Bucky looked down at the butter-yellow paint in the can and sighed, “Yellow? Really?” he asked.

He was tired. It had been a long day of painting and tearing up carpet. His muscles ached and more than once he’d had to remind himself that he loved you. He felt like an asshole the second he watched your face fall. “You don’t like it?”

He smiled a little, “It’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he said. 

“You don’t like it,” you sigh, “I’m sorry... I just thought it would look nice with the ceramic hardware we found for the cabinets.” You start to put the top back on the can of paint and he stops your hands, gently. “Baby,” he says gently, “I told you the kitchen was all yours. It’s not your fault yellow reminds me of snot.” You snort in spite of yourself and he chucks you under the chin, “Who knows. Maybe it’ll grow on me,” he says picking up a brush.

“Like a fungus?” you tease, remembering the dog. An Ugly brown mutt named “soy sauce” who’s arrival at the apartment had been heralded by a text “I got soy Sauce” after you’d both took turns forgetting to pick it up at the store. The dog Bucky now affectionately called “Fungus” after you’d caught him slipping a bite of steak under the table to him.

The water of the lake was so smooth it was a perfect mirror of the sky. 

Not a ripple. Not a bubble. It felt as if he could walk off the pier he was sitting on and fall through to another world. Loki found it strangely soothing, and he was in sore need of comfort. 

Sunrise stretched forward slowly, reaching through the darkness of the night before like a lifeline. Pale orange and golden light streaked through the sky. Slowly at first and then more insistently as he watched. 

He sipped from a paper cup of coffee and remembered the last sunrise he saw. He’d been with you, lazing in a tent on top of a cliff. There’d been nothing and no one to disturb you and Thor had taken full advantage of that fact, glancing up from where he was lavishing kisses on the inside of your thighs. The sky had been red. It made him smile. It was as if the Norns were smiling on him. Praising his passion and prowess. 

It was a far cry from today. 

Today, he was sleepless with worry. Waiting for you to open your eyes. Promising himself that he’ll never watch a sunrise without you again. That you’ll never do a mission without him again. 

Strawberry Icecream, Thor decides. That’s what your lips remind him of. He watches you sleep, tracing your lips with his thumb tenderly. Pink, kiss swollen and plump. Sweet. 

He loves those lips, the silky feel of them on his. The way you always find just the right spot on his neck to make him go weak at the knees. He smiles and brushes hair out of your eyes, admiring the reddish tones that are coming out in the weak winter sunlight, nodding to himself.

Definitely Strawberry icecream. Sweet and comforting. Tasting of the most sublime Summer fruit even in the dead of winter. Sweetly decadent. Tempting. He leans forward and brushes a kiss against them. Too tempted to resist the urge, chuckling softly when your eyes flutter open. 

A glimmer of something metallic caught Bucky’s eye and he turned slowly. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. 

You looked beautiful Rose gold taffeta dress, hugging curves he could still feel under his hands. Like it was yesterday. Hair piled on your head and makeup soft. You looked like a daydream.

It had been a dream, being with you. A beautiful dream that he’d turned into a nightmare. He’d broken your heart. He’d had it in his hands, and not been smart enough to hold it gently. To be brave enough, or smart enough to protect it like he should.

Turquoise, Natasha thought, is the ugliest color ever invented. 

It made her think of you. Soft cotton panties peeking out from under an oversized shirt. A spatula in hand as you hovered over the stove, trying to make breakfast as quietly as possible. Sunlight filling the kitchen and highlighting the soft gold tones in your hair.

It made her think of story nights and soft fluffy blankets. Cries of bliss answering cracks of thunder. 

A necklace brought back as an apology. One that missed you by hours while she was on her way back. Too late to protect you. The Blue-green stone that the thought would suit your favorite dress. One you’d wear forever. She could see that dress in her minds eye. See the way you’d looked in it. Soft. Ethereal. Like you were sleeping. Like if she called for you your eyes would open and you’d smile at her. They’d done a good job.

“I don’t see why I have to do this,” Tony said. 

You shrug, “Good PR,” you tell him, adjusting the black bow tie fondly, “After you made that bullshit ass comment about a ladies of SHIELD calendar, twitter fucking exploded.”

Tony sighed, “I still don’t see why that means I have to participate.”

“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, Tones,” you say. “Now play nice for the camera and show everybody just how sexy a Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist can be.”

The genius in question looked towards the red velvet fainting couch and groaned, “I knew I should have fired you.”

The sky was grey and as the steam from his coffee curled towards the mist, Clint Barton smiled.

He was sitting on a rooftop, watching the city come to life. Oblivious to the melodrama of the night before. Oblivious to his busted up face and the bruises that are covering his ribs. He wants to sleep. But he knows that it isn’t time for that quite yet. He promised Kate pancakes and if Lucky doesn’t get his bacon he’ll be pissed. He can hear Kate singing to the radio. 

She’s still young. Still needs to blow off steam. She’s young enough she still has the steam to blow off period. He envies her that sometimes. At almost 35 he feels every injury worse the next day. He knows that later today he’ll hate himself, but for now, the city is safe, he’s alive and his new coffee pot works like a dream. 

The sky is grey, the mist from the fog is swirling like the steam from his coffee cup. In the early morning chill, Clint Barton feels free. He watches his feet kick as they dangle off the building and, not for the first time, he wonders if Bobbi found what she was looking for when she left him. He hopes so.