(Fictober belated day 12: “What if I don’t see it?”)
“What if I don’t see it?”
A cold hand wrapped itself around Clint’s throat for a second and he had to swallow hard to clear it, but he made sure when he tugged on Nate’s ankle that there was a smile on his face, even though the kid couldn’t see it. Nate shrieked a little, and clung to the top of Clint’s head, and by the time he spoke the warmth was almost entirely genuine.
“I know one hundred percent you’re gonna see it, baby,” he said. “Know why?”
“‘cos Papa promised,” Nate said, and Clint lightly squeezed his ankle.
“‘cos Papa promised,” he repeated, “and Papa doesn’t break his promises. Now you gotta help me out here. Papa’s comin’ up from Cuba, and that’s in the South, so that means I should be facing -” he turned around in a circle, Nate clutching his ears in delight, and stopped facing back towards the house. “This way, right?”
“No?” Clint spun around again, Nate’s shrieks of laughter echoing off the trees. Back in the house he could see a light on in Connor’s bedroom, could picture the two of them arguing over who’d get which pair of binoculars. “Should I face the orchard, then?”
They stood there in dark and the silence for a second or two, no sound save the crickets and the wind in the trees, and then Nate stiffened up on his shoulders, his little fingers tugging too hard on Clint’s hair. It was another ten seconds before Clint’s aids picked it up, the distinctive whooshing of Tony’s technology, and then the Quinjet erupted over the trees, and Nate almost knocked Clint sideways with how hard he was waving.
“See?” he shouted, all the fear evaporating out of him all at once, leaving him hollow and light and about ready to blow away, “didn’t I tell you?”
“PAPA!” Nate shrieked, and Clint had to hold on hard to his legs so the kid didn’t wave his tiny self right off his shoulders. The Quinjet waggled its wings as it passed overhead, just a little, and missing Bucky was one of those weights in Clint’s chest that knocked against his heart and reminded him he was living.
The Quinjet disappeared again before it oughta, low over the forest, and Nate gasped.
“It’s not crashing, baby,” Clint said, but he started walking towards the trees anyway, breaking into a jog to loud protests from above. “Although what the hell he is doing -”
He stopped dead when he saw the dark figure emerging from the treeline.
“PAPA!” Nate shrieked again, almost shorting out Clint’s aids it was so loud in his ear, and Clint had to swallow again and again, had to make sure his voice didn’t break around Bucky’s name.
“I thought you had a meeting with the WSC,” he said, “I thought we weren’t gonna see you for another week.”
Bucky grinned and reached out, hauling Nate down into his arms and covering his face with stubbly kisses that Nate loudly protested against, giggling helplessly.
“Captain America can take it,” he said, “‘cos Sam’s being an A-S-S-hole this week. Plus how the hell was I supposed to miss my favourite little guy’s birthday, huh?”
“Bucky,” Clint said, in spite of the weeks of planning, in spite of the stash of candles and the laundered tablecloth and the ring that was waiting in his nightstand drawer, “Bucky, I’m gonna need you to marry me, okay?”
And Bucky grinned to the distant sound of the front door slamming open, to the distant delighted shrieking of their kids.
“Sure,” he said. “I promise.”
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