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“Shit, shit, shit,” Clint muttered to himself as he ran down the thin alleyway between the two warehouses.
A solo mission had gone haywire and Clint had had to improvise and do so quickly. He rarely did solo missions unless it was a drawn out undercover type of thing but in Coulson’s defense, it was AIM. No one had expected this to take him longer than an hour, two hours tops.
Unfortunately, AIM had acquired some new tech for this particular evil-doing. Tech that had scanned the area and found Hawkeye spying on them. He hadn’t even realized his cover had been blown until bullets started flying in his direction and he’d had to drop from his position and start running.
He’d been nicked by one shot, just a graze across the arm, nothing to worry about but another had landed in his leg, a few inches below the knee but not anywhere vital because he hadn’t passed out yet.
In his few moments of relief from whatever was tracking him, he tore a piece of his shirt to use as a tourniquet and then kept going. He wasn’t sure how he was being tracked but it was becoming a real problem because this AIM meeting had taken place at the docks and he was running out of places to hide.
He had to be smart about this. He couldn’t contact anyone just yet for an extraction because he might still be able to get the intel he had come there for and if that was possible, no way was he going to back out. Threat of death was not something that often deterred Clint. Especially not when he could still win.
He decided to test a theory and tossed all his electronics into a nearby dumpster between two warehouses before heading off to try and find a new entrance to where he’d originally been. He could convince Phil and Tony to replace them all anyway but he had to stop that bomb.
+
All in all it took him twelve hours and a little more blood loss to get what he’d come for but he got it. He knew exactly what AIM was planning and when and where it would go down. He could go home now and sleep easy knowing he’d given Coulson’s team solid intel to work with.
It was nearing noon the next day by the time he made it back to the tower. Coulson had ordered a car for him but Clint opted for a yellow cab, less attention and better conversation than any of Coulson’s low level agents.
“‘Sup,” Clint greeted the Tower security as he walked in and made his way to the elevator that Jarvis thankfully sent straight to his floor.
He was rubbing his eyes as he stepped out and froze when he heard boots squeak on the floor, his hands dropping from his eyes. He blinked once and then the picture came into focus.
“Hey, what are—“
“Fuck you,” Bucky spat, his eyes scanning Clint, taking in every injury and every blood stain, noting the way Clint was favoring his right leg and the way he held his left arm.
Bucky was standing in the middle of their shared room in full Winter Soldier gear, a knife in one hand that he was still twirling angrily even now that he had stopped pacing. He was glaring at Clint as he approached slowly.
“I’m sorry.”
Bucky was dressed and armed to the teeth and Clint knew he didn’t have a mission any time soon.
“Fuck you,” Bucky repeated as they closed the gap until they were inches apart and Bucky had to tilt his head back to look up at Clint. The words didn’t come out as venomous as the first time but they did have just as much emotion.
“Buck—”
Bucky stabbed a finger into Clint’s chest, bright eyes focused on Clint’s and full of concern.
“Fuck you, Barton,” he said a third time, his voice cracking and Clint reached out now and pulled him into his arms, one hand coming up to guide Bucky’s head onto his shoulder and the other wrapping around his waist.
“It’s okay, I’m okay. I’m sorry. Shh, it’s alright,” he said, whispering more quiet reassurances as Bucky’s jagged breathing began to calm down.
“You were MIA for twelve hours, Clint. We couldn’t monitor you.”
Clint pulled back, raising a hand to rest on Bucky’s face, his thumb moving across his cheek.
“I know. They were tracking my tech. I had to ditch it. I’m sorry, Buck. But chances are, there won’t be a huge explosion in Alphabet City, so…”
“I’m proud of you,” Bucky said, his free hand gripping the side of Clint’s shirt so tightly he was sure the fabric would tear soon. “But the next time shit like this happens, you ask for help, Clint. I mean it.”
Clint dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder, tucking his face against the warm skin of his neck. He pressed a kiss there.
“I will. I promise. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” Bucky pulled away, sliding the knife back into its sheath without even looking as he continued, “And as happy as I am to see you, you should’ve gone to medical first. You’ve got gunshot wounds and a broken wrist. Come on.”
Clint sighed. “Fine but I’m coming back here to sleep once I’m all patched up. I’m long overdue for a nap.”