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Kate wakes up because she is being stared at; she opens her eyes and pushes Lucky's smelly muzzle away from her cheek and then she turns her head.
"Jesus," she says, scrambling to a sitting position on Clint's shitty couch.
Bucky Barnes -- Bucky Barnes -- continues to stare at her from his position on top of the coffee table. He is wearing an oversized henley shirt, one of Captain America's old-man cardigans, and Clint's second-rattiest jeans. He's sitting cross-legged, but she can see he's also wearing Clint's thick wool boot-socks, because they're darned in pink wool at the heel.
Lucky's already tired of her gaping and so he tries to get up on the couch. Kate shoves his head down. Lucky huffs and lets loose with a huge, Limburger-and-kibble-scented fart. Kate reels back and pulls Clint's shirt over her nose. "Gross!" she tells Lucky.
Lucky doesn't roll his eyes, because Lucky is a dog, but he flops down exactly where she's going to trip on him when she gets up, and make her feel bad for the rest of the day. Kate rubs her eyes and looks at the coffee table again. Bucky Barnes is still there, dressed like a murder hobo and looking surprisingly calm. A horrible thought strikes her, and she peers under the blanket. Fortunately she's wearing Clint's boxers, which is a miracle.
"What are you doing here?" she says.
Bucky Barnes blinks at her, slow like a cat.
"I thought you were restricted to like, fifteen feet of Captain America or something," says Kate.
Bucky Barnes lifts his metal shoulder, lowers it again. "Tentacles," he says. His voice is surprisingly mellow.
"Tentacles," repeats Kate.
Bucky Barnes very slightly inclines his head toward the TV, which is on mute and indeed displays a reporter soundlessly yelling about what appears to be the grandparent of all kraken beating the shit out of Clint.
They watch in silence as he sails through the air and is caught by the Hulk. The Hulk gives him a shake like a mother cat scolding a kitten that ventured too far out of the den, and sets him down.
After a minute, Kate says, "Do you want some coffee?"
Bucky Barnes shrugs.
Kate makes better coffee than Clint, although anybody, including Lucky and Captain America, can make better coffee than Clint. Kate knows this because she once was given a cup of coffee brewed by Captain America. It tasted like sadness and Folger's Instant Coffee Crystals, and it still was less gross than Clint's coffee. Bucky Barnes doesn't look like he much cares what type of coffee he gets, but Kate 500,000% needs something besides the sludge Clint thoughtfully left warming on the coffee machine for her.
Kate learned how to use a French press at her expensive college and she keeps the good coffee where Clint will never think to look for it (in the freezer, behind Natasha's vodka and the frozen pizza and the three bags of peas for when Clint adds to his bruise collection). She pulls it out and fishes the grinder from where it is hidden behind Clint's year-old collection of dried pasta from when he was trying to act like a real human, and sets to work.
Bucky Barnes silently lifts the kettle from the back burner, and equally silently takes it to the sink and scrubs it out. Kate doubts it's been touched since Natasha was here last, so she leaves him to it and grinds the coffee.
Lucky wanders in, still miffed that she managed to climb over him instead of tripping on him, and lies down in the middle of the floor. Kate checks his bowl -- he's got plenty of kibble, so he's just being an asshole.
"Nice try," she tells him.
Bucky Barnes brings the kettle over, scrubbed within an inch of its life, and puts it on the stove. Kate gets out the mugs and says, "Seriously, though, why are you here?"
Bucky Barnes raises both eyebrows at her. They're very judgemental eyebrows. Secretly, Kate is a little impressed.
"In this apartment, I mean," says Kate. "Not like -- why are you here in this modern era and stuff. I heard about that part."
"Mechanical tentacles," says Bucky Barnes. "In the safe -- in the brownstone. Going for Stevie, maybe. Didn't stop to ask."
"Does Stevi-- does Captain America know you escaped to here?" says Kate. She's trying really hard not to wonder about the mechanical tentacles, because despite being an Avenger-in-training or whatever she's still pretty attached to her sanity.
He shrugs. "I got a tracker. From Stark."
"Oooookaaaay," says Kate. What the hell, as long as Captain America doesn't have a superpowered panic attack and destroy Brooklyn more than it is already looking for his deep-frozen bestie, Kate did not have two fucks to give. "Do you want to eat all of Clint's Girl Scout cookies?"
"Sure," says Bucky Barnes.
They're watching the episodes of Dog Cops Clint hasn't had time to watch yet and Kate is perched on the back of the sofa, French-braiding Barnes' hair and explaining the last season of Dog Cops (bullshit was it all a fever dream brought on by too much Beggin' Strips, is all Kate is saying) when they hear pounding feet in the corridor. It sounds like three big guys in big boots, and Kate obligingly lifts her hands up while Barnes flips a knife into his hand.
"-- I'm telling you, the tracker signal is coming from here," says Tony Stark, and Barnes snorts and disappears the knife somewhere.
"That's my apartment," says the God-King of Obvious Remarks, and then, "Shit! Katie-Kate!"
Captain America, Iron Man, and Hawkeye all burst into the apartment and then there's a three-man pileup as they all skid to a halt and stare as Kate snaps a rubber band around the bottom of the braid and tucks it up under the nape of Barnes' neck. "Hawkeye," she says coldly.
Clint swallows hard. "Hawkeye," he says, shamelessly edging behind Iron Man, who is equally shamelessly edging behind Captain America. "You're okay? You --" He catches sight of the empty boxes of Girl Scout cookies. "Aww, cookies, no," he says.
"Maybe next time you won't leave us behind," says Kate, accepting the last Trefoil from Barnes.
"Yeah," says Captain America, "I can see how that would be a bad idea."