242.
“How much of that did you hear?”
There was a slight movement by his foot, but no other acknowledgement. Clint slid down the wall to sit, reaching over with one hand to pet gently, like that was gonna make this any better.
“Look, you gotta know, me and your dad – we love each other, okay? No matter how much we shout, that’s always gonna be…” He sighed, and his hand fell still. “No matter how much I screw up.”
Clint let out a long breath and leaned his head back against the wall.
“‘cos I screwed up, and I can acknowledge that. I do get that. I’m just not -” his chin was rough when he scratched at it: a night on the couch, cleaning up in the guest bathroom. “I’m not so good when people are yelling. Brings out the stubborn, and once that happens I can’t pull it back until we’re done. And I can’t -”
He let the silence tick by for a time.
“Done’s never gonna come from me. Not with your dad. I’ll die before I’m done with him.”
There was a mutter of low swearing from the kitchen, and Clint bit his lip.
“How much of that did you hear?” he said.
“Quit talking to the Roomba, you asshole,” Bucky said, “and come here and kiss me.”
Tag winterhawk
601.
“Uugh.”
Rain was pattering gently against the window, the gentle whistle of wind easing in around the window frame that he meant to get around to replacing any time, now.
The bed was some kinda iron-framed rickety monstrosity that he’d found out in the barn, ‘cos Clint had burned his parents’ bed just as soon as he’d been able to hold an axe again. The patchwork quilt, though, had been one Gammy Francis had made, and he’d choked the washing machine to death on it.
Clint stretched, the springs of the bed clanking out a song that was almost familiar, dragged a little off-key by the additional weight on the poorly-stuffed mattress.
“So what are your thoughts on taking the day?” Clint asked, awkwardly casual but still uncertain enough to ask the ceiling instead of turning to look at his face. “We could ignore the whole responsibilities bullshit, stay in bed, maybe order some crappy pizza from the only place that’ll deliver here…”
There was silence. Silence but for the gentle pitched whistle, the soft patter, the creak of springs as Clint nervously shifted his weight.
“Or not,” he said, forcing his voice into a grin that his face didn’t have to bother with, since apparently no one was interested in looking. “Or we could just pretend that none of this ha- erk!”
A cool metal arm had snaked around his waist and yanked him back from where he’d been edging closer to the edge of the bed, tugging him back under the heavy, faded quilt and rolling him onto his back. Bucky braced himself over him, hair forming a curtain between them and the peeling wallpaper, and the lines between his brows were only formed of barely-awake confusion. They were undermined entirely by the tiny smile on his face.
“Counter-offer,” he said, his voice hoarse and warm in a way that Clint wanted to get familiar with. “We go downstairs, I cook you some eggs, and we curl up on the couch under this blanket while we wait for the functioning goddamn bed you’re gonna order. I keep sleeping on this fuckin’ thing, even my back’s gonna give out.”
“You’re staying, then?” Clint asked, hesitant, and Bucky rolled his eyes and collapsed onto him, burying his face in Clint’s neck and crushing him into the goddamn uncomfortable springs.
586
(For @lissadiane who wanted a sequel to the one where Clint misses his own wedding…)
“What’re their demands?”
Lainey span her seat around, pissed off beyond all measure that yet another asshole was trying to take over her job.
“Look,” she said, keeping a tight rein on her temper, ‘Cos when you were a woman in this profession you could only screw that up once. “If you’d just -“
She stopped, confused. Murder glare, sure; she hadn’t been expecting boutonnières.
“I’m sorry, miss,” an earnest-looking blond said, the ridiculous angle of his jaw somehow familiar. “Bucky’s -“
“Holy shit,” she said helplessly, “you’re Captain America!”
The brunet – who by process of elimination had to be the Winter Soldier, and boy was she glad she hadn’t ripped him a new one – tipped his head back and let out a long slow breath, visibly struggling to stay calm.
“Have you got communication with anyone in the bank?” He asked, his voice low and even.
“Yeah,” she said, “they’ve got an Avenger in there,” she winced, “which obviously you guys know. He was all John McClane for a while there.”
They both blinked at her blankly.
“Er. Hiding? In the vents. They caught him when he broke into some guy’s office and tried to look up the phone number for City Hall.” She smiled a little, friendly. “I mean, most people would’ve gone with the police, but -“
There was a crackling from the radio that stood on Lainey’s desk, and before she could grab it it was wrapped in metal fingers and yanked us to the Soldier’s mouth.
“Hey Lainey?”
“Try again,” he said, through gritted teeth.
“Aaw, Buck?” There was indistinct murmuring in the background, then, “yeah, okay, I’ll tell ‘em, just let me – Bucky, you mad?”
“The only reason I ain’t gonna kill you,” the Soldier said, “is ‘Cos I was anticipating a little longer ‘til ‘death do us part’.”
Hurray!!!! 😀😀 I’ll just have to keep requesting sequels to it, it’s my favourite.
theproblemwithstardust 