Archive of Our Own ^beta

Clint hadn't wanted to get out of bed that morning. This was nothing out of the ordinary, not when late nights kept his eyes gritty and a warm body begged him to cuddle for another five minutes at least.

To be fair, Clint never wanted to get out of bed, but apparently that was because he was "a sex-maniac for god's sake, please stop scarring the rest of us".

They never told you that owning your own business didn't make you want to come to work any more than other people.

Arrow Café (the name born from Clint taking out his hearing aids while Natasha suggested increasingly outlandish monikers) did reasonably well, in spite of its spontaneous hours and impressively deadly baristas. Natasha had scared off more than one customer after they objectified her, and Kate, dear, darling Kate, one of the newest additions to the staff, had punched a man in the balls for grabbing her butt. And if it was inappropriate for the shop owner to cheer and give the girl a raise, then too bad.

Clint, as Phil said with affection, made his own rules.

Regardless, after that difficult first foray out of the covers, Clint's day had taken an upswing. A gaggle of college kids came in fairly early and drooled over his lemon cake, a young couple had both flirted with him, he'd gotten to tell two suburban soccer moms that he was the manager thank you very much, and the Mutant Activism Group held their once-monthly meeting in his
shop.

To top things off, about an hour before the lunch rush, his pager beeps. Natasha returns his grin from where she's doing something magical with the espresso machine.

Yes, today is a good day.

Phil walks into the cafe at precisely 1 o'clock. No one takes note of him as he pushes open the door, letting in a rush of chill air. Except, of course, for Clint.

His ridiculous husband caps off a coffee and leers.

"I love that tie," Clint tells him, and then reaches over the counter and yanks.

Phil kisses him, pressing his fingers into Clint's waist and scratching through his hair with the other hand. The ever-present taste of chocolate and coffee keeps him coming back for more. A wolf-whistle from one of Clint's regulars breaks them apart, and Phil smiles at his husband, forehead resting on his own and breath panting against Phil's lips.

"I know."

Clint pecks him once more on the mouth and drops back behind the counter. Natasha meets his eyes and smirks.

"Coulson."

Phil dips his head. "Nat."

"What're you having for coffee today? Try a special?" Clint asks. Phil follows the line of his throat, lingers on his lips, and says evenly,

"No. I'll just have the regular. Shot of caramel and whip cream."

Nat breaks out the can as Clint makes his drink.

"It's been a while since you came in. We were beginning to miss you." She says.

Phil shrugs. "It's that time of year. We've been swamped with work, too much bureaucracy and no action to keep things interesting."

"He gets plenty of action at home," Clint mutters.

Calmly, and without glancing away from Natasha, Phil reaches over and flicks him on the ear. "It looks like things are on the upswing again, so we should be getting more interesting things on our plate soon enough."

"That's good to hear," Natasha says, and swirls a bit of whip cream on his drink.

Phil takes it from her, and, after another kiss from Clint, heads back to his office.

As soon as Phil leaves, Clint makes his excuses to Natasha and goes on break. He ignores his normal cellphone for the second encrypted one and places two calls.

"This is Barnes."

"Hey Bucky! Looks like we're all meeting up for drinks tonight, just wanted to make sure you were available."

"Always for you, Barton. Any particular reason?"

"Nope, just want to hang out with my friends. We should make it a point get together more often, all of us. We always have such a good time."

"We do. I'll let Stevie and Sam know, see you at the normal time and place."

"See you then."

Clint hangs up, considers for a few seconds, and then dials again.

"Hi, Clint."

"You know, Pepper, I think you might be the only one I know who actually looks at the caller ID before picking up."

"That's because the rest of you are idiots who like the excuse to yell at telemarketers."

"No comment. Anyway, will you let Tony and Bruce know that we're having beers tonight, usual time and place?"

"Of course! They've been getting antsy, after so long without seeing their friends."

"Same over here, so we should start seeing more of each other."

"Oh thank god. I agree."

Finished with his ordinary and boring phone calls, Clint slips the device into his pocket and heads back inside before Natasha turns his cafe into a free-for-all.

"Mr. Rogers, Mr. Rogers, your phone is ringing!" Little Amy tells him, waving around her unfortunately dripping paintbrush. Steve wipes a smear of green off his cheek and smiles.

"Thank you, Amy. How about you focus on your art, okay? Those trees won't paint themselves and I'm counting on you."

She offers him a smart salute and focuses back on her painting, tongue sticking out between her teeth with her focus.

Steve moves back to the front of the room, casually checking his phone. It's a text from Bucky, and he tries not to smile like a complete idiot when he opens it.

Hey, Stevie. Beers with the guys tonight. You in?

Steve doesn't fist pump because while he is an elementary school art teacher he isn't actually an elementary schooler. And if he's been mistaken as one of the high school volunteers a few times, well, it's not his fault.

Yes! Can't wait!

Stay out of trouble punk.

Steve only has a few more seconds to grin at his phone before a clatter and shouting take his attention.

It looks like Devin decided to show off his mutation again, judging from the fact that the eight year old is stuck to ceiling and getting bright blue handprints all over it. Steve has no idea how he's going to explain this to the janitors. Maybe Clint will supply him with some coffee for a bribe?

Sam is just finishing his two o'clock meeting when he sees dark hair out of the corner of his eye. He ignores Barnes for the most part, as he's not the only one who saw the man and some of the regulars have latched onto the fellow vet like they always do. By the time he joins them, Amanda, back eight months and adjusting surprisingly well to her prosthetic right leg, is trying to egg Barnes into letting her into the ring for their next session.

"Admit it, Barnes, you're just afraid I'll kick your ass."

Sam watches Bucky roll his eyes. "I'm not letting six months of physical therapy go to waste just so you can try to take me down."

"Oh, it is so on."

"Barnes," Sam drawls, "have we not discussed your annoying tendency to rile up my patients? Pretty sure we just had this conversation yesterday."

He pretends he can't see Patrick, back three years and one of Sam's first-ever cases, mouthing to Barnes that he's so busted now that mom's here. Every day he deals with this crowd he sympathizes more and more with single mothers. And to think, it only gets worse when he's out of work and 'enjoying his free time in a productive and liberating way'. Bullshit. One day, he's just going to punch all of his friends in the face and move somewhere quiet, like Antarctica.

"Sorry, Mom," Barnes says, smirking like the utter bastard he is.

Sam tries to put as much hatred in his eyes as possible. Patrick and Amanda laugh, and Patrick claps Barnes on the shoulder as they walk away.

"See you tomorrow, Bucky!"

Bucky waves after them cheerfully, and for a moment Sam marvels at how far the man has come, in the two years he's been out of captivity. It feels like only yesterday that Barnes would've snapped the hand of anyone who touched him that wasn't Steve, and now he runs a gym for newly returned veterans.

They've all come pretty far in two years, Sam thinks. He's been back four, Riley left behind in the desert, and sometimes he thinks that if it weren't for his friends, he would be nowhere.

Bucky turns back towards him, and Sam schools his face into a stern frown.

"What is it about Brooklyn that made you and Steve such assholes?"

"Nothin' to do with Brooklyn, pal, Stevie and I are just special." Bucky grins.

They walk to Sam's office, where Sam searches through his files and pulls out a few prospects, slapping them onto desk in front of Barnes. Bucky flips lazily through them, grinning at the photos of Colonel Alisha Roberts, flipping off the camera and smirking.

"I like her," Bucky says immediately.

Sam sighs. "I knew you would. She has a mild to severe case of PTSD and needs a place to work out where she'll feel comfortable."

Bucky's smile softens into something commiserating. "She'll fit right in."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Matthews is just the standard transitioning from PT case."

Bucky claps his hands once and closes the file. "Sounds good, Wilson. Now, drinks tonight?"

Groaning in relief, Sam thunks his head on the table. "Thank God. It's been years since we've gone out. I've been waiting for you all to get bored and blow something up, just for something to do."

The bastard laughs, and pats him on the shoulder.

Everyone in the area knows when Thor gets the phone call, because the air gains a certain charge. "Most surely my friend, I cannot wait to gather with you!" The golden retriever puppy in his arms yips, and Thor pats it absentmindedly. "Hush, small creature, I will return you to your cage in time."

"Thor, you haven't stolen a puppy have you?" Lady Pepper asks him over the line. Thor grins.

"Nay, I have decided to dedicate my time to a shelter, so that these precious animals may find happiness with good owners."

Lady Pepper releases what Thor is sure is a fond sigh, and asks him not to break anything. Thor grins at the puppy in his arms and wonders if Jane will accept another stray.

Bruce and Tony, like all good Science Bros, are blowing things up. Pepper doesn't even bother trying to get into the lab to let them know about their plans tonight, just tells JARVIS to remind them every hour. The smoke curling out of the lab is probably toxic, and Pepper can't afford to be out of commission, not with all of Stark Industries to run.

Clint locks up shop at precisely six o'clock and Phil meets him and Nat by the door. They grin at each other, the original Strike Team, and Nat grabs both Clint and Phil's arms. She blinks, and they're gone.

By seven, they are all piled into one of Stark's lesser known properties and bickering. Just a normal night then, Clint thinks with satisfaction.

He's halfway to changed into his costume, tight and black with purple undertones, when he feels a presence behind him. If he turned around and searched as hard as he could, he would see no one, which is why Clint relaxes and leans backwards. Invisible hands straighten his mask and strap on his quiver, and Clint snorts.

"What are they fighting about now then?"

Phil's laugh is soft in his ear, and Clint can feel the moment he decides to become visible, the sudden solidity of presence when before there was only a feeling of space. Clint is one of the few people who can feel where Coulson is when he's trying not to be seen, and it never seizes to be satisfying, watching the others jump when his husband manifests where there had only been empty air seconds earlier.

"Steve still had some paint on him from his classes today and he accidentally smeared some on the armor." Clint looks in Steve and Tony's direction, and sees the bright green handprint on the side of the Iron Man armor. Tony is looming over the smaller man, bitching full force while Steve smiles that precious, I'm-just-a-kid-from-Brooklyn-who-never-hurt-a-fly smile. If they were anyone else, maybe Clint would be stepping forward to protect Steve, 120 pound Steve who is barely half the height of the armor and who looks like a strong wind could knock him over. Instead, Clint stands back and feels bad for Tony, because he will never forget the time Steve broke Natasha's hand with a frying pan or when Steve personally ripped the armor apart to get to a trapped Tony. Besides, Bucky is right next to him, slipping the flesh-colored sleeve off his metal arm and if there's one thing Clint knows with complete certainty, it's that Bucky Barnes, the goddamn Winter Solider, would kill anyone who so much as looked at Steve wrong.

"No way in hell that was an accident," Clint says, because Steve is also a little shit who fights in an American Flag costume and once glued all of them to the Quinjet seats for two hours.

Phil laughs, the motion rumbling down through Clint's back. "Of course not."

Pepper whistles from the corner and that shuts everyone right up. When Pepper wants your attention, you give it to her, never mind that Pepper is the only human in a room full of mutants.

Of course, once everyone is looking at her, Pepper morphs swiftly back to Nat's favored form for fighting, leaving a space for Coulson to take her place. Clint watches his husband's ass as he climbs the stairs, the way the sharp costume, a mix between an actual suit and tactical gear, accentuates the smooth way he moves like a predator.

"Alright children, time to get down to business."

"Yes, sir, Agent, sir!" Tony salutes roughly, helmet dangling from one hand. Coulson had wanted to go only by numbers in the beginning, for anonymity's sake, but shortly after Tony joined their Initiative, the numbers became call signs. Or, as Bruce calls them, their superhero names.

When Coulson first approached Tony, Tony had thought he was a nameless CIA or FBI agent, and had continued to call him 'Agent' for a month before he learned Coulson wasn't actually a part of some shadow agency. The name, to Clint's glee and Phil's chagrin, had stuck.

The Avengers, a cutting edge team of mutants dedicated to protecting Earth from threats and disaster, consist of Agent and his hot as hell husband, Hawkeye, Black Widow, the Hulk, Captain America, the Winter Soldier, Falcon, Thor, and Iron Man. As far as the public knows, Iron Man is Tony Stark in a powered suit, not Tony Stark the pyro who can shoot flames out of his hands, but they had all decided that having at least one 'human' member would help them remain safe in the public's eyes.

Clint's friends consist of a bunch of idiots who enjoy pranking each other and forgetting to eat for a few days because justice.

As a full team, including Steve and Bucky, they'd been together about a year and a half. Before that, the team had existed in a smaller more condensed form, just Clint, Phil, and Natasha, and then Tony was added, who scraped Bruce up from some unknown country overseas. Then at that point it was decided it would be a good idea to have another public figure to deal with some of the spotlight, so Thor was recruited, who as an added bonus had hundreds of contacts in the mutant world, in light of his family being the most famous line of mutants. From there, Phil snagged another man he knew, just discharged from the service, and Sam was integrated smoothly into the group.

Steve and Bucky had been another thing altogether, but then, they usually were. Phil is still trying to get Tony to stop threatening to throw Steve out of a window and see if he bounces, so Clint takes a minute to study Steve and Bucky. They are the youngest out of all of them, but Clint would argue two of the most damaged. From what Natasha has said, Steve has been in love with Bucky since he could walk, and Clint knows from drinking sessions with Bucky that the feeling is mutual. And yet, here they are, orbiting around each other but never colliding.

The sexual tension is ridiculous.

There was a conference, about six months ago, where the rest of the Avengers discussed a plan of action.

"I have never seen two people want to bone so much." Tony said. There were nods around the table.

"I'll drink to that." Sam said, tossing back the rest of his glass.

Despite the fact that the rest of the team was in various stages of dishevelment, Natasha looked perfect as always, more than half her bottle of vodka gone in the short hour the meeting had been running. "Not even Phil and Clint were this oblivious back when they were pining."

"Hey!" Clint said. "I was not pining, I was lusting!"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "That's not what you said in Budapest, and besides if you're forgetting what I had to do to actually get you two together-"

"Moving on," Clint said loudly over her, "Definitely moving on to Steve and Bucky, which is why we're here getting shitfaced."

"It's not like you guys need a reason to get shitfaced." Bruce muttered, sober as usual. Tony threw something at him.

"Tis true my friend," Thor began, "But we must unite our shield brothers, if not for their own happiness, for our sanity. Now I know of a pollen that-"

"Thor, no-"

They hadn't come up with much of a plan except hope and pray that they would come to their senses. Apparently, it wasn't working.

Right now, Steve is leaning into Bucky's side and laughing, ridiculous American flag suit apparently not preventing him from getting another handprint on Stark's armor. Bucky smiles at him with such affection- ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

Clint meets Phil's rolling eyes across the room and grins.

Steve Rogers was always a small kid, born prematurely, his mother watching him like a hawk. He got sick a lot, confined to bed, because for some reason all the vaccines that he was given wouldn't take, and he caught all the diseases that the world at large had supposedly defeated. Scarlet fever, whooping cough, and the list went on.

He remembered his first day of preschool, his mom giving him a kiss on the forehead, horribly reluctant to leave him alone as she hurried off to make her shift at the hospital. The daycare was a small locally-run building, where lots of Brooklyn kids went, and it seemed like they all knew each other. Steve was small and stick-thin, and the first thing one of them said to him was, "He's a baby, he's so tiny!"

Steve knew he went red from shame and embarrassment, but there was also anger, simmering down low in his little 4-year old body. He didn't know what he would say back but-

A bigger boy tumbled out of the crowd, standing in front of Steve, arms crossed. He had dark hair and a scowl and Steve liked him immediately.

"Leave 'm alone. He's my friend."

The other kids wandered off and the strange boy turned around and stuck out his hand.

"My name's Bucky, I'm mutant. Wanna be my new bes' friend?"

"Hi Buck, I'm Steve. Yes please!"

And the rest, as they say, was history.

Twenty-two years later, they fought crime side-by-side in ridiculous costumes surrounded by the craziest and best friends Steve could ever ask for. He wouldn't change a thing.

They enter the facility sometime after dark has fallen, a habit that the spies in their midst find hard to break. The outside of the building is plain, blending in with the buildings around it, but Coulson confirms over the comms that it's the right one. Steve holds the team back, waving to Natasha and flashing her a hand signal.

Recon, check things out, give an estimate on how many hostiles we should be expecting.

Natasha nods and disappears. Not for the first time, Steve thinks on how remarkable it is that she could have so many mutations, all primary. She's told him some of the details of her past, and it obviously wasn't pretty, but still, the things she can do are amazing.

It's less than five minutes later that she's back, the quickness a necessity when they can all hear Tony in their ear, grumbling about boredom and how it probably wouldn't hurt if he took a sneaky look around, never mind the fact that he's in a glowing red and gold suit. Steve smiles a little to himself under his cowl; Tony's probably still grumpy over the handprint thing. Bucky elbows him from his spot on Steve's right. It's almost like Bucky can read minds sometimes, with the way he anticipates Steve's thoughts.

Natasha reappears right behind him, and it takes everything Steve has not to flinch. She does it just to see him jump of course.

"Cap, over thirty hostiles, but no hostages that I could find. It looks to be a lab of some kind, I think Bruce should definitely sit this one out." There's a mumble of assent from Bruce, who was already in the jet with Coulson, monitoring the comms and their video feeds. Coulson always keeps an eye on things from the jet, unless they're short-handed or a mission fits him especially well. Steve will never forget the time the man walked calmly through one of the most secure facilities they have ever attempted to breach and incapacitated every person inside without setting off a single alarm. Steve's pretty sure Coulson only keeps them around for entertainment.

"Alright," Steve says, "Hawkeye, are you in place?"

"Affirmative, Cap. Got eyes on all exits." Clint is perched on a nearby building, keeping an eye out for any runners or outside interference.

"Flyers?"

"Aye, Captain. We shall fly at your leisure." Thor says. Steve can hear Tony shifting in his suit and Sam shaking out his wings.

"Strike team?"

"Ready when you are, punk."

Steve takes a deep breath, reveling in the adrenaline that comes before a fight. "Alright, let's move."

The breach is efficient and effective. Sam and Thor enter from the roof, Tony from the back, while Steve, Bucky, and Natasha go through the front door. Or, Natasha teleports them through the front door. Same thing.

As soon as Steve blinks his eyes clear from the disorientation of teleportation, he's throwing his shield and taking down the first guard he sees. Bucky is to his right, fast and unstoppable with his metal arm, twisting guns into something unworkable and shrugging off any hits. Natasha is in fine form as well, silencing her opponents with an electric shock, the mutation she fondly calls Widow's Bites, before they can even open their mouths to scream. On the other side of the building, Steve can hear Tony's utter lack of subtlety and subterfuge and can't help but smile.

They clear the first room they come to, a darkened lab, barren except for examination tables and a few scattered microscopes. The next room is in use, four scientists hunched over their work and two more debating something in the back corner. Cases sit on the counters, each containing vials with some kind of clear liquid stoppered insider. Steve takes out two hostiles with a single throw of his shield, while Bucky shatters two knee caps. That's gotta hurt, Steve thinks without an ounce of sympathy.

By now, the final two have looked up in alarm, scrabbling for something to defend themselves. Natasha appears behind them and taps them both on the shoulder. When they turn, she smashes their heads together.

"Top floor is clear, making our way down," Sam reports.

"Understood, Falcon." Coulson clears his throat. Steve and the others pass zip ties back forth, staying radio silent until they're sure their position is secure. "Iron man, if you wouldn't mind leaving some of the structural integrity of the building intact?"

"Listen, Agent, it's not my fault these guys aren't FDA compliant. I don't know how a human could fit down these hallways, never mind someone in a metal suit-"

"Of course," Coulson hums, "But I was referring more to the fact that one of your 'repulsers' set part of the building on fire."

"Oh shit."

Bucky snorts, straightening from his crouch near the last scientist. Only Stark, he mouths to Steve, who grins. When Bucky turns back around, mouthing something to Natasha, Steve lets the smile drop. He's not stupid, and he saw Bucky's tension as soon as they entered the first laboratory, but it's nothing Steve can fix now. The other two follow Steve back into the hallway, where there are suddenly more people. An alarm starts going off somewhere, and the team drops all pretense of secrecy, simply disarming and disabling anyone they come across as quickly as possible.

Steve can smell the smoke now too, and he curses Tony's mutation under his breath. The fact that they burn down so much public property frequently lands them on the public shitlist. "The repulser tech will help my aim and conceal my mutation". Yeah. Steve calls bullshit.

They clear four more rooms and two more labs, each with a few scientists and more of those vials of liquid. Steve grabs one for the hell of it, a puzzle Bruce and Tony will be happy to unravel back at the Tower, he's sure. There probably won't be enough of this building left to salvage when they leave to get any other information. He amends that when he sees Natasha stall in the last room, heading for a computer terminal with a flash drive.

Bucky leaves to check that the hallway is clear; they did make it to the second floor at least. He comes back and nods at Steve.

"Second floor is clear, Widow is attempting to access their system now."

"Rest of the building is secure."

"I've picked off a few runners," Clint reports, "But I can see lights in the distance, authorities about ten minutes out I think."

"Attracted by the smoke no doubt." Bruce says dryly. Tony makes a grumbling sound and doesn't reply.

"I can't break the system, the encryption is far too advanced for a low-level company supposedly dabbling in illegal suppressants." Natasha bites out. She rejoins Bucky and Steve, and Steve speaks into the comms again.

"Alright team, move out. We need to be gone before the authorities get here."

They reconvene at the jet and lift off smoothly, well before the fire department shows up to a merrily burning building and a mound of unconscious bodies piled on the lawn.

Debrief is short and sweet, perhaps a little too short and sweet judging by the grumbling.

"I can't believe we're actually calling that a mission," Tony complains. "All we did was walk in and walk out, no problems, in what was it, Jarvis? Thirty minutes?"

"Indeed, Sir," Jarvis replies, voice coming from one of the speakers installed in the jet.

"He's right," Clint calls from the front pilot seat, "I got maybe four shots off in total. That was a milk run at best." There's a chorus of agreement, and even Steve finds himself nodding.

"Besides," and that's Natasha now, turning toward Coulson, "Aren't suppressants something the X-Men usually take care of? They could've used this as a training exercise for their newest recruits." She has a point, Steve knows. The Avengers usually deal with threats to national and international security, rather than small-scale threats like suppressants. The X-Men are the face of mutant protection, they're the team that rescues mutants from testing facilities and promotes equality. The Avengers are more about stopping crazy super villains from burning New York to the ground. They, surprisingly, don't overlap very often.

"Aye." Thor booms. "I agree with Lady Natasha. I did not have the opportunity to call down even a single strike of lightning. The youngest of Xavier's bunch could have handled that so-named battle."

Coulson is nodding, obviously thinking over what he has to say. "The information was solid, and there's a reason we were sent the information and not them. I'll do a bit of digging and see what I can find." That seems to mollify everyone. "They might have also seen you all getting antsy and wanted some way to keep the explosions to a minimum."

The Avengers, while technically an independent entity, are allied with various government agencies. They have no real authority they operate under, which has certainly brought them under public scrutiny before, but there is no longer a government mandate to hunt and apprehend them, so it evens out. Coulson deals with most of the communication and politics of the link because they all understand the disaster that would come of Tony Stark having to be polite and cooperative.

"Anyway, we're about ten minutes out. Tony and Bruce, I snagged one of the vials for you. I want to know if they're really suppressants or if there's some other factor at play here." Steve removes the vials from one of his belt pouches and lightly lobs it over to Bruce. "Everyone's free to disperse once we arrive. Not a whole lot more to talk about." There are more nods of acquiescence, and Sam takes the opportunity to put away his wings.

No one is very subtle in their staring as Sam strips off his shirt and flaps his wings once, twice, feathers brushing both sides of the jet, before they begin to shrink, black feathers becoming the black lines of a tattoo. When Sam's done, there's no sign of his wings except the graceful lines, covering more than half his back. If a person really squints, they can see the faint highlights of blue, the sheen that comes out whenever Sam's wings are in direct light.

He turns back around, torso rippling as he pulls his shirt back over his head. As usual, when Sam catches them all staring he rolls his eyes. "I don't understand how you're all still fascinated, it's just wings."

"The view's not all that bad either." Bruce shrugs when they all turn to stare at him. "What? We're all thinking it."

Sam rolls his eyes again, but he's grinning this time. He slaps Bruce on the shoulder as he moves back to his seat. "Shameless, the lot of you. Absolutely shameless."

"If the shoe fits..." Coulson says, dry as dust. They all laugh, and even if the mission was a letdown, they at least have this afterward. Friendship, humor. Rewards enough on their own.

When they touch down at the mansion, a bit out of regular New York City and fairly isolated, they all go their separate ways. Clint and Coulson back to their little house closer to the city, hitching a ride with Sam, whose own condo is about a ten-minute drive from them. Thor heads back to the center of the city, either to bother his younger brother Loki who is a sophomore in college and an adjacent member of the Avengers, or to find another cause to throw himself into. Bruce and Tony head back to the Tower, because, as Tony leers to a chorus of groans, "Me and Brucie have a date with Pepper that we really don't want to miss."

That leaves Bucky and Steve to head back to Brooklyn and their apartment, not far from the daycare where they first met.

Steve brought the motorcycle, so he slips on, Bucky sliding on behind him and nearly dwarfing him in the process. It's only because of his long legs that Steve can even touch the ground on this thing, but he loves it anyway. It took months to convince Bucky to ride with him, a treat that became a secret pleasure as Bucky huddles at his back, arms secure around his waist and breath hot against his neck. Neither of them wears helmets because even if they crashed they would both heal too quickly to make it worth it. Steve revs the bike and takes off a little too fast, Bucky's amused huff in his ear one of the first sounds he's made since they left the burning building behind them.

Grinning, Steve lets the power of the bike, the wind battering against his face, and the warm heat against his back (Bucky changed into in his pale arm sleeve and leather jacket, a combination that almost makes Steve feel like they're seventeen again) lull him into a kind of peace.

Ten years ago, this never would have been possible for Steve. His asthma would have acted up, or his frail limbs wouldn't have been able to control the bike without snapping. Being free like this is power, and Steve never forgets how lucky he truly is.

They make good time to the building and when they tumble into the apartment that's door always needs a good shove to open (but not too hard of shove, like the time Steve forgot about the whole enhanced strength thing and dented the wall behind the door), Steve feels the last bit of tension in him unwind. Bucky forces the door closed behind them, and Steve raises his arms above his head for a good, long stretch, back cracking. He groans in satisfaction.

When he opens his eyes, Bucky is watching him with that unreadable expression he's taken to wearing since they moved back in with each other. Steve shifts, self-conscious about the way his flannel still hangs off his body despite buying the smallest size and how the skinny jeans he wears make him look like something of a scarecrow.

"What're ya staring at, jerk?" Steve grins, shifting a little uncomfortably. He knows this is Bucky and it's ridiculous to be uneasy but...

Bucky stares for a second longer before he blinks and smiles. It doesn't really reach his eyes. "Just marveling that we're here, Stevie. Ten years ago you couldn't've walked down a flight of stairs too fast and now... You're damn near indestructible." Bucky's smile changes into something more rueful. "I would've thought it'd be better for my blood pressure and gray hair, but somehow the trouble you get into has only gotten bigger."

"Yeah and who's right there with me in that trouble, huh?" Steve smacks him on his flesh shoulder as he passes. "I got first shower, and then I might turn in. Kids are doing finger painting tomorrow." Steve heads down the hallway, hand on the doorknob to the bathroom, waiting for Bucky's response. It's a long time coming.

"D'ya think we could maybe watch a movie or something after you're all set? Just for a little bit, promise." Bucky's voice is soft and forced-casual. He doesn't turn around when Steve frowns at his back.

"Of course, Buck." Steve bites back the 'what's wrong?' because that will just make Bucky skittish and he'll lose any chance of getting answers. Bucky must hear the question in his voice though, because he halfway turns and shoots Steve another fake smile.

"I'm still just jittery from the op, that's all."

Steve pretends to believe him and goes to take a shower. It takes all his willpower to turn the water cold when his back is still warm from Bucky's heat on the bike and he knows he could take care of himself quick... Not tonight, Steve tells himself firmly. Tonight you need to take care of Bucky.

Steve is the first one back out in the living room, comfortable in a too-big shirt that might have been Bucky's originally and boxers. There's a hole in the collar that he loves to play with. Steve turns the television on and flicks idly through the channels, settling on an episode of Pawn Stars; for some inexplicable reason, it's Bucky's favorite show.

When the man in question emerges back into the living room, he takes one look at Steve and says. "Some things never change at least." Steve makes sure to respond with his 'I'm a little shit and I know it' grin because without fail it makes Bucky smile.

He throws himself down on the couch next to Steve, crowding next to him even as there's an entire half of the couch empty. Pressing together from shoulders to knees, Steve would almost feel a little claustrophobic if it weren't, well, Bucky. There's a funny moment where Bucky stretches out his metal arm to rest on the couch behind Steve, who can't help himself from asking in a voice a little too breathless for his taste,

"Pulling the moves on me like one of your girls, Buck?"

Bucky laughs, and the way they're pressed together, Steve feels the noise in his bones.

"Nah, I'd at least buy you dinner first, punk."

They watch the show in semi-silence, every now and then piping up with comments about the characters, or small talk about their days. Slowly, Steve feels the tension drain out of Bucky, his metal arm coming closer to just resting on Steve's shoulders. When their silence has gone on long enough that Steve almost thinks Bucky has fallen asleep, Bucky finally speaks.

"The labs today, all those testing tables. It just. It reminded me a lot of when HYDRA had me. They'd run all these damn tests, and I was awake for some of them. I always wanted to fight back, you know? But they'd have that damn telepath, giving me orders and fucking with my mind and I'd just lay there on the table frozen solid and-" Bucky takes a shaky breath. "I fucking hate laboratories, I feel like I'm back there every goddamn time I see those metal tables."

Steve doesn't know what to say. He feels helpless and angry in turns. Bucky had been HYDRA's captive for two years before Steve finally found him and broke him out.

Bucky had joined the army fresh out of college, degree in physical therapy or not. Steve remembers the fear he'd felt, the way he'd nearly begged Bucky not to but held it in with all his might. The apartment they'd shared felt too big without Bucky and Steve would wake up from asthma-causing nightmares. Not even a year into Bucky's service the nightmare came true. Steve had never felt anything like that fear, like that all-consuming terror, he felt when he opened the letter that told him, I regret to inform you that James Buchanan Barnes has been declared missing in action as of March 21, 2011...

Even when his mom died, Steve felt nothing like he did when he opened that letter. Her death came after a long, painful illness, and while Steve felt overwhelming grief, he'd almost accepted it. That letter came out of nowhere. Somehow, Steve thinks it's only right that it's what caused his mutation to finally manifest. When Steve finally woke up from his sprawl on the kitchen floor, he found he could breathe easily for the first time in his life. His eyesight was sharper, his hearing a million times better, and when he pulled himself to his feet by a countertop, the marble shattered under pressure from his fingers.

When he looked in the mirror, Steve was still the same old Steve Rogers, short and skinny, with eyes a little too big for his face and hair still the same wispy gold. But now Steve could run, and fight, and breathe. He was twenty-two years old with a degree in art, and the first thing Steve did after manifesting was buy a plane ticket. He looked for Bucky.

It took two years and some creative uses of money, but Steve never gave up. As time seemed to slip by, Steve was willing to burn down the world to find him, chasing a shadow organization made of snakes and a trail of missing mutants. And, perhaps, a ghost of a man who was deadly with a rifle, who had dark hair, a metal arm, and a broken smile.

It ended up being the last one that finally led Steve to a huge testing facility, where inside he found cages filled with mutants with desperate eyes.

When he finally found Bucky, the building exploding around them, he was with a short man with gray hair that called himself Zola. "Soldier, kill him and get me out of here." The man said, and Bucky had turned to Steve, something screaming in his eyes to run to save himself, even as his hands moved to shoot Steve between the eyes. And then he- stopped. And the man with the dark hair and metal arm that Steve barely recognized as Bucky became Bucky again, spun on his heel, and shot Zola between the eyes. Steve barely had time to catch Bucky as he passed out.

Because there was no other choice, Steve threw Bucky over his shoulder and destroyed what was left of the building. He freed any prisoner he came across and told them to run. When he finally burst out into fresh air again, Bucky only a slight weight to his newfound strength, Steve took his friend and disappeared. Twenty minutes later, a man with wings appeared, someone that would later become one of Steve's best friends, asking questions of the prisoners. They told him a fantastical story of a tiny man, a boy some argued, who stormed in with a shield and shrugged off bullets like flies, who bent back the bars on their cage with his bare hands, who freed them all. How the only thing he asked was, 'Do you know where Bucky is'. How he'd carried a man out over his shoulder and disappeared before they all could thank him.

What followed was a long story of recovery and friendship and lots of yelling about reckless idiots. There were nightmares of a telepath who gave orders that you had to follow, and there were nightmares about bloody hands.

But that is a story for another day.

For now, Steve just leans into Bucky and whispers,

"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner, I'm so sorry, Buck."

Bucky settles his arm around Steve's shoulders in a hug, and the last of his tension flees. "It wasn't your fault, Stevie. I'm here now."

They stay like that for hours, until eventually, they sleep.

Clint gets the text at around seven the next morning. They had a mission the previous night, so someone else is opening the Arrow, but Clint still has to be there for the eight o'clock rush. He's in the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth, when he hears his phone go off in the bedroom.

"Babe, could you-" Clint mumbles through a mouth of toothpaste. It probably sounds more like an animal sound than words, but Phil gets what he's saying anyway. His husband squeezes into the bathroom with him a minute later, halfway clothed, with his dress shirt unbuttoned to show the tight tank top underneath. He's holding Clint's phone, and Clint makes gimme motions with his hands, toothbrush dangling attractively out of his mouth. Phil huffs a laugh that tickles the hair at the back of Clint's neck and presses a kiss to the corner of his freshly shaved jaw. The phone ends up in his hand, so Clint calls it a win.

When Phil makes no move to finish getting dressed, Clint spits out his toothpaste and leans back into his husband, checking his phone. He feels Phil hook his chin over his shoulder.

Clint lets the phone identify his fingerprint and clicks on the new message from 'Terminator'. Phil reaches an arm around Clint to flick him on the nose and then leaves the arm there in a half embrace. The way he's pressed back against his husband's body tempts Clint to make them both late for work but valiantly, he resists.

"Bucky wants to go out for drinks tonight. I know the mission had him a little quiet last night, but five bucks say that somehow translates into Steve angst." Phil was reading over his shoulder, but Clint announces the text anyway, liking the way Phil's amusement translates to a line of kisses pressed to his neck. Clint lets his eyes fall closed, leaning back more of his weight into Phil.

"I'm not stupid enough to take that bet," Phil says, lips against Clint's skin. He manages to fire off a quick, Sounds good, usual time n place?, before he throws his phone down on the counter, and turns in his husband's arms. Clint can see the smile at the corner of Phil's mouth, even as the other man opens his mouth to probably make a far too reasonable comment about being late.

Clint leans forward and kisses the protest off his lips. Phil started it after all, with all those teasing kisses down his neck and the casual grip along his waist. As much as he would've protested had Clint let him, Phil responds with the same ferocity, meeting Clint kiss for kiss. Clint presses him back against the door, sucking a line of kisses down his neck. Phil tilts his head back for better access even as he murmurs, voice already husky,

"You're going to make us late." Clint stops, leaving a light kiss on his throat.

"You really think you're going to last that long?"

Phil's eyes darken and he grabs Clint's arm to tug him toward the bedroom. Clint smirks back. No better way to start the day, really.

The day passes otherwise uneventfully at the Arrow, after Clint stumbles in a good fifteen minutes late. Natasha takes one look at his 'artfully rumpled' hair and decidedly smug smile and throws a dish towel at him.

"It's a miracle this business makes money when the owner can't be assed to get out of bed in the morning." Clint ignores his snickering employees, Kate nearly breaking her face with a smirk.

"To be fair, you wouldn't want to get out of bed either if you had the hunk of a husband I do." Natasha levels him with an unimpressed glare and Clint huffs. "Fine, see if I give you a raise."

The only interesting part of the day is when Kate flicks on the television in the corner during the mid-morning lull. Of course, the news is on and showing footage of the aftermath of last night. There are quite a few videos of the building Tony had 'accidentally' set on fire being extinguished by firefighters, along with the scrolling headline on the bottom of 'Government Sponsored Vigilantes Strike Again with No Casualties'.

That last part is always satisfying. They try their best to avoid any civilian or hostile casualties at all costs, but sometimes there's nothing they can do. The massive attack on New York that they had worked together to stop half a year ago, for instance, resulted in hundreds of deaths, though none directly caused by the Avengers. Clint, and he suspects the others do the same, always comforts himself with the fact that they saved thousands of lives in the process of losing some.

Part of the reason Clint helped found the Avengers and split from the CIA was that he was sick of using his mutation to kill. His kill count is, well, not something he's exactly proud of, but it's something he's come to live with. He simply won't let it grow any further. The footage finally returns to the face of the reporter who tells the audience, "And in fifteen minutes we'll be live broadcasting the press conference with the two Avengers representatives, Tony Stark and Thor Odinsson."

Clint is actually a little excited about that. Press conferences are always entertaining, especially when the only two that hold them are perhaps the two members of the team least suited to pacify reporters and make a good impression. Tony may have done millions of the things and be most experienced out of everyone on the team, but he is undeniably a loose cannon when it comes to press. Clint knows Pepper, the angel that she is, spends more time cleaning up after him than anything else. Thor can, despite being theoretically used to the limelight because of his predominant family reputation, be equally as unpredictable. With a personality as exuberant as it can be charming, Thor never follows a script and always damages at least one piece of equipment with the static electricity that seems to hover around him on occasion. Neither of the two will ever make nice with reporters just because, and it usually leads to some frankly hilarious broadcasts.

Fifteen minutes later, Clint comes back out of the kitchen and leans against the counter with Kate and Wanda, who just came in for her shift. The screen shows Thor, dressed in what he deems civilian clothes with a huge smile on his face, and Tony in a suit with his feet up on the table. Looking at the public face of the Avengers, Clint is impressed they haven't been actively hunted down in awhile, if this is how the world sees them. The early questions are normal ones, about the mission itself and why the building caught on fire. Tony and Thor manage to answer them without too much inappropriateness, and Thor doesn't even cause an annoying feedback squeal. Then, as usual, the reporters start fishing, asking about secret rendezvous and affairs on the team, during which Thor nearly electrocutes a reporter who questions his loyalty to Jane and Tony shares way too much about his last hookup, which Clint strongly suspects involved both Pepper and Bruce because the three of them really aren't subtle and the only way Pepper wouldn't have killed them all by now is if she was getting a lot of sex on a regular basis.

When the reporters start questioning Thor and Tony about the identity of the rest of the team, Clint starts to tune them out. Questions like these usually mean the press conference is about to come to an end, and all Thor and Tony do is spout a line about protecting their team. Clint does stop when he hears Tony repeat an incredulous question about what the Hulk does in his spare time.

"The Hulk? Are you being serious right now? Alright, I'll take that as a yes. Well, you know the big guy, and I mean big as in 9 feet tall, is bright green and all so his job opportunities were pretty limited but he found something he was really good at." Tony leans in close to the mic, like he's about to tell a secret, and Clint tenses in anticipation. "Well, let me tell you, the Hulk works as a high-end escort in his free time, because, I'm not going to sugarcoat it, he hits all the size kinks and he does this thing with his tongue-" Tony's voice cuts off in the middle of his sentence, as Thor starts laughing so hard the microphones short out. Clint himself is bent over, and even Natasha is covering her mouth with a hand, eyes sparkling.

Clint can only imagine how Bruce will react. Looks like Tony might end up being cock blocked for a while.

Within an hour #HulkInTheSheets is trending. Oh yeah, Tony is definitely getting cock blocked.

Clint closes up the shop around five, kicking the last customers out in time to meet Phil when he comes out of the office.

"How was your day, dear?" Clint asks, slumping dramatically against Phil's arm. Fingers ruffle his hair affectionately as suddenly they're no longer visible. Clint grins as Phil kisses him hello. People flow around them, never bumping into them as some subconscious part of their brain tells them to move around the two invisible men.

"Lots of paperwork." Phil finally says, when they break for air. They walk down the sidewalk, hand in hand as Phil easily maintains the invisibility around them. "Pepper called me around lunch and I had to talk her down from homicide."

"So a normal day then?" Clint asks easily. Phil knocks their shoulders together.

They return to the land of visibility when they get closer to their house. The walk isn't bad, as close to the city as they are, and it's nice to just spend time in each other's company without it being about a mission or battle. Clint throws together pasta when they get home, and he has plenty of time to get ready to meet Bucky.

Around 6:30, he presses a kiss to Phil's lips and snags some money out of his pocket for the taxi. "See you later."

"I'll have the Advil ready," Phil says dryly.

Clint laughs.

Bucky is already waiting for him when he gets to the bar, his and Steve's favorite, a small place in Brooklyn called the 107th that's been there since they were kids or something along those lines. They both get that same nostalgic look in their eyes whenever they talk about it and Bucky finds it particularly useful for being angsty. Clint just thinks the place serves good drinks, but he lets Steve and Bucky believe in its magical properties.

No one really expected Clint and Bucky to become such good friends. To be fair, it didn't start out this way. Bucky wasn't really friends with anyone at first, and neither was Steve. Clint thinks they had both spent so long with just each other, and then alone when Bucky had been in HYDRA's hands, that they had forgotten how to interact with other people. But Bucky was too much of a smart ass to stay distant for long, and as soon as he started speaking up more around the team, Clint took an immediate liking to him. There was just enough damage underneath the surface to make Bucky's humor something Clint could relate to and join in on.

They didn't really hit it off until a bet was made though. Tony had said something along the lines of 'oh please your aim with this metal monstrosity must be so bad you couldn't hit the side of building' and Bucky had taken it as a challenge, claiming he could outshoot anyone on the team. Clint had asked if he really thought he could beat his mutation, and, well, from there it devolved into all-out war.

The shoot-off had lasted several hours, and by the end, Bucky and Clint were ribbing each other and inseparable. Nat would always be Clint's true bestie, and Steve and Bucky basically were a package deal, but outside of that, there was no one Clint trusted more. He knew it was the same with Bucky. If Clint recalled correctly, Steve had even been a little jealous until Sam and Nat adopted him and forced him into frequent outings. Now they were all happily friends that were unhealthily codependent and loved each other lots and lots, as Tony would say.

Bucky and Clint made it a point to go drinking, one on one, at least twice a month.

Clint slides into his seat at the bar, knocking his shoulder against Bucky's metal arm. It was currently concealed under a few layers of fabric and synthetic skin but there was no mistaking the arm if you bumped it.

"Hey, Barnes. What're we drinking?" One of them always picked the drink of the night, because it made ordering so much easier on them and on the bartender. Bucky had a slight advantage on Clint anyway and Steve too, their metabolism just fast enough to make it a little harder to get drunk. On nights like this, it just meant Bucky drank two shots for every single shot Clint did.

"Vodka."

Clint winces. "That bad, huh?" Bucky went for vodka only when he was upset and wanted to be drunk as fast as possible. Looks like Clint would be needing that Advil after all.

Bucky groans and thunks his head hard on the bar. "You have no idea, Barton. You know where I woke up this mornin'?"

Clint hesitates. "In... Bed?"

"I fuckin' wish." Bucky throws back a shot easily. "No, I woke up on the couch, with Stevie in my arms, lookin' at me with big doe eyes askin' me if I was feelin' better and if I needed him to take the day off to stay with me." Bucky pauses. "He was layin' right in my lap, Barton, and I swear to god that's the closest I've ever come to just sayin' fuck it and kissin' him. I was this close."

Clint punches him in the shoulder. "Why didn't you just go for it? Christ. I wake up with a man in my lap like that I'd be nuts if I didn't get at least a kiss."

Bucky shoves him back, nearly knocking Clint off his seat. "You wake up with a man in your lap like that, Coulson would rip the guy's balls off before he could so much as twitch."

"Coulson would be the guy in my lap. No worries there, the only balls he'd be touching are mine."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Barton, I don't need to know every detail about your sex life." Bucky rubs his temples. "I'm tryin' to have a crisis here."

Clint smirks. "You wouldn't be having a crisis if you were just hitting that." Bucky smacks him again, but Clint doesn't let up. "No but seriously man, you're both hopelessly in love with each other, why shouldn't you guys be having sex? You guys have been practically inseparable for like twenty years, I think that's waiting long enough."

Bucky flushes a little, and fiddles with his empty glass. The bartender is quick to replace both their drinks as Clint throws back another shot.

"It ain't that easy. I know I- I love him. But I can't be sure how he feels, and if I'm wrong it would fuck up our entire friendship and I can't lose him, ya know?" Bucky is staring into his drink like it holds the secrets to the universe and Clint can't believe this shit honestly.

"James Buchanan Barnes, if you think that jackass isn't in love with you, you're mental. He fucking chased you across Europe and voluntarily chooses to live with your ass, even though I know you're a complete slob. There is no way in hell Rogers isn't as head over heels for you as you are for him and I would literally bet my soul on that shit." Clint throws up his hands, a little bit of vodka splashing onto his hand. He drinks his shot to control the mess, that's all, not because the emotional side of him that secretly enjoys happy endings thinks the love Steve and Bucky have is ridiculous. Nothing to do with that at all.

"But what if-"

"Barnes, even if Steve didn't want to date you, do you seriously think he'd ever stop being your best friend? That man broke Natasha's hand, Natasha's hand, because he thought she might be threatening you."

Bucky sighs. "Yeah, maybe. Let's talk about somethin' else, anythin' else. You know you won't convince me to do shit."

So Clint tells him about the stray dog that's been hanging around the café, a mangy thing that Clint is pretty sure is destined for him. Bucky loosens up as Clint tells the story, and by the end, he's got him laughing at his increasingly outrageous plans to convince Phil to take in the dog. The other man even throws in a pretty good idea involving a box of pizza and a story about the Russian mafia. Phil probably won't buy it, but it would sound good.

Bucky takes the reigns after that, talking about some of the vets in his gym who could probably lay the Hulk on his ass, and then they have a good laugh over the trending Twitter tag and spend a good fifteen minutes scrolling through the tweets and imagining Bruce's face. Yeah, Bucky is an asshole, but definitely Clint's kind of asshole.

They're both well on the way to smashed when Bucky finally starts talking about the other thing bothering him, about why he and Steve ended up on the couch in the first place.

"It was just, I fuckin' hate labs. They're all shiny and shit with those motherfuckin' tables."

Clint nods in agreement, everything going a bit blurry. Okay, so maybe they're a little more than on the way to smashed. They might have fully arrived in the smashed station and disembarked. Clint giggles to himself a little bit. "Those motherfuckin' tables suck though, Buck."

"They had me on tables just like that, like I told Stevie an' all last night. They had these, these straps you know, and the fuckin' labs always meant pain and that fuckin' telepath and I hate labs so much. They make me wanna act like a baby and go hide behind the curtains or some bullshit. Why the fuck do the walls have to be so white anyway."

Clint is drunk, but not drunk enough to forget the proper response to emotions like this. He wraps a sloppy arm around Bucky's shoulders and tells him, "I'd paint all those labs like a rainbow if it did shit."

Bucky says "thanks", looking a bit teary-eyed, so Clint makes the executive decision that they need another drink and they should look at the newest tweets from #HulkInTheSheets. It certainly has them laughing quickly, and when they finally spill out of the bar, sometime around 1 in the morning they're both smiling. They find their way into taxis and when Clint finally face plants into bed, it's not much after 1:30. He's almost asleep, but Phil forces him up and shoves a bottle of water in his face.

"You'll thank me in the morning."

Clint downs the bottle and presses a sloppy kiss to Phil's sleep flattened hair. "Love you."

"I love you too. Now go to sleep."

"Mkay."

Clint does in fact thank Phil in the morning, after he's had a few Advil. It's just about the best thanks a person can give, and they're not even late for work. (This time).

They raid another building that night.

It's more of a warehouse than a building, Clint would argue, near the docks and clearly more of a transport stop than a lab. Phil said the information came from the same source as the raid two nights ago, and it was more of the supposed suppressant that Tony and Bruce were still messing around with in the lab.

When Phil mentioned that it was the same source, Clint had caught the furrow in his brow and cornered him before they got on the Quinjet.

Phil confessed that his careful digging had turned up that the source of the information was high up the chain of command. Not just high up, but from the very top, the supposed World Security Council that was the closest the Avengers had to a governing body. Information very rarely came from them, and orders were generally followed, only because the WSC often stood between the Avengers and prison.

Phil didn't know why the WSC was interested in what looked like a small suppressant operation or why they were so insistent that the Avengers handle it, and it was making him uneasy. And Clint, because he was smart, trusted his husband's instincts.

He chooses a perch a little closer to the action this time, to keep a better eye on things, should they go wrong. Phil catches his eye when Clint announces his choice of positioning and there's something knowing in his gaze. Clint presses a light kiss to Phil's temple before leaving to get in position, his own gut churning.

Something isn't right.

Despite the growing itchiness under Clint's skin, the op launches smoothly. The team breaches easily as Clint takes down the few outside guards with tranq arrows. A piece of cake, and the team has surprise on their side.

Even keeping a close eye on things, Clint doesn't see the disaster coming. The team tears through the warehouse, neutralizing any hostiles they come across, which isn't many. There aren't enough people by far for a facility this size, not with the hundreds of crates filled with suppressants. It's too easy, and Clint is on high alert, scanning the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary from his overview ten stories up, but there's nothing. The team finishes up, pulling the zip-tied hostiles into a pile easy for the authorities to clean up, and they're all joking around. Clint holds his position longer than he normally would, wondering what has him so on edge, why he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

A flash of movement catches his eye near the back of the warehouse. Clint turns, and he sees a man standing there, eerie smile on his lips. It's only thanks to his enhanced eyesight that he can even make out the form at all, and there's something familiar about him even from this distance. The man's holding something, and it takes a second for it to register. But it does register, and Clint runs for the edge of the building, eyes only for the man.

"Get down! Bomb!" He yells into the comm, trying to make his descent as quickly as he can but knowing it's useless. He's not going to make it to the ground anywhere near fast enough, and if the man is holding a deadman's switch like he thinks-

Clint has only just made it over the edge of the roof when he catches the man's lips moving. Boom.

There's just enough time for Clint to feel a horrible sinking dread and shoot off a desperate prayer for his team's safety before the world around him explodes. There's heat, pain, and then nothing.

It's another easy mission, not unlike two nights ago, and it feels like only ten minutes before the team is rounding up the unconscious hostiles. There were no labs to trigger Bucky and Tony managed to not burn the building down, so all in all it's been a good night, Steve thinks. Coulson comes out to join them with the clean up since they don't need to worry about authorities quite yet.

Clint is still up in his perch, keeping an eye on things, but Tony is teasing Sam about letting one of the hostiles get a hit in and Natasha is saying something in Russian to Bucky, who's letting out a real laugh, and Steve feels himself relax.

They're just about ready to climb back onto the Quinjet when Clint's voice crackles over the comm, "Bomb! Get down!" It takes far too long to register the words in Steve's mind, but Bucky is already pulling him to the ground and Coulson is barking into his earpiece with something like fear in his voice,

"Clint, get the hell out of there!"

Steve can just make out Clint against the dark sky, swinging a leg over the side of the building, grappling arrow in hand, when the world explodes. There's a rush of heat, and then nothing, not even any blowback. Looking up, Steve sees Thor, standing with a hand out, wind swirling up and around the team like a dome, protecting them from the flames and falling debris.

Through the flames and swirling wind, Steve, with complete panic, can just make out Clint's form, falling through the air, arrow gone from his hand and his perch collapsing.

There's nothing to slow his fall, and Clint's not even conscious, possibly not even-

Evidently, Coulson is watching the same thing, because he shouts wordlessly, and Thor, who has power beyond what any of them can comprehend, shoots out his other hand, and Clint's fall begins to slow, a cushion of air beneath him. That's when Bruce, evidently tired of staying put in the Quinjet while his friends are in danger, blocks their view as he jumps for Clint himself. Steve likes to think he sees Hulk's hands wrap gently around Clint before the building falls on top of them, but he can barely see a thing as a wave of dust turns the world dark except for the soft glow of Tony's arc reactor.

It feels like hours they waste sitting in darkness and waiting for the outside to settle. Steve's breathing sounds unnaturally loud to his ears, but something in him eases slightly when he feels Bucky's metal hand wrap cold around his wrist.

They wait.

Finally, it seems like they've waited long enough, or else none of them can justify waiting any longer, and the air forming a dome around them explodes outward, unburying them and revealing the night sky again.

They're all untouched, with not even a speck of ash, but still, Steve coughs once, hard, glad he no longer has asthma.

Thor is on his hands and knees, sweat pouring down his face at the intense use of his mutation, and Steve can't even imagine the amount of control it took to keep them safe from the force of a falling building. Tony is already kneeling beside Thor, faceplate open and saying something quietly. It's amazing that Tony can even manage to be quiet.

In a time like this, Coulson would normally be taking control of the situation and Steve looks over to where the man was last, crouched beside Natasha. He's not there and neither is she, and it comes back to Steve with flash of cognizance not unlike a sledgehammer. Clint.

Oh god. Clint.

He'd almost forgotten about Bucky's hand on his wrist until it tightens. Their eyes meet, and they're both thinking the same thing. Together, they start clambering over the rubble.

Steve hears Sam call his name, and he spares the time to shout back over his shoulder.

"Stay with Thor and Tony! See if you guys can get the Quinjet up and running, we're going to need out of here and fast!" If Clint's alive, he's definitely injured, and they need to get out of the area before every law enforcement officer in the state descends on the wreckage. And if Clint's not...

No. Steve's not even going to think it. In that case, no one would give a fuck about the Quinjet, and he's half certain that between Natasha and Phil the world would burn.

Steve shifts his thoughts to the task at hand, namely making their way to where they saw Hulk and Clint last. The dust is still settling, making it hard to see more than ten feet in front of themselves, and Steve is relying on memory alone to find them both. Internally, he curses the fact that Natasha couldn't have waited and teleported them all at the same time. He gets it though. He does.

It's not exactly a breeze, climbing blindly through rubble and sputtering flames, but it is made partially easier by the fact that he and Bucky can afford to get a little scorched or scraped. Superficial damage heals quickly enough that it hardly hurts, and between Steve's strength and Bucky's metal arm they make quick progress.

Steve spends the time trying to prepare himself for what they may find, but he's somehow still not ready.

The Hulk is sitting atop a mound of dirt and debris, Clint lying in his lap, unmoving and bloody.

Steve's heart stutters, and he's running before he thinks better of it, remembers to treat the Hulk with caution. But Hulk only raises his head, snorts once, and rumbles, "Shield walk slow."

Now that Steve is closer, he sees Coulson, hands moving carefully up and down Clint's body checking for injuries.

"Is he-" Bucky says, at Steve's shoulder. He's staring at Natasha who is speaking softly to the Hulk trying to convince him to give them Bruce back.

Natasha glances over at them, in her natural form. The red of her skin makes her look part devil and part fire, but there is no grief that Steve can spot. He hopes he's reading her right.

"He's okay. Unconscious but he's breathing. Hulk saved him."

Steve unclenches, and Bucky presses into his shoulder a little. Steve can feel the big breath he releases, and he's reminded abruptly that outside of Steve, Clint is Bucky's best friend. It's Steve's turn to squeeze Bucky's wrist in support.

He turns his attention back to Coulson, who is ever so carefully lifting Clint off of Hulk's lap into his own. Hulk relinquishes him easily enough, after giving them all a stern look and ordering, "Fix Hawk." He transforms back into Bruce soon after.

Most of Steve's attention is drawn to Coulson, however. He's never seen the man so open and vulnerable. There's a bit of terror and a world of softness as he strokes at the side of Clint's face, murmuring softly, but not softly enough that Steve can't pick it up.

"Clint. Clint, sweetheart, I need you to open your eyes. I need you to wake up please." There's a pause. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. C'mon Clint." They all watch with baited breath, even Bruce, who is leaning into Natasha, naked except for his stretchy pants, and blurry eyed.

Clint doesn't twitch, and Steve's hand tightens around Bucky's wrist. He's probably leaving bruises, but they'll fade.

"Of course it's the hard way," Coulson mutters. "You're such a pain in my ass." He takes a deep breath, before, loud enough that Steve flinches, he barks, "Agent Barton! Report!"

It's Coulson's you've-pushed-me-far-enough-but-this-is-an-emergency voice. Almost on reflex, Clint's eyes fly open and he starts coughing. His husband cradles him, and the first words out of Clint's mouth are, "Fuck that hurts." And then, a second of blinking later, "Phil?"

"We're going to be having words about this, Clint. Serious words. I'll have you doing paperwork for a month, I swear it. Don't you dare scare me like that again." Coulson doesn't give Clint time to think of a witty retort, though judging by the unevenness of his pupils he may have struggled on that front anyway. Ever so carefully, Coulson leans down and kisses Clint with a desperation that is obvious enough to hurt.

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Steve looks away to give them their privacy. He's still holding Bucky's wrist in a death grip, and he's not really planning to let go anytime soon. That was close. Too close.

There's fury simmering low down in Steve's stomach, a feeling he's intimately familiar with. It was this rage that got him into so many scraps as a kid, the rage that drove his two year hunt for Bucky. Someone hurt his friends, his family, and they are going to pay.

But not now. The still air around them is disturbed, and Steve looks up to see Sam piloting the Quinjet, which is remarkably only a little dusty and not damaged. If Steve strains his ears he can hear sirens, and that means they need to go, now.

The back of the Jet is open and Sam brings it down as close as it can go, hovering about ten feet above the debris. Steve is still trying to figure out how they're going to get Clint up there when Natasha comes in on his other side and hands him Bruce. The other man is several inches taller, but Steve manages to take his weight without making a complete fool of himself. From there, she places a hand on Coulson's shoulder and says, "I'll be as careful as I can."

They appear in the Quinjet with a pop, gentler than normal, but Clint still groans. Coulson hushes him softly and Tony already has the medical supplies out and ready. Sam closes the door and they take off without delay.

By the time they get back to base, Clint has already had some pain pills and his shoulder popped back into place. His ribs, miraculously, are only bruised, but the portable body scanner explains the rest of Clint's pain as a broken clavicle. He'll be getting a cast as soon as Bruce has the material for a plaster, and he's already bitching about not being able to fire his bow. He needs five stitches for a gash in his leg, three for his head, and he'll be a mess of bruises by tomorrow, but they all know it could have been much worse.

It could have been so much worse.

Clint remembers waking up in the rubble with Phil kissing him like he was air, and then they were on the Quinjet. Things snap into focus when his shoulder is relocated, and from there everything is crystal clear pain, head aching with his probable concussion. Phil doesn't let go of his hand, which Clint deeply appreciates, because he's got a white knuckle grip that would break bones if it was any tighter. Apparently, he has a broken clavicle, which he could have told everyone himself. It's a feeling someone doesn't really forget, and it's in the same place as last time. Fucking buildings falling on him. He is honestly, 100% sick of that shit. The best he'll be able to do with one side out of commission is fire a crossbow, and they have nothing on his recurve.

When they land back at the base, by some unspoken decision they all gather together while a rejuvenated Bruce sets his clavicle and gives him a sling for his shoulder. Clint gives him a dirty look but wears it anyway. Thor sacks out on the couch, exhausted from the sheer extent he had used his mutation. They filled Clint in on what the big guy had managed, and it was more than intimidating, bordering on awe-inspiring. It's Tony who finally breaks the silence because it is always Tony who breaks the silence.

"I, for one, want to know what the fuck happened out there."

"A trap. Someone led us right into a trap. Someone's playing with us," Clint says. Everyone turns to look at him.

"What made you give the warning? What did you see?" Natasha asks him, back in her comfort form, eyes intent.

Clint takes a deep breath. "Something was pinging my instincts from the time we landed the Jet. Something has been off about this whole thing. There weren't enough people for a facility that size. There were what, thirty guys? That warehouse was at least 25,000 square feet, and they had hundreds of crates in there. No way that thirty guys could handle that. They cleared the area out for us and then planted a bomb. I saw a man behind the warehouse, he was holding a deadman's switch and set it off. The whole thing was a trap to take us out of the picture."

"Then why wait to blow the building until we were all out safe?" Sam points out. "If whoever it was had set it off while we were still inside, Thor wouldn't have been able to save us, and I doubt even the indestructible duo could've survived that blast."

Clint frowns, gnawing on his lip. Phil presses his thumb into his bottom lip, saving it from Clint's teeth. Faster than the others can track, he nips it, grinning when Phil tugs his hand back, affronted.

"Child," Phil mutters under his breath. In spite of this, Phil drapes an arm around Clint's waist and pulls him into his side, careful of his upper body. It hurts a little, but Clint would eat his tongue rather than say something. Neither of them are into a ridiculous amount of PDA, so this is a treat. Besides, once Clint is settled he feels better for being in Phil's arms.

Phil's voice vibrates through Clint's body when he speaks.

"The information for both these jobs came from the World Security Council itself. Whatever's going on, it's big."

"You don't think the Council-" Steve looks horrified by the prospect.

Phil shakes his head once. "We honestly can't know. I'm sure my liaison with the Council, Fury, is clean, but other than that..."

They all let that sink in for a second.

"What do we do if they send us another target?" Bucky asks, and he's looking right at Clint as he says it. Clint knows what he's thinking, this has already taken down one of us, who's next, but Clint clears his throat.

"We have to take it. Like it or not, there could be lives at stake. I mean we'll be down a person until I can see straight but I'm sure we could call someone in."

The team grumbles a little, but Phil cuts in before they start throwing out names.

"I'll be taking Clint's place, of course." There is something cold and angry in his eyes, that Clint knows means people are going to die, and a small part of Phil is going to enjoy it. On anyone else, it would be scary, but on his husband, it's an expression he's seen in the mirror the few times Phil has been hurt. This is what they do for each other.

The rest of the team is, of course, more sensible, and visibly lean back in their seat. Well, except for Natasha but she hardly counts, as her rage is equally as visible.

"Well, um. That's good?" And even Tony sounds unsure. "Are we going to have to keep you under watch, Agent? Are you planning a killing spree?"

"I wouldn't call it a killing spree, per say." Phil is calm, almost considering. "More bloody vengeance."

"Has anyone ever mentioned how lucky the world is you decided to fight for the good guys?" Bruce says.

Clint can't hold in his laughter any longer, even if it makes his head throb and ribs ache. "Oh, the world would be fucked."

"On that note," Steve claps once and straightens. Even at his full height, he's about half the size of everyone in the room, but they all listen up. Clint doesn't get how Steve manages to draw in a room so easily. Maybe it's the voice? "Tony, Bruce. I need you guys to figure out what's really in that suppressant, and I also need someone to do some digging, see what the connection is between the two targets we've had so far. Coulson, if you could manage any more discrete searching..."

"I'll see what I can do."

From there they disperse, everyone managing to 'subtly' check on Clint at least once. Natasha even brushes a careful hand over his hair, before pinching his neck hard enough to make him yelp. Her warning glare says don't do it again. Clint gives her a sheepish smile, amazed despite himself that he's still on his feet. Bucky pulls him into a careful hug and promises another night out soon, where Clint can pick the drinks. Despite himself, he's touched.

Phil bundles him into the car while trying to pretend that's not exactly what he's doing. Clint knows he avoids the quicker bumpier roads to go the long way and make it easier on Clint's numerous bruises. Phil's a sneak mother hen, something Clint is infinitely familiar with.

By the time Clint has had the dirt and grime carefully washed off and been arranged in a pile of pillows, Phil is slightly less tense. Clint snags hold of his hand before he can get away and probably whip up some chicken noodle. Clint doesn't give a shit about any of that, as the adrenaline starts to wear off and he begins to feel every single bruise. He just wants Phil.

His husband must read it on his face because he doesn't protest, just strips down to his boxers and crawls in next to Clint. He places his arms gently, aiming to put the pressure on the fewest of Clint's bruises as possible, but that's not what he wants. He tugs Phil's arms tighter, and Phil buries his head in Clint's throat, opposite his cast.

"You scared me. Jesus, Clint. I saw you fall and I thought for sure..."

"Shh, I'm sorry," Clint says, holding onto Phil as tight as his body will allow. "I'm okay."

Phil huffs into his neck. "We have very different definitions of okay, Agent Barton."

"Hey!" Clint yanks on his hair. "I haven't been an agent for almost five years."

"I don't know," Phil says, thoughtful, "To me, you'll always be that pain in the ass ex-merc that I shot- sorry I mean- recruited- myself. You'll always be my agent. And I'm your handler."

Clint gives him a lewd eyebrow wiggle, before softening and smoothing a hand over Phil's back, pitted with a scar here or there. He knows he has a sappy smile on his face, but it's his husband. If there's ever someone he can be sappy with, it's Phil.

"Maybe agent can be our always."

A pause, as that sinks in.

"You really know how to ruin a moment. Fault in Our Stars? Really? Why did I ever marry you?"

He smothers Phil's mocking with a kiss, and figures this wasn't a bad way to end the day, not at all.

Clint doesn't open the Arrow the next day. He's black and blue and not quite sure how he's going to explain this one to his regulars. He figures he'll deal with that when it comes and quite happily spends a lazy day at home.

Phil returns that night empty-handed. He hasn't been able to figure anything else out about the Council's movements and Tony and Bruce haven't discovered anything new about the supposed suppressant except that it is definitely not a suppressant.

The next day, however, yields information on a different front. Natasha and Pepper working together find a paper trail connecting the warehouse by the docks and the laboratory. As far as they can tell, the vials in the warehouse were nonviable, or at least different from the ones from the lab, which explained why whoever they were up against was willing to sacrifice hundreds of boxes of the stuff.

With that paper trail, comes more locations that Natasha and Pepper suspect are linked. They want to move on the information as soon as possible, and so that's how Clint ends up sitting in the Quinjet, watching the comms and feeds with Bruce, while the team breaches another laboratory in upstate New York.

Finally, it's a real mission, something that proves at least a little more of a challenge. There are several layers of security, upwards of seventy personnel, a mutation nullifying field that needs to be disabled, and countless other surprises. Clint hates being stuck in the Jet just about more than he hates anything. They'd almost sent the Hulk in, but decided against it at the last moment.

The team goes in, and they're having a blast Clint can tell. Phil is wreaking havoc, reminding the rest of the team that he really isn't to be underestimated. Phil is dangerous even without his mutation; he once killed an entire room of operatives with nothing but a pen. God, he used to terrify junior agents with that story.

Clint monitors the comms as the team works, steadily wearing down the facility and drilling their way inside. It takes a while, but eventually, they put the hostiles on the defensive. That's when things take a turn.

"Oh shit," Tony says. Maybe the rest of the team brushes it off, but there's something in the pyro's tone...

"Iron man, status." Clint barks, bringing up feeds, trying to find Tony's location. He's in one of the sub-basements, but the feeds are buried somewhere. Clint finally finds what he's looking for, and, "Oh shit."

The rest of the team is taking notice now, but Clint lets Bruce do the explaining, trying to comprehend what he's seeing.

The hallway that the screens show him is lined with cages. Some of them are empty, but most of them- aren't. There are people in those cages, people who aren't moving at all, despite the commotion. They're all hooked up to IVs and heart monitors, which are all... Flatlined.

"Experimentation," Clint says grimly.

"Mutant experimentation." And if anything, Tony's voice is flatter. He knows Tony had issues with his dad when he was younger, and of course Afghanistan. He's one of the worst on the team that could've found this.

The worst person to stumble upon dead mutant experiments of course chooses that moment to burst into the hallway with the rest of the team. Evidently, everyone had neutralized the rest of the danger in favor of coming to see what had Tony and Clint rattled.

Clint can see Bucky take in the room, eyes cataloging before the sight fully sinks in. It almost hurts to see his eyes change, widen and go distant before shuttering completely. He turns on his heel and shoulders out of the room.

Clint mutes Bucky's mic from the rest of the team, leaving just him to hear Bucky lose his dinner, breathing harsh enough to be a danger.

"I need you to breathe, Bucky. In through your mouth out through your nose. There was nothing you could do to save them, they aren't you. You're safe. Breathe. They'll never have you again." Clint tries to keep his tone even, trying to fill in for Steve who is much better than Clint at this whole thing.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Steve looks away from the gruesome sight of the cages and notices Bucky's absence. Panic flashes over his face, and Clint watches him slip from the room. Lowering the volume of their comms for privacy, Clint closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the table. He can feel the heat of the circus lights and smell the dirty, dusty straw and hear the Swordsman telling him that you'll keep shooting until you miss, you mutie freak. He can feel the IV in his hand and the cold of the lab that held him in Serbia for five days before Phil got him out. Clint presses his forehead into the table harder and sucks in one uneven breath.

Then he straightens and starts coordinating the removal of the bodies.

Once Steve has blinked himself back into the current year and stopped seeing Bucky's face on all the dead mutants, he notices that the real Bucky is gone. Fear hits him low in his gut, and he has to stop himself from calling out. Bucky probably needed a moment, Steve reasons, and bringing the rest of the team down on him would be not good.

Even so, when Steve slips back into the hallway and finds Bucky not thirty feet down, something in him unclenches. We're okay, we're safe.

Bucky is hunched over at the waist, dry heaving into a wastebasket. Nice to know that even assholes who experiment on mutants try to avoid litter, Steve thinks, a little hysterical. With a force of will, he pushes down what he's feeling, the fear and confusion and panic, and turns his focus on Bucky.

Steve jogs lightly over, ensuring sure he makes enough noise that Bucky knows he's coming and removing his cowl as he goes. Bucky's breathing is rough, mask already off, but not as rough as Steve was expecting, and Steve shoots off a silent thanks to Clint as he notices the team's background chatter cut off from his comm.

"Hey, Buck. You doin' alright?" It's not the best thing to open with, but it was all Steve had. Looking at Bucky sweating and pale, he hates the people who run this operation with a passion he reserves for HYDRA. Anyone that does that to Bucky, anyone-

"Do I look alright, pal?" Bucky dredges up a half-smile from somewhere, but it clearly hurts, and Steve aches.

"You look like hell."

"A real charmer you are, Stevie. Must have the ladies fallin' all over ya." The quip is ruined by the way Bucky ends on a dry heave, breathing picking up just a bit more.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" Steve makes sure to ask, before so much twitching towards him. They'd had a few accidents early on, before Steve had gotten Sam's advice on dealing with trauma. Consent is important, more so than anything after what Bucky's been through.

He gets a short nod, and a raspy please, which is all he needs. Steve reaches up to put a hand on Bucky's shoulder, turning him towards him, and then shifts the hand to his nape, squeezing softly.

"You're okay, Buck. You're safe." He's shaking a little under Steve's hand, and Steve doesn't hesitate to draw him down into an embrace. Bucky folds into him, face burying in Steve's hair, arms clenching tight around his back. Before Steve manifested, a hug like this would've put him on his ass, but now he shoulders the weight easily, losing the last of his own shakiness when he can wrap his own arms around Bucky and breathe against his tac vest. It's definitely not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it helps.

They stay like that for what feels like ages, until Bucky's shaking has subsided and Steve's palm feels numb from rubbing circles on Bucky's back. When they separate, there's a hint of embarrassment at the back of Bucky's eyes, but also gratefulness. Steve gives him a tentative smile to see where they're at and to his relief, Bucky returns it. They've been there for each other at their worsts, and this is just another storm to weather.

"Hell of a horror show in there," Bucky says, replacing his mask. Steve follows his cue and pulls his cowl back over his rumpled hair.

"That's one way of putting it. We're going to get these bastards. And we're going to put em in the ground."

Bucky's smile doesn't reach his eyes.

The ride back to the base is silent, everyone locked in their own thoughts, reliving their own nightmares. Or at least that's what he and Bucky are doing. They get back to the property and go their separate ways with a grim, tomorrow. Steve brought the bike again, so he has Bucky close on the way back home, sheltering him from the wind and from thinking too hard.

Safe behind the door of their apartment, Steve wants to ask but can't find the words. The last mission with a lab hadn't been nearly as horrible as this one, and he's not sure Bucky will want his company. Last time, they'd fallen asleep on the couch together, puppy piled like they were kids again. Steve had woken curled partially in Bucky's lap and felt horribly, perfectly, content before reality sunk in again and he realized it wasn't his to have. It was the best night's sleep that Steve had had in months but Bucky's expression that morning had been unreadable, and the atmosphere awkward until the next day. Was it worth it?

"Do you want to stay on the couch tonight?" Apparently Steve's mouth has disconnected from his brain, because he's speaking before he ever fully made the decision.

Bucky stares at him long and hard in the dimness of their entryway. There it is again, that unreadable expression, but it's worn down and hurting tonight. Steve wants to imagine there's something like longing there, maybe even desire, but the expression falls away before he can really examine it. "Nah, I'm okay. But I got first shower, punk."

"Sure thing, jerk."

By the time Steve gets out of the shower, Bucky's door is closed, and there's something like emptiness in Steve's chest.

At breakfast the next morning, they both pretend they can't see each other's dark circles. It's at times like this that Steve pines, when he wants desperately to be Bucky's everything, sleep in his bed, taste his smile, curl into his arms and let his body be dwarfed. He thinks Bucky might want that too, but he can't be sure, and he can't ruin the most important relationship in his life for a maybe.

Throughout the school day, Steve is distracted. The kids are sweet, causing less trouble than usual as if they can sense he's feeling off, but he can't shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong. In the teacher's room at lunch, one of his colleagues questions him on it. Logan, the gym teacher who's also part of the X-men, nudges him, and nearly makes Steve drop his sandwich. "What's on your mind, bub? Have a fight with your boyfriend?"

Steve puts down his lunch, stomach churning. He meets Logan's eyes quickly and then dips his head. "No, just having a little trouble with my bike. There's been a little accident after some experimenting. Stuff more up your alley than mine." Steve waits and sees when Logan puts it together. A slight nod that Steve barely catches.

"You need some help with that?" Logan throws himself down into the seat next to Steve, faux-casual. Considering for a second, Steve shakes his head.

"That's okay, we got it under control. I'll let you know if I change my mind."

"Having trouble with your death trap, Steve?" And there's Karen Winters, second-grade teacher that seems to have adopted him, sure he needed a keeper in light of his frequent 'medical' absences from work. He's even had to leave in the middle of the day a few times, but everyone on the staff was lenient about it, seeing as he had a teacher's assistant for just that reason.

Steve forces a smile. It becomes a little more real when her teasing is accompanied by Starbucks. Despite how much Steve loves being Captain America and saving the world, fighting the good fight, he also loves this, a swarm of elementary schoolers covered in paint and laughing, and normal colleagues buying him coffee just because he's feeling down. It's the reason they have covers, that they're not all like Tony Stark and living in the Tower shouting their names to the sky.

Mutants are in a decent place in the world, better than 30 years ago thanks mostly to the efforts of Washington, Professor X, Magneto, and the Odinsson family line. But there's still prejudice and hatred, and there always will be. Steve likes to think that the Avengers help battle back some of that hatred, prove some of the bigots wrong, but it's a work in progress. It's the other reason they hide and conceal themselves: to make things easier.

The rest of the day seems to fly by, no major disasters but the night creeping ever closer.

There's almost a tangible tension in the air as the team gets ready, one that has even Tony quiet and angry. Steve catches Bruce pulling him aside and whispering something that makes Tony lose at least a little strain around his eyes, but it doesn't change the general atmosphere. They fly to the next target.

To Steve's displeasure, it looks similar to the last building on both the inside and outside, with numerous traps and security measures they have to work their way around. As a team, they move quickly and efficiently, Steve ever-aware of Bucky watching his back, silent and hurting. They make their way down to the sub-basement, and like last time, there are cages full of dead mutants lining the wall. Steve closes his eyes and gropes for Bucky's hand. He squeezes.

The rest of the team is silent and closed off.

"Alright," Steve says, opening his eyes and unaccountably glad that Bucky is still in the room with him. "We'll take care of the bodies, same as last night." Without speaking, the team moves to start the clean-up.

"Ex- excuse me? Can you help her?" Steve jumps at the voice, and Bucky's hand tightens painfully around his own. It's the voice of a child, coming from the end of the hall. He's never moved so fast in his life, the rest of the team right behind him.

In a cell at the end of the line is a boy, or teenager, Steve mentally amends. He can't be more than thirteen or fourteen and he has the ragged, pale look of someone who hasn't seen the light of day in months. Blond hair falls into the kid's eyes, and he brushes it away with the shaking hand not holding tightly to the girl in the cell next to him. Steve would guess she's about the same age, but his estimation is hindered by the fact that the girl is shrouded in a red mist.

Sam drops into a crouch, pushing his way in front of the rest of the team. Steve recognizes his expression as the one he uses for trauma victims. It's a trustworthy expression that makes you feel safe. Steve would know, he's been on the other side of it more times than he can count.

"My name is Sam. What's yours?"

The boy stares at Sam with blank panic, before something almost like remembrance steals across his face, there and gone.

"P- Pietro. I- I- I think."

Steve meets Natasha's eyes across the room. This isn't good.

"You think?" Sam's voice is still gentle, even as Steve can see him trying to reconcile the boy's hesitance.

"They- They took it from us." And now that he's started talking it seems Pietro can't stop, the words spilling from him faster and faster. "They took it all. I can't remember anything, I'm not even supposed to remember this much but Wanda, that's my sister, my twin, she said that I couldn't forget my name or her, because we need to stick together but they're going to give us another dose and it's going to wipe us out, and now Wanda won't wake up. Please you've got to help her, us. Please." Pietro shakes hard enough that it's a miracle he doesn't fall apart.

They don't wait, unlocking the cells as quickly as they can and suddenly Pietro isn't in his cell anymore, but by Wanda instead. Steve didn't even see him move.

"Wanda! Wanda, wake up!" The red mist rises off of her and wraps around Pietro, and Steve starts forward to try and do something, but as quickly as it shields him, it disappears. The girl on the bed coughs.

"Pietro?"

"Wanda!" It's a joyous reunion that makes Steve smile, until Wanda coughs again and a ball of that red mist flings off of her, tearing a hole in the wall.

After bits of the ceiling have stopped falling around them, Coulson sighs and tells them, "I'm calling Professor X."

By the time the twins are settled at the school, it's late. The team regroups anyway.

"Who the hell are these people?" Sam asks, slamming a bottle of whiskey onto the table between them all. Steve gratefully pours himself a glass.

"Let's go over what we know," Coulson says, shocking everyone as he grabs the bottle and takes a swig. Though, a quarter of the bottle is a bit more than a swig.

Tony gets up to grab several more bottles.

They spend the next few hours outlining the few pieces of the picture they have and theorizing about the ones they don't. Someone is manufacturing a drug that, by what limited information the twins were able to give, somehow amplifies mutations. In the process, it wipes memory and tends to kill the subjects.

The organization backing the drug production is extensive and advanced enough to have at least one mole in the World Security Council and a nearly untraceable system, yet it's the first time the Avengers have heard of them.

It just doesn't make sense.

Back at the apartment, Steve stumbles to the couch, dropping down and burying his head in his hands. He's exhausted, but he doubts he'll be able to sleep, mind replaying images of the dead mutants and Bucky and Bucky dead. When weight drops onto the couch next to him, Steve jumps. Bucky slings an arm around his shoulders, and Steve leans into his side.

"Let's sleep out here tonight, yeah?" Bucky sounds as anxious and unsettled as Steve.

"Yeah."

Tangled together, they sleep.

Steve wakes in the middle of the night to screaming. It's Bucky's screams, and Steve leaps to his feet, adrenaline rushing through him.

"Buck-" and as Steve's eyes finally focus he sees Bucky thrashing on the couch, making pained whimpering sounds. Fuck.

"Bucky! It's me, Steve. You've got to wake up, you're safe, they don't have you anymore. Please!" And maybe the lingering trace of sleep clouds his judgment but Steve reaches out to put a hand on Bucky's arm and shake him awake.

Before he can register what a bad idea it is, he's flying across the room, hitting the opposite wall with a bone-jarring impact that will surely leave bruises. But as Steve blinks a few times to get his bearings, he sees that it at least served a purpose, and Bucky's awake.

Bucky falls off the couch, breathing fast with panic. His metal hand reaches out and grabs the coffee table, squeezing so hard that the wood shatters. And then he looks up and sees Steve.

"Stevie! Oh god, oh god." He's at Steve's side in an instant, shaking but running insistent hands up and down Steve's body to check for breaks and blood.

"I'm okay, Buck, I'm fine. It was my fault anyway. Try to breathe." Bucky isn't listening, breath coming faster and faster. Their advanced healing means it will take longer for Bucky to pass out than a normal human, but Steve tries to cut it off at the start. He lunges forward and wraps himself around Bucky, arms tight enough to bruise. Folding around Steve, Bucky continues to gasp.

Eventually, Bucky slows his breathing enough to start talking, and he rambles out apologies as quickly as he can get air for them.

"Buck, stop! It wasn't your fault, I-" and then Bucky is pulling back far enough to lean forward and kiss him.

Steve's brain grinds to a halt, and he can't feel anything except Bucky's lips against his own. It's like a dream come true, and Steve throws himself into it, arms coming up to wrap around Bucky's shoulders. Standing up, Bucky lifts Steve easily, pressing him against the wall and not letting up his assault on Steve's mouth. A wrong move leads to a flash of pain from one of Steve's bruises, and it brings with it a moment of clarity. He pulls back.

Bucky has just woken from a nightmare and he's shaken and vulnerable. They can't do this now, no matter how badly Steve wants to. It's not fair to Bucky, and some little part of Steve murmurs that Bucky probably doesn't even want this, but with the panic from his dream...

"Bucky, wait. Stop." Steve gasps, pushing a little at Bucky's shoulders. With nothing but the streetlights outside to illuminate the apartment, Steve loses his breath at the picture Bucky makes. He's flushed, lips red and wet, and his eyes are dark pits that pull Steve in.

"Shh Stevie. Let me-" He leans in again.

"No." Steve fights to keep his voice steady. "We- we can't, it's not-" the right time, Steve wants to say, but he doesn't get the chance. Bucky drops him to his feet and starts backing away, expression crumbling into a pain that Steve can't stand before going blank.

"Right. Of course. My mistake."

"Bucky, wait-" But he's already slamming out of their apartment, and Steve can't get to the door fast enough. Bucky's gone.

"Fuck." Steve says, thumping his head against the closed door. Fuck fuck fuck.

Steve doesn't get a chance to fix his mess like he'd hoped. A little after eight, Steve sits at the kitchen table after calling in from work, waiting for Bucky to come back home. Instead, his phone rings.

"Hey, Steve. You busy? Come on over, we can have drinks, and that's an order." It's Sam calling him, not Bucky, and Steve tries not to flinch at that.

"Yeah okay." He says. At least Bucky won't miss a mission, and Steve can probably corner him afterward. It's time Steve just tells him how he feels, instead of dancing around everything. That one kiss had been nothing short of perfection, and Steve wants another so badly it hurts.

He gets to the property in record time and Bucky is already there, studiously avoiding eye contact. Steve can't get him alone, and then they're on the jet, Coulson briefing them on the way.

"The Council called this one in as high priority, supposedly unrelated from what we've been working on. It came straight from the top, from Pierce himself. Some type of homegrown terror group threatening to hit New York today."

"Can we trust in this information?" And that's Thor, arms crossed and glancing pointedly at Clint. Clint doesn't catch it, too busy looking back and forth between Bucky and Steve, frowning.

Coulson shrugs, but his shoulders are tight. He's obviously thinking about Clint and the last mission they'd been given by the Council. "We don't really have a choice."

That shuts everyone else up. As they move into position, Steve catches Bucky's arm. The glare he gets in return makes him flinch back a step. "Buck-"

"Later." And Bucky pulls out of his grip.

Steve feels something inside him crumple. "Okay."

They breach easily and split off, Bucky and Steve going one way, Natasha another. The facility lies still and quiet, and Steve's gut starts to ping a warning. They run across no one and in this, Bucky and Steve are in sync, communicating in nods and glances. They head down the stairs, foot steps echoing off the walls no matter how silently they try to move. Five steps down, the comms fade out.

Steve bites back his curse and after a silent conversation with Bucky, they continue downward. The stairwell opens up into a smooth hallway, all polished metal, and doors armed with keypads. He tries one of the doors, giving it a good shove, but it's secure. Not even Bucky's metal arm can make a dent in the thing, and the window on the top is made of some kind of reinforced compound that doesn't so much as crack under Steve's fist. There's a single door open at the end, and Steve and Bucky approach as quietly as they can. They're most of the way to the door when the comms come back to life, loudly enough to startle them both to a halt.

"-no visual."

"What was their last location?"

"Fuck, the building is being breached, they've got a neutralizing field-"

"Shit, we should've known it was HYDRA-"

Steve freezes, voices in the earpiece fading out again. He meets Bucky's eyes, sees the panic there as a mirror to his own. HYDRA.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the hallway fills with people all pointing guns in their direction. And, even worse, they're mostly tranquilizers. Steve's heart races. They're here to capture not kill. The thought is terrifying.

"Well, well. Who would've thought we'd find the Winter Soldier here? Pretending to be a hero?" A man steps forward, no gun in his hands. From the way Bucky pales, Steve would've thought he was holding a grenade launcher.

"Rumlow." There's terror in Bucky's voice, and Steve comes to a decision right then. He won't, can't, let Bucky be taken again. It's not fair. He won't allow it.

"I'm so glad you remember me, Barnes. And your boyfriend here, you're the one that took our pet from us, right?" Rumlow turns to Steve, glancing him up and down. "Puny little thing."

Steve takes a step forward and he's met with the clicking of a dozen safeties. "What do you want."

"Our attack dog, of course. R&D's been working on a new recipe to keep him nice and tame, I'm sure you saw the results? It's not perfect yet, but who better to test on than a freak that can heal from everything?" Rumlow stalks closer, and Steve uses all of his self-control not to lunge.

"You won't use me again," Bucky growls, from right behind Steve.

"Take me instead," Steve says, quick as he can. He can practically feel Bucky's outrage.

"Steve, I swear to god-"

"While I appreciate the offer, Barnes is more to our taste. We'll be taking him back, and there's nothing you can do about it." Rumlow smiles, a cold, vicious thing. "Fire."

Steve moves a split second before the order is vocalized, faster than he thought possible. He shoves Bucky as hard as he can through the open doorway, and he goes flying into the room. There's shouting in the hallway, and tranquilizers pounding into Steve, but he can see Bucky scrambling to his feet and there's no time-

Steve slams the door shut, hears it seal, and rips the keypad off the wall. Bucky throws himself against the door, and he's screaming Steve's name, the pain in his voice digging a hole in Steve's chest.

"Sorry Buck," he gasps, hoping Bucky understands, "Love you."

The world turns fuzzy and there are hands on him, shoving and pushing, and people trying to get into the room but coming up short. Rumlow swims into the line of sight, furious. A punch to the face cracks Steve's head back against the wall. He spits blood and laughs. This is familiar. This is dirty alleyways with his lungs not working right and opponents always bigger and meaner than him. Steve can do this all day, as long as Bucky is safe. HYDRA won't get him again, Steve promised.

"Guess you're stuck with me now. Oops." The world turns dark as another fist smashes into his face, but Steve swears he can still hear Bucky, screaming himself hoarse.

The team is only in the building for a minute when Clint starts to get a horrible feeling of foreboding. All of the cameras he has access to show an empty building, devoid of so-called terrorists, and the place is too silent. Clint scans the area, hyper-vigilant as the team splits up to search. Not five minutes later, the phone rings, the one in the jet that less than a dozen people have the direct number to. Clint nearly fumbles the phone in his haste to pick it up.

"Barton here."

"Barton, thank Christ." That's Fury's voice, Phil's contact on the Council, and best man at their wedding. "Has the team breached yet?"

"Yes?" Clint says, his gut churning. In the background of the call, he hears the quick pop of gunfire. "Nick, what's going on?"

"There's a mole on the Council, just like Cheese said. Fucking Pierce is- shit," There's more gunfire, closer, and more of Fury's cursing. "It's HYDRA, Barton. They've been behind this whole thing, all the targets the Council gave you were bait."

Clint freezes. Shit shit shit. "Fury what's their goal, what are they-"

"Not what, who. This whole thing has been a play for Barnes. They're trying to turn mutants into mindless weapons and they need Barnes to do it, for god knows what reason." A short pause and Clint can hear screaming in the background of the call. "Get the team out of there, it's a fucking trap. Things are falling apart here, get underground and stay there." The line goes dead.

Clint taps the comm mic, the beginnings of panic stirring his stomach, "Soldier, Captain, report."

Silence.

"Anyone have eyes on Soldier or Captain?" Clint asks to the entire frequency, trying to keep his voice level. They might just not be able to answer, no need to worry yet-

"Negative, Hawkeye." And that's Coulson, if he can't see them, no one can.

"Fuck!"

"What's-"

"It's HYDRA. They've been behind this whole thing. Pierce is the mole in the Council, this entire thing was just a trap to grab Barnes."

The comm goes into chaos.

"Shit!"

"We have no visual!"

"What was their last location?"

Clint looks at the security cameras and curses. "Fuck, the building is being breached, they've got a neutralizing field-"

"Shit, we should've known it was HYDRA-"

The next ten minutes are a frantic mess, everyone doing their best to take down the agents as their mutations are turned on and off without warning. Clint calls out movements and strategy as best he can over the comm until the last agent is down. There's still no sign of Steve or Bucky.

Watching on the cameras, Clint sees the team find a stairwell down into a sub-basement. The only camera Clint has to work with after that point is the feed from the Iron Man suit.

Tony is the first through the door, into a smooth metallic hallway. Near the end is a small pool of blood and a badly dented door that continues to shake.

As Clint increases the volume of the comm, he hears a persistent banging and someone shouting.

The Iron Man suit shows Bucky through the small window, throwing himself against the door over and over, clearly trapped. There's no sign of Steve. Clint holds his breath as Tony activates the laser cutters on his suit, tearing easily through the metal. With Bucky working from the other side, it takes only seconds for the door to fly off.

Bucky stumbles through, bumping into the suit, Tony reaching out to steady him. "Steve- They have Steve."

Steve wakes up once in transport. There's some type of magnetic cuffs pinning his hands behind his back, and no matter how hard he pulls they refuse to come apart. He fights anyway, like a wild dog, injured and deadly. It takes six tranquilizer darts to subdue him, and he doesn't wake again until they reach base.

Fury tells them to go underground, and the team does the exact opposite.

This is rage like Clint has never seen before, pure channeled protectiveness and anger at Steve's absence. Tony and Thor hold a smoldering press conference, while the remaining members dig for a paper trail and uproot HYDRA.

It almost doesn't feel real until Clint stands guard at the door while Bucky looms over a quivering goon. There's the faint sound of metal grinding against metal before the man lets out a prolonged scream.

"One last chance. Where are they holding him?" Bucky's voice is dangerous, lethal, and a step away from falling apart. Clint hopes for his sake that they find Steve soon.

The lab coats are talking over him, around him like he isn't there, can't process what they're saying. He sees Rumlow's face, furious, a cruel smile playing around his mouth, and hears the words, "Juice him up. Continuous dosage." Steve jerks and shakes the table they've bound him to, but it's no use, and there's a needle in his arm before he's being secured into a metal box, complete darkness except for a small window that the top of his head barely reaches.

With all his waning consciousness, Steve kicks at the box, thrashing. Then the drug takes effect and there is nothing but pain.

It takes 21 hours, two international incidents, and over three million dollars in property damage before they have a location. They don't wait for back up, in fact, they don't wait at all, jet leaving the ground before anyone is fully suited

It's fire in his veins, fire searing him from the inside out. Steve has been through more than most, countless illnesses supposedly eradicated decades ago, back alley beatings, an agonizing manifestation, but none of it has come close to this. It burns him until all he can feel is the pain, until everything starts to slip away, his name, his team, his life. Deep down, he can feel his mutation fighting, trying to keep him alive under an attack that has no precedent, but even that starts to feel like nothing, like madness.

Steve screams and screams and screams for hours and days and years.

Bucky. He has to hold on for Bucky.

Nothing else matters.

They find Steve in a metal box, at least eight feet high with an IV trailing inside. Bucky sees the box, turns a horrifying shade of translucent, and rips the front off without missing a beat. Clint would almost be impressed if his heart wasn't somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

From what Clint sees, Steve hangs unresponsive in the box, strapped in, head lolling like it's disconnected from his shoulders. A needle pressed into the crook of his elbow pumps a clear liquid into his body at a visible rate.

Bucky pulls it out, painfully gentle and Clint moves as fast as his still-healing body allows, unstrapping Steve and lowering him carefully into Bucky's arms. A careful hand pushes Steve's fringe out of his face. He's never looked this breakable before. Despite his size, Steve is still a force to be reckoned with, dangerous, unstoppable. But unconscious in Bucky's arms, rag-doll limp, Clint thinks he looks downright fragile.

"Stevie. Oh god, Stevie. You have to wake up. You have to be okay." Bucky hunches over the body in his arms, shaking so hard that Clint can do nothing but avert his eyes. When the rest of the team piles into the room, Clint takes Phil's hand and squeezes until his fingers go numb.

It takes a day and a half for the drugs to work their way out of Steve's system. Steve doesn't wake- or even move- the entire time and Clint almost thinks this is worse, watching Bucky fall to pieces with nothing to do but wait.

Steve opens his eyes and immediately closes them again, flinching. It's bright, so bright, and he knows that means hospital but for the life of him, he doesn't know why.

Then Steve shifts and every muscle in his body screams at him. Oh. Oh, that would be why.

He must make some kind of sound, a choked off whimper, a groan, because suddenly there's a vice grip around his hand and a tentative,

"Stevie?"

Steve uses every scrap of energy he has to open his eyes again.

Bucky holds onto him like he's a lifeline, hairy messy and tangled, dark circles closer to black eyes. Something in Steve instinctively knows that Bucky has been here since he was brought in, but he still can't remember why, what put that desperate look into his face.

Steve clears his throat to ask and starts to cough instead.

Bucky is there, arm around Steve's shoulders, holding him together, keeping him upright. The warm heat at his side distracts Steve, and it drags up another memory- their lips pressed together in the darkness of the apartment, the perfect heat in Steve's gut as Bucky pinned him to the wall-

He coughs again, sharply, and lays down. A cup of water appears in his vision, and Steve grabs for it greedily, drinking as fast as he can, sputtering a little bit. When he's done, he tries talking again.

"Buck."

There's still a hand around his, and Steve can feel some of the tension slip out of Bucky at his name.

"Steve, oh god." His voice is raw, broken into shards, and Steve flinches. Bucky's metal arm rises, slow and telegraphing his movement, and rests on Steve's head. Cold fingers brush Steve's hair off his forehead, and his eyes flutter shut again, content.

They stay like that for ages, Bucky ever so carefully smoothing his hand through Steve's hair, until Steve feels more able to take on the day. His eyes open again.

"Buck. What happened?" His own voice sounds like a stranger's, too rough, too soft.

"HYDRA," Bucky says. His eyes darken at the words, and the hand in Steve's hair jerks, tugging on the strands.

HYDRA?

Oh. Oh. It comes back to Steve in fits and starts, their last missions, being captured, the metal box and fire in his veins-

He doesn't realize he's tightening his grip on Bucky's hand until the other man curses.

"Easy Steve, easy." The metal hand leaves his hair to grip his jaw, forcing Steve to look up into Bucky's eyes. "Look at me. You're okay. I've got you." Gradually, Steve unclenches his fingers. He watches with fascination as the bruises he squeezed into Bucky's hand appear, slowly darkening and then disappearing. Bucky has always had a faster healing factor than Steve. Give them both a slice on their hand, and it will take about 30 seconds to disappear for Bucky, a minute for Steve. In practice, it doesn't mean much, and Steve generally makes up for it with his increased strength, but now...

Before Bucky can stop him, he leans off the bed and grabs for the other's belt. Steve's fingers close around the handle of a blade and he yanks it free.

"Steve, what-"

Steve very carefully places the blade against his forearm and draws a thin line. The blood wells up, but almost before the cut is visible it disappears. It's fast, faster than Steve has ever seen a healing mutation work, faster even than Logan's.

"Oh," Bucky says.

"Oh." Steve echoes.

They stare at each other for a few seconds.

"Still have your memory, right?"

Steve nods.

"Well then." There's not really a whole lot to say beyond that.

Bucky stares at him still, steady and unquestioning, and Steve gazes back. It should be weird, he knows it should be, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, something in Steve's chest settles. They might stare at each other for hours, hands wrapped together, eyes locked, or it might just be minutes, but eventually, Bucky speaks.

"I thought I lost you." Steve opens his mouth to speak, but Bucky waves a hand, cutting him off. "No, listen to me for a sec, punk. I thought I lost you, so I gotta say what I gotta say." Bucky waits until Steve meets his eyes and nods in understanding. "I'm in love with you, and I have been since I can remember."

Steve stares, blinking as he tries to process the words. Did Bucky say-

Him?

He can't find the words to respond, and Bucky takes it the wrong way, eyes turning away from Steve's as he starts to ramble.

"Now I know you're not interested, and I won't make it weird I promise, but I couldn't not say it anymore, not if you're going to keep throwin' yourself into the flames for me, which we are goin' to talk about believe me-"

"Buck." Bucky freezes, head pulled upward like Steve holds the string. Steve swallows the spit in his throat and reaches out his free hand. When he lays it against Bucky's cheek, he's breathing shallow, tense. Leaning forward, Steve does his best to press their foreheads together. "You jerk. I've been in love with you since we were kids."

Because of the way his hand rests on Bucky's face, Steve can feel his jaw drop. "You what?"

Staring at his lap, Steve tries to find the words. "I told you to stop kissing me only because you'd just had a nightmare. I didn't want to stop, but I didn't want you to regret-"

"You fuckin' punk." Bucky loosens his grip on Steve's hand and he winces, ready to be pushed away. Instead, the free hand frames his face, pulling Steve into a searing kiss.

It's as perfect as the first time, heat spooling in Steve's stomach and the rest of the world dropping away. He throws himself into, burying a hand in Bucky's hair and tugging. When Bucky pulls away with a gasp, Steve dives for his throat, nipping his way along Bucky's jaw and neck. The world fades out to nothing but Bucky and Steve, lips teasing and chest aching.

Someone clears their throat in the doorway, and they both jump.

Bucky presses away from Steve's hands, making to straighten up, but Steve holds him a second longer, fluttering kisses across Bucky's cheekbones. When they separate, Steve is smug and Bucky flushes red.

Clint leans in the doorway, smirking. His bruises are fading to an ugly green and the sling has disappeared. That smirk mars an otherwise nice image.

"Bout damn time. Thought I was going to go gray before you two boned."

Steve chokes a little, but Bucky relaxes and finds his own predatory smile.

"If you don't want front row seats, you'll come back in an hour, Barton." Turning back around, Steve's breath catches at the sight of Bucky's eyes, dark and wanting.

He barely hears Clint's goodbye before he's lost in Bucky's mouth.

Clint closes the door behind him, unable to hide his smile. Bucky holds Steve like he's something precious, and Steve holds Bucky like he wants to protect him from the world. They deserve each other.

About five steps down the hallway, Clint stops and turns to empty air.

"I love you, you know."

Between one blink in the next, Phil materializes. His hand cradles Clint's jaw, eyes fierce. Phil presses a soft kiss to Clint's lips, and Clint keeps his eyes open, tracing his husband's face with his eyes.

"I love you. We did well." Clint can taste the words Phil gives him.

He smiles.

"Yeah, we did."

Tomorrow there will be another disaster, and tomorrow there will be more prejudice. Tomorrow the world will still be an ugly, ugly place, and tomorrow someone else will get hurt. But today, Clint is happy. Today his family is happy, his husband is happy, and the job is done.

Tomorrow won't be perfect, but it doesn't have to be. Today is close enough.