#winterhawkbingor5

“G’way, lemme sleep,” he mumbled, rolling over and wrapping the blankets more tightly around himself. 

The poking stopped and Clint vaguely registered a set of footsteps walking around the bed before finding himself hauled roughly off the bed and dumped on the floor. He was struggling to free himself from the blanket burrito to yell at whatever teammate had rudely thrown him out of this own bed when someone dumped a pillow on his face. 

“I don’t know why you’re here, but you can sleep on the floor,” he heard Bucky growl. 

“Why am I here?” Clint yelled, finally freeing his arms from the blankets to throw the pillow at Bucky, “Why are you here?” 

Bucky caught the pillow with one hand and stared at Clint like he’d grown another head. 

“Because this is my bedroom?”

Clint looked around in confusion before registering the fact that nothing in this room belonged to him. It was far too clean, for one thing, and there wasn’t nearly enough purple. 

“Aww, bedroom, no,” he whined, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling in despair. 

“Go back to sleep, Barton,” Bucky said, tossing the pillow back at his face. “You clearly need it.” 

Clint opened his mouth to argue before deciding the better of it and tucking the pillow under his head and rolling back up into the blanket. If he had to do the walk of shame back to his floor, he’d rather do it after a full night’s sleep.

*

 The second time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was also more or less an accident. He made the same mistake again - pressing the wrong floor’s button – but this time he’d been distracted by a heated discussion he was having with Natasha. 

She raised her eyebrow when he hit the button, but didn’t say anything as he continued to rant about Reinhold in SciTech and his penchant for leaving his dirty socks outside the showers in the SHIELD locker room.

 “It’s unsanitary and I’ve nearly killed myself about three times now slipping on them on my way to the shower!” Clint was yelling as he walked off the elevator. He nearly ran into Bucky, who was staring at him with confusion.

Clint returned the look of confusion until he glanced past Bucky and noticed the rest of the room. The rest of the room that was definitely not his living room. 

“Aww, floor seventy-three, no,” Clint sighed, shaking his head as Natasha snickered at him. “Sorry Bucky, I must have hit the wrong button again. At least I’m not sleeping in your bed this time?” 

“Small victories,” Bucky said dryly.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Clint told him. He had a vicious bruise on his elbow from slipping on Reinhold’s socks this morning, and he was lucky he hadn’t brained himself on one of the shower stalls. He was going to take any small victories he could. 

“Low standards are important, I suppose,” Bucky commented, looking pointedly at the elevator door. “Are you going to go to the correct floor now, or were you planning to join me for disc golf?” 

Clint perked up at the thought of playing disc golf with another sniper. “You’re going to play disc golf? Really? And we can join?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re far too excited about this. But yes, I suppose you can join if you want to.” 

Clint pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!” he crowed, suddenly happy to have hit the button for the wrong floor. “Large victories!”

*

The third time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor he was wheeled in by Tony. 

"Birdbrain here decided to jump out a window again without arranging transport," Tony informed Bucky as he pushed Clint into the living room and parked the wheelchair next to the couch. "The rest of the team is headed to an Assemble, but somebody isn't supposed to be putting any weight on those legs and has a long history of escaping medical. If anyone's going to be able to keep him out of trouble it's you," he said, marching back out of the room before Bucky could respond. 

Clint shrugged when Bucky turned and gave him a questioning look. "Not sure why Tony thinks that," he said, disengaging the brakes on his wheelchair and making his way towards the kitchen. "I mean, your track record isn't that great. You never managed it with Steve, even before he got all full of muscles. You got any pizza in here?" 

Bucky trailed in after him, looking a bit dazed. "Not everyone keeps their fridge full of pizza, you know." 

"Yes, but those people are wrong," Clint said, frowning at the contents of Bucky's fridge. "Do you eat anything besides chicken?" 

"Says the man who would eat nothing but pizza if given the option." 

"Pizza is great," Clint said, shutting the fridge. "We should get pizza." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I think there might be a frozen pizza in th- hey, no standing!" he snapped when Clint pulled open the freezer and started pushing himself out of the chair. "What part of 'no weight' do you not understand?" he asked, pushing Clint back down and keeping a firm grip on his shoulder. 

"It was only for a second," Clint argued. "I wanted to see if there was pizza." 

"There is... barbecue chicken pizza," Bucky said after peering into the freezer, hand still a warm weight on Clint's shoulder. 

"Again with the chicken," Clint moaned, flopping his head backwards dramatically. "Can we please order pizza? I promise I'll be good if we can order pizza." 

Bucky looked down at Clint looking unimpressed. "No escape attempts if we order pizza?" 

"And watch a movie?" Clint asked, widening his eyes and smiling up at Bucky as he tried pressing his luck. 

"No escape attempts for pizza and a movie?" 

Clint shook his head, trying his best to look endearing. It must have worked because Bucky sighed and said, "okay, fine, pizza and a movie". 

Clint pumped his fist and wheeled himself back into the living room. "Can we get mushroom pepperoni?" he asked, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning on Bucky's TV. "Or maybe that mediterranean one with the olives and the feta? Or both? Let's do both. Hey JARVIS, can you order a large mushroom pepperoni and a large mediterranean pizza from that place with the space cats on the takeout menu? And an order of cheesy garlic bread?" 

He looked at Bucky who had a dazed expression on his face again. 

"And a large pesto chicken pizza for the chicken-obsessed super soldier," Clint added. Pizza and movie night with Bucky was going to be awesome. 

*

The fourth time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was entirely JARVIS’s fault. He’d stumbled into the elevator after a bit too much revelry and announced “fly me to the moon, Jarvy, my man!”. Apparently, JARVIS took that to mean Bucky’s floor, which was entirely on JARVIS and had nothing to do with the fact Clint was falling over and hitting elevator buttons at random because he had tried to out-drink Thor. 

In retrospect, that was maybe a little bit on Clint. Maybe.

*

The fifth time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was much like the first. He’d only been awake for about forty-eight hours this time, but at the end of it they’d busted a child trafficking ring masquerading as a circus and Clint wanted nothing more than to burn the world down and then sleep for a week straight. To say this one had hit too close to home was a little bit of an understatement.

So when he’d stepped out of the elevator and found himself on Bucky’s floor instead of his own, he shook his head and headed for the couch instead of the bedroom. He couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore, because that would open himself up to caring about other things. Things like kids in cages with silent tear tracks running down their faces because they’d learned that crying out loud only brought more pain.

 If Bucky wanted to murder him for sleeping on his couch, well, Clint could think of worse ways to go.

Instead of being murdered in his sleep, Clint woke to find Bucky sitting in the armchair across from the couch and staring at him. The hair on the back of Clint’s neck went up and he shivered, his body going cold like someone had dumped a glass of ice water down his back.  

“Could you be any more of a creeper?” Clint joked, trying to deflect his primal fear of being watched by an apex predator. 

“I could have a knife,” Bucky said calmly. 

“Please, like you don’t have at least half a dozen knives on you,” Clint said, his body starting to thaw out when it looked like Bucky wasn’t going to do anything drastic like kiss him or throw him out the window.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I could have a visible knife,” he amended.

Clint pointed to Bucky’s ankle, where the hem of his pants had ridden up to expose the sheath tucked into his boot. 

Bucky sighed deeply. “I could be stabbing you with a knife,” he said after a beat. “Maybe I should be stabbing you with a knife. Why are you sleeping on my couch?” 

"I hit the wrong button on the elevator again and I didn't want to get tossed out of your bed. The couch seemed safer." 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

"Did you read the after action report from the latest SHIELD mission?" Clint asked. 

"You know I don't have access to those." 

Clint snorted. "Everyone knows Steve gives you the hard copy he prints out 'for his files'. He plays up the old-fashioned fuddy-duddy stereotype for the SHIELD administration, but everyone knows he's printing them out for you." 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Well, I suppose it's good to know his team can see through his nonsense, even if SHIELD can't figure out what's going on. Yes, I read the after action report," Bucky admitted. 

"And you've read my file?" 

Bucky looked uncomfortable for a second, looking to the side and playing with the zipper on his hoodie. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly through his nose before replying, "Yes. Both the SHIELD and Hydra ones. The Hydra files on you actually had more detail than the SHIELD files, especially regarding some of your history prior to joining SHIELD." 

Clint grimaced. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Coulson purposefully left some of that out of my official record. After Nat released all the files to the public, I'm pretty grateful for that fact. Not sure how I feel about Hydra having all that dirt on me, though." 

"For what it's worth, after the way you left the circus Hydra didn't consider you recruitable. Too many morals." 

"Well thank Thor for that," Clint said, flopping back on the couch and throwing his arm over his face to cover his eyes. "I figured it woulda been the whole Natasha thing that put me on Hydra's blacklist, but sure, getting beat up by my own brother and left for dead on the side of the road's a good reason as any." 

Bucky coughed delicately, and when Clint lifted his arm to peer at him, he was looking pointedly away from Clint.

"What?" 

"The, ah, 'Natasha thing', as you call it actually made Hydra reconsider their stance on you."

"What."

"Not enough to actively recruit you, but, ah, they were always looking for persuasive individuals who could convert others to their cause. If you could convince an active Red Room agent to defect, just imagine what you could do for Hydra recruitment if you joined the cause..." Bucky petered out as he peered at Clint with growing concern. "Are you all right?" 

"I think I'm gonna throw up." 

"Please don't." 

"I'm not actually going to," Clint assured him, despite feeling queasy at the revelation that Hydra had considered him for some kind of recruitment officer. "I just... that's horrifying and I don't want to think about that more than I have to. Great distraction technique, though. A-plus for both effort and execution."  

"That was not actually my intent, but I'm glad to have been of assistance," Bucky said, studying Clint for a long moment. "Do you want a drink?" 

"God yes," he answered, flopping back on the couch again to stare at the ceiling. "I want ten drinks."

Bucky's lip twitched in a small smile. "Maybe we'll start with one," he said, heading into the kitchen. He came out a few minutes later with two small glasses in his hand and held one out to Clint. 

"Nostrovia!" Clint said, taking the glass and clinking it against Bucky's. 

Bucky frowned for a second before replying, "Na zdorovje." 

Clint tipped his head back, taking a large sip and immediately coughing. He managed to swallow instead of spitting it back into the glass, and he felt quite proud of himself for that. 

"What the fuck is this?" he asked, looking balefully at the glass. 

"Absinthe," Bucky replied with a raised eyebrow, calmly taking a sip from his own glass. 

"Why does it taste like where happiness goes to die?" Clint asked, taking another cautious sip and making a face. "It's like... black licorice cough syrup." 

"That would be the anise," Bucky explained. "And maybe the wormwood." 

Clint swirled the liquid in his glass, glaring at it and feeling betrayed. 

"Is this stuff even legal over here?" 

Bucky shrugged. "I have no idea. Tony imports it for me. I got a taste for the stuff when we were stationed in Europe during the war." He held out his hand. "If you won't drink it, I'll take it." 

"I didn't say I wouldn't drink it!" Clint huffed, clutching the glass to his chest. "If it's good enough for Sergeant Bucky, it's good enough for me." 

Bucky just rolled his eyes and settled down on the couch next to Clint. "Sergeant Bucky, as you so call him, brewed coffee in a tin can and boiled most of his meals. I'm not sure I'd take culinary advice from that guy." 

"I won't judge. We've all been there," Clint said with a shrug, taking another sip of the absinthe and wrinkling his nose. "I can see how it'd lead you to thinking this concoction is good, though. Lower your standards enough and even the licorice wormwood drink tastes appealing."

"It is an acquired taste," Bucky said, sipping delicately from his glass before settling back into the armchair across from the couch and giving Clint an unreadable look.

A few too many glasses of absinthe later, Clint had clearly acquired a taste and was sprawled across Bucky's lap, hand reaching up to bat at Bucky's hair. 

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked. 

"Playin' with your hair," Clint slurred, twirling a lock of Bucky's hair in his fingers. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and gently grabbed Clint's hand, redirecting it away from his hair. Clint took that as an invitation to hold hands, and twined his fingers through Bucky's, smiling dopily. 

"Why do you keep coming to my floor, Clint?" 

"Pro'bly because I have a crush on you," Clint said, closing his eyes. "I wish you liked men," he continued, drunkenly oblivious to Bucky's shock. "It's okay you don't, of course. You like who you like and that's not a choice you make, no matter what some people tell you, no matter how many times they try to beat it out of you, but I wish you liked men because then you might like me." 

Clint yawned, eyes still closed, so he didn't see the way Bucky bit his lip and frowned. He fell asleep a few minutes later, breathing softly and body going limp and relaxed. Bucky shook his head and slowly eased his fingers out of Clint's hand. When Clint didn't stir, Bucky carefully extricated himself from the couch and pulled the fuzzy purple blanket he'd bought on a whim over Clint.  

It seemed he had a lot to think about. 

*

Bucky stood in the elevator, finger hovering over the button to Clint's floor, for much longer than he cared to admit. JARVIS must think him a fool. 

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a brief second, and pressed the button to Clint's floor. The elevator started moving in the smooth way the elevators in Avengers Tower always did, and Bucky had exactly seventy seconds to second guess his actions before the doors opened with a quiet whoosh. 

He took in the surroundings as a matter of course, instinctually noting the differences with his floor - mainly the mess of purple clothing and knickknacks scattered across the floor and tables. 

Clint looked up from the couch where he was sprawled. He had a set of beat up looking headphones over his ears, but pulled them down around his neck when he spotted Bucky. 

"Bucky, hey!" he said, sounding surprised but not unhappy. "What are you doing here?" 

"Possibly something very foolish," Bucky replied with a wry smile. 

Clint perked up from his seat on the couch. "You came to the right place for that," he said, pushing himself to an upright position. The purple Starkpad he'd been holding fell to ground, but Clint just shrugged and shoved it under the coffee table with his foot. "I am totally your man for possibly bad ideas. What are we doing? Are we pulling a jump-scare prank on Bruce?" 

"God, no!" Bucky said, horrified. The last time Tony had tried that, he'd had to replace half the engineering wing. 

"Probably for the best," Clint admitted, looking thoughtful. "Are we pranking Steve, then? I've been wanting to replace his shampoo with purple hair dye for a while now. Did you know they make conditioners with hair dye in them? I don't know how well they'd work on someone with your hair color, but I'm sure they'd work great on Steve." 

Bucky shook his head. "No, but I might steal that idea." He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I wanted to ask you out to dinner." He paused. "On a date," he clarified.

Clint frowned and Bucky's heart fell. 

"Why would you... wait, are you pranking me?" 

"What? No!" Bucky said hurriedly. "Why would I prank you about that?"

"Because you don't date men!" Clint practically shouted. 

Bucky recoiled, torn between anger and frustration. "I don't date men because I grew up in the twenties and then I was a brainwashed Hydra assassin. I don't date men because I haven't had an opportunity to date men, not because I'm not interested in men. I'm sorry you thought I was pranking you." 

He gathered up the remaining shreds of his dignity and turned back to the elevator. The doors whooshed open without him having to press the button. JARVIS must truly think him a fool.

"Bucky, wait!" Clint called out behind him. He heard Clint stand up from the couch and take a few hurried steps, but Bucky didn't turn around. He didn't need to see whatever expression Clint had on his face. Disgust, pity, or god forbid - amusement? Bucky didn't need to see any of that. The rest of this experience had been humiliating enough. 

"Bucky, stop, please," Clint begged, standing right behind him from the sound of it. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea and you - you took me by surprise. I'm sorry. Please don't leave?"

Bucky turned around slowly to face Clint. 

"It's fine. I understand. I made a mistake."

"It's not," Clint insisted. "And you didn't. But even if you had, that's no excuse. It's like... you can't just go around stabbing people because they've surprised you. That's rude. I was rude. I'm so sorry."

"I might have preferred if you'd stabbed me," Bucky muttered darkly. "It would have hurt less." 

Clint winced. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just - I thought you must be pranking me because there's no way someone like you would want to go on a date with someone like me." 

"Why would you say that?" 

"I mean," Clint waved his hands, gesturing to Bucky, "just look at you. You're like, super soldier perfection. I'm like the hot mess carnie trash that keeps breaking into your house." 

Bucky shook his head. "I think you're getting me mixed up with Steve. And it's not really breaking in when you're welcome. If I didn't want you on my floor, don't you think I'd have asked JARVIS to lock the doors?" 

Clint's mouth dropped open. "Really?" 

"Really." 

"Is it too late to say yes to that dinner?" Clint asked, biting his lip and looking at Bucky with a hopeful look.