winer Solider or Bucky Barnes, Capitan America's best friend.”
Clint nodded, understanding the need to sometimes just be as normal as possible
“Cutting hair was one of the things I remember about my family life.” Bucky continued as he started combing Clint's rats nest hair. “Working here makes me feel connected to those memories, helps me hang on to them.”
Clint squeezed his arm.
“I get it man.” He told him. “And no worries, I won't say anything.”
“Thanks. Now what on earth did you use to cut your hair, dull, rusty hedge clippers?”
“How'd you guess?”
Bucky glared at him as he yanked on the hair he held between his fingers.
“Ow!” Clint wailed as he tried to squirm away.
“Sit still and be quiet or I'll shave you bald.” Bucky growled. “I've got major damage control to do here.”
Clint opened his mouth, thought about making a smart assed remark, realized he so would not be able to pull of the cue ball look and wisely closed it without say anything.
Bucky muttered and mumbled to himself as he trimmed, then coloured Clint's hair. When he was finished, he whipped off the cape and spun the chair around so Clint could see himself in the mirror.
“Nice job, Barnes and bonus points for not getting dye in my ears.” Clint told him as he ran a hand over his neatly cut and coloured hair.
“Going down.” Bucky said with a grin as he released the chair, letting it quickly drop.
“That an offer?” Clint leered, then quickly blushed. “Aw, brain to mouth filter, no.” He grumbled.
“You want to go up and down on my,” he let his gaze slowly roam over Clint,
“barber pole, Barton?” he drawled.
“Ok, first, that was horrible and second, uh, yes.” Clint said rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the floor. “I mean not right away unless you wanted to, cause your hot and funny and have many mad skills and you don't want to punch me in the face and I'd jump you in a second if you'd wanted me to, but, uh, I was thinking maybe coffee, then some kind of date, if you want to, or if not we can just forget I said anything.”
“Sometimes I want to punch you in the face,” Bucky said, his smirk turning in a full grin.
“Fair enough.” Clint replied, grinning back at him.
“Yes, to the other thing.”
“To coffee or forgetting?”
“Yes, to coffee, to a date, to everything.” Bucky told him. "I've been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out forever. Never could quite get there, so yes, I would love to get coffee and everything else with you."
“Ok, cool.” Clint said, jumping out of the chair and stumbling over his feet, sending him crashing against Bucky who grabbed him to steady him.
“Fair warning, I'm a bit of a disaster.” Clint told him.
“I noticed.” Bucky replied. “I think I can handle it.”
“Cool, cause I really want to kiss you.”
Bucky just smiled and tilted his head to meet him half way.