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Clint saw the pinched look around Bucky’s eyes, a definitive indication that he was running out of tolerance for the crowd around them.
Bucky had been having a good week, so they had decided to brave the holiday crowds and treat themselves with a visit to their favorite pizzeria. Unfortunately the increase in tourists had resulted in more people recognizing them and this was the third time they’d been stopped for autographs since they’d left the tower, still only halfway to their destination.
Clint didn’t mind signing things when people asked, frankly he was gratified to be recognized and considered worthy of collecting a signature from.
Bucky, however, was always a reluctant participant in the ordeal, in no small part because he didn’t believe that anyone should consider him any sort of hero. Feeling closed in or surrounded could trigger Bucky’s anxiety, so Clint was considering it a success that Bucky wasn’t even glaring at anyone despite clearly running out of patience. Other people on the street had noticed the initial interaction and instead of lessening the crowd kept growing.
Clint wasn’t as graceful as Tony at extrication from these occasions, but he gave it his best, grinning widely and taking the next item thrust into Bucky’s personal space – the space that was quickly becoming Clint’s personal space as Bucky pressed closer to him.
“We’ve got to get going,” he told the couple directly in front of him and passed the items to them. “Have a good day.” A couple of people seemed a bit disappointed but no one protested as Clint herded Bucky down the sidewalk. Clint spotted a deli that Bucky enjoyed and led him there instead of continuing to their original destination and risking more tourists unable to read the ‘leave me alone’ vibes.
Clint greeted the familiar face behind the counter but didn’t join the queue. Instead he pulled Bucky into one of the two gender neutral — and, more importantly — single stall bathrooms, then locked the door behind them. The relief radiating from Bucky was palpable; he sagged against the door, chin tipped to his chest as he blew out measured breaths.
Making sure to leave a solid foot of space between their bodies, Clint extended his arm and skimmed his fingers along Bucky’s jaw. “You okay?”
Not ready for words yet Bucky mutely gave the barest shake of his head; he needed the space but Clint’s touch was anchoring and he didn’t want to accidentally dislodge his fingers.
“It was a lot, I know. You did good,” Clint murmured. He slid his hand back and down Bucky’s neck to settle on his shoulder where he gave a light squeeze. “I’m proud of you.”
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, refuting and refusing Clint’s statements.
“Hey, look at me,” Clint waited for the slate blue eyes to meet his own before he continued. “Just ‘cause it doesn’t feel great doesn’t mean you haven’t made progress. You didn’t pull a knife out on anyone this time.”
“This time,” Bucky muttered irritably.
“Yes, this time. And I’m proud of you.”
“I just got overwhelmed; there were too many people. Couldn’t see a way out,” Bucky admitted. “Thanks for getting us out of there.”
“Anytime, babe. I’m here for you. Let me go order some food, you take a minute to catch your breath, wash your face,” Clint offered, voice still gentle. Bucky considered for a minute — part of him really wanted a hug but he knew it was too soon after his almost panic attack to have anyone that close.
Bucky put his hand over Clint’s and squeezed the knuckles, wordlessly expressing everything Clint’s calm acceptance and actions meant to him.
When Bucky emerged several minutes later it was to find Clint in the corner booth, spot with the better sight lines left for him, and an array of his favorite comfort foods spread on the table.