Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bucky’s having a relatively good day, all things considered. The sun is out, he’s got his best sniper rife in his hands, and he’s chasing down bad guys with his favorite person. Even the amount of stairs they’ve had to do in the last ten minutes hasn’t really dampened his mood at all. He’s also a little bit in love with the way Clint’s scowl makes a little crease in his forehead, and he both wants to smooth it away and imprint it in his memory forever.

“Freaking stairs,” Clint is muttering as he unpacks his bow. “I hate stairs.” He rubs irritably at the band-aid over his left eyebrow, a souvenir from an earlier scuffle.

“Consider it your cardio for the day,” Bucky says, adjusting his scope from his prone position on the table. They’re on the fiftieth floor of some unfinished building, high enough that the height makes his stomach lurch a little when he looks down. “It’s good for you. Builds character and shit.”

“I hate cardio too,” Clint grumbles. “I could’ve shot a grappling hook up here, you know. We could’ve climbed up the side of the building in style instead of taking the stairs like peasants.”

“Right,” Bucky says. “And in doing so, alerted half of New York City to what we’re doing, including the guys we’re trying to take out.”

“Get outta here with your logic, Barnes.” Clint looks out the window. “See them yet?”

“No.” He scans through the scope. “What floor are they on again?”

“Forty-eight, fifth window from the south side.” Clint comes up behind him, leaning over Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky looks through the scope again. “I see the window.” He sighs. “Not a good shot, though.”

“Lemme see.” Clint pushes him over, ignoring Bucky’s little noise of protest. He slots himself right alongside Bucky’s body, turning a little so he can squint through the scope.

“Your bow is poking me,” Bucky tells him, pulling his leg away.

Clint snorts. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”

“Oh my god.” Bucky rolls his eyes and gets up. “Did you seriously just pull that line on me?”

“You love my lines,” Clint says, grinning up at him. “You love them so much that you spend every night at my place so I can tell you more of them.”

“I sleep over at your place because I love you,” Bucky says. “Not your awful, awful pick-up lines. Have I ever mentioned how awful they are? Because they’re so bad.”

“Breaking my heart, Buck.” Clint looks back through the scope. “You’re right, by the way. This is a terrible shot.”

Bucky sighs. He just wants this job to be done. They’ve been chasing these guys for weeks now, some little anti-government group with too much money and a half-baked plan to blow up the city. He feels like he’s expended way too much energy on them, really more than they’re worth. He wants to shoot somebody and be done with this so he can take Clint home. Preferably to bed.

Clint gets up and dusts his knees off. “We’re gonna have to go out on a limb,” he informs Bucky. “Or more accurately, a beam. Only way you’re gonna get a good shot at them.”

Bucky groans. “Seriously?”

“Either that or we leave, and I’m gonna be pissed if you made me climb all those stairs for nothing.” He slings his quiver over his shoulder and picks up his bow. “Come on. Get your shit.”

Bucky gets his shit and follows Clint through the construction tarps, past all the DO NOT ENTER and NO UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS warning signs. They emerge into sunlight, a series of metal beams laid out before them.

“This one,” Clint says, pointing. “About halfway across should do it.”

They set up camp on the narrow beam, halfway across. Bucky raises the scope of his rifle and checks it out. “Yeah. This is much better.”

“Awesome.” Clint kicks his feet in the air and looks down at the city below with interest. “Look at how tiny they all are. Like little bug people.” He closes one eye, pretending to squish them with a finger.

“You’re a dork,” Bucky tells him fondly.

“Yeah, I know.” Clint picks at the band-aid over his nose. “Ugh. This itches.”

“Leave it,” Bucky says, knocking his hand away. “Both of them. You promised.”

“Did I? That was dumb.” But he drops his hand anyway.

Bucky looks down. He’s not afraid of heights, per se, but there’s a swooping sensation in his stomach that makes him a little sick. “This is very high,” he says.

“Fifty stories,” Clint agrees, apparently unbothered by the fact that they could drop to their deaths any second. He looks almost giddy about it. “You made me climb all the stairs, remember?”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Probably not.” He grins at Bucky, and the swooping sensation returns for an entirely different reason. Bucky loves that smile, loves it so much that he’d do just about anything to make it stay forever. No one had ever looked at him like that in Hydra. It had been nothing but stony faces and dispassionate hands and cruel words. Everything about Hydra was tinged in ice, cold and emotionless. Clint’s smile is like the sun to him. Every time he sees it, he feels more of that coldness melt away from inside. Like he’s slowly becoming a person again.

Clint is looking at him with a tender expression, like he knows exactly what Bucky is thinking, but he doesn’t comment further. Just tilts his head towards the building.

Bucky peers through his scope again. “I don’t see the target,” he says. “I don’t think he’s in yet.”

“That sucks,” Clint says. “Does that mean we’re gonna have to sit up here all day?”

The answer to that question is yes, apparently, because by the time the sun is going down, the target still hasn’t shown. Bucky scowls over at the other building and fights the urge to just run over there and knock some heads together.

Next to him, Clint is building a house of cards, preciously balanced on the beam. Bucky bites back a laugh. “You’re lucky there’s no wind,” he says.

“Ah, you’re just jealous of my mad card skills.” He lays the last card and looks down. “Do you think we could get a pizza delivered up here?”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Bucky adjusts his grip on the rifle and peers through the scope for the thousandth time.

Clint sighs. “Probably not.” He looks up, and his eyes narrow at something over Bucky’s shoulder. “Hang on.”

Bucky turns. He sees the concern immediately. There’s a glint of something in the window a few floors below them, just off to his left. “Could be nothing,” he says. Could be a sniper.

“Could be,” Clint agrees, drawing an arrow. He casually nocks it and adjusts his legs so they’re both on the same side of the beam. “But just in case…”

There’s a flash of light, and a whistling sound, and Bucky flinches as something passes within about two inches of his nose. “Shit!” he says, reacting without thinking. He scrambles his way backwards. “Clint!”

Clint is upside down—falling—Bucky thinks for a terrible moment, panic rising, but no, he’s got his legs over the beam, and he’s drawing the string back. The arrow sings as it zips underneath him, and then there’s a distinct sound of a window breaking. Clint draws twice more, firing upside-down with ease.

“Could be something,” he says to Bucky, his voice a little strained. He’s hanging steady, another arrow drawn and ready. “Check the scope.”

Bucky raises the scope to his eye. “Target in sight,” he confirms, and Clint grins.

“I got your six,” he tells Bucky, eyes intent on the building, muscles taut with tension. “Fire at will.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, settling into his sniper mode. One heartbeat, two, three, then—

The window across the way shatters, and the target’s head explodes. “Got him,” Bucky says, lowering the rifle. “We should move in case the other guy has friends.”

Clint nods and deftly unstrings the bow, shoving the arrow back in his quiver. “Good plan. Help me up.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What would you do if I wasn’t here?”

“Oh, probably something embarrassing. But you are here, so help me.”

He reaches down and grabs Clint’s shirt, hauling him up with ease and drawing him into a rough kiss. “I thought you fell,” he says, when they break apart. “Don’t do that shit to me, man. My heart can’t take it.”

“Sorry,” Clint says, a little breathless. “Although kissing me every time I risk my life probably isn’t the best way to encourage me otherwise.” He leans forward again.

Bucky wobbles slightly. “We’re almost two-hundred meters up,” he says, steadying himself. “This might not be the best place to make out. It’s a little dangerous.”

“I live for danger,”Clint says, kissing him anyway. “But I suppose we can take this inside.” He looks sadly down at the beam. “Aw. My cards fell.”

“I’ll buy you more,” Bucky promises. “Come on.” He takes Clint’s hand and tugs them both back onto more solid ground. “Let’s go find the asshole who shot at us.”

The would-be assassin is right where they killed him. Working alone, from the looks of it, but he’s definitely one of the group they’ve been chasing. Bucky recognizes the swirled tattoo on his chest. Clint retrieves his arrows and frisks the guy. “Score! Twenty bucks,” he says, pulling out a wallet and pocketing the cash. At Bucky’s look, he says, “Hey. They made us wait, so we’re totally getting pizza on their dime. Also, he shot at us. It was very rude. Least he can do is get us dinner.”

“Fine,” Bucky agrees. “But no pineapples.”

“Yes pineapples.”

“No pineapples.”

“Yes pineapples.” Clint makes sad eyes at him, and Bucky gives a long-suffering sigh, pulling him back to his feet. His arm is bleeding again. Bucky tightens the bandage around it. He’ll have to rewrap it later tonight.

Clint breaks down his bow, and Bucky puts the rifle into its bag, and they go back into the hallway. “You realize we gotta take the stairs down, right?”

“Aw, stairs, no.” Clint sighs. “Well. Wanna race?”

“Sure,” Bucky says. “If I win, no pineapples.”

“You’re on,” Clint says, and he starts down the steps.

Bucky shoulders the rifle bag and vaults into the empty space, laughing at Clint’s stunned expression as he drops down. He revels in the free fall for a moment, then sticks his metal arm out and grabs a railing as it rushes past him. He swings there for a moment, a little dazed by the sudden stop. The railing creaks ominously, but holds him.

“That’s cheating!” Clint yells down, ten stories above him.

Bucky grins up at him. “Whatcha gonna do about it?” he yells back.

There’s a distinct string of cursing, and then footsteps. Bucky laughs and lets go, taking the rest of the stairs in ten story intervals. It’s terrifying, but also exhilarating, and he hits the bottom with a solid thud and a thrumming feeling of energy under his skin.

He paces in the lobby at the bottom, too keyed up to sit still. A couple minutes later, the door bursts open and a very sweaty and disheveled Clint spills out, looking around wildly. “You are a cheater,” he says, glaring at Bucky, but the effect is somewhat ruined by how much he’s gasping for air.

“Cardio,” Bucky says. He pats Clint’s shoulder. “Builds character.”

“Fuck cardio. I need pizza. Pizza builds character.”

“No pineapples,” Bucky says, grinning at him.

Clint rolls his eyes, still breathing hard. “Can’t believe I’m honoring that deal, you big cheater. You’re lucky I love you so damn much.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says softly, brushing back Clint’s sweaty hair. He meets those perfect blue eyes. “I know.”

He pulls Clint into a kiss then, soft and warm, and Clint just melts into his embrace. One hand winds up into Bucky’s hair, gripping with a just-right intensity that makes Bucky want to have him right here against a wall. Clint apparently feels the same way, because his other hand drifts down to Bucky’s ass, squeezing hard.

“Don’t start something ya can’t finish,” Bucky mutters, low and husky, and Clint shudders in his arms.

“Right,” he says, lips barely touching Bucky’s. He’s still a little breathless. “Pizza.”

“Pizza,” Bucky agrees, not moving. He could stay here forever, high off the success of a mission and the taste of Clint on his tongue. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky as to have this, but he wouldn’t trade a second of it for anything.

“Wish I could have you on a pizza,” Clint mutters, and then he snickers. “You’d be a fineapple.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, unable to stop himself from laughing, and he pushes Clint away. “That was terrible. I think that was the worst one yet. I’m almost ashamed to know you, that’s how bad that was.”

Clint is laughing too, looking way too pleased with himself. “C’mon,” he says, tugging Bucky’s hand. “Let’s get outta here. We gotta eat before you can get a slice of this.”

“If you make one more pun, you’re sleeping on the couch,” Bucky tells him, but there’s too much fondness in his voice to make it a real threat, and he revels in the way Clint’s answering smile lights up the entire space around them. “Okay. Let’s go get some pizza.”