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The op is going perfectly when you realize you’ve been made.
It’s not your fault. Everything had been going exactly to plan: Clint’s coffee is sitting on the table, exactly where he always puts it. He’s forgotten the sugar – again, it’s a very reliable failing – and it’s not on the table like it usually is because you made sure of that as soon as you’d gotten back from the mission the night before.
So Clint’s digging in the deep well that is the pantry, trying to find the sugar, and you’re sneaking around the side like Indiana Jones, and that’s when you realize that it’s not just Clint in the pantry and Natasha on the couches reading her book.
It’s also the guy sitting at the other end of the table, holding his own mug of something and frowning at you like he’s about to blow your cover.
He’s cute, especially with his nose wrinkled like that, all frowny-faced. His hair’s dark brown and tucked behind his ears, like he normally wears it short but has missed a haircut or three, and you can tell even from here that his eyes are the bluest blue to ever blue. He’s wearing layers of soft cotton shirts and a strange shiny glove on one hand and he’s so clean-shaven you can see the slightly reddened skin, as if it’s been a while and he couldn’t wait another minute.
A little disappointing; a bit of stubble would probably look good on him. Contemplating how he would look more disheveled is probably why you’re distracted from your goal long enough to let him open his mouth, like he’s about to announce your presence.
You quickly start motioning to him Stop stop stop! Shut up shut up shut up! Slashing at your throat, one finger over your mouth, mouthing no no no, the works.
He stares at you, still incredulous, mouth open, before turning to look at Natasha.
Natasha looks up, looks at you, looks at Mysterious But Adorable, shrugs, and turns a page in her book.
MBA just looks back at you, still incredulous, but you grin and ease forward to slowly remove your goal from the table.
You’re already at the door to the stairwell for your exit when you hear Clint talking.
“We need to order more—fuck. Barnes! I thought you were watching my coffee!”
“I was,” says MBA – Barnes, apparently.
Barnes. Oh. It clicks.
“You were.”
“Yeah, I watched it as someone came in here, took it, and left again.”
“You…” Clint’s sputtering now.
“She went to the elevators,” offers Barnes helpfully, “if you want to try to catch her.”
“That little minx, I’m gonna—”
The door to the stairwell (conveniently on the other side of the floor from the elevators) closes quietly behind you so you can’t hear the rest of the exchange.
Which is really kind of too bad, because if that was James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, fabled war hero, Captain America’s best friend, and just-returned-last-night-from-that-mission-no-one’s-telling-you-about, then he totally had your six and you kinda want to thank him.
(With your tongue. No no, bad thought, put that away, the guy was a brainwashed assassin for decades, you are absolutely Not Allowed to think about a teammate like that, nopity nope.)
(Well. Maybe once would be okay.)
It’s gonna be a great day, you think cheerfully, as you take a sip of Clint’s coffee and head down to Tony’s lab.