A/N:
Written for the 2018 WinterHawk Big Bang, this also happens to be the longest piece I've ever written. I never thought this would get longer than 10k words, but here we are. I've split this into 4 chapters for easier reading, but the whole fic is written, edited, and ready for posting. By the end of today the whole thing should be up.
The absolutely incredible artist claraxbarton (tumblr handle) created amazing art for this fic, so please visit her and give her all the love. The link to take you directly to the art post is available in the first chapter of this same fic on AO3.
This fic has been through a lot with me, but it never would have become the fic it is without the help of Serinah (AO3 username) and queenofmoons67 (tumblr handle), my betas. A thousand thank yous to both of you for all of your help.
I do not own the Avengers, no matter how much I wish I did. I've cross-posted this fic to AO3 (Bookdancer) and tumblr (bookdancerfics).
One last thing, and this is important! I used a lot of baseball jargon in this fic, so if you ever find a word or phrase related to baseball that makes you go huh, what the heck does that mean? then visit my tumblr blog to find a baseball glossary that I wrote up specifically for this fic. It's in alphabetical order and I hope it explains everything you need to know. Like the art post, the link can be found in the first chapter of this same fic on AO3.
P.S. Uh... there are links throughout the fic in the social media posts, and they were meant to lead to an actual twitter/instagram post, but they won't work here because of the website's restrictions. If you want to see the actual posts, visit this same fic on AO3. To be completely honest, there's a lot of special formatting that I was able to work with on AO3 but won't work here. So if you don't mind the formatting being messed on, read on here. If you do, I highly recommend reading this on AO3 instead.
P.P.S. I needed to give Valkyrie a full name here, so I used her given first name (Brunnhilde) and the last name of one of her aliases (Riggs). So if you see reference to Brunnhilde, Riggs, or Brunnhilde Riggs, that's Valkyrie.
Finally, I hope you all enjoy reading this!
LOVE PITCH
Chapter One
Clint met Barnes at the entrance to Stark Stadium, the Manhattan Avengers' ballpark. And by "met", Clint means that they ran into each other. Literally. Clint even spilled his coffee all over Barnes's nice white practice shirt, because the universe enjoyed laughing at him.
"Fuck," Clint said, and made a half-hearted attempt to blot the coffee before he gave up. There was no saving the shirt. Clint morosely wondered if his own pride was still salvageable. He bet not.
"Watch where you're going," Barnes responded, because Barnes was an asshole who didn't care that this was actually Clint's stadium, thank you very much.
Clint raised his eyebrows. "Well fuck you, too."
He really should invest in a filter for his mouth before it got him punched.
"You wish," Barnes said, his lips twitching upward, and Clint gaped for a second before laughing.
"In your dreams," he said, even as Barnes gave him a once-over, and promptly walked away in an attempt to have the last word.
"You owe me a new shirt!" Barnes called after him.
"Only after you take it off!" Clint yelled back, then winced. Fuck. Why'd he have to be hot?
Maybe he got more than just the last word.
Unlike Barnes, who had been playing for the St. Petersburg Hydras since he got drafted five years earlier, Clint had only been with the Avengers for about four months. They signed him as a potential starting pitcher a few weeks before Spring Training, finally relieving him of the anxiety of being a free agent. He came from the American League's Carson City Clowns, and as such, had yet to face the National League Hydras himself, although he'd sat on the bench and watched them kick his own team's asses. Now that he was in the same league as the Hydras, he knew he'd be seeing them a lot more often.
He just didn't think his first meeting with Bucky "the Winter Soldier" Barnes would go quite like it did.
They were both pitching that day, and Clint watched him as he warmed up. Barnes wrapped his prosthetic hand around his right arm and pulled it across his body, stretching out his pitching arm.
Too soon, it was time for the actual game to begin. Clint went through the opening ceremony in a daze, barely able to keep his eyes off of Barnes.
This, he decided, was going to be a problem.
"Barton!" Steve's voice broke him out of his reverie, and he turned to look at his catcher. Rogers looked back, sternness taking over his face. "Can you concentrate?"
Clint knew that from anyone else, those words would be passive aggressive, but from Steve they only seemed concerned. He nodded.
"Good," Steve said. He patted Clint's shoulder, smiling at Clint in what was probably supposed to be a comforting manner. "We're going to need your best today."
Clint shook his head, barely suppressing the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him. "You sure know how to cheer people up, don't you, Cap?"
"… huh?"
Clint shot him a smile and walked to the mound, picking up the rosin bag as he went. He tossed the small white bag up and down a few times before rubbing his fingers against it. He was ready.
Once they got past their warm-up pitches, Clint finally found it easy to let thoughts of Barnes slip away. He struck out the Hydras' lead-off batter, induced a groundout from the second, and soon enough faced off against their three-hole. The Hydras' catcher, Johann "Red Skull" Schmidt, walked up to the plate. His face was almost completely hidden behind the red balaclava that he was famous for wearing even in 100 degree weather. Clint wondered if it was a fashion choice he made on impulse, and if now he was just in too deep to take it back.
He took a deep breath to steady himself. Now wasn't the time to be pondering other players' fashion, Schmidt was their third batter for a reason. He preceded the clean-up; he was meant to get on base so the next batter could do something about it.
Not that Clint was going to give him the chance.
Clint had just faced a left-handed batter, but Schmidt was a righty. Clint grinned as he switched his glove from his right hand to his left, signaling to the umpire that he was switching his pitching hand. Perks of being ambidextrous. The Pat Venditte rule had just come into play a couple of years ago, a few weeks before Clint himself had made his MLB debut. The rule outlined exactly what Clint could do as a switch pitcher, and switching his pitching hand mid-inning was perfectly fine.
Clint bent down at the waist in a classic pitcher's pose, his gloved hand hanging at his knees while he tucked the baseball behind his back. He eyed Steve's fingers as the catcher signaled for a breaking ball low and inside, right by Schmidt's knees. It was a pitch that Clint, with the control that earned him the name "Hawkeye," had honed to near perfection.
Even though he already knew it should work, it was incredibly satisfying to watch the Red Skull swing and miss, the ball thumping into Steve's mitt.
"Strike!" the ump bawled, the call nearly unintelligible in a way only an ump could yell.
Clint followed that pitch with a total of seven more, the Red Skull making him work for the out. Strike, ball, foul, foul, ball, foul.
"Strike!" the ump hollered again, this time accompanied by the classic punch-out motion that came with a strikeout.
Clint pumped his fist. They weren't in a pinch, it was only the top of the first inning. But he had struck out a player often called the "King of Homers."
He figured he was allowed to celebrate.
The next several innings passed by relatively quickly for Clint, although he knew that even for regular baseball fans it probably seemed slow. Clint and Barnes pitched scoreless inning after scoreless inning, but despite the lack of runs, Clint's pitch count racked up quickly. Unlike Barnes, who was a strike-out pitcher, Clint pitched for contact. As a result, Barnes pitched one-two-three innings one after another, sending the Avengers batters back down just after they sent them up. But for Clint, being a contact pitcher meant that balls got past the infield every now and then, and in the fifth inning Clint groaned as he walked the batter, effectively loading the bases for the second time that game.
"Don't mind!" Pietro called from second base.
"Only one more out!" T'Challa yelled from third.
Clint took a deep breath and held it, nodding before he released his breath with a puff. Like they had before, his eyes found Barnes, who smirked at him from the batter's box. Barnes, unlike most pitchers, occupied the eight-hole, and was therefore already in the batter's box instead of in the on-deck circle. A lucky break for the Avengers, as the last batter in the Hydras' line-up was one of their best, there to act as a lead-off man for their actual lead-off man.
Clint shook his head, and Steve frowned in response. Belatedly, Clint watched the catcher switch signs, and realized that Steve probably thought he'd shaken off the pitch. There was no way to tell him that, though, so Clint just nodded at the second proposed pitch.
Leaning back into his windup, Clint threw the ball and watched as it went high, slipping to the outside corner at the last minute in a perfect cutter. Barnes tried hitting it only to find his swing too short.
Clint threw the same pitch again, and Barnes fouled it off.
Clint breathed out slowly. He had to remember that Barnes was just a pitcher, like him. And not a Babe Ruth type of pitcher, either; Barnes had one of the lowest batting averages in the league, even amongst other pitchers.
Ball.
He wasn't worth getting anxious about, Clint told himself.
Ball two. Two-two count.
Clint grit his teeth, and the ball went a bit too far inside, forcing Barnes to leap back in order to avoid it.
Ball three. Three-two, full count.
"C'mon, Barton!" Natasha called, her voice coming from the relative area of the shortstop between second and third base. She sounded annoyed. Clint wondered if she was bothered by the heat or his poor pitching.
Probably both.
"One more!" T'Challa said again, and for once Clint appreciated their third baseman's royalty training. No sign of annoyance or anxiety from him.
But then again… Natasha only sounded annoyed because she wanted to, Clint realized.
Splitter, Steve signaled, and Clint nodded. They exclusively threw this pitch to end long at-bats like this one. The way it broke over the plate induced weak contact, usually helpful in getting double plays. Not that they needed one at this point. Only one more out.
Barnes grinned at him, his smile visible even from the mound, and Clint snorted. He's too relaxed. Let's make him pay.
The ball left Clint's hand, slipped from his fingertips and hurtled toward home plate.
Barnes swung, and the baseball bounced into the dirt, flying up right at Clint. The crowd sounded loud in his ears, his teammates even louder, and Clint instinctively reached out with his glove hand.
The ball skidded into his glove, and Clint snatched ahold of it like it was the playoffs, like it wasn't just the fifth inning of a game in the first month of the season.
One throw, and Wanda grabbed for the ball, reaching to catch it before Barnes got to first. Thunk. Barnes stumbled over first base. At home, one of the Hydras' players crossed the plate and looked back at the scene, hope on his face.
The first base umpire raised his hand in a fist.
"Out!"
Clint felt Pietro jump on his back, practically shrieking as he celebrated. Clint grinned, walking back to the home dugout with his second baseman hanging off of him. He passed Barnes as he went, but looked forward resolutely, determined not to give in to the lure of the other pitcher just after he defeated him.
"Well done," Fury, the Avengers' manager, said as Clint trotted down the steps. "And ice that shoulder, you're done for the day."
"I'm what?" Clint said, turning around. The weight on his back slipped off, Pietro hurrying away to avoid the tension.
"You're at 102 pitches already," Fury pointed out. The corner of his mouth twitched in an uptick. "Did you not notice?"
"… oh." He hadn't.
"Hey," Stark said, draping an arm across Clint's shoulders. "Don't look so down; you did good, Hawkeye."
"I had to throw 100 pitches just to get through five innings," Clint said. "That's hardly ace material."
"Which is why it's good I'm the ace," Tony laughed, and then hugged Clint closer when he hunched into himself. "I'm kidding, Clint. You threw 100 pitches in five scoreless innings. That's the important part. You didn't just do good. You did great."
"Sure," Clint mumbled, and then walked to the furthest corner of the dugout, grabbing his icing bag as he went. Steve clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by, still in his catcher's gear. It was a bitter reminder, Clint thought, that Barnes was just that much better. Clint had already gone through the Hydras' rotation three times, but Barnes was only six batters through his second time against their lineup. Rogers, as their fourth batter, would only need to remove his protective gear if their lead-off man got on base.
The rest of the game passed by in a haze.
Clint continually had to force himself to look away from Barnes, especially after a relief pitcher replaced him for the eighth inning. With Barnes no longer pitching on the mound, any excuse Clint used to have for watching him disappeared.
But Barnes was, for lack of a better word, hot. Clint didn't know if he'd ever thought that about the other pitcher before, but pictures and video of the guy didn't do him justice. The jawline, the long hair, those pants. They created an aesthetic that Clint could appreciate.
And his sass. Clint thought he could maybe fall in love with someone who sassed him like Barnes did.
So, perhaps involuntarily, Clint found his gaze constantly drawn to Barnes. Crush? Or infatuation? He didn't really know yet.
They entered the bottom of the ninth down 2-1, and Clint watched as Sam "Falcon" Wilson, their center fielder, hit a single to right field with one out. Natasha popped the ball up for the second out. Steve walked into the batter's box.
And Clint's eyes, yet again, found Barnes. The other pitcher hung over the railing of the visitor's dugout, his cap flipped backwards so that the brim stuck out over his dark hair, which hung down to his shoulders. Clint wondered if he ever considered wearing a man-bun. Or a ponytail.
Barnes could probably pull them off, he thought.
"It's gone!" Thor bellowed, and amongst the ruckus in the dugout, Clint dimly realized that Steve had hit the ball. His feet followed the rest of his team onto the field, where they gathered around home plate, waiting for their captain to reach them. Clint opened his mouth to yell with them - this game broke them out of a five game losing streak - but nothing came out.
All he could do was stare at Barnes, who had begun to stare back at him, holding his gaze. Normally Clint would look away; he had never exactly enjoyed meeting eyes with anyone. But there was something in his eyes. Something that compelled Clint to keep looking back.
Something -
A heavy arm landed across Clint's shoulders.
"C'mon, Barton!" Tony yelled at him, and Clint felt himself shake with the force of Tony's enthusiasm, the other pitcher swinging him back and forth. "It's technically not your win, but you started the game! I figured we could give you part of it!"
"Twelve percent?" Pepper Potts, one of their relievers, asked. Sarcasm coated her tone, but Tony beamed at her.
"Sure!"
The hollering got louder, and Tony abandoned Clint to the team in favor of grabbing Steve's jersey. The captain yelled back just as loud, literally leaping into the mass of players surrounding home plate. Some of them went down, but they all got back up just as quickly, still jumping and yelling and celebrating the walk-off. Rogers jogged out of the crowd laughing, trying to swipe Tony off his back, but Stark hung on.
Clint turned back to the visiting team's dugout, searching for Barnes.
All he caught was a glimpse of the number on his back as he walked away.
maxi-stop: that pick-off, though. hot damn
| avenge_me: wanda maximoff could step on my face and i'd say thanks.
| thestrikezone: could i be first base for like… a day
| avenge_me: not if i get there first.
| maxi-stop: avenge_me was that supposed to be a pun
Manhattan Avengers - official_avengers
Rogers hits one deep to center! 3-2 win #walk-off #captainamerica #homerun
| Kiyoko Masuko - kmasuko retweeted
Only the best from my Captain
Clint spent the next two months doing his best to avoid mentions of Barnes. Not that it worked.
He turned on the TV, intending to watch his brother pitch for the Clowns, only to discover that Barnes was the opposing pitcher.
He looked on for new baseball news to find that Barnes had been voted the NL Pitcher of the Month.
He walked into his favorite sports bar to see a new picture hanging by the door, Steve and Barnes draped over each other with grins on their faces despite their different uniforms.
Clint just couldn't get away. Even in his mind, he couldn't stop thinking about the other pitcher.
Don't do this to yourself again, Clint told himself.
But nothing worked.
The next time they met, two months after their first meeting, was in St. Petersburg, Florida. There, in Hydra territory, they bowed to the structure of the Major League schedule. They would only face each other in three series that season, and although their spots in the rotation hadn't moved, they also hadn't played the same number of games yet. This meant that they didn't match up as opposing pitchers like they did the last time.
Clint watched from the bench as the Hydras got to Hope "the Wasp" van Dyne, yanking six runs out from under the Avengers in just the first inning.
Barnes, on the other hand, pitched five perfect innings. And when Clint said "perfect," he didn't just mean figuratively perfect. He meant baseball perfect: no hits, no runs, no walks, no hit-by-pitches. Romanoff was the first one to reach base, getting a blooper single to right against the shift to lead off the sixth inning. Rogers grounded into a double play, as if to remind them that even he wasn't invincible, and Odinson struck out swinging to end the inning.
Thor groaned and tossed his batting gloves onto the bench. "I can't figure out that pitch."
"We'll get it eventually," Parker said, optimistic as usual, but Clint glanced at the score as the Hydras' lead-off batter stepped into the on-deck circle. 6-0. The Wasp hadn't given up any more runs since the first inning, but their offense had yet to make a dent.
In the end, they only made one: Okoye, pinch hitting for one of their relievers in the top of the eighth inning, powered a solo home-run out of the park. As she crossed home plate, she crossed her arms over her chest in a silent salute to her home country of Wakanda.
As if to worsen the pain further, the Hydras' offense came alive again in the bottom of the eighth, taking two more runs.
The Avengers sent three more batters to the plate. All three came back with heads low.
The game ended 8-1, the largest loss that they'd suffered in weeks.
Clint didn't bother looking for Barnes this time; he knew where the other pitcher was. It was his first complete game, and he stood on the mound, still celebrating, when Clint left for the locker room.
It turned out that he didn't need to look anyway - Barnes found him at a bar just an hour later.
"I don't recommend drinking the night before you pitch."
Clint lifted his head to glance back at whoever had spoken, only to hang it again when he saw who it was. "Come to gloat?"
Barnes shook his head. "No. I saw you through the window… You shouldn't be drinking."
"I'm not." Clint looked back at him again, then lifted the glass, tilting it. "Sprite."
The other pitcher just looked at him.
Clint put the glass back down. "Why the sudden concern?"
Barnes shrugged. "Call it pitcher solidarity."
"What is it really?"
"Maybe if tonight goes well, I'll tell you," Barnes said, and his lips quirked a bit, like he was trying to smile.
Clint raised his eyebrows. It almost sounded like the other pitcher was flirting with him. Then he waved a hand at the seat next to him. "You can sit, you know. I won't stop you."
"Even though I beat you today?"
Clint shrugged. "I'll try not to hold it against you."
Barnes nodded, slow, steady as his windup. Clint wondered if he'd always been this way, or if it was something that came with the war. Something that grew with him overseas, until it brought itself back with him in replacement of his left arm. When he sat, Clint tried to focus on his words instead. Clint didn't like talking about his past, and he figured Barnes was probably the same way.
They didn't talk much. Instead, they bumped shoulders as they watched the TV nearby. It was the bottom of the twelfth, and Sue Storm doubled Reed Richards in for the winning run. Twelve innings, but it was a win. Not even too bad inning-wise, considering some of the other extra-inning games that Clint had watched. Clint wondered, not for the first time, if the Avengers would have preferred to power in seven more runs only to go into extra innings, the score tied. Or maybe the way they went out was more merciful in the long run, when they didn't need to pray that the extra innings would actually be fruitful.
At some point Clint ordered a basket of chips. He reached out, intending to take a couple, only for their fingers to touch. He looked down to find both of their hands in the basket, both absentmindedly reaching for the same chip in some bizarre parallel of a romance movie. Clint's life wasn't a romance movie, far from it. And yet Barnes brushed his fingers closer until their pinkies touched at the knuckle.
Clint was suddenly all too aware of how close their faces were. If one of them leaned in, their lips would touch.
Clint closed his eyes. Something shuffled from Barnes's direction, and together they bent into each other. Chapped lips touched Clint's.
Except those lips belonged to a rival pitcher. He couldn't. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Not after last time.
Clint was off his barstool and halfway across the room before he had time to think of anything else.
"Barton, wait!"
Clint could hear the other pitcher yelling after him, the rest of the bar embarrassingly silent. It wasn't until he reached the subway, two blocks away, that he realized that not only had he forgotten to pay, but he'd left his official team jacket hanging on the back of his bar stool.
He got on the train without turning back. It wasn't like he could face Barnes again anyway.
Clint spent the night watching Winter Soldier videos, trying to convince himself that the guy was actually a terrible person and not worth losing sleep over. Not worth pining over.
"Go figure," Clint mumbled. He scratched Lucky's head, the dog leaning against his leg while he researched. He buried his head in his arm. "He's perfect."
Barnes hadn't just been drafted by the Hydras; he was Cap's best friend - at least according to Steve, and that should have warned Clint before the videos did of just how perfect Barnes was. His best pitch was the fastball, a wicked thing with pinpoint accuracy. He finished 75% of his strikeouts with that pitch. It was so fast that even if the batter knew it was coming, they still couldn't keep up.
But what really dug Clint into the hole he'd fallen into were the interviews, the ones where he shed his cold Winter Soldier persona in favor of a warmer character. He barely smiled, but it didn't hide his love for the game.
"Lucky," Clint groaned. His dog whined in response. "This plan backfired."
Barnes was no longer just another good-looking baseball player.
He was a good-looking baseball player with personality.
And Clint was sunk, because his heart couldn't deny this guy. He would just have to rely on his head instead.
Clint got to the ballpark early the next morning. The game wouldn't start till 7:05 that night, but he had a routine to keep. Or at least, a routine to attempt.
Barnes greeted him at the player entrance, bags under his eyes and still dressed in yesterday's clothes.
It was only nine in the morning. Clint's team jacket hung over Barnes's arm.
"God, please tell me you didn't sleep out here," Clint said, and walked past the other pitcher to continue on his way.
"No," Barnes said. Clint let out a breath. "I slept on the team bus."
Even Clint couldn't help but turn around at that, his mouth gaping.
"Joking," Barnes said quickly, and his mouth quirked as he put his jacket-less hand up. "Just wanted to make sure I could get this back to you, so I got here early."
"Didn't have to be in person," Clint said, but took the jacket back anyway. He shook it out, smoothed it down, and then pretended to inspect it just so he didn't have to look Barnes in the eye.
"Guess not."
Clint wondered if Barnes was shrugging as he talked, or if he was so stoic he didn't feel the need to.
"Thanks." Clint hitched his shoulders up in a half shrug, then turned and walked away.
Again. That was the second time.
Clint hoped Barnes would just take the hint and stop making him do this. They were rivals. This couldn't work.
Clint kept telling himself that even as Barnes's stare bore into his heart.
The other Avengers trickled into the stadium one by one. With each additional teammate, Clint wondered if they would see the guilt and anguish written over his face, but no one commented.
"Tough night?" Natasha asked, and Steve patted him on the back, but that was it. Clint forced a smile and laughed, pointing toward the locker room each time.
"Just wait till you see Thor's hair," he said. "It'll scar you, too."
After their loss from the night before, Thor returned to the park with his long locks sheared off, spikes left in their place.
"Visited a barber first thing this morning," he said proudly, even as he raked a mournful hand through what was left. "Thought we might need a change."
"You're too superstitious," Tony said.
"Or not enough," Loki jousted. "You should have shaved the whole head."
"Settle down," Steve said, his voice loud. It echoed through the room and shut everyone up, even Thor, who looked ready to defend his hair even to his brother. "Yesterday was a tough loss, but that just means tonight will have a bigger impact. So let's get out there and win!"
Spoiler alert: Clint didn't know if they could actually win with him on the mound. He loaded the bases in the first inning, gave up two runs in the second, committed an error in the third, and by the fourth inning the Avengers still had yet to score a run even though they had had seven base runners. And it all happened while Clint was trying and failing to take his eyes off of Barnes.
It wasn't like he wanted to keep looking at him, but the other pitcher kept staring at Clint with these soulful eyes that somehow made him think Barnes was cheering him on even though they were on opposing teams.
Clint tried to focus on the current batter, a guy named Trojak. Clint's gaze caught movement in the Hydras' dugout at the last second, and he automatically found Barnes even as he instinctively began his pitch.
The ball left Clint's hand slightly too late.
Spoiler alert two point oh: Clint threw a screwball, a pitch that went down and in to left-handed batters.
Spoiler alert two point five: Trojak was a left-handed batter.
The ball plunked Trojak right on the upper thigh. Luckily for Trojak, there wouldn't be any major damage - only bruising - and he would take first base to boot.
Unluckily for Clint, Trojak was the one who hit the two-run homer in the second inning. And the upper thigh was the easiest place to intentionally hit the guy.
In seconds, Trojak charged the mound, waving his bat like he meant to hit Clint with it.
"It was a fair homer!" Trojak roared, "It's not my fault you're a bad pitcher!"
"I didn't mean to!" Clint yelled, and scrambled back off the mound.
Steve grabbed for Trojak's arm, but the other player shook him off easily. All around them, yells erupted from the stands and the dugouts as the benches emptied. Natasha shoved Clint behind her as if she fully intended to shield him with her own body. Clint figured maybe she did, but he was still too shocked to do anything about it.
Someone else grabbed Clint's bicep, and he turned with the motion only to run face first into the other person's fist. He crumpled to the ground with the Hydra player on top of him, both of them rolling around the mound.
"Get off of him!" someone yelled, their voice familiar, but Clint couldn't make out who it was. Water roared in his ears, but he knew fighting back would only get him tossed from the game, or worse, mess up his hands so he couldn't pitch. Instead he curled up, taking each punch that the opposing player threw.
Finally, the weight disappeared from his back and someone hauled him to his feet.
Rhodey and Sam stood in front of Clint, worried looks on their faces. Thor held a Hydra player at bay with one hand, gripping the back of the other player's jersey. Clint guessed that it was whoever had tackled him.
"You okay?" someone else asked, and Clint turned to see Scott next to him, examining him for injuries.
"Yeah," Clint managed. "I'm… I didn't mean to hit him."
"We know," Sam said, and gripped Clint's shoulder in what he guessed was meant to be support. "It's not your fault that you hit Bloodstream. Dude is always looking for a fight."
Steve approached then, his face troubled. "Fury wants to know if you can still pitch. If not, that's fine, but…"
"But our relievers need rest," Clint finished, and finally straightened up. "Don't worry, Cap. I can pitch."
"No, Clint," Rhodey protested. "We can handle it."
Clint shook his head. "I can do it. At least let me get through the fifth."
"The fifth," Steve agreed. "And no further."
Clint nodded, and everyone turned away, Sam giving his shoulder one last parting squeeze.
And then Barnes was there.
Clint paused. He was right next to the mound so he didn't really have that far of a walk, but the other pitcher still had to walk all the way back to his dugout. Then Barnes stopped, too.
"Maybe next time, don't hit the guy who thinks everything is personal," he joked.
Clint shrugged, a bit uncomfortable with joking around after what happened the previous night. "Pretty sure Bloodstream's the only one who thought it intentional. And whoever tackled me."
Barnes nodded, glancing back to his dugout as he grew serious again. "They both got ejected."
Clint nodded back and fiddled with the baseball in his hands, glancing up to meet the other's pitcher's eyes and then looking back down.
"Flirt later!" Natasha yelled, and Clint blushed hard enough to feel the heat rise in his own cheeks.
"I'm not -" he tried, but Barnes smirked.
"We are."
Clint bit his lip, then shrugged his shoulders awkwardly in agreement.
"Um," Clint started, and then stopped. They were rivals. But not in the same division? They had that going for them right? Rivals. Don't forget what happened last time. But only pitchers. They were only pitchers last time, too. "We're rivals," he finally blurted out.
"So?"
One of the umpires started walking toward them, an annoyed look on his face, and Steve's stare burned into Clint's side, telling him to hurry it up.
"Go out with me?" The words spilled over his lips like water over rocks, bidden only by nature and an outside, hidden force. Of what force, Clint didn't know yet, but Barnes grinned and waved off the ump, starting towards his own dugout. He bumped Clint's shoulder as he went, a playful shove that went straight - or not so straight, as it were - to Clint's heart.
"Sure," he said, turning to walk backwards and talk to Clint at the same time. "As long as you don't run away like last time."
Sarah L - pitchtome
thor41odinson cut his hair and i'm crying
hawkeye2rd: daily reminder that clinton francis barton deserves the world, k thanks
| tony-stank: could he not give up so many runs though
| hawkeye2rd: did i fucking ask
| bartoned: DAILY REMINDER THAT CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON DESERVES THE WORLD, K THANKS
| avenge_me: tony-stank i'll fight you
bbarnes: Is it just me or is the field sizzling from all that ust. I mean wow, I can feel it from my couch. Did something happen between them? #bucky barnes #st. petersburg hydras #clint barton #manhattan avengers #mlb
| bartoned: omg no you're not imagining things. someone get them a room
They won the game. They as in the Avengers, which was a miracle to be honest. Clint proceeded to strike out the next three batters in the fourth inning, leaving Bloodstream's pinch runner stranded at first. Then he singled in the top of the fifth, scored one of their three runs, and finished off the bottom of the fifth inning with a double play. They went on to win 4-2, Rhodey's save.
Clint left the post-game celebration early and propped himself against his purple Ducati motorcycle. He carefully arranged all of his limbs in an attempt to look more relaxed than he felt. Legs crossed at the ankles, he used one hand to toss a baseball while the other played with his phone.
Clint heard sneakers scuff across the concrete, drawing his attention up a pair of sweatpants and a tight compression shirt, past a pair of lips, to Barnes's eyes.
"Hey," Barnes said.
Clint swallowed, trying not to look back down at where the other pitcher's abs stood out so prominently. "Hi."
"So…"
Suddenly Clint could clearly visualize what happened the night before. How he ran away, how Barnes called after him, how he left Barnes to pick up a jacket and check that weren't his. He picked at his jacket, embarrassed. "Um…"
Barnes scraped his shoe back on the ground, shifting his weight, and Clint scratched the back of his neck, nervous.
"Drinks?" Barnes said finally.
Clint nodded.
"Cool. Do you wanna -" Barnes gestured at Clint's motorcycle. Clint looked back at it, uncomprehending, before understanding suddenly dawned on him.
"Oh," he said, and bolted upright, accidentally dropping both his phone and the baseball. He grabbed his phone off the ground, brushing it off and wincing at the newly cracked screen.
Clint looked up to find Barnes chasing the ball for him.
"No," Clint whispered, and shut his eyes tightly. "Please tell me the Winter Soldier isn't chasing my baseball." He opened his eyes, but Barnes was still on all fours, making one last futile grab for the ball before it dropped through the drainage opening on the curb. Both pitchers watched, frozen, and listened as a distinct splash sounded from below.
Barnes turned back to Clint, slow, and looked up with regret already written over his face. "That wasn't like…"
"Valuable?" Clint asked, and Barnes nodded. "No. No, it… I'm so sorry."
"What for? I'm the one who lost the ball."
"I'm the one who dropped it. And you didn't have to chase it. I'm so sorry."
Barnes stood up and brushed his hands and knees off, already smiling. "How about you get me drinks to make up for it then?"
Clint sputtered. "I thought you said -"
Barnes grinned, and Clint groaned back.
"Alright, Mr. Reverse Psychology. Drinks. You have a place?"
"How about we redo last night?" Barnes asked, and Clint winced.
"I'm sorry for that, too."
"I figured."
"Uh," Clint started, and then waved a hand at his bike. "Hop on, I guess?"
Clint spent the ride to the bar reveling in the warmth at his back. Barnes wrapped both arms around Clint's torso and didn't let go, his heavy breath tickling Clint's neck and his front flush with Clint's back. When they finally arrived, Clint didn't want to move, but Barnes patted his shoulder twice and then swung his legs off the back.
Clint looked up to see Barnes offering him his hand, a smile on his face.
"Such a gentleman," he laughed, taking it.
Barnes lifted him off his bike as his grin widened. "I'm only trying to be polite."
"Do you hold the door open, too?" Clint asked, and the two started toward the front entrance.
"When I can."
He snagged the door handle and swept the door open with an exaggerated bow. "Then allow me."
He looked up only to see Barnes grabbing the next door that led from the entryway into the proper bar. "Did you forget there was a second door?"
Clint laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked through the doorway. "Is everything a competition with you, Barnes?"
At that, Barnes stopped. Clint looked back, puzzled, to find the other pitcher halfway in the bar, halfway out, still holding the door open.
"What's wrong?"
Barnes let the door fall shut behind him, stepping fully into the room. "You called me Barnes."
"That's your name, isn't it?" Clint laughed, but the good feeling was already gone. In its place, nerves churned in his gut. He messed up. This would end up just like last time. What did he do wrong?
Barnes stared at him, something heavy in his gaze. "Call me Bucky."
"What?"
"Or James," Barnes said as he shrugged. "Just… not Barnes. We're not rivals. Not like this. Not off the field."
Not… off the field. Clint blinked, stunned. Not rivals. Last time he did this, they never bothered to distinguish a break between the game and the rest of their lives. But now, he wasn't breaking some unnamed rule.
"Okay," he said finally.
"Say it," Barnes demanded, his gaze still heavy. His hand reached for Clint's, holding it in his own. Clint remembered feeling nervous just because they touched knuckles the night before, but this felt… warm. Steady. Right.
"Okay," Clint said. "Bucky."
"Clint," Bucky said back, and he felt the warmth spread from his hand to his chest, and then up to his cheeks. Bucky laughed. "You're blushing."
"I'm not," Clint defended, even though he knew he was.
"You are," Bucky argued. His hand held Clint's even tighter, as if trying to reassure him. Clint didn't know what for. He was embarrassed, sure. But safe. Comfortable.
"Maybe so," he admitted, and squeezed Bucky's hand back.
Clint dropped Bucky off at his apartment, getting ready to head back to his own hotel. Bucky climbed off the bike with one hand on Clint's shoulder, then leaned in close.
"Can I kiss you?" he murmured, his lips just inches away from Clint's.
Clint nodded, slightly stunned, and he felt yet another blush begin to creep onto his cheeks. Bucky closed the distance slowly, giving Clint time to pull away, but finally their lips touched.
Bucky's lips weren't chapped this time. They felt soft, and tasted like the pizza they'd shared earlier. Clint fell deeper into the kiss and awkwardly clutched at one of Bucky's hips, his other hand strangling his bike handle. Bucky's prosthetic gripped at Clint's shoulder while his other hand touched Clint's jaw, rubbing his thumb over Clint's cheek.
It was a short kiss, but when they parted, Clint found his heart pounding.
Bucky grinned and moved back, his hand still hovering at Clint's jawline. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah," Clint whispered back, the words shaking with his breath. Dammit, how was Bucky so calm? He didn't even seem fazed.
Bucky's grin widened, as if he knew what Clint was thinking, and then he turned to walk inside. Before he opened the front door, he turned and gave a final wave. Then he disappeared, along with any hope Clint had that he could resist his charm.
A/N:
That's it for chapter one! On to chapter two!