#xkitvov

Clint grinned, pressed up against the side of the brick wall, bow in hand, his quiver full to bursting, bristling with blunt tipped round heads, an array of targets set all around the high tech range Tony had made for them, waiting for Bucky to push the start button. "When you're ready."

He's eating in the cafe when he hears the strike teams starting to form up. Tailing behind one of them, he hears their orders, grabs a com, and demands that he's added to the search. Bucky isn't a bad person, that's what a lot of these people don't understand. They haven't had the free will ripped away from them, and another mind stuffed inside their heads, only their eyes their own. Not even their lungs, nothing. He's rounding the corner, making sure his footsteps are loud enough to hear, when he sees him. "Hey."

He moved quietly, little more than a shadow  within shadows,  eyes wide and alert, hands  clenched into tight  fists, gentle wisps of ice curling around  tense  fingers. Rubber soled  boots crunched on rubble,  despite the care he took with each step.  He   stopped,   taking   in   his  surroundings,  before he passed  through  the doorway, not entirely  certain  that  he  was  alone. But he  could   see   nothing   -  hear  nothing  -  but  something was off.  A  few   more  steps  forwards - he could see  the  filing   cabinet  within  a few meters, and  he   made  for  it,  checking  once  more over  his   shoulder,  brows  knitted  deeply,  ready  should someone strike.