Archive of Our Own ^beta

Day one.

When Bucky Barnes arrives at Steve Rogers’ building, he stops on the sidewalk, takes a deep breath and looks up at the converted brownstone, a wide grin curling his mouth from ear to ear.

He’s finally home.

He’s planning on standing there on the midday warm sidewalk, basking in the sunlight and the knowledge he’s finally here, but only thirty seconds in and his indie slash possibly rom-com film moment is ruined by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He sets his kit bag down and frees it from the back pocket of his new jeans - which Steve will say are too tight but fuck that, Steve is just jealous that Bucky has a better ass -  and finds a text from Steve. Of course it’s a text from Steve. One, because he has no other friends, and two because Steve is just infuriating.

Stop staring and come up.

He slowly texts back; slow is the only way he can text when he’s only got a single thumb to use.

Stop watching me from the window you creeper.

He shoves his phone away and stands there in the warm spring sunlight for another full minute, just to really wind Steve up. He doesn’t put it past Steve to fling open a window and starting yelling though, so he keeps it at a minute and then bends down to grab his bag, heading out of the sun and into the cool shade of the building.

Everything takes so long with one arm, he mentally grouches as he has to put down his bag to enter the building code. Too long and too awkward; he’s too clumsy without his left, even though he’s been right handed since forever. He gets the code in, pushes the door open, and is almost knocked over backwards by a Labrador that appears from no-where and runs right out past him into the street, barking loudly. It vanishes along the sidewalk, and Bucky stands there, mystified.

“Hello?”  he calls into the building, but gets no answer. He kind of feels bad leaving the dog out there, but he’s got a best friend to see and an apartment to take over, so the dog isn’t exactly a priority.

When he finally makes it up the stairs, thankfully without encountering any more wild dogs, Steve is there to throw open the apartment door before he can start to figure out how he’s gonna be able to open it with what looks like a simultaneous key and handle turn.

“Bucky!”

He’s enveloped in a bear hug like he didn’t just see Steve last week when they were planning this entire dumb idea. “Move in with me,” Steve had said on a whim, bright eyed and earnest. “I got the space, I could use a friend, come on Buck, it’ll be just like old times. You ain’t gotta stay all the way out in Washington now your PT is done, come on.” Bucky hadn’t said it out loud, but he’d allowed himself to willingly fall hook line and sinker for the act, craving something that felt like home so much it felt like stomach ache.

With Steve, it’s probably not so much of an act, anyway.

“Is that all the stuff you have?” Steve is asking, pushing him into the probably-too-small-for-two-grown-men-and-their-emotional-baggage apartment and making him sit down at the table. “How was the trip? Did you have something to eat on the way? When did you last get some sleep, did you remember to take your meds-”

“Steve.” Bucky says clearly and a little impatiently. “Please breathe before you give yourself an asthma attack.”

“Haven’t had one in years,” Steve grins, all bright eyed and pink cheeked like he’s been out running or something equally as healthy and hellish. “Sorry. I’m excited.”

“Me too,” Bucky says honestly. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Steve nods. “It’s gonna be different here,” he says, a note of warning in his voice. “Busier. Louder. If it gets too much, you have to-”

“Aw, Stevie, don’t,” Bucky protests, scrunching up his face. “It’s been five years. I’m fine.”

“Five years of recovering,” Steve says pointedly. “A year ago you were still having nightmares and sleeping with a kitchen knife under your pillow.”

“That was a year ago, I’ve downgraded to a pocket-knife now,” Bucky says, and hastily backtracks at Steve’s distressed expression. “Steve, I'm kidding. The PT worked wonders. The shrinks did a great job. Yeah, I’m still a little rough around the edges, and I’m never going to be the old me, but I’m okay.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, looking down at the table, and then he smiles. “Old you was a jerk.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but I think new me is too,” Bucky says with an apologetic shrug.

Steve snorts with laughter at that, getting up and heading  for the refrigerator. He swings it open and Bucky sees it’s crammed full of food. Some of it’s healthy stuff, but of course Steve is a bastard who can uphold his physique while half-assing a diet and eating a tub of Ben and Jerry’s every other night. “What do you want to do today?”

“Unpack my worldly possessions,” Bucky says, gesturing to the kit bag, and Steve huffs out a laugh. He looks around the main room of the apartment, looking at the battered old couch and the TV and the bookcase with the bowing shelves. There’s art on the walls too, depictions of the city that Bucky can actually recognize - none of that abstract shit that Steve used to try and get him to understand. There’s a sketchbook on the table in front of him; he flips it open and tilts his head as he looks at the sketches inside, all of people that Bucky doesn’t know.

“Anything else?”

“What, you mean you haven’t planned me a welcome party?” Bucky says, distracted as he looks at the sketches. A woman with curly hair, a man with sunglasses and a sharp goatee.

“No?” Steve says, the word lilting like a question. “I didn’t think you’d be up for it.”

“Steve!” Bucky exclaims, slapping the sketchbook shut. “Come on, you know me better than that.”

“You just said yourself you’re not the same.”

“But I’m not some sort of hermit anymore either!” Bucky says. “I’m up for anything. A party. A bar crawl. A strip club. An orgy.”

“You’re overcompensating,” Steve accuses.

Well, Steve’s got him there. “Yeah,” Bucky says with a wry smile. “I just don’t want you to treat me like I’m broken anymore.”

“Can’t promise anything,” Steve says. “I thought I lost you once, I’m not going to let you get hurt again, am I?”

Bucky just stares at him. “If you’re going to talk about feelings then I’m going to claim the bigger room.”

Steve rears back, indignant. “I’m already in the bigger room!”

“Well then stop talking about feelings.”

Steve huffs. “You’re right. You’re still a jerk.”

Bucky grins, showing teeth. “A jerk who needs his best friend to plan him a welcome back to town party.”

“Alright, but not tonight,” Steve finally concedes. “It’s too short notice. I’ve got the night off, we can stay in.”

“Were you meant to have the night off?” Bucky asks, suspicious. “I told you not to move shit around for me-”

“No, tonight was always supposed to be my night off,” Steve says, and he’s still an awful liar. Bucky would call him out on it but he’s wiped from travelling, and Steve is still a stubborn son of a bitch who won’t admit he’s lying until under extreme duress.

“If I’m a jerk then you’re a liar.”

Steve just shrugs. “I can live with that.”

All settled into the smaller room, Bucky stares at the ceiling, single hand resting on his chest and fingers drumming against his sternum. It’s almost midnight, and the apartment is quiet, bathed in soft grey light and tinged orange from the street outside. He can hear the bustle of the city beyond the window and he’s glad for it; too much silence makes him twitchy these days.

He breathes out deep and closes his eyes, mouth still curved into a smile as he slips into sleep.

Day two

Bucky wakes with a gasp and a flail, disoriented. He tries to reach out with both hands and has a brief awful moment of confusion when he can’t, and then all the pieces fall into place.

Right. He’s only got one arm because he lost the other when being blown up by an IED, and he’s also not in his house in Washington anymore because he’s moved back to Brooklyn and is now living with Steve.

He jerks his head up off his pillow as he hears a banging from beyond the bedroom door.  There's a creak of tired wood: the sound of another door opening. Footsteps and Steve’s deep voice as the main apartment door is opened with a rattle of locks and the unused chain. A brief conversation, and then a soft thud.

Feet bare on the rough carpet, Bucky edges step by shuffling step to his door and cracks it open, scanning. Just as he thought, the main apartment door is closed again. Steve is there, shirtless and in sweats, yawning and puttering around the tiny galley kitchen.

“Steve?”

“Oh, hey Buck,” Steve says. His hair is a disaster. Defying gravity. “Uh, sorry if that woke you. The guy from across the hall wanted to borrow some cereal.”

“Borrow some cereal? What, he’ll give it back later?” Bucky edges more fully out of the room, sniffing the air obviously and hopefully. “You making coffee?”

Steve looks appalled. “You expect me to get up and not have coffee?”

Bucky laughs at that. “Count me in, pal.”

Steve just pins him with a look. “Is this you starting a trend of being lazy? Make your own.”

Bucky splays his remaining hand over his heart. “With one arm? What if I scald myself, or drop the coffee, or don't stir it right-”

Steve’s look goes flat. “That isn’t funny.”

Bucky’s mouth twitches. “Is a little bit?”

Steve sighs, put-out. “Sit down, I’ll make your damn coffee.”

Bucky waits until Steve’s back is turned and his attention is on the coffee maker before he allows himself a victory fist-pump.

Day four

The next time there comes a banging on the door in the ungodly hour that is before breakfast, Bucky is awake for it, sitting on the couch and cradling a cup of coffee to his chest. Unfortunately, he’s also alone. Steve left not ten minutes ago, already bitching and moaning about the amount of paperwork he’s going to have to do. He much prefers being out in his cruiser, playing good-cop with admirable determination. He’s like some sort of all American hero, not that he appreciates it when Bucky tells him that.

Well. Steve might think that Bucky isn’t ready for huge amounts of social interaction - Bucky still isn’t over the fact Steve didn’t throw him a welcome back party - but Bucky is on it. Ready to make new friends, ready to show off just how easy he finds talking to other people these days, ready to show the him from three years ago just how far he can make it.

And Steve isn’t here, so Steve can suck it.

The banging on the door starts again. “Steve! I’m having a juice emergency, let me in!”

Bucky pushes himself up over the sofa and strides over to the door. He peers through the peep-hole and sees a sandy-haired figure wearing sweats and an inside-out purple T-shirt, holding on to what looks like a walkie-talkie. Behind him, the door to apartment 5B is wide open.

Curious, Bucky leans back and slowly opens the door. The man looks up, exasperation quickly turning startled as he comes face to face with Bucky.

“Uh, hi,” the man says, looking back and around the landing like he could somehow have gotten lost between his door and Steve’s. Bucky spots purple hearing aids tucked behind the man’s ears and files the observation away. “I’m looking for Steve?”

“He went to work,” Bucky says, eyeing the stranger. Up close he’s incredibly good looking; a handsome face, strong shoulders and arms, bright eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Bucky allows himself a long look up and down, and then - only a little deliberately, it’s not like he’s got a pathological need to flirt with everyone he thinks is hot - leans his shoulder against the doorjamb and smiles, slow and lazy like. “Hi.”

“Are you…um, wow. Sorry,” the man says, taking a step back and clutching the walkie-talkie in one hand. He looks Bucky up and down, all the way from his probably epic bed-head down his bare chest and down the threadbare pajama bottoms that actually belong to Steve because Bucky doesn’t own any and forgot that being naked all the time wasn't acceptable when sharing an apartment with someone.

“Steve doesn’t normally do – um, I have a key if you need to leave? And a shirt if you don’t want to take Steve’s clothes? Unless you like wearing Steve’s clothes, oh man Clint, will you shut up.”

It takes Bucky a moment to cotton on to the fact that this man – Clint, if he is actually telling himself to shut up in the third person -  thinks he’s some sort of one-night stand of Steve’s. Which is both hilarious and horrifying.

“I’m not!” he says, and then winces, because he’s smoother than this, come on. “I’m Bucky,” he says. “A friend of Steve’s from way back. I moved in a few days ago.”

Clint’s jaw drops. “You’re Bucky?” he demands. “Oh man. With the amount Steve goes on about you – and he just moved you in without a word? The sneaky bastard.”

Steve being a sneaky bastard is news to Bucky; apparently Steve can lie to other people, just not him or his mother. Lying and sneaking aside, it’s kinda nice to hear that Steve’s been talking him up to his friends. Well, he hopes Steve has been talking him up and not going on about his poor, PTSD-ridden, one-armed best pal who needs to be looked after and wrapped in cotton wool.

“All good, I hope?”

Clint is about to open his mouth again when there’s an almighty shriek from inside the apartment, and a corresponding burst of noise from what Bucky can now see isn’t just a walkie-talkie but a monitor of some sort, with a video screen embedded in the center. He peers over, but can't see the feed.

“Ah, shit,” Clint says, glancing back over his shoulder and looking pained. “Give me some orange juice, quick.”

Bucky doesn’t argue. He just pads back into the apartment and checks the refrigerator; there’s only one carton but he hands it over without question or comment.

“Thanks,” Clint says, and then he’s gone, vanishing back into his own apartment and kicking the door closed.

Bucky stares at the closed door for a moment and then shrugs, retreating back into his own and locking the door behind him.

“I met your neighbor,” Bucky tells Steve when they’re eating dinner later. Steve is still in his uniform, and Bucky still isn’t dressed. “He came and took your OJ.”

Steve nods, mouthful of pizza.

“He said you haven’t told anyone I was moving in.”

Steve shrugs, slowly chewing.

“He also mistook me for a one-night stand of yours.”

That at least makes Steve choke on his ham and pineapple.

Day five.

This morning, it’s apple juice that hot-neighbor-Clint comes to steal from the refrigerator. “Apparently orange isn’t good enough this morning,” he bitches, and turns on his heel before Bucky can even formulate a ‘huh?’

Day seven.

It takes Steve a week to relent and concede that Bucky is not going to have nightmares or flashbacks or dissociation issues the moment he steps foot outside the apartment. After a solid hour of “please can we get out of the apartment, for god’s sake, Steve. It’s Brooklyn, we grew up here, can we at least go for a beer. Fort Hall is still there, let’s go.”

Steve agrees, mostly because Bucky is like a dog with a bone and won't let the matter lie. He relents after half an hour of persuasion and repeated reminders about the lack of welcome party, but Bucky can tell that he's still worried. He ignores The Look, deciding to just go out and show Steve that he’s fine.

It works wonderfully. They have beers, play pool, eat burgers, chat to some of the locals and drink more beer. As more time passes without Bucky having a breakdown, Steve becomes more relaxed and stops hovering right at his side and looking nervously at him every three seconds. It gets to the point where Steve even seems to be enjoying himself rather than just being babysitter, laughing and joking almost like old times.

In fact it's going so well that Bucky really should have seen it coming. It seems to be a typical pattern for his life; things go well for a while and then something inevitably appears to fuck him over and send him on a prompt downward trajectory.

On this occasion it's the combination of a clumsy patron and some bad timing on Bucky’s part. He comes out of the bathroom just as a tray of glasses is accidentally sent crashing to the floor, the noise jarring and loud. He throws his arm up over his face and freezes, thinking the worst, and even when the initial shock passes and he processes that everything is fine and they’re safe, he finds he can't move a single step.

Luckily, he's only stranded for about thirty seconds before Steve wanders over, one eyebrow raised in question.

“What are you doing?”  he asks, thankfully more curious than concerned. He rests a shoulder against the wall right next to the door and casually crosses his arms across his chest, like standing and having a conversation with your buddy who is frozen in the bathroom doorway is completely normal.

“Uh,  I think I'm stuck,”  Bucky admits.

Steve nods. “The noise?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, ridiculously grateful that Steve gets it and isn’t being all ‘told you so’ . “Kinda worried about where I'm steppin’.”

“No IED’s here Buck,” Steve tells him, voice low and understanding.

“Yeah I know,”  Bucky replies with a resigned sigh, eyes scanning the floor in front of him. “But I'm drunk and my brain is ridiculous.”

Steve is silent for a moment, and then simply says, “time to go?”

“Are you going to give me shit about this?”  Bucky asks. “If you are I’d rather stay here all night.”

“Nah,”  Steve replies. “You’ll probably give yourself a hard time about it anyway. Don't need me doing it too.”

And that’s why Steve is his best friend. “Okay,” Bucky says. “Yeah, time to go then.”

Steve doesn't give him time to wonder how he's going to move; He simply steps forward and lifts Bucky up in a fireman's lift. Bucky wraps his fingers around Steve’s belt and nods at the group of women who are watching them curiously.

“He’ll put you on his shoulders too if you ask nice,” he calls, and Steve smacks the back of his thigh, making him yelp.

The women all start laughing. Bucky grins at them, lifting his chin. “You have to ask real nice for that,” he calls with a wink, and the sound of their laughter follows him out of the bar onto the muggy air of the sidewalk.

“Christ, Buck. What am I going to do with you?” Steve asks, though he’s smiling, Bucky can tell.

“Carry me home?” Bucky suggests.

Steve does.

Day eight

Bucky wakes up the wrong way around in his bed with a pounding headache and an awful taste in his mouth and a post-it note on his head that says ‘advil in the bathroom TAKE TWO I’ve counted them.’ Rolling his eyes hurts but he does it anyway, screwing the note up and crawling his way out of bed and to the bathroom.

After a shower, two cups of coffee and three advil because fuck off Stevie, that’s why, Bucky is feeling slightly more human. He’s craving fresh air and a fresh glass of juice though, and the last of their OJ has vanished.

Hangover be damned, he decides that he’s going to prove a point - the exact premise of which he’ll decide later - by walking the four hundred yards to the local store to buy juice. He texts Steve to tell him what he’s doing, gets a TAKE IT EASY, a thumbs up and six smiley face emojis in return.

He almost makes it out of the apartment without any hassle. As he walks down the steps he once again comes precariously close to being knocked over by the labrador that this time comes rushing in to the building, barking madly. He’s pretty sure it’s the same one from before, but decides that it’s maybe best left alone.

The rest of the trip is uneventful. He has his cap pulled down low over his eyes, his hair pushed back underneath, and no-one spares him so much as a second glance. He’s oddly relieved to get to the store, stepping inside and nodding at the girl behind the counter. She smiles back, eyes lowering as she looks up at him through her lashes and Bucky’s mouth twitches. He doesn’t flirt back though; he’s got other fish to fry this morning.

He heads towards the back, fully in mission mode. Get juice, he keeps saying into his own head. Pay for juice. Go home. The store has a few other people in; he can hear some kids kicking up a fuss an aisle over, but they won’t interfere with the get juice pay for juice go home mission.

Until they obviously do.

He rounds the corner to find the chilled drinks cabinet, just as he hears an almighty scream and a male voice shouting, “Frank, don’t you dare!”

One of the rowdy toddlers is inside the cabinet, crouched down below the shelf of juice that Bucky needs, pulling faces through the glass. The other two toddlers seem to have picked that exact moment to fly at each other, rolling around on the floor and fighting over what seems to be a bright pink pacifier. All three of the toddlers look frighteningly similar, and the man with them gives up on the toddler in the cabinet and bends down to haul one of them up off the floor-

It’s hot-neighbor-Clint from 5b.

“Are you actually kidding me?” he says, tucking one unruly child under one of his strong arms, too busy with his horde of small blond children to notice Bucky. “Hunter, that’s Cooper’s binky for god's sake, yours is in the bag. Give it back, or I swear to god I’ll throw them all in the trash.”

The toddler addressed as Hunter throws the pacifier back at the other and then starts to cry. He shouts something through his tears at the other boy who tries to swipe at him again, stopped only by Clint throwing out a hand to hold him back. Clint looks from one boy to the other and then at the one still in the chilled cabinet and then says a few choice words that are probably not meant for small ears.

Ah shit.

Bucky is clearly a madman, because instead of hightailing it out of the shop he stays exactly where he is for a second, and then starts to walk over towards the mayhem. He blames it on Clint’s face; walking away from something that good looking is probably a felony.

“Clint?”

Clint’s head snaps up in surprise and then and he grimaces. “Oh, hey Bucky,” he says, still half crouched and holding one kid up with an arm around his middle, holding the other one back with a hand on his chest. “Sorry, this is kind of – yeah. These are my kids. They’re awful and I’m going to send them to the pound.”

“They’re your kids?” Bucky asks, a little thrown. “All of them?”

“What, you missed the part where they all look exactly like me? This is Hunter and Cooper, and the one about to turn into a popsicle is Frank,” Clint says, and then jerks his head towards the backpack that’s been abandoned on the floor next to a shopping cart. “Go in the front pouch of my bag and find me a pacifier, will you?”

Bucky obliges, handing over the yellow pacifier to Clint who passes it to Hunter. Hunter takes it with a tearful ‘mine’ and buries his face in Clint’s leg, sobbing.

“You got what you wanted, why are you still crying?” Clint implores, and then quickly lifts Hunter up and drops him into the cart. He ducks down, grabs the end of the baby-reins that are attached to Cooper and holds them out to Bucky expectantly.

“Just for a moment,” he says, and Bucky nods and takes the ends of the reins a little apprehensively.  The kid just stands there watching him with wide grey eyes, face tear-streaked. He doesn’t make a run for it though, which Bucky is relieved about.

“Hi,” Bucky says, and the kid turns away and hides his face in the back of Clint’s leg. Bucky just shrugs.

“You,” Clint says, pulling open the door to the cabinet. “You are so busted.”

“No,” Frank says earnestly, small face tipped up towards Clint. “Hide.”

“Busted,” Clint repeats firmly. “You’re going on the shoulders of shame.”

“Nooooo,” Frank repeats, slumping down dramatically as Hunter stand up in the cart, tears suddenly gone and replaced by a decidedly more gleeful expression.

“Thame!”

“Hunter, sit down,” Clint says without looking around and Hunter obediently drops back down to sit in the cart. Clint reaches into the cabinet and lifts Frank out, swinging him up and sitting him on his shoulders.

“Shoulders of shame are for boys who can’t be trusted at ground level,” Clint explains to Bucky, as Frank sulkily pouts and clamps small palms to Clint’s head. Clint reaches for Cooper’s reins and loops them around his wrist, nodding gratefully at Bucky as he does.

“Man, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Right place, right time, I guess,” Bucky says. His eyes track over Clint’s face again and he aches to say something, to throw a line out or smile like the girl at the counter did at him. However he can’t; Clint is preoccupied with the boys, gently stroking a hand over the one in the cart’s head, baby-soft hair sifting between his fingers. Temporarily stymied, Bucky bends down to pick up Clint’s backpack, slipping it onto his shoulder and then reaches into the cabinet to grab his juice. Part one accomplished.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you wanted to land smack bang in the middle of grocery store hell,” Clint says. In the cart, Hunter is now babbling happily around his pacifier to Cooper, who stands by Clint’s leg and listens intently.

“I didn't know you had kids,” Bucky says. “Actually, I only know that you're called Clint and you steal juice.”

“I don't steal juice, I borrow juice, I always return with new juice,” Clint says defensively. “When you're a single dad with three animals to raise, you can judge me for taking juice.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, holding up his hand to try and pacify, even as his brain lights up with a ping at the word single . “I'm sorry. I just meant, I don't know anything about you.”

“So Steve hasn't been filling your head? He's told us plenty about you,” Clint says as he reaches back into the cabinet to pull out a few cartons of juice. Apparently Frank is well used to balancing atop Clint's shoulders; Clint holds onto Frank's ankle with just one hand, using the other to pass the juice to Hunter who drops them into the cart, shouting “One, two, three,” as he does. He's not quite got the hang of all his sounds yet, so the three comes out as more of a 'tee.' Still, it's a good effort.

“Good counting,” Clint says far too happily for a man with three kids. Hunter beams at him. “Shall we go find bread?”

“No,” Hunter says.

“No,” Frank echoes from atop Clint's shoulders.

“Teb,” Cooper concludes.

“Well tough, we need bread,” Clint says, and starts to push the cart forwards before belatedly turning back to Bucky and holding a hand out for his backpack. “Thanks for the help.”

Bucky shrugs, but doesn't hand it over. He doesn’t want to walk away yet; he’ll be damned if he doesn't get at least some interaction in with Clint that will be clearly read as ‘ I think you’re totally rocking the hot-dad thing.’ “You want a help with the bread? In case there's any more fistfights or hiding?”

“Okay, I know what that looked like, but I can manage,” Clint starts, back to sounding defensive.

Bucky shrugs again. “I know,” he says. “We're neighbors. I can help. Just don't go asking me to babysit or nothin'.”

Clint laughs, and looks around at the boys and then back up, a small smile on his mouth. “Alright. You're on. Just watch out for that one,” he says, pointing at Hunter. “He bites.”

Hunter beams at him, tongue sticking out between his teeth as he bobs up and down in the cart.

“You're joking, right?” Bucky asks as Clint heads off down the aisle.

“Mostly,” Clint calls back.

What the fuck , is all Bucky can think. He shakes his head, then hitches up the backpack and follows.    

“So, you wanna come in for a coffee?” Clint shouts over the noise from the kids, who are all circling around his legs and threatening to trip him up in the tangle of reins that are becoming wound around his calves. In an impressive display of balance, he leans over and shoves open the door to his apartment, letting go of the ends of the reins and hussling the three boys in. Once they're each untangled, they run in screaming and shouting, and Bucky hears a thud, a shriek and then the sound of an obnoxiously loud theme tune playing from somewhere within.

Bucky is frankly amazed that they managed to get the rest of the shopping done and the kids back to the building without any death or destruction. He'd been given Cooper's reins to hold onto but the kid had wailed like a banshee, so he'd quickly swapped for a couple of shopping bags, shrugging off Clint's apology.

Bucky looks over his shoulder to his apartment, and then back at Clint and the kids. In the back of his mind is a vague thought that Steve is going to warn him off, but Bucky decides he’s going to go for it anyway - it being sleeping with the hot neighbor.

Three years ago and he’d never have even contemplated getting involved with someone, even casually. But now, he’s of the attitude that if he finds something or someone who makes him happy, he’s going to grab onto it with both both hands and enjoy it before it inevitably goes south.

Well, with one hand.

If Clint were sans progeny, he’d already have said yes so fast it would probably give him whiplash. The presence of three boisterous children is admittedly something Bucky has never had to cope with or even contemplate, and it is going to be a slight snag in his ‘hooking up with the neighbor for casual sex’ plan. It’s already well and truly wrecked his usual flirting routine.

Well, never let it be said that Bucky Barnes backs down from a challenge. Must be his inner Steve kicking in or something.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky says, and it makes it worth it when Clint smiles brightly as if he weren’t expecting the yes. “Though you’ll have to make it for me, or not tell Steve that I make it myself. At the minute I’ve got him doing it for me, because I just don’t know how I can possibly manage it with only one arm.”

Clint bursts into laughter at that. “You are terrible,” he says. “But winding up Steve is like one of my favorite things to do, so I kinda approve.”

He gestures into the apartment, and Bucky steps inside. It’s the same layout as his and Steve’s but mirrored, and turns out to be an obvious combination of ‘man’ and ‘children have taken over.’ Stacks of DVD’s alternate between horror flicks and Disney; a set of hand weights sit next to a huge pile of washing; pictures on the walls are mass-produced art prints and attempts at finger painting; the floor is littered with abandoned sneakers and toys.

One of the boys is sitting on the couch, driving toy cars over the cushions; the other two are on the floor, both kneeling next to an Ipad that is making an obscene amount of noise, prodding at it with small fingers.

“Good sharing,” Clint calls, and both boys grin up at him before carrying on. Clint makes quick work of packing the groceries away and simultaneously making coffee, and Bucky is soon sat at his kitchen table, sipping from a ‘ world’s best dad ’ mug.

“Nice multitasking,” Bucky remarks.

Clint laughs shortly, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up onto the table. “Necessary skill when you’re single dad to three hellions.”

“Single as in single adult responsible for kids or single as in single?” Bucky asks before he can help himself.

“Why, you interested?” Clint laughs, shaking his head and clearly meaning it as a joke. One of the boys shouts him and he pulls his feet down to reach for them as they run over, finger extended and wounded expression in place. “Aw, buddy, I’m sorry,” he says, and presses a kiss to the injured finger. “You need a band-aid or are you being brave?”

“Brave,” the boy sighs, and pushes in between Clint’s knees to slump against him, face mashed against his shirt.

“Alright then,” Clint says, resting his cheek atop the boy’s head for a moment before switching back to his conversation with Bucky like there wasn't a toddler based intermission. “Single in all aspects of the word. Don’t have time for no-one but the boys.”

“You’ve got time for me now,” Bucky says and Clint laughs again, eyes bright. It would almost count as a moment, but before Bucky can make the most of it, a second kid turns up, trying to pull the first out the way. Clint seamlessly hauls him up onto a knee, nosily kissing his cheek and making him giggle. Small arms reach back and wrap around Clint’s neck, and as Clint settles a gentle palm on the kid’s belly to keep him steady, Bucky wonders if Clint ever gets more than three seconds to himself with the triplets around.

“Yeah,” Clint says, smiling slow and wide and his eyes finally flicking back up to meet Bucky’s. “Guess I do.”  

Bucky can't sleep. He gives up after two hours of staring at his ceiling, padding across the hall into Steve's room and flopping down on his back to stare at Steve's instead. Under the blankets, Steve stirs and makes a vague noise of question that's almost Bucky's name.

“You didn't tell me Clint had kids.”

Steve yawns, rubbing at his eye with his fingertips. “Thought they might scare you off.”

“They were causing chaos in the grocery store when I went to go and get juice.”

Steve grins in the darkness, a smile that is fond and speaks volumes about Steve's friendship with his neighbors. “Of course they were.”

Bucky breathes in and out slowly, rubs at his shoulder and the stump of his arm. “You didn’t tell me he was super hot, either.”

Suddenly a lot more alert, Steve lifts his head from his pillow. “Bucky, no. ”

“What?”

“Do not try and sleep with the neighbor.”

“Imma sleep with the neighbor.”

Steve nudges him forcefully with a blanket covered knee. “You can’t .”

“Why not?” Bucky demands. “You should be happy for me, reclaiming your sex life can be a milestone for PTSD sufferers.”

“I do not want to know about your sex life!” Steve protests, sounding pained. “But seriously, Buck. Don’t sleep with the neighbor. If it doesn’t set you off - and don’t make that noise at me, you know you’ve got issues with intimacy - then you’ll make things awkward if he goes wrong because he lives right across the hall, and you’ll make things awkward with one of my friends. And he’s got three kids.”  

Bucky mulls that over. “Imma sleep with the neighbor.”

“For christ’s sake, Buck!”

“I heard you, I heard you. But have you considered that I’ve moved past my issues with intimacy and it would really make me feel better to do something fun? And maybe he’ll appreciate being able to get laid with minimal effort. Can’t be easy for a single dad to get out and get some, right?”

Steve replies by hitting him with a pillow. A token feathery protest.  “I want it on record that I said no, I think it’s a dumb idea.”

“Duly noted,” Bucky says, and takes the pillow that Steve hit him with. He pulls it down under his cheek, closes his eyes and smiles tiredly as Steve bitches and grumbles, and then he's sliding effortlessly into sleep.

Day twelve

Bucky is at the table digging his way through his third plate of lasagna - god bless the recipes of Sarah Rogers - when the apartment door bangs open. He tenses, ready to react, but all that appears is a decidedly naked toddler.

“TEETH!” the boy shrieks – Bucky can't tell which one it is – and Steve appears out of his bedroom, tucking his shirt in and looking concerned.

“Frank, what's up buddy?” he asks, and the kid runs across the room and launches himself at Steve. He's quickly scooped up and held easily by one massive arm, and he winds an arm around Steve's neck. Bucky watches, intrigued; he knows by now that Steve is close to Clint and the boys, but seeing the easy way with which Steve interacts with the small-Barton is oddly charming.

“No, Daddy!” he says, pointing back through the open door, sounding utterly wounded. “No!”

Even as he says it, Clint appears in the doorway, a boy on each hip and a towel wrapped around his waist. Bucky's brain short-circuits at the sight of Clint's six-pack and muscled shoulders; he's not exactly built like Steve but Clint is still obviously fitter than Bucky expected a single dad with triplets to be.

“Ah,” Steve says. “Bathtime, huh?”

“No,” Frank says, sounding betrayed, turning big eyes on Clint. “No, Daddy, no.”

“Yes, Frank, yes,” Clint replies. “You haven't had a bath in days. You stink. There is peanut butter in your ear. Natasha won't come and babysit you if you're a mess.”

“Tatha,” one of the other boys says.

“Yes, Tasha and Sam are coming down to babysit while I go out and do grown up things,” Clint says.

Stay in and do me instead, Bucky silently implores, eyes glued to Clint’s abs.

“Teeth?” Frank asks hopefully.

“Sorry, I gotta go to work,” Steve says, and he looks honest to god disappointed that he can’t spend his evening helping to babysit a bunch of two-year olds. “Gotta go catch bad guys.”

“No,” Frank whines. “No, Daddy.”

“I will sell you to the circus,” Clint informs him, and Frank starts to giggle. “How about Steve puts you in the bath, and then we'll take it from there?”

“Yeah,” Frank says, and Clint looks at Steve hopefully. Steve just smiles and nods, following Clint out of the apartment. He returns a few minutes later, dark spots of water all over his neatly pressed navy shirt.

“I’m in love with his abs,” Bucky announces immediately and Steve shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I’m still standing by the ‘don’t sleep with the neighbor’ rule.”

“But Steve, did you not see the abs.”

“I have abs,” Steve points out unhelpfully.

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “Uh, gross. Sorry, Steve. Sleeping with you would be like incest.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve concedes with an easy shrug. “I just don’t want you getting in over your head. Especially with a guy that has three children who spend most of their time making loud unpredictable noises.”

Bucky sighs. “But his abs, Steve.”

Steve throws up his hands and officially gives up.

Day Sixteen

It’s almost a week later when Bucky sees Clint and the boys again. He’s feeling pretty good about himself; the night before he’d gone out with Steve for burgers - no beer - and had dealt with the unfamiliar environment easily, no freezing in bathroom doorways and making an idiot out of himself.

He’s just out of the shower himself, in sweatpants and odd socks, trying to tug a brush through his hair and wondering if he should get it cut, when the door bangs open and a small figure pelts in. He’s all ungainly toddler limbs and flailing, but thankfully the kid is clothed today.

“Teeth!” he shouts, and then looks at Bucky suspiciously.

“Steve’s not here, buddy,” Bucky says, standing very still and wondering if the kid can understand him. “He’s at work.”

“No, Teeth, no!” the kid shouts and then runs straight into Bucky’s bedroom, the door banging loudly against the plaster behind.

“Whoa!” Bucky immediately steps after the boy. A startled laugh is punched out of him as the boy tries to push the door closed on him, wedging Bucky between it and the door frame. Bucky just stands there patiently and waits for the kid to stop exerting all his effort against the door, looking up at Bucky with a wobbly glare.

“I am much stronger than you,” Bucky tells him. “And this is my door, you don’t get to shut me out.”

“No!” the boy shouts and backs away from the door, stamping his feet. “Teeth!” He drops to the floor, rolling over and making a show of almost-crying.

“Where’s your dad?” Bucky asks slowly.

“No, Daddy no, Daddy Tooper,” comes the reply, along with small heels thudding back against the carpet.

“What?” Bucky asks, perplexed.

“Daddy Tooper. ”  

“Your Dad is with Cooper?” Bucky translates and gets a nod. “Okay, which means you are Frank or Hunter. Frank?” He gets more vigorous nodding. “Okay, Frank. I’m Bucky.”

“No, Bucky! Teeth. ”

Bucky is a little taken aback by the clarity with which his name comes out. What he’s not so surprised about is that Frank is shouting no at him.

“He’s at work,” Bucky says, and sits down cross legged on the floor next to Frank. On a whim, he reaches over to his bedside table and picks up his phone. “You wanna see a picture of Steve looking silly?”

Frank whines but doesn’t say no. Bucky unlocks his phone and thumbs to the gallery, quickly finding the picture of Steve with bed-head that could almost rival Bucky’s. “Look,” he says to Frank. “This is Steve when he woke up.”

Frank looks at the picture and then grins, all screwed up eyes and tongue sticking out between his teeth, shoulders tucking up under his ears. Bucky takes it as a win, a small proud flicker in his chest at the fact that he did that, he made the kid smile.

“And this,” he says, flicking to the next one. “Is Steve when he’s asleep.”

Frank looks amazed at that, his blue eyes going wide and his mouth in a perfect O. He looks to the photo then at Bucky, then back to the photo before promptly clambering into Bucky’s lap. He reaches for the phone, efficiently swiping through the pictures with a finger, making an excited noise whenever he sees one of Steve. Bucky watches him, hyper aware of the way Frank is leaning back against him, seemingly content to be in Bucky’s presence as he scrolls back and forth through the pictures.

It’s….nice. Just like when he saw Steve holding Frank the other day.  Bucky doesn't have a whole lot of experience with kids save for his younger sister, but he finds that this is actually pretty okay. Frank seems comfortable and happy, and knowing he’s facilitated that makes Bucky comfortable and happy in turn. Huh. he’s not felt like this - almost like he’s in charge of caring for someone - since Steve was sixteen and pre-growth spurt.

It's only when Clint seems to realize he’s missing a kid that the oddly peaceful moment is broken, his panicked shouting echoing through the apartment.

“Frank!? Frank, where are you?”

Bucky twists around at the sound of Clint’s voice. “I’ve got him, Clint!”

“Oh thank fuck,” Clint says, and then he appears in the doorway, striding over and lifting Frank out of Bucky’s lap. He looks exhausted today; eyes tired and missing their usual bright spark. He only has one hearing aid in too, and Bucky wonders if he’s decided he doesn't need it, if he’s lost it, or if he’s just not had the time to put both in. “You are in so much trouble, how did you even get out?”

“No,” Frank shouts, trying to wriggle out of Clint’s arms.

“‘I’m not even kidding,” Clint snaps. “You don’t touch the lock and you know it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, unsure as he climbs to his feet. “I didn’t realize.”

“No, thanks for keeping hold of him,” Clint says. He pulls Bucky’s phone out of Frank’s hand and gives him back to Bucky, which causes an apocalyptic screaming fit. Frank swipes his hands near to Clint’s face and Clint grabs his wrists.

“No,” he snaps. “You don’t hit me.”

Frank stares at him belligerently and Clint scowls back. “So much trouble,” he says and then he’s gone without looking back.

“Well, shit,” Bucky says to himself after a few seconds of silence, because in between a) making sure Frank didn’t cry or scream or die on his watch, and b) Clint’s anger at Frank misbehaving, the thought of flirting didn't even cross his mind.

He’s just going to have to up his game a little.

Day Seventeen.

Bucky is still asleep when Steve comes up from checking the mail, but is quickly shaken awake. He’s both groggy and grumpy, scowling at Steve and trying to shove him away.

“Go away, Stevie.”

“This was on the doorstep for you,” Steve replies, and Bucky pulls his head out from under his pillow, still groggy and grumpy but now also curious. Steve holds out a six pack of beer which has a post-it stuck the the cardboard carrier. He plucks it off and squints, trying to decipher the scrawl.

Bucky. Thanks for yesterday. Clint.

“What did you do yesterday?” Steve asks, and Bucky hides a grin in his pillow. “Bucky, what did you do?!”

“Shuddup, I’m sleeping,” Bucky mumbles, and takes the beer from Steve, setting it on his bedside table before rolling back over and shoving his head under the pillow.

Day twenty-one.

Gone for a beer at Clint’s. Come over when you’re back.

Bucky is out of the apartment and over into Clint’s in record time, only stopping to sigh at himself in the mirror, wishing he could one-handedly tie his hair up into a bun because he’s been told that having his hair up shows off his jaw quite well. When he gets there, he finds that it’s not just beer time but dinner time; the three boys are all sat along one side in high chairs, loudly and messily picking their way through what looks like an epic amount of spaghetti bolognaise. Steve has a plate of his own too, and Clint is eating out of a saucepan.

“Your plate is in the microwave,” he calls to Bucky though a mouthful. “And your beer is in the fridge.”

“No wonder your kids have such good table manners,” Bucky says, and has moment to wonder if he’s overstepped the mark, but Clint just laughs and nearly chokes on his spaghetti. His eyes meet Bucky’s, mouth curled in a mischievous smile, and Bucky grins back and winks at him, which makes Clint’s cheeks go pink.

‘Success’ he thinks as he walks towards the microwave, dodging the kick that Steve pointedly aims at his ankles.

He stands next to Clint with his plate propped on the countertop as he eats - well, as much as he can be next to Clint with the man constantly leaning over to mop up a spill or take control of a spoon or persuade someone to eat just a little bit more.  Just watching him makes Bucky feel exhausted, but Clint seems utterly tireless.

By the time Bucky’s finished, the boys are all waving at their plates and shouting ‘bye,’ which Bucky takes as toddler-talk for ‘I’m finished with my meal, thank you.’ Clint goes to put his saucepan down, but Bucky decides on a whim to intervene.

“I got it,” he says, and reaches in to pick up the boys’ empty plates. Quite predictably, Clint protests.

“No, you’re supposed to be hanging out, not dealing with these animals.”

“Uh, no offense but I kinda guess hanging with you comes hand-in-hand with dealing with the animals?” Bucky says, and winces as Frank starts to shout ‘amimals, amimals, amimals,’ with Hunter banging his hands on the tabletop in an utterly different rhythm. Cooper starts yelling at them both and clamps his hands over his ears.

Clint looks a little crestfallen at that. “Yeah, it kinda does.”

“We don’t mind,” Steve says.

“What?” Clint asks, grimacing. “Frank - Cooper, cut it out, too much sound!”

Frank claps his hands over his mouth and Cooper stops yelling. Looking both surprised and relieved, Clint leans down to kiss them both noisily.  “Thank you,” he says, accompanying it with a quick gesture that Bucky guesses is ASL; fingers together pressed to his chin and moved forwards. Cooper just shoves his fingers into his mouth but Hunter and Frank both copy the gesture, looking very pleased with themselves.

“They know ASL?” Bucky asks. “Was that ASL?”

Clint nods. “Yeah, they know a few signs. I don’t use it much - I’m not deaf, not completely,” he says. “The aids help a lot, and I can just about get by without them. But if there’s loads of sounds going on at once, I can’t tell what’s what.”

“Wow, so having three kids all yelling at once must be super fun for you.”

“The best,” Clint deadpans. “What were you saying, Steve?”

“Just that we don’t mind hanging out with you and the boys.”

“You’re used to it,” Clint grouches, and his eyes seek out Bucky.

Bucky’s mouth hitches in a small thing that’s not quite a smile. “I don’t mind,” he echoes, and Clint’s grin is wide and bright, and Bucky has to bite his tongue to stop himself from announcing that he’s in love with that, too.

Day twenty-two

He finds himself at Clint’s again the next night, knocking and holding up the six-pack that Clint bought him.

“You can come in if you don’t mind the fact I’m about to do diapers and it’s probably not gonna be pretty,” Clint says, and Bucky shrugs.

“How bad can it be?”

Half an hour later, and Bucky is really, really starting to regret that question. He finds himself backed up against the wall with his hand over his mouth and nose, trying not to gag.

“What the fuck did you feed those kids?”

Clint just laughs. Cooper is lounging over his back with his head resting on the back of Clint’s neck; Hunter and Frank are lying side by side on a changing mat with feet in the air, giggling madly as Clint tries to wrestle a pair of pants back onto Hunter’s wayward legs.

“I did warn you,” he says, grinning mischievously up at Bucky. “You were the idiot who didn't listen.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d be out of here,” Bucky says.

Brows rising, Clint glances at him. “Cute? Really?”

“What would you rather? Ruggedly handsome?”

Clint grins. “Now you’re talking,” he says, but his attention is already on the boys. “Right, up you two get. Stinky creatures, come on, get your butts off the mat.”

“Tinky,” Hunter parrots back at him, climbing up and clambering up onto Clint’s knee, arms wrapping around his neck. Frank follows, and Clint laughs as he’s sent sprawling backwards by the combination of Hunter and Frank pressing forwards and Cooper pulling him from behind.

“Triplets,” Clint says to Bucky, wincing as someone plants a knee in his ribs. “Would not recommend.”

“I’ll take your word for it pal,” Bucky says, and goes over to see what he can do to help.

“Thanks for coming over, by the way. I don’t get out much these days.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side to look at Clint in the low light, careful not to disturb Frank who is asleep on his knee, leaning against his chest. He’d apparently remembered that Bucky’s phone was full of pictures of Steve, and had promptly climbed onto his lap and claimed both Bucky and the phone as his. With Frank’s approval, the other two had followed suit and treated Bucky as a friend too - which meant climbing on him, trying to take his phone and keys, playing with his hair, pulling curiously at his empty sleeve and thrusting all manner of toys into his face with a demand to ‘play’, or ‘pleg’ if you were Cooper.

Curious, really, how the approval of three wayward toddlers has made Bucky feel better about himself than he has since the accident.

“I like hanging out with you,” Bucky says, and Clint snorts skeptically, trying to shift Hunter who is sprawled out on his chest, snuffling through his mouth and drooling on Clint’s shirt. It’s an impossible task, seeing as Cooper is wedged into his side and also fast asleep.

“Oh yeah. Being forced to play cars for hours and then being used as a pillow, sure that’s exactly what you’d like to be doing tonight.”

“Hey, don’t take my opinions away from me, not cool,” Bucky says. “If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t say it.”

Clint looks at him long and hard at that, then shrugs, sipping at his beer. “I can see why you and Steve get on so well.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“Yeah, you should,” Clint says, and then cranes around to put his beer on the side table. “You reckon you can carry him with one arm?”

Bucky appraises his position and then nods. “Yeah, I think I’m good. If you help me get up.”

“Alright, let’s get these horrible things in bed and then we can hang out like normal adults.”

Bucky nods, looking down at Frank. “Alright,” he says. “You’re on.”

Between them, they get the triplets in bed and settled, and tread back to the lounge to watch a film and drink the rest of the beer. Bucky sits close to Clint, and he feels a warm thrill in the pit of his belly every time Clint’s knee knocks his; it becomes almost unbearable when Clint decides to sprawl out across the couch and shove his feet up into Bucky’s lap. Bucky curls his hand around Clint’s ankle, thumb stroking his shin, and Clint just makes a pleased noise and wriggles to get comfy.

They talk and talk and talk. About the boys, about Clint’s past relationship and his divorce, about being a single dad. They talk about Bucky’s time in the military, about serving with Steve, about life afterwards. They talk about sport, about films, about politics, about the other people who live in the building, about the good take-aways in Brooklyn, and the donut place in Bed-Stuy that does the best Boston creme outside of Massachusetts.

Bucky learns that Clint is whip-smart, though possibly lacking in common sense if any of his stories are to be taken seriously. He also learns that Clint has a terrible sense of humor, which he loves . It’s the sort of jokes that are accompanied with finger guns and pauses for applause, which would have Steve or other more sensible people groaning and facepalming. Clint pulls it off with a mixture of ‘cocky asshole’ and ‘charming asshole’ that Bucky recognizes oh-so easily, and Bucky eggs him on shamelessly. He also finds that Clint has maybe a competitive streak nearly as wide as his own, and few issues with authority. Though, Clint points out ruefully, getting arrested is no longer cool now he’s a full-time dad.

Bucky also learns how to tell the triplets apart: Clint teaches him that Cooper’s the quiet one with the least speech and the freckles on his ears as well as his nose. Frank is apparently the easiest to spot because he’s the loudest and biggest, and Clint also informs him that Frank is the most likely to be sold to the circus. Hunter is also easy to work out, Clint assures him, because he’s got the most freckles and he’s got a scar on his forehead from falling out of his cot when he was a few months old.

Bucky takes his word for it; in his humble opinion, the boys are all absolutely one hundred percent identical, and it would take DNA profiling to tell them apart.

It’s gone midnight when Bucky leaves, and as Clint reaches for the doorhandle to show him out, Bucky turns to say goodnight, and they end up nose to nose, blinking in the sudden arrival of a moment. Clint’s eyes flick between Bucky’s, and Bucky looks down at Clint’s mouth, and it would be so, so easy.

Bucky leans in and quickly kisses Clint’s cheek, and then leaves, ducking his head and not looking back until he’s in his own apartment, leaning back so his head thunks against the wood.

“What the hell?” he mumbles to himself. Here he is, spending weeks trying his damnest to create a moment with the hot-neighbor and he cock-blocks himself by going for a cheek kiss?

“So, where have you been?”

He jumps a mile as he hears Steve’s voice, and curses at him across the room.

“What are you, my Mom?” he demands, rubbing his chest. “Jesus fuck, Stevie.”

“You slept with Clint, didn’t you?” Steve says, leaning against the doorway to his bedroom.

“Actually, I went for a few beers and played cars for hours and learned the Thomas the Train theme tune - which, by the way, is never gonna be out of my head - and helped put the kids to bed then talked to Clint and drank beer. So you know what?”

Bucky extends his arm with a very pointed middle finger raised, and keeps it up as he walks to his room, backing in and kicking the door shut before Steve can say a word.

Day twenty-three

It’s a pretty epic crashing and banging that wakes Bucky the next morning. Screwing up his face, he rolls over and tries to ignore it, his sleep addled brain not willing to fully switch on yet. It works, until there’s a thump, the swoosh of his bedroom door being pushed over carpet and then a voice going, ‘Hunter, whoa! No, no, Bucky’s in bed.’

Bucky rolls over to the sound of presumably Hunter shouting ‘bed, bed, bed!’ and then the door is shoved all the way open, banging against the wall behind with a thud. Bucky winces; he’d be worried for the security deposit if Steve hadn’t already made not one but three fist-shaped holes in the drywall – the exact circumstances of which Bucky has yet to be told - and put nails in the walls to hang his hundred and one paintings.

“Bed!” a voice shrieks and Bucky braces himself as a small-Barton runs in and clambers up onto his bed. “Bucky bed!”

“Oh man,” Bucky says, voice rough with sleep. He rubs his eyes and studies the face in front of him; no scar, no ear freckles. Right. “Frank?”

“Yes!” Frank shouts, and he climbs into Bucky’s bed, lying down with his head on his pillow. “Good morning.”

Bucky starts to laugh. He can’t help it. He’s still laughing as Clint appears in the door, carrying another triplet upside-down, the kid’s feet flailing and his knees knocking against Clint’s head.

“Ow, Hunter, watch the hearing aids,” Clint complains. “Frank, get out! Leave him alone!”

“No, Bucky seepin’,” Frank says earnestly and shuts his eyes, making a show of fake snoring.

“Oh my god,” Bucky laughs, looking at Clint.

Clint grimaces, turning Hunter back around in his arms and making to put him down. Hunter objects loudly, bending his knees up so his feet don’t touch the floor. Clint gives up, hauling him up onto his hip instead. “I’m so sorry, we managed to catch two, but not -  Frank, get your butt out of that bed!”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says. “Honestly, Clint.”

“WAKE UP!” Frank yells, arms flailing above his head. Bucky grins and rolls over, poking Frank in the belly and making him squeal.

“You are a terror,” he says. “Get out of my bed.”

“Hmm, no,” Frank says. “Bucky seep toutch.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you and Bucky slept on the couch for a bit, yes,” Clint says. “Bucky will never come over again if you don’t leave him alone. It’s not even seven, Frank, every normal person on the planet is sleeping.”

“It’s alright,” Bucky says again and climbs out of bed, hitching up his boxers as he does. He’s ready to reassure Clint some more, but Clint’s eyes immediately and obviously go down his body and then hastily back up, cheeks going pink.

Score one , Bucky thinks, thrilled. Just to push it, he yawns and very deliberately stretches, arm above his head.

“I’m up,” he says. “Coffee?”

“Uh,” Clint says. “Coffee. What?”

Score two, Bucky thinks, and walks out into the lounge to see Steve sat with Cooper at the table, playing on his phone together.

“Coffee,” Bucky says to Steve. “Please.”

Steve looks at Bucky and barely resists rolling his eyes. “Get dressed first,” he says pointedly.

“Coffee first,” Bucky counters, narrowing his eyes at Steve, a silent ‘do not ruin this for me’ look that Steve should understand.

“Clothes,” Steve says, the asshole.

“Coffee,” Bucky insists.

“I vote coffee,” Clint says vaguely from behind Bucky, and Bucky looks over his shoulder to see Clint’s eyes are glued to his ass. Clint blinks and then seems to register what he’s doing, hastily looking up at Steve. “Uh, I mean. It’s early?”

Home run, Bucky thinks, and sticks his tongue out at Steve.

“Oh my god,” Bucky says when he and Steve are finally alone, the Barton clan having departed back to their own apartment. “They’re so naughty. ”

“You don’t sound too distressed by that,” Steve remarks, mopping up the spilt milk and Cheerios that are all over the table. There’s also some on the floor, and a few stuck to the wall over by the microwave.

“I love it,” Bucky says happily. “And Frank likes me.”

“Yeah, he does,” Steve agrees. “And I think Clint likes you too.”

Bucky grins. “Likes me, or likes me likes me?”

Steve just gives him a Look. “He’s gone, will you please get dressed now?”

Bucky thinks about it, sipping his now mostly-cold coffee. “Nah,” he says with a wide grin, leaning back and propping his feet up onto the table. “He might come back.”

Day thirty.

“So I’ve been here a month.”

“And still not slept with the neighbor, congratulations.”

“Shut up. I meant, I’ve been here a month and you’ve still not thrown me a party or introduced me to your friends.”

“Really? You still want a party?”

“Yes.”

“But-”

“My nerves can handle you , they can handle a party. My ego needs a party in my honor, you know, after the humiliation of making a bad call and getting myself blown up, and having to learn to do everything with one arm.”

“Really? You’re pulling that card?”

“My left arm, Stevie. That was my favorite one. And it was the hand I used for-”

“Alright! Fine, I’ll throw you  party, if you shut up for longer than a minute.”

“My lips are sealed. But remember to invite Clint or I’ll never shut up about that, either.”

Day thirty five.

Steve comes good about the party. It’s a Friday evening and Bucky finds himself on the roof of the building, surrounded by Steve’s friends and the tenants of the building, the smell of barbeque drifting lazily through the summer air and music playing from an ancient radio. There’s enough beer to fuel a football team, and Bucky finds himself relaxed into the evening, safe and content.

He meets the people who live above them: Natasha and Sam, who have separate apartments but sure as hell don’t look very separate. Natasha is both beautiful and intimidating, and Bucky loves her immediately. Sam, however, sets off feelings of jealousy he’s not felt since he was a teenager, mostly because Steve introduces Sam as his best friend. Bucky scowls at him and tells him that he’s a pretty poor substitute for a best friend. Steve elbows him hard, and Bucky turns his belligerent glare on Steve.

Luckily, Bucky is saved by a loud shriek of his name; he looks up in time to see Frank running full pelt towards him, and drops to his knees so Frank can jump up at him, clinging on around his neck and beaming at him.

“Likes me more than you,” Bucky says to Steve, standing back up with Frank on his hip.

“Oh, Frank, that’s cold,” Sam says. Steve looks genuinely wounded.

“You hang with your new best friend, I’ll hang out with mine. Whaddya say, Frank?” Bucky says, nudging Frank’s ear with his nose.

“Buck-ee,Buck-ee,” Frank chants, and Bucky pulls a face at Steve before walking off. He knows it’s petty and childish, but come on. He’s just got back and this is meant to be his party and there Steve is shoving his replacement right in his face, all happy and smiling and -

“How did I know he’d be with you?”

Bucky blinks himself back into the moment and his stomach flips as he finds himself there with Clint, who has Cooper on his back and Hunter at his side. Cooper is looking around with wide eyes and Hunter is straining against Clint’s hand, desperate to be off.

“Eter,” Hunter says. “Daddy, Eter,”

“Alright, alright,” Clint says, and lets go of Hunter, who promptly makes a beeline for a young man who looks barely older than the triplets. Okay, maybe Bucky’s exaggerating, but the kid looks only around eighteen or nineteen, though he seems pretty familiar to Hunter, and greets him with what seems like genuine enthusiasm.

“And I’m down to one,” Clint says. “Frank, you gonna leave Bucky alone?”

“Hmmm, no,” Frank says. “Bucky play. Bucky burger.”

Bucky snorts. “It’s okay. I’m hanging out with him while Steve hangs out with his new best friend.”

Comprehension dawns on Clint’s face as he looks up across the roof. “You the jealous type?”

“Probably,” Bucky admits. “That gonna be a problem?”

Clint eyes him curiously. “Why would it be?”

Ah, shit.

Bucky opens his mouth but there’s no line there, nothing smooth enough to get him off the hook, or to even explain that stupid sentence that’s just come out of his mouth. Oh yeah, he should just say that he just temporarily forgot about Clint not knowing the thing where in Bucky’s imagination they’re already totally dating.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you need to apologize to Sam right now.”

Luckily, he’s saved again, this time by Steve’s righteous indignation. He wheels about, holding tight to Frank, and comes face to face with a very irritated looking Steve.

“Don’t fucking full name me, Steven Grant Rogers,” he shoots back. “You apologize for replacing me.”

“Replacing-?” Steve starts. “Oh my god, Bucky. You’re jealous that I have another good friend apart from you? Really?”

“Shut up,” Bucky grouches, because it sounds ridiculous when Steve puts it like that.

“Shut up,” Frank echoes and that’s right, Frank has his back.

“Bucky, I could never replace you,” Steve says, exasperated but still genuine enough to make Bucky feel like an ass. “You’re - you’re more than a best friend, you’re my brother for god’s sake. So stop sulking, come and say sorry and get to know Sam before acting like a bitch to him.”

Bucky huffs. “Fine. I will.”

“You better,” Steve says sternly, and then he’s gone again.

There’s a moment of silence, and then a voice from behind him asks, “James Buchanan?”, shaking with barely restrained laughter.

Bucky groans. “Go on. I know.”

Clint laughs so hard he gets tears in his eyes, and Bucky wearily concludes that everyone he knows is in fact an asshole.

He does apologize to Sam. Sam tells him he’s as bad at apologizing as he is at making a first impression. Bucky tells him he wants to push him off the roof. Sam tells him the feeling is mutual, and they shake hands. Steve seems to realize that that’s the best he’s going to get for now, though Bucky knows full well he can expect to be forced into Sam’s company a lot in the not too distant future.

Steve introduces him to Peter and Gwen, the young couple that Hunter had ran to earlier in the evening. Peter is the most awkward kid he’s ever met; he immediately makes a comment about Bucky’s arm, then tries to backpedal and just succeeds in digging himself not just a hole but a trench. A ravine. A Grand Canyon of awkwardness. Gwen lets him struggle for long enough that Bucky thinks she’s possibly either enjoying it or employing some passive aggressive revenge, and then rescues Peter with an easy apology and a roll of her eyes.

He also meets a guy called Tony, who is wearing a pair of yellow tinted sunglasses and a suit more expensive than everything Bucky owns. Bucky gets a ‘hey’ out of his mouth and then Tony basically talks at him for two minutes, makes a comment about engineering him a new arm and then walks off, not before smacking Steve square on the ass.

Steve tells him not to ask. Bucky assures him that he will most definitely be asking.

He doesn’t get to meet anyone else, because he finds the rest of his time taken up by Clint and the triplets. They sit on a battered old couch that the two twins from Sokovia bought up from their apartment, feeding the boys bites of burgers and salad. Even Cooper decides that Bucky is a pal tonight, and sits on his knee on the rare moments that Frank vacates the spot. He and Clint talk and laugh between keeping the boys entertained and happy, and Bucky’s ruffled feathers are easily soothed. He helps Clint put the boys to bed again, and volunteers to stay with them so Clint can go up and join the party.

Clint looks at him likes he’s insane. “It’s your party.”

“Uh,” Bucky says. “I don’t mind. For you.”

Clint declines. Bucky nods and goes to leave, but before he does he abruptly turns around and walks over to hug Clint. Clint seems to expect it and wraps him tight in both arms, breathing a thank you into Bucky’s ear. Bucky pulls back and there’s another moment right there, both of them nose to nose and holding their breath-

And then Natasha knocks on the door and makes them both jump out of their skins.

“Jesus, Tasha,” Clint says, cheeks pink. She smiles at him, and then wraps strong fingers around Bucky’s bicep and pulls him away.

“Steve is looking for you,” she says, and Bucky sends Clint a weary glance.

“Don’t argue with her,” Clint mouths at him, then waves half-heartedly and shuts the door.

“You kind of interrupted a moment there,” Bucky says as he’s steered up the stairs, her hand still on his arm.

“You’re very handsome,” Natasha says without preamble. “And obnoxious and messed up enough to be Clint’s type. Don’t hurt him.”

There’s no threat. Bucky senses there doesn’t need to be.

“I won’t,” he says mildly irritated. He pulls his arm out of her grip. “Back off, lady.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t scare me,” he tells her matter-of-factly, and that makes her smile. She leaves him at the doorway and he’s soon accosted by Steve, who hands him a beer and nods his head towards the edge of the building. They hop up onto the wall, side by side.

“You alright?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods slowly. “I think Natasha just tried to give me a shovel talk?”

Steve snorts. “Sounds about right.”

Bucky sighs, mulls over Natasha’s intervention and the moment he’d almost had with Clint. He thinks about how he’d spent his evening, perfectly happy to be with the boys and at Clint's side. “I don’t think I want to sleep with the neighbor.”

Steve picks at the label of his beer bottle with his thumb. “Natasha too scary? Or the kids too much?”

Bucky watches Steve take a long swallow of beer. “No,” he says. “I wanna marry the neighbor.”

Steve chokes on his beer, spraying it everywhere before clapping his hand over his mouth, eyes watering. Bucky just sighs and smiles as he thumps him between his shoulder blades, taking a sip of his own drink.

Day thirty seven

It’s the asscrack of the morning when Bucky drags his hungover ass out of the apartment and into Clint’s, staggering towards the table and mumbling “coffee, please, help me, give me coffee.” The three boys all seem happy to see him, Frank and Hunter shouting his name and Cooper holding out his spoon expectantly.

Bucky groans and slides into the chair next to Cooper, taking the spoon and digging into the bowl of Cheerios.

Clint stares at him, and then walks away into his room; he returns with his hearing aids in hand, putting them in as he watches Bucky airplane a spoonful of cereal into Cooper’s baby-bird open mouth. Damn, that means he probably didn't hear the pleas for coffee.

“Why are you even here?” Clint asks once his ears are in and online, groping for the coffee pot and chugging straight out of it. He looks honest to god exhausted, as well as still quite bewildered to see Bucky. “You don’t have to be here, you can escape from the madness.”

“Steve.” Bucky mutters, trying to pull the spoon back out of Cooper’s mouth, which is harder than it first looks because he’s biting down on it with admirable determination. “Awake. Happy. Wants to go running.”

“Oh,” Clint says, and then passes over the coffee pot.

Day thirty-nine

“GOOD MORNING,” Frank shouts, standing naked on the kitchen table and brandishing his pants at Bucky. Bucky slowly closes the door behind him and wonders if he shouldn’t have stayed on the other side of it.

“Morning,” Hunter shouts, voice muffled as Clint attempts to drag his t-shirt over his head. It’s proving to be almost impossible; Hunter has his arms splayed out ramrod straight, refusing to bend them so Clint can get his hands through the arm-holes.  

“Geb,” Cooper says, walking over to Bucky and patting his hip, holding up a diaper.

“Help me and I will make all the coffee,” Clint says as he wins the t-shirt fight and then drags a laughing Hunter back onto the changing mat to try and wrestle pants onto him. Clint looks a little unhinged this morning, dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever and hair sticking up every which way.

Bucky pauses, rubs at his eye with his fingertips and then sighs. “Alright. Cooper, you’re up,” he says and takes the diaper from him. “Frank, get off the table.”

“No, Bucky, no!” Frank shouts, and Bucky meets Clint’s eyes and they both start to laugh. And if it sounds a little hysterical, well, no-one needs to know but them.

Day forty-two

“Shhh,” Bucky says to the boys, holding his finger to his lips. They all nod back fervently, mouths firmly clamped shut and eyes excited.

“Come on,” Bucky whispers and holds out his hand. Frank takes it, holding onto Hunter’s with the other. Hunter bounces on the balls of his feet, jerking Cooper who is holding tight to his other hand, at the back of the line.

Bucky leads the train of children to the door, glancing back at Clint who is still dead out asleep on the couch. The note that Bucky pinned to his sleeve explaining where the boys are is still safely attached, so he carries on and takes the boys across into his and Steve’s apartment.

Steve is sitting at the counter with his sketchpad in front of him, a smudge of charcoal on his cheek. Still half- frowning at the picture he’s working on, he looks up and does a double take as he sees Bucky isn’t alone. “Hi boys.”

“Shhh,” Hunter tells him.

“Daddy seep,” Frank adds.

“Da gleb pwuh,” Cooper concludes.

“Uh, does Clint know you have his kids?” Steve asks as Bucky shuts the door.

“Clint has fallen asleep,” Bucky says. “So we’re letting him sleep and are coming here to watch Frozen, right guys?”

“Yeah,” they all whisper, looking excited. Hunter starts bouncing again, but doesn’t make any noise.

Somewhat disconcerted, Steve blinks at the boys and then looks at Bucky. “They’re quiet, what did you do?”

“I told them that if they were quiet we could come over here and watch Frozen,” Bucky shrugs, nudging the boys towards the couch. They all scramble for it, and Bucky grabs the remote, queuing up the film on Netflix. The boys all sit side by side, wide eyed and opened mouthed.

“Wow,” Steve says, laughing softly. “Magic touch.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, right. Hey, Hunter, what did you end up on the naughty mat for earlier?”

Hunter looks guilty. “Bite Bucky,” he says, and Bucky raises an eyebrow at Steve.

“Magic touch, my ass.”

He pads over to the couch and nudges at Hunter; he clambers off the couch obediently and as soon as Bucky’s ass hits the cushions he climbs back onto his knee, sitting back against Bucky’s chest. He heaves out a sigh, a hand coming back and reaching up to play with the ends of Bucky’s hair.

“Unbelievable,” Steve says under his breath.

“Hm?” Bucky asks, shifting his shoulder as Cooper nestles into his side, holding onto the fabric of Bucky’s shirt with one hand and jamming the other fingers into his mouth. “What’s unbelievable?”

“Nothing. Watch your film, Mrs Doubtfire.”

Keeping his eyes on the TV, Bucky stretches out his arm and pointedly gives Steve the finger.

Day Forty-six.

“Good morning.”

Bucky blinks blearily, confused as he feels small hands pulling at his blankets and pillow. He’s disoriented first thing in the morning, doesn’t know up from down let alone why there appears to be someone very tiny trying to get him out of bed when he clearly doesn’t want to be awake.

“Morning, morning,” the voice stage-whispers. “Buck-ee, MORNING!”

The whisper escalates far too quickly into a shout and Bucky rolls over to see Frank and Cooper standing there, still in their jammies, beaming at him. He’s been over at Clint’s for breakfast coffee every day for the past week, and today he’d decided to give Clint a break from his presence and stay in his own apartment and make his own coffee.

The boys, however, seem to have different ideas.

“Beg meb,” Cooper says.

“GOOD MORNING,” Frank yells.

“What,” Bucky manages to say. “This isn’t your apartment.”

“Breakfast, Bucky,” Frank says, pulling at his hand. Cooper joins in, and Bucky groans but obliges, rolling out of bed and allowing the boys to drag him across the hall and into Clint’s apartment.

Clint meets him at the doorway and smiles sleepily at him, handing over the coffee pot without a word.  

Day Fifty-two

“Steve?”

“Mmmwhat?” Steve asks, looking both ways before stepping out into the road to run the gauntlet of cars and cabs. Bucky follows right behind him with a cursory glance at the traffic, pushing his hair back from his sweaty face and scowling when it sticks.

“You ever thought about having kids?”

Steve hops up onto the other sidewalk and then pauses, putting the grocery bags down by his feet and then indicating to Bucky to come closer. “Give me your hair tie.”

Bucky holds out his arm so Steve can tug the tie off his wrist. “Thanks. So, have you?”

Steve steps behind Bucky, fingers scraping into his hair and pulling it back. “Course I have,” he says neutrally. “I think I’d like to, maybe.”

“Only maybe?”

“Well, at the moment I’m single, work way too much according to Sam, and share a two-bed apartment with my best pal,” Steve says, twisting Bucky’s hair up and securing it with the tie. “Kids aren’t exactly at the top of my to-do list.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says again once his hair is up and out of the way. He ducks to pick up one of the bags, but hands it over without argument when Steve takes it from him. “You think you’d be good at it?”

“This actually about me, or is it about the triplets you’ve adopted?” Steve asks, starting to walk again. “Or, the triplets who have adopted you. ”

“Funny,” Bucky says, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. Urgh, New York summers are gross. “Maybe? I dunno. I mean, if I marry the neighbor I’m gonna be a step-dad.”

Steve sighs. “Clint doesn’t want to get married ever again, has he told you that?”

“Details,” Bucky says dismissively. “I’m still going to marry him.”

“Alright then Buck,” Steve says, in his do-what-you-want-you-usually-do tone of voice, which Bucky thinks is grossly unfair when considering who is actually the one of them who never listens to anyone else. “But yeah. You marry Clint, you get the kids as well.”

“I like the kids.”

“Enough to be a dad to them?” Steve says, grinding to a halt and shooting Bucky an exasperated look as Bucky makes a grabby hand at the groceries and delves inside one to pull out a bottle of coke. “That’s gonna be a lifetime commitment.”

Bucky rolls the bottle over his forehead, savouring the last of the chill before holding it out to Steve to twist the top off. “Yeah,” Bucky says casually. “You know me. I fall for something…”

“You fall hard,” Steve finishes with a crooked, resigned sort of smile. “Couldn’t you have fallen for Wanda, or Nat or something though? Someone who isn’t divorced with triplets?”

“And deaf,” Bucky says. “Don’t forget he’s deaf.”

Steve just shakes his head, starts walking. “Falling hard doesn’t mean you fall for the hardest option, Buck.”

“I’ll give my brain the memo,” Bucky says. “Though I’m pretty sure the reply will be ‘fuck off Steve, I’m marrying the divorced, deaf father of triplets that lives across the hall.’”

“I love our little chats, I really do. Especially the parts where you listen to anything I say whatsoever.”

“Me too,” Bucky says happily, draining half the coke in several swallows. “Thanks, Steve.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

Day sixty-three

Bucky finds that his life has somehow started to revolve around Clint and the boys a couple of months after he’s moved in across the hall. Not only has morning coffee and breakfast become a routine  - one that he can’t skive, because the boys come and literally drag him out of bed if he’s not there - but somehow he starts spending whole days with the Barton clan.

It’s their third day in a row together, and he finds himself in the bright sunshine of the park, chasing Hunter across the grass.

“Get back here, you absolute terror.”

After a small chase, Bucky manages to catch up with Hunter, scooping him up in one arm. Hunter flails and laughs, tilting his head back so his cap almost falls off. Bucky just shakes his head bemusedly and carries him back to Clint, who reaches up to take him, blowing a raspberry on his face as he does.

“No, Daddy!” Hunter shrieks, giggling madly. Behind Clint, Frank is happily riding his fire engine over the grass, Cooper chasing him and shouting nonsensical words at him at intervals.

“Frank is escaping,” Bucky informs Clint, and Clint twists around and groans.

“Triplets. Would not recommend,” he says, more to himself than Bucky, making to get up.

“Wait a moment,” Bucky says, and then calls out. “Cooper! Frank! Don’t go over the path!”

At Bucky’s shout, Cooper about turns and comes running back straight away. Frank pushes his tractor right up to the edge of the path, and then turns around and looks over his shoulder at Bucky. He seems to weigh up his options and then drags the engine around and starts pushing back.

“Wow,” Clint says. “He listened to you.”

“Not just a pretty face,” Bucky grins, and Clint laughs and laughs and laughs.

Day Seventy

And Bucky knew that sooner or later everything would go south.

It’s movie night, and everyone is at Clint’s. Everyone being Clint, Bucky, Steve, Natasha and Sam. The boys are fast asleep, and the adults are all crammed into Clint’s lounge to watch the latest Mission Impossible; they’ve all seen it except for Clint but no-one complains, because Clint rarely gets out to the movies and is as such woefully behind on the latest films.

Sam and Nat have bought down a pair of beanbags and are sprawled on the floor in front of the couch. Steve is in the armchair, half watching the film and half texting ‘no-one’. Bucky is pretty sure no-one’s real name is Tony, but he’s too occupied with Clint to call him on it.

Fully occupied and completely fixated on, because they’re sitting side by side on the couch and as the film goes on they’ve migrated closer and closer, thighs brushing. Bucky’s hand is somehow resting palm up between them and Clint’s hand is resting against his inner arm, and then Clint is slowly sliding his hand up and lacing his fingers through Bucky’s.

He’s giddy: a schoolboy with a crush, holding hands in the dark where no-one can see. Wants to lean over and kiss him, to whisper ridiculous sweet nothings in his ear, wants to run up to the rooftop and yell to the world that he’s in love with the neighbor.

They make it to the end of the film, still hand in hand. The TV is shut off and the lights are turned back on and they climb to their feet, and Bucky doesn’t let go. Steve raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, just yawns and tells Bucky he’ll see him over there. Sam and Natasha also leave in short order, and Clint gently tugs his hand free from Bucky’s so he can hug her goodbye.

When the door closes, Clint keeps his hand on the handle and doesn’t turn back around. It’s very quiet without the TV on or the boys making a racket.

“Clint?”

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky is taken aback. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Clint says, still facing the door. “Held your hand.”

After the initial kick of shock, Bucky feels his stomach twist up and go tight, his gut going hollow and sick. This is it , he thinks quietly. The start of the downward trajectory. Beginning of the end.

Doesn’t mean he’s gonna roll over and give up, though.

“I think it was the best idea you’ve had all day,” he says.

Clint’s mouth flickers, the corner trying to hitch up into a wavering smile. It doesn’t last. He shakes his head as he turns around, looking at the floor and shoving his hands into his pocket.

“It’s,” he begins, and clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have. Not gonna work.”

“Now that’s the stupidest thing you’ve said all day.”

Clint still won’t look at him. “We can’t,” he says. “It’s too complicated. The boys.”

“I’m here for you and for the boys,” Bucky says, bewildered that Clint is throwing that at him when everyone knows that Bucky is utterly gone for the triplets. Dreaming of doing the school run, would jump into traffic for to avoid mild inconvenience sort of gone. “I know I’m not getting one without the other.”

“Yeah, I know,” Clint says, and then huffs out a breath, scrubbing at his face and shaking his head. The horrid feeling in Bucky’s gut spreads to his chest.

“I told you, I don’t say or do things unless I mean it. Clint, I like you, alright. When I first got here I thought you were hot, but it’s so much more than that. You know it’s more than that, being with you guys makes me feel like me again-”

“Stop,” Clint says, shaking his head. “I think you should go.”

“No,” Bucky snaps, and then lowers his voice. “No, I’m not just going to-”

Clint opens the front door and pushes it all the way open, then walks away into his own bedroom, snatching up the baby monitor on the way and then shutting the door, leaving Bucky alone.

Bucky slams the door to the apartment closed and stalks towards Steve’s room. Steve is getting ready for a late shift at work as Bucky comes in and throws himself down onto Steve’s bed, facing the wall.

He hears Steve put his hairbrush down. “What happened?”

“He told me it was a mistake and he doesn’t want to go there,” Bucky bites out.

“What?” Steve says, sounding like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “He said what?”

“He’s an ass,” Bucky snaps. “I’m going to go over there tomorrow and yell at him.”

“Why aren’t you yelling at him now?”

“Because the boys are in bed and I’m not just gonna wake them up, am I?” Bucky shouts, rolling over and gesturing angrily at nothing with a sweep of his hand.

Steve sighs, sits down on the edge of the bed. “I know you like him,” he says. “But maybe...maybe this is one where you’ve gotta take no for an answer.”

“Shut up, you don’t believe that,” Bucky says.

“No, I don’t,” Steve agrees with a soft huff of laughter. “Alright, sleep and go kick his ass in the morning,”

“Yes boss,” Bucky says, and pulls at Steve’s pillow, the knot in his chest still pulsing unhappily in time with his heartbeat.

“Not in my bed!”

“Too late,” Bucky mumbles, and closes his eyes.  

Day seventy-one.

Bucky is woken by the sound of screaming outside the bedroom, and his heart lurches because even in his not-quite-awake state he recognizes the noise as Frank at his most distressed. He’s out of bed in seconds, uncoordinated and bleary, pushing his hair out of his face.

He opens the door and sees Frank on his knees in the doorway to the apartment, wrists in Sam’s careful grip and clearly resisting being made to move by going utterly deadweight. Behind Sam is Steve, still in uniform and just getting in from the night shift. He’s bending down, trying to console Frank, who isn’t listening to a word he’s saying.

“What the shit?” Bucky says, and steps forwards, rubbing sleep from the corner of his eye. “Frank, what’s up?”

“Bucky!” Frank sobs, and Sam lets go of him and steps back with his hands in the air, surrendering and shaking his head. Frank rolls onto his back, kicking out at Steve and still crying fit to burst. Bucky strides over and kneels down next to him.

“Hey, hey, shush, what’s with the drama?”

Frank reaches out for him and Bucky obliges, pulling Frank up into his lap and sitting cross-legged, his one arm wrapped tight around Frank’s shoulders.

“Breakfast,” Frank sobs. “Tham no .”

Oh.

“Where’s Clint?” Bucky asks calmly, rocking gently back and forwards and pressing a kiss to Frank’s mussed hair, soothing him with gentle noises in the back of his throat.

“Gone out,” Sam replies. “He left about half hour ago. The boys were fine until I mentioned breakfast.”

“Let me guess, they wanted to fetch Bucky for breakfast,” Steve says. He walks around behind Bucky and slots his hands under Bucky’s armpits; Bucky braces himself so Steve can pull him and Frank across the floor a few feet, giving Sam space to step into the apartment and shut the door.   

“What is going on?” Sam asks. “I thought after last night you’d be waking up-” He gestures to the door, clearly indicating the apartment across the hall.

“You and me both,” Bucky mutters, heartstrings all bending out of tune again as he remembers the night before. Now it’s edged with anger though, mostly because it appears Clint has upped and fucked off, so Bucky can't go and yell at him about being a coward.

“He doesn’t just want to sleep with the neighbor,” Steve informs Sam. “He wants to marry the neighbor.”

“Steve!”

Sam just leans back a little, looking oddly impressed. “You have real person feelings other than the ones that make you an asshole?”

“Oh yeah, I’m all butterflies and rainbows on the inside,” Bucky grouches. “But today you’ll mostly see me being an asshole because someone shot me down.”

“He did what?”

“Go figure,” Steve shrugs.

“But, the heart-eyes,” Sam says. “At the cook-out. He spent more time looking at your boy over there than he did at the food .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asks.

Sam folds his arms across his chest. “That Barton finds you slightly more attractive than a burnt hotdog?”

“Could you two just-” Steve butts in. “Where did Clint go? Did he say when he’d be back?”

“He was on the phone to Barney when he went,” Sam said. “Said he’d be an hour.”

Steve groans and Bucky has to shut his eyes for a long moment. He knows who Barney is, of course he does. He also knows that Barney Barton, big-brother and fuck-up extraordinaire is a huge liability and never comes through for Clint. Ever.  “Oh no.”

“If Clint is calling Barney it’s because Barney has done something dumb and needs bailing out, or Clint is planning to tuck tail and run back to Iowa,” Steve says, sounding distressed.

“Man, he’s got us upstairs, why would he go to Barney?” Sam says, looking at Bucky. “Terrible idea. I mean, I like Barney less than I like you.”

“He’ll be back, the boys are here,” Bucky says, because while he didn’t have Clint pegged as a coward, he knows that much. “Come on, Frank. Let’s go check on your brothers.”

He manages to clamber to his feet while holding onto Frank; Steve surreptitiously props him up with a hand in the small of his back as he finds his balance, and they all make their way back to Clint’s apartment. Natasha is there, sitting with Cooper and Hunter on the couch, an Ipad in hand.

“Breakfast,” Hunter shouts as soon as he sees Bucky.

“Da,” Cooper says, looking distressed. Hunter pats his leg but frowns, looking at Bucky like he can explain where Clint is.

“Daddy?”

“Sorry pal, just me,” Bucky says with a grimace. “You hungry? Shall we do breakfast now or wait for daddy to get back?”

“Now,” Frank says tearfully into his neck.

“Now,” Hunter echoes, and Cooper jams his fingers into his mouth and nods.

“Alright,” Bucky says. “Steve, man the high chairs. Natasha, will you get out the Cheerios? Wilson, go to the store.”

“And get what?”

“Tell you what, you go there and I’ll think real hard about what groceries we need, and we’ll see if you can pick it up telepathically.”

“Coffee,” Steve says loudly as he pulls out the high chairs and lines them up. “Sam, make some coffee.”

Soon enough the boys are fed and watered, and all itching to get out of their seats. They’re not asking about Clint too much; Natasha says it’s about par for the course for when they babysit. It’s only when the hour mark arrives and passes that the atmosphere in the room turns uneasy.

“He said an hour, right?” Bucky says as he lifts Cooper out of his chair, setting him down and watching as he wanders off, heading towards the bucket of duplo and upending it all over the floor with a crash. Frank and Hunter also dash over as they’re liberated from their seats, already squabbling over pieces.

An hour and ten passes. Then an hour and a half. When they hit the almost two hour mark, Bucky and Steve both get up, exchanging determined glances. Sam and Natasha agree to stay, murmuring in low voices, phones in hand.

“Back in a bit, boys,” Bucky says, pressing rushed kisses to the tops of blond heads.

“Good morning,” Frank tells him sincerely.

“Bye,” Hunter says, without looking away from the television.

“Teb deck gleb bwuh,” Cooper says, chewing on a Barbie’s leg.

“You got it,” Bucky assures him, and he and Steve leave the apartment side by side.

After an hour of searching, Bucky thinks that when they do finally find Clint, he’s going to kill him. Everyone is eleven out of ten worried, except the boys who are still cheerfully playing at home, none the wiser about the fact their dad has gone AWOL.

Turns out, that despite Bucky’s increasing agitation and his vaguely violent internal monologue, finding Clint is rather anticlimactic. After countless minutes of treading through Brooklyn, Bed Stuy and beyond, Bucky finally spots a sandy-haired, purple-shirted figure sitting on a park bench, alone.

All of Bucky’s anger - well, most of it - vanishes in sheer giddy relief, and he texts Steve and Natasha to say ‘found him. Will bring him back. Forcibly if necessary.’

Without waiting to work out what he’s going to say, he simply wanders over and sits down next to Clint. Clint turns his head to look at him, and then his shoulders heave in a sigh and he goes back to staring out over the park, elbows resting on his knees and fingers loosely linked.

Bucky just waits it out. Bucky might have taken a lot of looking after when he’d gotten back from the war in pieces, but Steve hadn’t just skipped merrily out of the service with his honorable discharge and a smile on his face. In fact, Bucky is a pro at dealing with pensive brooding blonds who don’t want to talk about anything. As such, he keeps his trap shut and leans back on the bench, mentally scouting potential escape routes and deciding how best to stop Clint if he makes a run for it or tries to get away from him.

“Alright.” It’s Clint who breaks the stalemate, much to Bucky’s surprise. He sounds tired, voice rough and gravelly. “Let me have it.”

Bucky sighs. “Before I saw you sat here all alone like some sad act, I might have done.”

Clint leans forwards again, planting the heels of his palms over his eyes. “I wasn’t going to leave,” he says, voice cracking. “I swear, I wasn’t walking out on them.”

“I know,” Bucky says, because Clint sounds almost desperate for Bucky to believe him. “Why do you think we were looking on foot you moron? I would have stolen Sam’s car if we thought you’d gone far.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t steal it anyway, just to piss Sam off,” Clint says, and Bucky sees his throat bob as he swallows hard. “I’m so tired, all the time,” Clint says, hands still clamped over his eyes. “I haven’t slept in two years. They don’t eat enough vegetables. Cooper still can’t talk, Hunter fights Frank every opportunity he gets even though he knows damn well that Frank will kick his ass every time, Frank refuses to wear pants and I’m pretty sure I’ve messed them up for life, and then you turn up and make everything different-”

“Whoa, whoa, and breathe,” Bucky says, alarmed. “Okay. Okay, I can either sit here and talk to you about all that, or I can just offer up the best hug a one armed vet can manage.”

“Why are you even here?” Clint says, sitting up and looking at Bucky, stressed and upset, like for some reason he’s angry that Bucky is so calm. “I told you last night-”

“You said a lot of shit,” Bucky retorts. “Starting with some bullshit about not wanting to go there because of the boys.”

“It’s not fair on them,” Clint insists.

“Bullshit,” Bucky snaps. “You look me in the eye and tell me how having me around is not good for the boys. You tell me exactly how us going there is going to be not good for the boys.”

He’s got Clint there. Clint’s jaw works, clenching hard but he doesn’t say anything.

“Clint, give me something here,” Bucky says. “If it’s something with me that you don’t want, then fine. I’ll back off. Just - just tell me what I’m working with here.”

“You would be great for the boys,” Clint says suddenly. “You are great for the boys, I just. And it’s not you, it’s really not you. It’s thinking that even if you love the boys, you have to put up with me as well.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. “That’s your issue?!”

“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” Clint says, gearing back up into angry.

“I’ll look at you how I damn well want. Tell me what that's supposed to mean, putting up with you, Jesus.”

“I mean if their fucking Mom didn’t want to get to know them because of me, if she left them because of me, what does that mean for you?”

“God, you coward,” Bucky says.

“Fuck you-”

“You are, you’re a coward when it comes to relationships,” Bucky says, meeting Clint’s defiant eyes with a challenge of his own. “And fuck you, trying to use the boys as an excuse to not even try.”

Clint’s jaw clenches up tight. His shoulders tense and Bucky wonders if they’ll end up swinging punches. He hopes not; he’s currently got a distinct handicap in terms of hand-to-hand.

“Well would you try? In my shoes?” Clint asks, voice cracking. “You have no idea.”

“I’d always try, and that’s the difference between me and you,” Bucky says. “I own my past and my bad shit but I keep trying. If I didn’t, I’d still be hiding in my room in Washington, refusing to step foot on the floor and avoiding everyone. But I didn’t, I’m here and for some reason I like your dumb ass, so will you please just try. ”

Clint exhales heavily, all the fight gone out of him. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed in Washington.”

“Look. You really want me to go, I’ll go,” Bucky says, even though he wants to punch himself in the face for saying it. “But come on. All that shit you just said. Don’t run away from something good because you’re scared.”

Clint rubs at his mouth. “I think I do that a lot,” he mumbles. “Not my finest quality.”

Bucky grimaces, acknowledging the fact. “Well, yeah. But you haven’t run away from the boys. So you know you can stick it out. You should try the not running away thing with me, too.”

Clint laughs at that, soft and broken. He shuts his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Everything always goes wrong.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky says, and indicates his empty sleeve. “Look at me. I know that better than you, pal. But I figure that to be happy in life, you have to hang onto the things you like, before the universe tries to dick you over and take it all away.”

“You sure you can hold onto all four of us with only one hand?” Clint says, and it’s a joke, except for how it’s not.

“Well, I think it kinda works out. Three kids, three hands between us,” Bucky shrugs. “They get one each then, right?”

And Clint is laughing and laughing, leaning forwards over his knees with a hand on the back of his head. When the laughter subsides, he sits up and breathes out heavily, sliding his hands through his hair. He glances sideways at Bucky and then holds out his hand, palm up.

Bucky takes it, slides his fingers through Clint’s. Hopeful bubbles of joy appear, soothing the crack in his heart. “Here for you, and the boys,” he says.

Clint nods, quickly and jerkily. Saying yes before he can doubt himself again. He swallows hard. “Come on then. We know about my flaws. How it’s going to go wrong from my end, if we do this. Even the score.”

Bucky’s mouth twists, thoughtful. “I’m jealous and petty and still occasionally have panic attacks?”

Clint seems to mull it over. “What do I do if you have a panic attack?”

Bucky shrugs. “Tell me to calm the fuck down. Get me a paper bag. Get Steve to carry me home.”

Clint blinks at that. “Sure.”

Bucky nods. “Don’t try and wind me up by flirting with other people. Especially not Steve.”

“Jealous and petty, yeah, I got it,” Clint says. “I kinda assumed that you and Steve came as a pair.”

“Little bit,” Bucky says, and he looks at the joined hands. “So. What do we do now?”

“I dunno,” Clint admits, looking at their joined hands. “I kinda...this whole thing is terrifying. I mean - we haven’t even gone on a date, we haven’t even kissed and we’re already having to work this all out because of the boys. Like if this doesn’t work out, we’re fucked because they already love you to pieces-”

“Alright then,” Bucky says. “We call back and let them know we’ll be back in an hour or two, and we go on a date right now.”

“What?” Clint asks tiredly. “Bucky, no.”

“Come on,” Bucky says, and he climbs up off the bench and holds out his hand. “We’re going to that place in Bed-Stuy to buy donuts, and we’re gonna make out like dumb teenagers and you’re gonna fall asleep on me on the subway home. If we like it, we do it all again.”  

Clint blinks up at him. “Are the boys alright?”

Bucky nods. “Frank threw a tantrum because Sam tried to start breakfast without me,” he shrugs. “Fed them Cheerios, let them have at the duplo. They’re fine.”

Clint breathes out slowly. “Coffee and donuts?” he asks, and takes Bucky’s hand and allows himself to be hauled up off the bench. He looks as if he’s not slept at all, but he smiles weakly at Bucky and Bucky abruptly decides that he’s not gonna be waiting for another moment to show up. He fists his hand in the front of Clint’s shirt and pulls him in, kissing him square on the mouth.

Clint makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, hands freezing somewhere at his sides. Bucky pulls back, biting his lower lip. “Sorry,” he says. “Couldn’t help-”

This time it’s Clint making the move, one hand on Bucky’s waist and the other sliding onto the back of his head, fingers tangling in Bucky’s hair as they kiss and kiss and kiss. Bucky’s arm slides around Clint’s waist and he holds him close, unwilling to put any space between them.

When they break apart, Clint is breathing heavily, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. “Okay,” he says. “Coffee and donuts.”

Bucky rolls his forehead against Clint’s. “You’re on.”

They get back home several long, glorious hours later. Before their impromptu date even started, Clint took Bucky’s phone and called home, checking in with the boys and promising them he’d be back for lunch. With that weight off his shoulders, he’d seemed happy enough - and oddly relieved - to go with Bucky. True to his word, Bucky had taken Clint for coffee and donuts, and they’d spent not nearly long enough sitting at a table side by side, eating and drinking and kissing whenever their mouths were otherwise unoccupied. It had made Bucky feel like a teenager all over again, giddy and utterly enamored with the way Clint kept sliding his fingers into his hair, nudging Bucky’s nose with his own and generally acting as loved up as Bucky felt.

And now, Bucky is trying to stop Clint from opening the door to the apartment, pulling him away and kissing him through his laughter. Clint doesn’t seem all that bothered by Bucky’s attempts to delay the return to reality, holding onto Bucky’s elbows and returning every kiss-

“DADDY!”

They break apart at the sound of an ear-splitting shriek, and Clint lets go of Bucky just in time to catch Hunter, who comes hurtling out of the apartment right into their legs. Frank is quick to follow, yanking at Hunter’s feet in an attempt to get Clint to put him down so he can be picked up instead.

Clint ends up with a boy on each arm, and they head back into the apartment just as Cooper seems to decide he’s feeling left out and starts yelling. He clambers up Bucky’s side, holding onto his tightly with skinny arms around his neck.

“So,” Clint says, wincing as Hunter reaches across him to try and shove Frank back, yelling ‘no!’ at a volume only matched by Cooper’s repetitions of ‘Bee! Bee! Bee!’ “You still think this is a good idea?”

Bucky smiles at him, shrugs as much as he can with Cooper hanging onto his shoulder. “Pal, I’d sell my left arm to be here,” he says, and leans in to kiss the corner of Clint’s laughing mouth.