#1kchallenge

A metal hand closes around his wrist. “Clint,” he says. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being an asshole,” Clint says, yanking his hand away. “I know how to do my job, okay? I don’t need you babysitting me in the field.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s not babysitting, Clint, it’s stopping you from dying when you insist on taking stupid risks.”

Clint stalks across the room and yanks his arrow free. One of the fletchings is loose, he can see it wobbling. No wonder the stupid thing won’t fly straight. He needs to fix these, needs to fix the whole damn quiver, actually. It’s the only way he can feel useful, because he sure as hell doesn’t know how to fix whatever’s going on between him and Bucky.

You’re not dating, he tells himself firmly. You’re not his boyfriend. It’s just a fling. There isn’t anything to fix, because there’s nothing there in the first place. He has to tell himself that, because if he lets himself think about it too hard, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

“I will not,” Bucky says. “Not until we talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Clint whirls on him, aiming an arrow without thinking. Bucky holds his hands up, expression calm. “I don’t need you to protect me, Buck, I can take care of my own damn self. I was doing it long before you showed up, and I’m gonna be doing it long after you drop me and move on.”

Bucky looks stung. “Is that what you think is going to happen?”

“That’s what always happens,” Clint says, lowering the arrow. He shoves it back in the quiver and shoulders his bow. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” He shoves past Bucky so he doesn’t have to see the other man’s expression, and walks into the hallway. Lucky perks his head up, looking between the two of them. Then he gets up and pads after Clint.

Clint takes his feelings all the way up to the roof and slams the door behind him. “Fuck him,” he tells Lucky. “I don’t need his protection. I’m not some damsel in distress. I’m Hawkeye.”

He sets up the training mannequin he keeps up here and spends the next hour filling it up with arrows, shooting until the ache in his arms is worse than the ache in his heart. He occasionally glances at the door, hoping and not hoping that Bucky will come after him.

Bucky does not come up. The door stays closed.

When it’s too dark to properly see, Lucky comes and puts his paws up on Clint’s waist with a sad little arf noise. “Yeah,” Clint says, reaching down to scratch at him. “You’re right. Let’s go get dinner.”

Bucky isn’t in his apartment either, and Clint decidedly does not think about how that makes him feel. He grabs some pizza and tosses a piece at Lucky, then collapses onto his threadbare couch and turns on Dog Cops.

There’s a knock at the door. Natasha, probably, coming to yell at him for one thing or another. “It’s open,” he calls over his shoulder, not willing to get up. “Come in.”

The door opens, and Clint cranes his head over the couch to see. “Oh. You.”

Bucky is standing there with a pizza box in one hand, and a coffee cup in the other. He casts a glance over at Lucky, who’s excitedly snarfing down his piece. “I guess this is redundant,” he says, holding up the box.

“Nah, man. Can never have too much pizza.” Clint pushes himself up. “You gonna stand in the doorway the whole night?”

“You gonna point arrows at me again?”

Clint flushes. “I’m sorry. That was mean.”

“It’s okay. I was being an asshole.” Bucky sits next to him on the couch and puts the box on the coffee table. Then he fixes those pretty blue eyes on Clint and takes a deep breath. “Look. I know you can take care of yourself. You’re great in the field. Seriously. You’re smart as hell and the best shot I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you.”

“But you gotta understand,” Bucky continues, “that every time you pull some stupid stunt like you did this morning? It scares the hell out of me, man. I hate watching you do that stuff.”

“I’ve been doing that stuff since forever,” Clint points out. “Never bothered you before.”

“Yeah, because that was before—” Bucky stops.

“Before…?”

“Before I knew I liked you, you idiot.”

Clint stares at him. “You like me?”

“Uh, yeah.” Bucky gestures between them. “What did you think this was?”

“I don’t know. I thought we were just having fun.”

Bucky shrugs. “We were, at first. But then I got to know you better, and I just…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think I want it to be just for fun.”

Clint’s stupid heart flip-flops in his chest, and he sits up a little straighter. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Bucky says, “that I want to make this a thing. You and me. If you want.”

Clint considers this, watching Bucky’s flesh hand drum nervously on the cushions. Does he want this to be a thing?

Stupid question. Of course he wants this to be a thing. He’s wanted it to be a thing for weeks. He just never said anything, because he didn’t know if Bucky wanted it to be a thing.

“Okay,” he says, and Bucky’s face lights up like the sun.

“Okay,” he says back, and they grin at each other like a couple of idiots.

Lucky nudges his way between them, nearly knocking over the pizza box, and the moment is broken. Bucky laughs and tosses him a piece, and scoots a little closer to Clint, and Clint leans against his shoulder with a sense of ease he didn’t know he was missing.

“It won’t be easy, you know.,” Clint tells him. “I’m bad at relationships. Like, notoriously bad.”

“Of course it won’t be easy,” Bucky says. “We’ll have to work at it. But I want to do that. Because I want you.”

“You want me,” Clint echoes.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, smiling at him. “Is that so hard to believe? I want all of you, Clint. Every day. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Clint reaches out and winds his fingers into Bucky’s. “Okay,” he says again, and squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Okay. I’m in. I want you too.”