Harmless (Bucky Barnes)

additional scene #3

"Steve."

"No."

"Steve," Bucky is on the verge of pleading. "C'mon, man."

"I can't take you off the mission, Buck."

"Just next week, I swear." Bucky puts his hand up in an oath. "I'll make up for it."

"There's no one who can do it next week," Steve maintains, even though he sounds mildly apologetic.

"Clint can."

"Clint's had two concussions and broke his arm"

"That sounds like a personal problem."

Steve just arches his brows, unimpressed. Bucky sighs, shooting off a quick 'sorry' under his breath.

Was he really, though?

The elevator sounds off a ding on their floor, doors opening. FRIDAY greets the both of them as usual, receiving one back in unison.

"You've never bailed like this before." Steve presses the button for the basement. "What's going on?"

"She's got this evil convention happening in town next week that she's been dying to go to," Bucky explains, chin tilted up to watch the numbers flashing on the little monitor as the elevator descended. "I said I'd be there."

"An evil convention," Steve repeats, although it's not too far-fetched of an idea.

"She's barely evil, who cares." He waves it off quickly. "Just let her buy some merch."

"Why are you going?"

The truth was that it sounded like fun. What you read off the pamphlet managed to excite the little nerd who lived in the corner of his mind.

But as a superhero and chosen good-doer, he couldn't exactly say that, so-

"Assessing potential threats. I said I'd go undercover," he bullshits, but not entirely untruthful. "Also those weirdos who kidnapped her might be there, so it's technically SHIELD business too."

The elevator comes to a stop at the common room floor.

Bucky rolls his eyes instinctively when the doors open to a cast-wearing, dark bruise around one eye-having Clint. He grins toothily at them through a busted lip.

No one had any idea how he got them. He wasn't even on a mission; just showed up one day with unexplained injuries and a bottle of tequila.

"Look, it's fuckin' Blackeye," Bucky quips, making space for him.

"It's still Hawkeye, you dickhead." Clint purposely takes another step back, forcing Bucky into the corner.

"No one cares."

"Bet I'm still a better shot than you, Jim."

"Lotta talk for someone who can't even hold a gun straight." Bucky's eyes dart towards his cast. Dark squiggles decorated it. Clint called them drawings. Bucky called them ugly.

Clint struggles against the plaster, clamping down on his lip in concentration. It takes a while before Bucky realises he's trying to flip him the middle finger. He fails and Bucky's smugness makes a return.

"Today's Valentine's Day," Steve points out, shifting the conversation before one of them ended up getting thrown down the elevator shaft.

"Yeah, the six thousand flowers in the living room gave that away," Clint wasn't wrong. Bucky could smell the hydrangeas for at least three floors.