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Saturday afternoon, Dog Cops on TV, legs on the coffee table and all that’s missing is pizza.
Clint patiently waited for the delivery boy to show up, it’s been what, twenty minutes now? He should be there any time soon. Clint was occupied with thoughts about him and Lucky eating the delicious wonder that was pizza when he noticed an opened can of soda on the coffee table.
Weird, he didn’t remember opening one. But it had to be his, since he lived in the apartment alone and last time he checked Lucky knew how to open doors, not soda cans.
Before Clint could think more about it, he reached out for the drink and took a sip. It was disgustingly warm and almost without any fizz left. Gross. He had definitely forgotten it here at some point.
Then the doorbell rang. Finally.
Clint pays for the two boxes of pizza, both peperoni because it’s his and Lucky’s favorite, and returns back to the living room. He sets the boxes down on the coffee table, careful not to knock the can over.
“What the…” Clint mutters when he doesn’t see the soda anywhere.
He just shrugs, because he probably carried it with him to the door and then left it somewhere in the hallway.
“So what do you say, Lucky? You want a piece?” he teases his dog. Lucky just wags his tail like crazy and whines where he sits on the floor in front of Clint. The archer laughs and gives him a slice. It’s not like he only feeds the dog pizza, okay. He is responsible. Kind of. But anyway, he feeds his dog appropriate food, just to be clear.
“Good boy,” Clint patted his dog on the head while Lucky happily chewed on his slice of pizza.
It was their perfect Saturday. Villain of the week defeated, missions assigned, training done. There was nothing left to do other than just being lazy. Clint loved these days. He even considered calling Kate, if she would be up for Dog Cops marathon, but then he remembered she was off somewhere on the East coast chasing bad guys.
In short, it couldn’t get much better.
Then Lucky’s head shot up as if he heard something. Clint didn’t have his hearing aids turned on as high as he normally would, so he missed a lot of outside noise. He liked it that way. But sometimes it proved to be a wrong idea. Like that time when somebody burgled into his apartment in the bright daylight while he was in the other room. Just his luck.
“What is it, boy?” Clint scratched Lucky’s ear.
The dog barked and then ran somewhere in the apartment, totally abandoning his pizza.
“Well, there has to be something,” Clint concluded. Lucky would never leave pizza behind just like that. Unless it was just a decoy to get Clint off the couch and then conquer the rest of the pizza in the box. Which also wouldn’t be the first.
Clint turned his hearing aids up, so he’d hear if there was anybody else in the apartment while he took his shoes off. Less sound to make if he’s barefoot.
He carefully walked through every room, looking for Lucky and any potential danger. He didn’t like his Saturdays to be disturbed.
Kitchen – nothing.
Bathroom – nothing, except for the huge pile of dirty laundry that was waiting to be done. For like a month.
Guestroom – no, nothing.
Alright, so for the upper floor. There were only two rooms, his little office and on the other side his bedroom with adjoined bathroom.
Office – clear. Note to self: get rid of those old papers.
The door to his bedroom was ajar, which was definitely Lucky’s job. Clint held in the sigh that if his beloved dog made a mess of his sheets again, he’d make it a point to lock the doors next time. The joys of having a pet. Clint pushed the door open carefully, not really knowing what was he being careful of. Lucky wasn’t barking anymore, so what could it be?
The archer quickly scanned the room with his eyes, it seemed to be ok- oh god.
Oh God no.
No, no, no. I want my Saturday back!
There he was, some unknown person, crouched in the corner behind his closet. Clint only saw the heavy army boots and black cargo pants. The closet shielded the rest of the stranger’s body, so Clint couldn’t tell who it was.
Lucky was sitting by the stranger, his head on his thigh. He was whining softly, his beady eyes firmly set on the person’s face.
Clint really hated his job. He didn’t have any weapon on him, not even a goddamn knife. Jackass.
But it didn’t seem like the man was there to hurt him. He could’ve done it already, if he wanted to. And Lucky didn’t find the man threatening either. He could trust his dog’s instincts, right? Lucky could tell the bad guys from the good ones. Usually.
“Hey, look, I don’t know what you want,” Clint started and slowly shuffled further into the room so he could have a look at the intruder in his bedroom. Just a little bit further.
His jaw probably hit the floor.
Yeah, it had to.
Now, Clint’s Saturday was definitely fucked.
The man glared daggers into him and worse, he had a gun pointed right at his head. Given Clint’s position, clothes and lack of any weaponry, he was, to put it bluntly, fucked.
“Alright, I’m not here to hurt you,” Clint threw his arms up into the air in a giving up gesture. “Just don’t hurt my dog, man,” he looked down at Lucky, who seemed so at ease it was ridiculous. Definitely not a Dog cop, Clint thought.
He watched the stranger carefully. Brown mussed hair, scratches everywhere. He was leaning to one side, he probably hurt his arm somewhere. And was he wet? Yeah, he was definitely dripping, Clint concluded. He also noticed the flashing silver of the arm that was pointing the gun at him.
Double fuck.
Of all the fucking people in the world, it had to be Clint who ended up with the Winter soldier in his bedroom. And of course his dog would like him. The soldier didn’t speak. And it didn’t look that he would anytime soon.
“Look, we could do this the whole afternoon, but I got steaming hot pizza downstairs and Dog cops on-“ the soldier cocked his gun. “Alright, alright, I’m shutting up!” Clint was panicking. He really couldn’t do a damn thing. Maybe jump out of the window, it was just couple feet from him. If he’s lucky, the garbage men didn’t move the large dumpster beneath his window. He could survive, technically speaking.
“You know who I am?” the soldier asked. His voice was raspy and thick with Russian accent.
Clint nodded, dumfounded. Of course he knew who the Winder soldier was. Natasha had told him plenty of spooky stories. Not that he wanted to believe any of them, but it kind of made sense now.
“Who am I?” the soldier demanded in a growl. Clint jerked at the force of his voice. It was both dangerous and weirdly arousing.
“You are the Winter soldier. Steve has been looking for you,” Clint replied, hands still held in the air.
“Steve…” the soldier muttered and looked down for a split of second. He seemed confused, to say the least.
“Everybody is looking for you,” Clint pointed out. It was probably stupid of him to talk. But when was Clint Barton ever so smart to shut his trap?
The soldier threw him a pointed glare.
“I could patch you up, you know. Got medical training and all,” Clint was nervous. He knew that the soldier had his finger right next to the trigger. He could kill him with just one swift movement. And the soldier never missed. He remembered what Natasha had said to him.
“I don’t need your help. Just tell me who I am!” he almost yelled at this point. He was definitely losing it and Clint didn’t need to push him any further.
“Steve didn’t tell me much. He said he was looking for his long lost friend Bucky. He talked mainly to Sam about the case. He didn’t want many people in on it, since he really cares about you, you know,” Clint was probably babbling at that point. He desperately tried to recall any details that would help him. Any weakness, negotiation tactics, anything that would help him get rid of the deadliest assassin in history that also happened to be occupying his bedroom.
“Bucky…” the man repeated after him, as if he was tasting the name on his tongue.
He fell silent, his eyes were void and vacant as he stared somewhere behind Clint. Lucky was nuzzling to the soldier’s leg and Clint noticed that the asset was petting the dog absent-mindedly. Never mind how spaced-out the soldier was, he was still pointing a gun to Clint’s face.
Clint knew he might regret it, but something told him that the soldier wouldn’t kill him now. He could’ve done it when Clint first discovered him. Besides, the soldier was obviously hurt, firing a gun would draw attention and set him on run again. Maybe that with his training he could take it and disappear in thin air like the stories told. But something told Clint this wasn’t the case.
The archer knelt down on the floor in front of the man, careful to make his movements slow and languid.
“Look, I can help you out,” the archer started. Bucky focused his eyes on him, they were no longer vacant, just lost.
“I know you,” the man suddenly said.
Now this is some change of events.
“I watched you and the other Avengers. I know you,” the soldier said in barely audible voice.
“Then you know that I am not a threat to you when I’m unarmed.”
More silence.
Then Lucky rose up from his place on the floor and impatiently jumped at the soldier, licking at his face and whining. Bucky tried to push the dog away, but his hand was too weak even for that. And he still held gun with his metal one.
“Lucky, stop it!” Clint ordered the dog, but he didn’t listen.
After the soldier put the gun down and stopped fighting, Lucky calmed down enough and just laid across the soldier’s chest.
“Come on, boy, get down. Don’t you see he’s hurt?” Clint told the dog again. Lucky waged his tail and happily got off of the assassin.
Bucky looked up from under the messy hair that were shielding his eyes.
“The winter soldier defeated by one-eyed dog…” Bucky shook his head. Clint could swear he saw hints of smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “If you ever tell someone about this, I’ll come for you,” he had the coldest expression that Clint has ever seen a human being having on their face.
“Understood,” he nodded dumbly.
Clint watched as Bucky put away the gun into a thigh holster. It seemed like he wasn’t about to fight anymore.
“So what is it? Gunshots, stab wounds?” Clint asked the man in front of him. Bucky kept staring at him for a while before he turned his eyes away.
“Dislocated shoulder, didn’t have time to put it back and now it’s too stiff,” he seemed genuinely embarrassed.
“Alright, I can do that. Here,” Clint offered him a hand to get up. The soldier measured him with his stare before accepting the offered hand with his metal hand.
Clint felt a shiver run down his spine at the cold contact. He told himself it was nothing, just the shock from different temperature. He led Bucky towards his bed and told him to lie down.
“It’s easier this way,” he explained.
“I’ll dirty up your sheets,” the soldier muttered and lied down on the floor instead. “I’m still probably bleeding and my uniform is dirty.”
Alright, Clint couldn’t argue with that. He knelt down next to the soldier and took his damaged hand.
“You know the drill.”
“Just do it, Barton.”
“Okay,” Clint shrugged and just like that he set the shoulder joint back with one swift movement. The popping sound was gross, just like Clint remembered it would be. But strangely enough the soldier didn’t let out a single sound. Last time Clint checked, putting back dislocated shoulder after several hours hurt like a bitch.
“You’re fine,” Clint cleared his throat when neither of them spoke. Bucky was just lying there on the ground, his eyes firmly shut.
Lucky chose that time to come to them and start licking Bucky’s face.
“Don’t be gross, Barton,” the soldier said in an annoyed voice and waved his arm around to get the thing away. But to his surprise he grabbed a handful of furry coat. “Oh, it’s just your dog,” he sighed in relief.
“I’d buy you dinner first,” Clint joked.
To his shock, Bucky snorted.
“So how about you get that uniform off so I can check the other wounds and patch you up?” Clint asked again.
“It should be mostly healed by now,” the soldier said, but sat upright and started undoing the top of his uniform. It was hard with all the buckles attached to it.
“Here, I’ll help you,” Clint offered. Bucky let him and together they worked on opening up the harness of his uniform. When they were done Clint realized his hands were red as the uniform was soaked both with water and with blood.
“Jesus, how much did you bleed?”
“My name is James and I did not bleed for your fucking sins, Barton,” Bucky replied. As soon as the joke left his lips, he froze in place and didn’t move.
“What is it?” the archer asked softly.
“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he looked at Clint with wide eyes.
“Yes, it is.”
“I served for the 107th,” he whispered, looking to a distant place once more.
“You were friends with Steve Rogers. Do you remember him?”
It seemed to click something within the asset. He snapped back to Clint and didn’t speak anymore. He got the upper half of his uniform off of him and threw it on the ground. He was absolutely filthy underneath.
The freshest wounds were almost healed, so it was only blood drying on his skin. But what caught Clint’s attention was the number of scars over his skin. He knew that each one had a different story behind it. But it wasn’t his place to ask.
“Okay, let’s get you to the shower. You can borrow some of my clothes,” and I’m going to pray that they fit you, Clint thought in his head.
The Soldier was jacked. And Clint struggled to form sentences as it was when Steve walked around in one of those skin-tight shirts. He really didn’t need another tease like that in his life.
He showed Bucky to the bathroom and told him that he’s free to spend there as much time as he wants.
"I’ll get you some clean clothes while you’re there,” he promised.
Clint totally didn’t imagine what Bucky would look like in his clothes. And he didn’t pick the clothes accordingly to his fantasies. Nope. He fished out a pair of grey sweatpants that he was sure would fit the soldier. At least by the length, he wasn’t so sure about those killer thighs the soldier was packing.
Get your head out of the gutter, Barton! He heard Kate’s voice in his head.
Next mission was some underwear – check, black boxers without any arrows on them. Finally, Clint found a white v-neck he didn’t even know he owned. To prove his point he found a price tag on it. Yeah, right, it was definitely from that one time Kate forced him to go shopping with her.
“I’ll leave the clothes on the bed, alright? If you need me, I’ll be downstairs. Make sure to leave you some pizza!” Clint shouted through the door and when he didn’t receive any reply in return, he went down the stairs to reclaim his spot on the couch.
“What the fuck is my life again?” he muttered to himself.
Of all people, the Winter soldier decided to crash at his place. After Clint found out that Bucky wouldn’t kill him, at least not immediately, he couldn’t really complain. After all, Bucky was kind of his type. Tall, dark, brooding and intimidating, jacked… fucked up history came with the package, as it always did.
Clint rested his head against the couch and closed his eyes. He had no idea what would come next.
The arched may or may have not dozed off while he was waiting for Bucky. He jerked back to reality when he heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs. A sound he wasn’t used to, so it was easy for it to wake him up.
When his eyes turned to the stairs, he quickly bit his tongue. The man in front of him was a whole new person.
“Who the hell are you?” Clint heard himself ask before he could flick on the brain-mouth filter. Sometimes he doubted he even had one.
The soldier in front of him smirked, fucking smirked, and walked down the rest of the stairs. He was so goddamn smug and confident in his steps.
“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he announced again. “And your clothes are way too small for me,” he added.
Small my ass, Clint thought. He scanned Bucky from head to toe and still couldn’t believe how stunning the man was. Now he understood why he was so long gone in the bathroom. He was clean shaven, which only pronounced his lips and that ridiculous trademark smirk of his. And he also cut his hair short. Probably how it used to be before the war. Couple of loose strands were falling to his forehead and Bucky casually pushed them back with his flesh hands.
Oh God, these biceps could kill me anytime.
The white v-neck was impossibly tight over Bucky’s chest. It would put even Steve Rogers to shame. Clint made a mental note to send a thank you card to Kate for making him purchase a high-quality cotton v-neck back then. It was almost the best thing she had made him do in the past couple years.
“So?” Bucky asked impatiently when all Clint did was drool shamelessly on the floor.
“You’re hot,” was the first thing that the archer squeak out.
“Thank you, captain obvious,” Bucky rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch next to Clint.
Those sweatpants were obscene, Clint decided. And Bucky had one hell of a fine ass. And thighs. And Clint was itching to both tell him and touch him. Fuck his lazy Saturdays, he was thirsty for some adventure. And he didn’t care the least bit that he was embarrassing himself.
“Uhh,” Clint started. Barton, get your shit together! “Here’s some pizza, I can heat it up for you?”
“Nah, it’s cool, I don’t mind,” Bucky waved his hand in the air.
“Alright, so I’ll get the beer,” he quickly stood up from the couch and almost fell over the coffee table in his haste attempt to flee.
He definitely did not hear James laugh at him.
What the fuck! What do I do? Clint wanted desperately to call Kate for some advice. He knew he’d do something stupid, it was just a matter of time. Bite the bullet, Barton, be a man for once in your life! He heard Kate’s voice in his head. Fair enough, he wouldn’t have listened to her advice anyway. There was no point in calling her, he should deal with this alone, for once.
He grabbed couple of beers from the fridge and went back to the living room, putting them on the table.
“By the way sorry about that can I left here earlier,” Bucky said nonchalantly.
“What can?” Clint asked, puzzled.
“You know, that can you thought was yours but really wasn’t?”
“Wait… how long have you been in my apartment exactly?” Clint was probably the greatest spy failure and he felt like the ground could swallow him. If Bucky says he’s been here for days, I’m gonna jump out of the window for sure.
“You made it easy when you didn’t turn your hearing aids on properly.”
“How long?”
“Since this morning.”
Alright, that wasn’t so bad. Clint surely would’ve noticed him by the end of the day.
“Well… thanks for not killing me and my dog in my sleep, I guess?” Clint was intrigued by the soldier. Where was Bucky hiding this whole time? And why didn’t Lucky bark sooner?
They fell into a comfortable silence, just the two of them finishing up the pizza and drinking cold beer. It felt like the man talking to him was indeed an entirely new person. It was out of place, but for some reason Clint felt like it belonged. And when was his life ever normal anyway?
After approximately the third beer Clint grew bold enough to look at Bucky from the short distance. He studied his hair. It wasn’t perfectly cut, but it was still good enough to pass Clint’s standards of a decent haircut a man could give himself. He noticed that Bucky’s features were soft, yet hardened around the edges. He imagined the harsh cold wind of Siberia and scorching heat of tropic places hardening his features and giving them this shade of darkness. Bucky was like this perfect walking mystery and it attracted Clint more than he liked to admit.
The asset was siting calmly next to him, his body was relaxed. Clint obviously didn’t oppose a threat to him and neither did Bucky to Clint. The archer found it weird to think about the handsome man next to him as the asset. It was the looks and the absence of his threatening uniform that did it. He looked more… human.
“Are you just going to stare at me the whole afternoon, Barton?” Bucky asked without even glancing at Clint.
“Sorry, I just can’t help it,” he felt blush creeping up his neck and he rubbed self-consciously at it.
“You like how I look now,” it wasn’t even a question, it was a plain statement. Bucky looked over at Clint with amused grin playing at his lips. He was so cocky and good looking that Clint wanted to punch him in his perfect face.
“I guess there’s no point in denying that. I already called you hot,” Clint huffed, annoyed.
James was unfairly attractive with the cotton fabric stretching at all the right places, his biceps at display, his metal arm shining in the late afternoon light. Clint was screwed and he loved every second of it.
“Well, you did buy me dinner,” Bucky pointed out.
Clint blinked at him several times. What the hell does that mean?
The soldier rolled his eyes at Clint’s stupidity. He opened his mouth to say something, but Lucky beat him to it. He started barking and jumped straight at James. He kept wagging his tail, beating Clint with it. For some reason he was way too happy to see Bucky.
“Lucky! Get off of the couch and James! Bad dog!” Clint wasn’t all that mad at Lucky, but he wanted at least some rules for the dog to follow. Which seemed to be pointless, because his dog kept licking James’ face and whined like he was hurt. He was just so happy that Bucky was there.
“Oh hey, at least somebody here got the point,” Bucky laughed. And again, what the hell does that mean?
Lucky jumped down from James and run straight to the door.
“Alright, I guess it’s time for his walk,” Clint stood up from the couch.
“Can I come?” Bucky asked before Clint could say anything else.
“Uhhh…”
“Nobody is going to recognize me like this,” Bucky said.
He was right. Even Clint would have a hard time recognizing Bucky like that.
“Except for your arm,” Clint pointed.
“I’ll take a jacket or something.”
“Good, just don’t tear the back man,” Clint found a suitable jacket that was a little too big on him and threw it at James. He caught it with ease and put it on. It so just happened that the said jacket was black and leather.
“Now this is some serious Marlon Brando shit,” Clint thought he said that in his head, but when he saw Bucky smirking knowingly, he realized he had said it out loud. He quickly looked away and barely resisted the urge to facepalm himself. Instead, he looked for some gloves in the hallway. “Here, put these on,” he handed him a pair of black gloves to match the jacket.
Bucky had the whole bad boy thing going on strong. And Clint couldn’t remember the last time he wanted himself a bad boy like Bucky. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he was lusting after somebody so badly in his life.
“Should we go?” Bucky said close to his ear. So close that Clint felt the hot air ghost over his cheek. A cold shiver run down his spine and he resisted the urge to shudder.
“Sure, I’ll just get the leash. You get some shoes,” Clint gestured towards several pairs of shoes scattered by the door. He hoped him and Bucky were approximately the same size.
He searched for the leash while Bucky shuffled around the hallway. Oh, here you are, he thought as he finally laid his eyes on the leash. He usually walked Lucky without it, but the dog was way too excited today, so he didn’t want to take any chances of him running too far away.
“I’m taking my boots,” Bucky announced and run back to Clint’s bedroom where he left them.
Just what Clint needed. Hot assassin in leather jacket with leather boots.
“Lucky, come here, boy,” Clint called his dog and attached the leash to its collar. They waited for Bucky to be ready, which took only about two minutes.
When the man appeared in front of Clint again, the archer wished he didn’t. James was like his worst wet dream.
“Since when you fit in my pants?” he asked when he laid his eyes on the pair of black jeans Bucky was wearing.
“I don’t,” Bucky replied and turned around.
Now that we’re talking about fine assets… Clint stopped himself right there before he could say the bad pun out loud.
“Okay, but don’t ask for my help when every woman we pass will want to drag you home,” Clint told him, because there was no way Bucky wouldn’t get any attention dressed like that. Fucking bad biker boy. Yeah, Clint was sure that if he had seen Bucky like this on the street he would definitely like to test his chances as well as the rest of the population of New York.
“They won’t, don’t worry,” Bucky flashed him a grin. “Shall we go?” he gestured towards the door.
On their way out Bucky explained that he couldn’t just pair the black boots with grey sweatpants, because it would look weird and drag attention. As if him being dressed as an underwear model wouldn’t, Clint thought to himself.
They walked side by side with Clint walking by Bucky’s right. He supposed it felt more comfortable to the soldier. They made their way to the nearest park with Lucky, engrossed in a small talk. Clint was still wary about the soldier, all of his instincts of a spy telling him to keep his senses alert. But his hormones and heart were telling a whole different story. Bucky was hot, he was dangerous and easy to flirt with and-
“Oh my, look at you, Clint,” an old lady walking a Yorkshire terrier stopped them. “I see you finally found yourself a man,” she was small and adorable, just like Clint remembered her.
Bucky, being his usual charming self, sneaked an arm around Clint’s waist.
“Why don’t you introduce me to this lovely lady, Clint?” the way his name rolled off of Bucky’s tongue should have been illegal. He felt the flesh arm around his waist tighten just tiny bit. James was brushing his thumb against the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Uh, Miss Johnson, this is James. James, Miss Johnson,” Clint quickly introduced them.
He wanted to beat himself mentally as soon as he said James’ name. Rule number one, dumbass, don’t say the real name!
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, m’am,” Bucky let go of Clint and took her hand in his to drop a kiss at the back of her hand like the damn gentleman he was.
She blushed and wished them a lot of luck in their lives. When she left, Bucky put his arm back around Clint’s waist, pressing him tight against his side.
“See? Nobody is taking me home tonight, but you,” Bucky whispered to his ear.
There was no way that James didn’t feel the full-body shudder that Clint’s body responded with.
“Well, I did buy you dinner,” Clint answered.
Bucky laughed out loud, honest-to-God laughed, his whole body shaking with the force of it. There was a small smile playing on Clint’s lips as well. Yeah, fuck lazy Saturdays, he could get used to a little adventure here and there.