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When he bends over to tie the laces of your combat boots that have come undone.
Pause .
When you get up during Hulu binging and you’ve lazed around so long there’s an indentation of your body on the sofa and he fluffs the cushion back up for you.
Pause .
When you ask him to pick up pads from the drugstore because it’s that time of the month and instead of complaining he also gets you Mr. Goodbars unprompted because they are the only thing your malevolent cramping stomach can handle.
Pause .
Because as fondly as you can look back once they are merely memories, they are glimmers that can’t possibly match the radiance of what once was.
Pause .
Because what once was a glimmer will be a blink, unsteady even in its attempt at reflection of some wonder recalled.
Pause .
Because once the present becomes the past you may not be together and even if you are he may not care about you in that way and even if he does still care he may not show it quite as well and if somehow luck favors you so strongly that he and all of the above stay.
Pause .
Because maybe you’ll have changed.
“Can I top you off?”
“Yes please.”
You share a smile with the waiter. Technically he should make you buy another, but since you lifted a bus off him that time he’s been generous with refills.
He doesn’t ask why you’re alone today, just like you didn’t ask him how he’d caused the pile-up on the freeway a year ago.
That’s part of the beauty, here. The sea breeze, the street musician shedding Trane, the corner booth with cracked upholstery, and a cafe au lait, your very own slice of New Orleans.
The only place where you can be alone without feeling lonely.
“Where’s (y/n)?”
“Well Clint’s been in the vents for 36 hours straight so I think she’s-“
“Eating beignets and gumbo.” Tony finishes triumphantly. Nat the Cat does not appreciate the interruption.
“Should we...feed him?” Steve, ever the sweetheart, worries.
“Are you kidding me? He could survive the apocalypse in there. Actually it’s our backup panic room.”
“Seriously?!” Steve’s concern turns into annoyance. “You have how many rooms and you make the vents our panic room?!”
“Hey, they’re practically indestructible. Not to mention it’s already fully stocked with a decades worth of rations, thanks to the Hawk.”
“So you’re both lazy and cheap.” Nat the Cat looked at him disapprovingly.
“All I know is he better not be peeing in bottles again.” Thor grumbles. “Last time (y/n) told me it was lemonade.”
There was a snort above them, followed by a sigh. The rest of the crew raised their eyebrows, but left Clint alone to wallow.
“You’re back!”
“Yes, I felt I didn’t tip enough yesterday.”
He grins, he knows you never stiff him. Maybe you worked in the service industry before your superhero-ing. “There’s someone in your usual booth. Want me to hurry them up?”
It’s your turn to grin, you know he always values each customer, even if they haven’t saved his life. You shake your head and point at an empty table. “That one’s fine.”
“One Cafe au Lait coming up. Unless you’re feeling adventurous?”
“New spot, new drink.” You wink. “Surprise me.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Normally New Orleans is a day trip, but each time you’ve come in the past year, you’ve stayed a little longer. Maybe you’d make it a week-long indulgence.
Which begs the question, what are you doing for the other fifty-one?
You never thought saving the world would get boring. Tiresome, sure, because people wouldn’t stop being evil or stupid. You’d be surprised how much worse the latter can be, if only because of the widespread repercussions of well-intentioned foolishness.
The time that guy torpedoed a ship? Tragic.
The time they accidentally put too much fluorine in the water? Devastating.
10 crew members versus an entire city.
Death is death, though.
Perhaps it’s good you’re a tad disassociated from it all.
Then you wouldn’t be able to take time off for coffee.
Speaking of which.
“Here, try this. If you can guess what it is, it’s on the house.”
You smile. “Alright, I’m ready for a challenge.”
Alas, before you can take a sip, the cup is snatched from your hands, a hair’s width from spilling all over your blouse.
There’s a loud obnoxious sipping sound.
“Cafe latte with two shots of blonde espresso, agave, a hint of amaretto and coconut milk. Now if you’re done hitting on my girlfriend, we will take the check please.”
Fuck.
You glare daggers at the loudmouth archer who had swooped in with evidently too much testosterone.
“Six fifty.” The waiter is of course, a professional, and answers nonplussed.
“Christ! For beans and water?!”
“What are you doing here?!” You hiss at Clint angrily. He ignores you completely.
“And coconut milk,” the waiter adds with a straight face.
“But if she guessed right it’s on the house!”
“Yes, she. Not you.” You plop down a twenty, for his sass and bravery. “And it was pure sugar cane, not agave.” You’d add another ten if you weren’t all out of cash.
“Yeah well your hand was covering the label on the bottle.” Clint mutters grumpily.
You smile apologetically at the waiter, before picking up your purse and dragging Clint away. By the ear.
“Ow ow ow, gentle!”
“Clint Barton you better have a stellar excuse for why you followed me to my favorite cafe.”
“I was...thirsty?”
“And you couldn’t have gone anywhere in New York? Or I don’t know, the East Coast?!”
“I mean I’d classify Louisiana as more East than Central-“
You interrupt him with a stomp on his foot. With steel toed boots.
“Hey I bought you those, you’re not allowed to hurt me with them!” Clint grouses, hopping up and down dramatically. Like he couldn’t take an arrow in his ass with a straight face if he needed to maintain cover. Not that anyone had proven that theory yet.
“No, you bought me stripper heels. I returned them and used the money to buy these.”
“So by associative property…” He waits for you to either stomp on him again or laugh at his commitment to bullshittery. You’re torn; you hate that he intruded on your safe place, the only place that you could even partially call your own.
But he looks so good in that stupid leather jacket that you bought him last winter. You had watched Sin City and decided everyone should wear more leather on a daily basis; at least until Tony bought you and Nat matching leather bralettes. The fact that it looked great on her while it gave you monoboob was almost as bad as Tony buying you lingerie in the first place. He’s since refrained from doing so after Clint dislocated his elbow slowly and painfully. And then popped it back in place.
You’d been torn that day too. The whole possessive boyfriend thing was incredibly unattractive. But the fact that you were the only one who could convince him to let Tony out of the hammerlock had made you feel special. Not that you’d ever admit it.
“Actually I think it’s transitive property.” In the end you choose banter instead of conflict.
“Whatever. I never took trig. Too busy being a kickass assassin and all.”
“Yeah but you’ve watched so much Big Bang Theory you might as well have a Master’s.”
“Just like Wallowitz. Still no doctorate though?”
“Hey if even Tony and his billions can’t get an honorary Ph.D I don’t think it’s in the cards for you.”
“Hmph.” He mock frowns. “I think Dr. Barton sounds classy as hell.”
“I am not calling you that. Ever. Your nurse fetish can stay in the closet with my Wincest fantasies.”
“Deal.” He reaches forward to grab you in a hug, but stops short. Instead, he puts one hand on your shoulder and uses the other to pull your hair out of your face. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Just not enough to go home.
"The prodigal daughter returns!" Tony blears loudly as you roll your suitcase into the living room.
You'd thought that 4 AM would be a nice quiet time to come back and unwind. Try to process all the mess that made you take off in the first place.
Of course, it's always happy hour somewhere in the world. According to the alcoholic. Who is parked on the sofa outside your room.
Thirty floors and he chooses this one to get hammered in.
But you don't want to argue the minute you're home.
"Thanks for letting us use the private jet."
Clint mumbles an agreement, at least as annoyed as you at Iron Liver's presence. Probably more.
Tony burps back. "No problemo."
"Well I'm off to bed." You say pointedly.
"Don't let me stop you." He drawls.
"Get lost, Stark. Nobody likes a third wheel." It was anyone's guess whether or not you and Clint were actually going to bang, but he was optimistic. And, again, annoyed at Tony.
"Jesus, let me finish this beer. Then you two can hump like rabbits til dawn."
Which it almost is, already. Note to self: never return in the late evening again. Staying up made you grumpy as hell. It was even more exhausting trying not to snap at certain people.
Pause . Don't bicker if you can help it. You love every knucklehead and buffoon under this roof.
Really, there is no expectation of privacy here.
"So did you get me a decorative spoon?"
Nat the Cat slides a mug of coffee to you in the unofficial communal kitchen and dining room. Normal people have comfortable habits and recognize boundaries. They have places they go when they're feeling social.
AKA they stay the fuck off your floor.
You take the mug gratefully. "I thought you wanted a snow globe this time."
"Actually what I really wanted was to tag along, ya jerk." She replies with a teasing smile.
"Trust me, I would be the worst tour guide."
"Trust me, I get it." She reaches over and squeezes your hand. "That's why I never take anyone to Aspen with me."
"When did you go to Aspen?" Steve walks in with Thor, back from their morning sprints. Steve pats your shoulder and Thor ruffles your hair.
Pause . This is what it's like to come back from vacation and see you've been missed.
You hop up and give them both hugs, and give Nat the Cat a sloppy kiss on the cheek, which she wipes off dramatically, laughing.
"She goes every year." You almost jump at the voice that comes out of nowhere. Steve and Nat barely flinch, but you can tell they are caught off guard as well. They're just better at hiding it.
You turn towards the sound and see Bruce step past the open pantry door that had blocked him from everyone's view.
"How long have you been hiding behind that door?!"
He frowns. "I was not hiding. I was drinking coffee next to the pantry like I do every morning, and when (y/n) went to get the poptarts she opened the door right in my face. And left the door open, thus blocking me from everyone's view."
"I knew someone would need to get something from there later! I'm saving them a trip!" You say with a pout.
"You're saving them the arduous labor of opening the door." Thor says in your support, somehow with a straight face.
You grin at him. "Exactly! Besides, who stays behind a door and doesn't say anything?!"
"Who doesn't notice they're shoving a door in someone's face?"
You look around the kitchen at all the amused smiles. Your ridiculous, amazing friends.
Pause . Commit those affectionate faces to your memory.
"Wait am I the crazy one here?!"
"Nah, we are all nuts." Bruce waves you over to give you an awkward side-hug.
You know exactly why he had been behind the door. Well, because you'd accidentally put him there. But also why he'd stayed hidden instead of closing the door and saying something like a normal person.
So he could enjoy his coffee alone, while still being in you and Nat's company. So he wouldn't have to participate in conversation until he was ready. You know, because you've wanted to do the same. You just didn't quite know how yet without feeling like a complete freak.
You just want it all to be normal once in a while.
"Jet lag?"
You look up from doom-scrolling, er, online shopping, a little startled. "And where have you been?"
Not that you expected Bucky to greet you personally once you came back, but you hadn't seen him around all day.
"In my room. Just didn't feel like socializing."
"If that ain't a mood."
You pat the arm of the sofa. He looks at you warily.
"Every time I tell you to sit next to me, you refuse. So I'm offering you the arm cushion."
He smiles ruefully. "I wouldn't say refuse. More like refrain."
"Well excuse me Mr. Dictionary." You stretch exaggeratedly and extend your limbs to cover the maximum surface area. Making sure there's no more room on the arm cushion.
He chuckles softly.
Pause . That low, mellow sound is music to your ears.
"It's Mr. Thesaurus to you, (y/n)."
He nudges you to make room.
Then he actually sits down.
Settles next to you on the arm of the goddamn single seat couch.
So close that your shoulder is pressed against his thigh, which is somehow even more rock hard than you imagined.
Pause . You've never touched him. Not so much as brushed against him as you moved past.
You feel lightheaded and you assume it shows, since he looks down at you with concern.
Is this why he never sat next to you? Did his razor sharp spy abilities tell him that you'd lose it with just a little physical contact?
"What's wrong?"
You reach out to the words floating aimlessly in your mind, but you're unable to find your grip.
You need to get out of there before you do something crazy.
"You coming to bed?" Clint joins the conversation by dropping down from a vent and landing expertly on the other arm of the armchair.
You're sandwiched between two muscular men, and you wonder if this is a belated answer to a wish you made in middle school.
"In a bit." The reply comes instant, even though you'd just told yourself you needed to leave.
He looks at you, then at Bucky who'd been silent, carefully.
"I'll be waiting." He rappels back into the ceiling and rustles away.
You won't be able to put this off forever.
"Don't."
You're one leg out of your jeans, fluffy flannel pants in hand. You give Clint a weird look. "Uh…"
"I mean, yeah put on your pajamas." He reaffirms the crazy situation, where he's not trying to get in your pants during that tiny window of opportunity between day clothes and PJs.
"Wasn't aware I needed your permission." You sass, but he doesn't counter.
"I know it's been a while for us and I don't want you to think I dragged you home because I wanted sex-"
You pull off your jeans and step into your pajamas. "Ok first of all, you did not drag me, I agreed to come back. It was my own decision, I'm not your kid. Second, why would I think you wanted me to come back for sex only? We could've just done it in a hotel-"
He scratches his head, thrown off for a second from your interruption. "Not the point."
You go on interrupting. "Third of all, are you saying you don't like sex anymore?"
"What? Hell no! I, Clint Barton, am a virule-"
"Ok, never say that word again. It's now tainted. But go on."
"I still like sex. I love to fuck!" He practically shouts.
You guffaw loudly, barely muffled as you pull off your shirt and change into a cami.
"Now may I continue?!"
You let out a few final laughs and motion at him to proceed.
"Things have been off for a while, and I know the sex drought is an effect, not the cause."
You hiccup with another laugh. "Drought?!"
"Or famine. Whichever." He takes a deep breath.
"I wanted you home so I could ask. Are we ok?"
For the first time in a while, you want to speed past. You need this moment to be over.
But it's more than habit; it's unwillingness to hurt him and apprehension for the future because everything between the two of you will change when you answer.
You pause .