#limetimo

“Come on, Buck, you’ll like this shop,” he wheedled. “You know you’ll feel better,” he poked. “If I could do it, so can you,” he challenged.

That last thing was what pushed Bucky over the edge. If Steve, with his 98 pounds and myriad of illnesses, could get a friggin tattoo, there’s no way Bucky can’t. Or at least, not if he wants to live it down with Wilson.

The door jingles as he pushes in, and the girl at the reception table looks up with a wide smile.

“Hello! Welcome to Shield Tattoo Parlor, how can I help you?”

Bucky tries to smile back, but he suspects it came out more as a grimace.

“Hi,” he croaks out, then clears his throat. “I’m Bucky Barnes. I have an appointment?”

“Hm,” the girl squints at her computer. “Ah, Barnes, yes. You have an appointment with Natasha. Just sit down, she’ll be out shortly. I’m Darcy, by the way. We use first names, if that’s alright with you.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky pushes out, and quickly sits down.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait for long, because he’s not sure he could keep himself from bolting if he had to sit here for more than five minutes.

After only a minute or two, though, a gorgeous redhead comes out from the backrooms, and walks over.

“James?” she stops in front of him. “I’m Natasha. Come on,” and she turns and walks away.

Bucky scrambles after her, and barely catches the door as it swings shut.

“I go by Bucky,” he tells her as she stops in front of a room.

She looks him up and down, and quirks her eyebrows.

“It’s a stupid name,” she tells him. “But as you wish. In you go, Bucky, I have to get my sketchbook.”

Bucky opens the door. It’s a smallish room, with two couches and a small table between them, but it’s colored in a powerful deep red and wood accents.

Bucky sits down on one of the couches. He’s just about to panic again, when Natasha comes in.

“So, Bucky,” she says as she sits down on the other couch and puts her sketchpad on her lap. “What do you have in mind? Location, size, design?”

“I want it on my left arm,” Bucky says. “The whole arm. And something with flowers.”

Natasha nods. “Can I ask why? That’s very big for a first tattoo.”

“It’s to cover up scars,” Bucky says, his throat closing up a bit.

“Ah,” Natasha says. “In that case, I would like to see the scarring, so I can plan around it. That way it can become part of the design.”

“Sure,” Bucky nods. He’s expected it, so it doesn’t take much out of him to pull off his t-shirt and let Natasha see. “Do you want to sketch it?”

“Reference pictures would be better,” Natasha says, leaning closer. “There is quite a lot of scar tissue, I need to be precise. Is that alright with you?”

Bucky nods again, but asks, “It’s not gonna be posted anywhere, right?”

“Not if you don’t want it to,” Natasha assures him, and Bucky nods, relieved. “We sometimes post before-after photos on our website, but only if the person agrees, and only anonymously. You don’t have to agree, though, at all. It’s completely your choice.”

“Okay, then, take as much as you need,” Bucky tries to smile at her, and it comes out a bit more honest than it did in the waiting area.

Natasha nods, and pulls out her phone. As she takes the photos she needs, Bucky stares into space, so he’s startled when she speaks.

“Thank you,” she tells him, ignoring him jump. “You can put on your shirt. Do you know what flowers you want?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Not really,” he says as he pulls his t-shirt back on. “I have vague ideas about vines.”

“Okay,” she nods. “How about we go over to the flower shop next door and you can look around? The florist knows the meaning of most flowers, too, if that matters to you, I don’t because I don’t care.”

Bucky laughs, surprised.

“I have a feeling most tattoo artists don’t admit that,” he says.

“Well,” Natasha shrugs, “I don’t really care. If you’re stupid enough to be offended by that, I don’t want to work with you. I can afford to send away the idiots.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky nods. “I don’t care much about them, though. I just want it to be beautiful instead of this mess.”

“We can certainly do that,” Natasha smiles at him, small. “Come on, then.”

 ---------------

The flower shop is small but packed with flowers.

“Clint?” Natasha calls out as they enter, as no one is at the register. “Stay here, I’ll get him,” she turns to Bucky, and disappears into the back room.

Bucky takes the time to look around. The shop is filled floor to ceiling with flowers on racks, and Bucky is somewhat ashamed that he doesn’t recognize even a tenth of them. It’s beautiful, though – a riot of colors and shapes, something that should absolutely look too much, and yet it doesn’t. It looks messy, but alive, full of love and cheer.

“Sorry, I’m here,” a voice says, and Bucky’s head snaps around. There, at the backroom door, is the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. He’s tall, definitely taller than Bucky, and covered in green bits, but his arms are the stuff of fantasies, and his eyes are a brilliant blue. Then he turns his head slightly and bright purple hearing aids peek out from behind his ear.

Bucky feels himself falling in love.

“No problem,” he chokes out. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am,” the man – Clint, Natasha called him – chuckles. “Okay, Natasha says you need flower help. What are you thinking of?”

“I don’t really know,” Bucky says apologetically. “Mostly just lots of vines and colors.”

“Okay, how about these?” Clint steps out from behind the register and bends down, and Bucky chokes.

He desperately tries to cover it, but by Natasha’s smirk, he doesn’t succeed.

Then, a devious glint lights in her eyes, and Bucky pales.

“Hey, Clint,” she calls out, casually, from the doorway where she’s leaning. “I think Bucky likes the view.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky stares at her, his face going from pale to flaming so fast he swears he feels himself get dizzy.

“What, really?” Clint spins around, then smiles slowly when he sees Bucky’s face. “Hey, I can give you more of the view if you like it,” he smirks, then fuckin winks.

“Oh my god,” Bucky chokes out again. This time, he actually goes dizzy, but not because the blood is going to his face.

“Limited offer,” Clint raises an eyebrow, smirk firmly in place.

Bucky takes a deep breath, but it only fills him with the smell of flowers, and he feels like he might actually faint.