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“All right, how much sugar are you going to try to cram into your body?” Bucky asks. Clint gives him an unholy grin and Bucky instantly regrets the question. “Dragă, that was not a challenge.”
“You sure?”
“Clint, seriously. I'm making you French toast and I'm sure you're going to douse yourself in Lucky Charms and coffee. Anything else you want?”
“Geeze, you're being nice to me. Maybe I should get kidnapped more often.”
Bucky flinches. “Oh no. You are not leaving this suite for at least five years. We have a bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, and me. Everything you need.”
“Hey, c'mon, Bucky,” Clint whines. “I can't stay here forever.”
“You can stay more than a few hours before you start talking about getting kidnapped again.”
“Okay, I admit, that was in poor taste. I promise not to get kidnapped again. Now will you feed me?”
“Ugh, how did I get stuck with you? Fine. I'll feed you. C'mere.” Bucky wraps an arm around Clint's shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I love you. Take it easy on me, sweetheart.”
“If I have to.” Clint reaches up to wrap his fingers around the wrist hanging over his shoulder. “But I will, Bucks. Promise. Like, it's easy to joke and pretend I don't have nightmares and stuff. Just gotta think about you a little more. We didn't have this problem before.”
“S'okay,” Bucky reassures him. “I love you even if you joke about my worst fears coming true. Little punk.” He pulls Clint against his side for a moment before ruffling his hair and going to the fridge. “Want anything to drink?”
“Do we have chocolate milk?”
“We do. And I take it you're taking my question as a challenge.”
“...Maybe. But hey, if I have too much then I'll just crash. And you're here for me. So voila. I'm safe and full of caffeine. Nothing about that is bad.”
“I've created a monster,” Bucky grumbles. Still, he sets a tall glass of chocolate milk in front of Clint and takes a sip from his own glass of juice. “Toast should be ready in maybe fifteen minutes.”
“Buuucky, that's forever.” Clint gets up and searches through the pantry, pulling out a box of cocoa puffs. “Now we're talking.” He pours a measure of cereal into his glass, grinning at Bucky when his boyfriend glares at him. “It's not weird, okay?”
Rather than replying, Bucky just rolls his eyes and offers him a spoon. He and Clint have had several conversations over the fact that it is strange that he always eats cereal out of a cup instead of a bowl. Several times he's found Clint with a gas station Big Gulp cup full of cereal instead of soda. Apparently bowls are overrated. Bucky doesn't even try to understand his boyfriend. They love each other and that is what matters, or so he reminds himself when Clint's annoying. It's not like it isn't true.
While Clint chews his cereal, Bucky makes sure the stove is hot enough and starts making the toast. It's a shared favourite, but his priority is feeding Clint, so he won't make enough for both of them before passing a plateful of it to his boyfriend. There's time enough for him to make food for himself while Clint eats. Both of them can pack in a lot of food, and it's not too unusual for one of them to make food for the other, who will snack while the other eats his fill. Usually they finish eating at about the same time.
This morning seems like it won't be any different. Bucky had toweled off and changed into sweatpants after Clint was in the kitchen, so they're dressed similarly, although Bucky is wearing a purple long-sleeved shirt rather than a hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He pulled his hair up in a loose bun, but a few strands are starting to fall out with all the moving around he's been doing. Judging by the way Clint has been plastered to his side for the last half hour as they sit on the couch, the look isn't unappreciated. Even though he's nesting in half a dozen blankets, he seems to prefer to stay at Bucky's side more than anything.
“C'mon, that's so weird,” Bucky protests, gesturing at the television. The cartoon desert landscape is empty for a moment before a long-legged bird darts across the screen, making beeping noises.
“Hey now, don't dis the classics,” Clint retorts, but he's smiling. It wasn't long into their friendship that he took it upon himself to school Bucky on decades of Saturday morning cartoons. Bucky likes most of them well enough, but when Clint's cranky, it's Bucky's favourite habit to whine about the validity of a real life attempt at recreating them. Clint finds it amusing, and gets to share something he likes with his boyfriend. Plus the rambling tangents he goes off on almost certainly distract him from whatever made him moody.
Even though Bucky wishes that Clint would take what happened to him more seriously, he knows better than to try to force the subject. As long as Clint is happy, Bucky is willing to let him do as he likes. He'll be there to laugh with him, and he'll be there when Clint screams himself awake and cries for hours. That's all he can offer until he gets a better idea of how his boyfriend wants to deal with the trauma. All he knows for certain is that there's absolutely no way that Clint is going to get away with ignoring it. Whatever help he needs, he is going to receive it.
So Bucky makes a disgruntled noise as the roadrunner appears again, smirking despite his vocalization when Clint elbows him and kissing the top of Clint's head. His boyfriend is slumped against his side but is mostly keeping his limbs to himself in stark contrast to his usual disregard of personal space. When Bucky offered his hand, however, Clint was happy to hold it in his lap, cupped in both of his own. Bucky already misses their past freedom with each other, but like Clint said, he'd rather go without it indefinitely rather than cause his boyfriend the slightest pain.
As a result, they spend the entire morning on the couch, Bucky heckling the television and Clint heckling Bucky. They break apart for a few minutes around one, Clint going to the bathroom while Bucky scrounges up the makings for sandwiches. He makes half a dozen, bringing them and two tall glasses of soda into the living room. While Clint flops back on the couch, Bucky is in search of their normal stash of cookies and comes back to cock an amused eyebrow.
“You do know that you're in my spot,” he jokes, swatting at Clint's feet. He winces when the blond jerks his feet back a little faster than if they were both joking. “Shit, my bad. I'm just not used to this. Which is ridiculous considering I was where you are for a good six months when Steve first brought me back.”
“Hey, c'mon,” Clint tells him. “What's the worse you've had to deal with from me? Some bitching about broken bones and cliffhangers from my favourite tv shows. This isn't something I have experience with. And it's not something you have experience with, as far as your part in it has changed. I'm not gonna hold it against you. Like I said, I trust you and I love you. Now come sit down and feed me cookies.”
Bucky huffs. “Sandwiches first. And thanks, baby.” He sits down next to Clint and offers him an Oreo. “I'm just scared of doing something wrong,” he can't help but saying.
“Well if you do, at least I have Nat to go to. I trust her as much as I trust you, so I have an advantage over you when you were first here. You didn't like anyone, not even Steve. And if I flip, it'll be easy for you to hold me down if you have to. So you're safe, and you can keep me safe. Problems solved.”
“I'll stop worrying. Or I'll try.”
“Good, cause I was gonna say that there's no way that you can promise that. The only person who worries more or blames himself more than you is Steve.”
“Little punk had to learn it from someone. And I was a year and a half older than him.”
Clint grins. “I hope that's all you taught him.”
“Ooh, you're a mouthy one.” Bucky grins and hooks an ankle over Clint's, pausing half a moment to make sure his boyfriend isn't uncomfortable with the position. “Don't worry, I never fucked Captain America.”
“That is a sentence I never expected to hear.”
“Yeah, well, I'm a man of many surprises. Surprise!”
At his overly cheerful tone, Clint snickers and bumps their shoulders together. “You're a brat, is what you are.”
“Eh.”
“Don't you 'eh' me, Barnes. You are.”
Bucky laughs and puts both arms around Clint. “And I love you, to boot.” Clint sighs and leans into the touch, his head tucking under Bucky's chin. “Do what you like, amant aurit. I'll protect you.”
“Move if you want,” Clint tells him. He still fits under Bucky's arm like he belongs there, even if the nature of their relationship is slightly changed for the moment. Despite his offer, Bucky doesn't attempt to go anywhere. There's not much that could make him leave Clint now. It was made clear that they would both be off duty indefinitely once Clint was found. For now, Bucky intends to stay with Clint and keep him safe. Not much else interests him. When Clint starts dozing off, Bucky carefully removes his glasses and hearing aid, and sets them on the table in front of the couch, but otherwise sits still.
Somehow Clint stays asleep the entire afternoon without nightmares. Bucky isn't sure if he wants to wake him for dinner, but he figures it's best to wake him before any nightmares show. Their sleep schedule is going to be screwed up for months, anyway. Getting peaceful rest while they can is likely going to be the most they can hope for soon enough. Clint wakes up slowly, stirring in Bucky's arms and snuggling closer.
“Buna iubire,” Bucky murmurs in his ear, only barely loudly enough for Clint to hear him clearly.
“Yer fuckin hot when you talk like tha',” Clint mumbles. He tilts his head up so he can rest his chin on Bucky's arm at an angle that let him see Bucky's face.
“Well, thank you. It's about dinnertime. You want your ear in?” Bucky drops his face so that Clint can read his lips.
“Mm, in a minute.” Clint shifts so he can nose against Bucky's chest. He's always been affectionate when he first wakes up, and Bucky won't deny that he is relieved that that hasn't changed. For a brief moment it's almost possible to forget about Clint's two-week absence, and Bucky slumps down a little so that he can pull the blond half into his lap and have them both be comfortable.
“Love ya, babe,” Bucky tells him. He tightens his embrace around Clint's shoulders, smiling a little when the blond curls up half in his lap and grabs a handful of his shirt. The hoodie and sweatpants that he's wearing make him a soft and affectionate armful. Bucky kisses the side of his head, then rests his forehead against Clint's temple. As long as Clint wants to stay here, Bucky will be more than happy to hold him.
“I'm hungry,” Clint mumbles almost half an hour later.
“Do you want me to carry you into the kitchen?” Bucky smiles when Clint reaches up to wrap his arms around his neck in reply. Clint usually gripes when Bucky manhandles him, even if it's gotten him out of danger while in the field or led to some athletic sex. It seems like he likes it better now. Well, Bucky was pretty needy of affection himself when he was recovering, and still is come to think of it. He should probably get used to Clint not wanting to be apart from him.
“All right, hold on,” Bucky tells him. “Gotta get your hearing aid and your glasses.” Once he had the aforementioned items in their proper places, he smiles and taps Clint's nose with his fingertip. Then slides a hand under Clint's knees and one around his back, pausing a moment to glance at Clint's face before standing up and hefting the blond a bit more comfortably in his arms. Even though Clint isn't the lightest thing he's carried, he's not heavy enough that Bucky doesn't want to take his time walking into the kitchen. “Where do you want to sit down?”
“Just drop me off at the kitchen table.”
“Sure thing.” Unlike most of the floors that are all super-modern, most of the stuff in their suite was bought at some kind of flea market. They actually have a kitchen table, a circular, wooden piece with half a dozen matching chairs. Fortunately, they managed to pester Tony and Steve into helping them redesign the kitchen floor plan as they like. As a result the table is in a corner of the room with a bunch of natural light that picks out colours and highlights from the collection of vintage license plates and hubcaps hanging along one wall.
“Thanks,” Clint says, curling his fingers around the neckline of Bucky's shirt. At the halt to his movement, the dark-haired man raises an eyebrow and steadies himself by putting a hand on the table. Clint reaches up and presses a brief kiss to his lips before poking him in the stomach. “Feed me.”
“You know what you remind me of? A baby bird that chirps incessantly in demand of worms.”
“Barnes, if you feed me worms, so help me god-”
At his boyfriend's face, Bucky howls in laughter. “Chill, pui de pasare. No worms for you. I don't know, what do you want?” Since Clint let go of his shirt, he moves over to the fridge/freezer to take a look at their options.
“Pizza, bro. Let's do pizza. Wait, shit, where's my dog?”
“Lucky? Steve took him in while you were gone. You were tired and hurt, so we thought it would be best if we left him there for the night. Didn't need him knocking you over or something.”
Clint pouts at him. “I want my dog.”
“Fine, fine. Jarvis, can you ask Steve to bring Lucky back home?”
“Of course, Sergeant Barnes, it would be my pleasure,” the AI replies.
“J, you're the best,” Clint tells him, giving a thumbs-up to the ceiling.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Agent Barton.”
“Uh, Clint, I forgot to tell you this earlier,” Bucky says, suddenly looking sheepish as he stands in the kitchen with a boxed pizza in both hands. “But you need to go to medical today or tomorrow.”
“What? Why?” Clint's face immediately falls, and Bucky feels like a total jerk for making him unhappy.
“S'not my call, babe. They need to do an x-ray and make sure whatever's broken is going to heal right. And they need to take a blood sample, just to check for any contaminants or anything else out of the ordinary. It'll only take, maybe, fifteen minutes. Come to think of it, if I put a pizza in now, we'll be back up here just in time for it to be done.”
“Please, I don't want to,” Clint whines, making grabby hands at him. Bucky just arches an eyebrow and blows him a kiss, balancing the pizza on one hand. “I wanna stay home with you and eat pizza and get drooled on by the dog and have you kiss me.”
“Lumina mea, it's only fifteen minutes. What's so bad about it, huh?”
“Needles,” Clint mumbles.
“Oh, shit, I didn't even think of that,” Bucky apologizes, setting the pizza down on the counter and coming over. He crouches down in front of Clint, putting a hand on his shoulder and twining the fingers of his other hand with his boyfriend's. “I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm just not used to looking out for people's triggers. We can leave the needlework for later, okay?”
“Pfft, it's not like we can fight off all of the medical team,” Clint points out, rolling his eyes.
“Hey, I'm the Winter Soldier. I can totally fight off all of medical. The southeast corner has a ceiling vent in it, so I can keep people off us while getting you into the vents. You can escape and I'll be left to be dragged down by the rabid dogs of the hospital ward.”
Clint snorts. “I think 'rabid dog' might be a bit of a strong term.”
“Eh. Not really. Those people are such a stickler for pointy things.” Bucky wrinkles his nose and Clint huffs at the look.
“Fine. As long as they keep those pointy things to themselves.”
“That's what she said,” Bucky mutters, and Clint laughs for real.
“You are such a bad influence.”
“Nah. But I do love you more than anything. So you can get shoes on while I put the pizza in the oven, and we'll tell Steve to just leave Lucky here for when we get back. Then we'll come home to dinner and our adorable pet. I'll make sure you eat enough, and we'll both throw pepperoni at the dog instead of pretending we don't see each other feeding him under the table. And if anyone scares you or pisses you off at medical, I will go into full Winter Soldier mode and get you out of there before anyone touches you again. Okay?”
“Okay,” Clint mumbles, glancing down and pouting a little.
“Babe, hey. If you really don't wanna go, then we won't. And I'll still throw pepperoni at Lucky.”
“Rather now than later. I'll just be worrying about it all night.”
“Probably, yeah,” Bucky agrees. “You gonna go get your shoes on?”
“Sure. Wow, look at you, official Clint Wrangler. Maybe we should see if we can get you to work on Tony in your downtime. Get him to act his age for once in his life.”
“Yeah right!” Bucky exclaims. “That man is an incurably immature person. I'm gonna let Steve make him respectable. You are more than enough to keep me happy.” He presses a kiss to the back of Clint's hand. “Now, shoes on, iubit, while I get the pizza in the oven.”
Clint whines and drags his feet (literally, Bucky glares at him to pick up his feet so he won't get rug burn) but comes back a minute later wearing purple and black sneakers. He also plops Bucky's socks and shoes on a chair.
“Thanks, darling,” Bucky says. He balances on foot, yanking a sock on as he sets the stove timer. With everything ready, he puts on his other sock and then both shoes. “Ready to go?” Clint nods but makes a face that shares how much he's not looking forward to this. “Sweetheart, you say one word and I will get you out of there immediately. No matter what.”
“I know, Bucky. Just don't like it. Creepy little bone butchers.”
“C'mon, we don't have to worry about them being Hydra. They'll be all right. I wouldn't hand you over to anyone I wouldn't trust. Or let them work on me.”
“Buck, I was being sarcastic. If I thought there was a chance they were Hydra, I'd make Tony patch me up in his lab.”
“Oh, no, you would not,” Bucky informs him. “Tony's nice, but he's not a doctor. Bruce, if you just have to avoid medical. Seriously, though, I'm gonna be right with you. If those people are stupid enough to go toe-to-toe with the Winter Soldier, then we probably shouldn't have hired them in the first place. Double bonus, since I get to be protective of you and find us some better personnel.”
“Well, when you put it like that, what man can refuse?” Clint asks.
“Not you, I hope.” Bucky puts an arm around his shoulders and steers him into the elevator. “Medical, then dinner, then binge-watching some awful movies and throwing popcorn at the television.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. And we can let the others know I went to medical so they don't keep pestering me about it.”
“Do you want to go to team night this Thursday?”
“Uh, what's today?”
“Tuesday.”
“Yeah, okay. Sounds good. And Sam really likes to feed people when they're sick. Think I can ask him to make that five-cheese mac-n-cheese? With the breadcrumbs on top.”
“Give him one dose of your puppy dog eyes and I'm sure he'll do whatever you ask of him. And if that doesn't work, we can both do it. I'm sure the rest of the team will be happy to get in on it, if required.”
“It's moments like these that prove you're the best boyfriend ever.”
“Eh, what can I say. I try.”
“James Barnes, that's a lot more than trying. You're great.”
The elevator doors opened and the two of them sent matching 'ugh why do we have to do this' looks at the medical wing. Bucky puts a hand between Clint's shoulders and gently pushes him into the area. It doesn't take long before one of the doctors come over and ask them what they need. Since Clint had fallen silent as soon as the doors opened, Bucky takes it upon himself to give a brief rundown of what had happened to Clint and what they were there for.
As everything else in Avengers Tower, the medical wing is full of the best tech available. Since it's a tower belonging to Tony Stark, everything is cutting edge. That doesn't mean Bucky or Clint feel any better about being there, but it's nice to know that Tony has a personal hand in looking over everything. Bucky keeps a hand on Clint's shoulder or back throughout the procedures, fending off everyone who comes near unless the first doctor indicates they're necessary. Even a wounded Avenger is an attraction, especially since both of them go out in the field. Still, Bucky made a promise to keep Clint safe, and he holds to it.
When it comes time for the x-ray, Bucky is made to let go, as much as he dislikes it. He still stands as close as the doctors let him, and once the process is over, Clint goes to him instantly. The doctors put up the x-rays and allow the two of them to take a look.
“Nothing's broken except the fingers,” Clint says before the doctors have a chance. “Only a couple bones cracked. So can I go now?”
“You know how to read x-rays?” Bucky asks, a little surprised. He knows Clint is smart as hell, even with the 'dumb farmboy' guise he generally wears.
“My dad sucked,” Clint mutters, moving to cross his arms. He hisses at the pain of the movement and lets his arms stay at his sides.
“If he comes near you again, I'll kill him,” Bucky informs him, as casually as if he was ordering takeout. The doctor stares at him, a little taken aback, and Bucky only smiles politely. “So I take it that my insanely brilliant boyfriend is right about his injuries. What do you have to do?”
“We'll splint the fingers, wrap his ribs, give him some painkillers. And it looks like he cracked a couple bones in his foot, so he should keep his weight off it. We'll wrap that as well.”
“Aw, c'mon, doc, I'll be fine,” Clint pleads.
“Hush, baby,” Bucky requests, kissing the side of his head. “Let them take care of you. Sooner you're healthy, the sooner I'll start feeling better.”
“I know a much better way of making both of us feel better.”
“Not for a while, bijuterie. Listen to the doctors, okay?”
“What's that one mean?”
“'Jewel',” Bucky murmurs quietly, keeping it private. Clint isn't shy about telling people how much he loves his boyfriend, and usually neither is Bucky, but the quiet phrases in Bucky's native language are something they keep to themselves.
“Well, if that's what I am, they'll certainly have me in a nice casing,” Clint grumbles. Bucky laughs and smooths his hair. Clint's complaining seems to be more for the sake of being a pain than anything else, and Bucky literally holds his hand throughout the entire thing. Once his boyfriend is dealt with, excited that they had purple wraps, Bucky takes the pain meds and promises to make sure Clint takes them as needed.
After that, they're free to go. Clint is limping slightly now, and Bucky is sure he was hurting himself in an attempt to walk normally. Bucky hugs him once they're in the privacy of the elevator, holding him close and reassuring him that everything went all right with the doctors. Most of the residual tension in Clint's shoulders is gone in a few moments. Lucky greets them within seconds when they're back on their floor, which improves both their moods, and Bucky presses a soft kiss to Clint's mouth for a moment before shooing his boyfriend off to deal with his shoes.
“Pizza,” Bucky announces a few minutes later. Both Clint and Lucky turn to look at him expectantly, and Bucky can't help a laugh. “You sure that dog isn't related to you, Barton? The resemblance is uncanny. Cute, blond, and addicted to pizza.”
“Hey, you wish you were this adorable.”
Bucky shakes his head and brings over a tall glass of Clint's ever-loved chocolate milk. At the blond's questioning look, Bucky brandishes the prescription bottle and tips two onto the table next to the glass. “No caffeine or carbonation within an hour of taking your meds. Doctor's orders.” Clint whines about that, but Bucky is firm on the point. Plus, his boyfriend should probably get in all the rest he can so he can heal. The last thing he needs is to be guzzling soda.
They discuss movie choices over dinner, and somehow the discussion ranges into sniper rifles before circling back around to the original topic. And true to Bucky's word, they both feed Lucky from the table shamelessly. Once dinner was over, Bucky gathered up the plates and put them in the dishwasher, leaving it to Clint to fetch the kind of popcorn he wanted. Clint begs his way into getting a bowl of it drizzled with chocolate, but Bucky is firm that none of it be given to Lucky.
Since Bucky left the movie choice to Clint, they end up watching Expendables, mimicking Stallone's accent and yelling at the tv whenever someone does something unlikely. They go through the next two as well, keeping up their habits of screeching like kids at a baseball game. Halfway through the third movie, Clint falls asleep. Bucky watches through the end of the movie just because there's still a little popcorn left over, but at the end of it, he carries Clint back into their bedroom.
Lucky trots in after them, stretching before nudging Bucky's palm. “All right, mutt, gimme a minute.” Once he and Clint are both in bed and he's made sure that Clint will be comfortable, Bucky pats the bed and tsks. Within seconds, his legs are being trampled by ninety pounds of eager dog, and he winces a little. Clint is passed out, and Lucky seems to know not to step on them. He sprawls across the bottom of the bed, heaves out a huge sigh, and closes his eyes. Bucky presses a kiss to Clint's forehead, whispers a quiet I love you, and closes his eyes as well.