Just In a Week
A Word: Day 2: disabilities. Went AU with it.
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Clint laughs too loud every time he brings a jar out to Bucky to open, and Bucky does it easily with only one hand. The asshole only does it when they have company over too. Steve's gotten used to Clint's particular way of poking fun at the people who fall all over themselves to be accommodating to Bucky's disability and only smiles over it now.
Steve used to be one of those people, and it'd taken a while for Bucky to get past that. To get his best friend to stop feeling so damn guilty about a roadside bomb no one saw, and doing shit that had hurt Bucky more than it helped. He suspects Clint had a hand in helping with that mess too, but his boyfriend conveniently "forgets" how to read lips whenever Bucky tries to bring it up.
Which also might be Clint's way of prodding him to buckling down and learning ASL despite the fact that they communicate just fine. He's got the alphabet down, but anything more than that starts to run into the problem of him having to figure out how to make coherent signs with just one hand. There's a few teachers at the center Clint works at willing to help him tackle that problem, but Bucky's been shrugging out of it lately.
"You think too much," Clint says and his strong fingers dig into the tensed muscles of Bucky's shoulders. His words are distinct and easily understandable despite the slight slur to them that comes from not being able to hear his own volume. Bucky's used to it, and knows that Clint's so good at it because his hearing loss came so late in life. He's learned that from the few kids he sees coming in to be taught how to speak. "You need to let it go."
"Nothing to let go," Bucky grouses but they both know he's lying his ass off about why he hasn't come down to the center lately. Even when Clint tells him some of the kids have been asking about him. "It was just some stupid shit."
"You're avoiding it," Clint says and leans forward to place a kiss on his lips. Firm but brief.
Bucky waits for Clint to lean back enough to see to sigh. An obvious movement to his shoulders. He clenches his hand into a fist and places it against his chest, rotating it around clockwise. He is avoiding the center, nad he's going to be avoiding it for a few more days at least before he can even think about trying to go back there.
"He's gone," Clint repeats his assurances. The same ones he's been making since Bucky nearly blew off years of therapy trying to kill someone's asshole uncle who had opinions he couldn't fucking keep to himself. "We told the family he's not welcome anymore, and they're all sorry about him. Jessie thinks you blame him for it."
Low fucking blow. Bucky grimaces at him and taps the side of his head twice with his closed fist to tell Clint that. Clint's smirk is unrepentant and he leans back into the couch. Crossing both of his arms over his chest as he looks at him in challenge. Obviously goading Bucky into doing something about it. "You tell Jessie his fuckheaded Uncle has nothing to do with him!"
"Tell him yourself," Clint raises one eyebrow and Bucky knows the man isn't going to let up on this. He's let Bucky sulk and hide for weeks now, and is obviously tired of it. "He will be in tomorrow."
It's a pointed ultimatum, and Bucky knows his boyfriend well enough to know the next step is either going to involve bringing Jessie here —something that breaks so very many rules of the center— or will involve Bucky waking up to Nat and/or Pepper. And in the long run, Bucky's more concerned with what the women can do when they have their minds set to it than Clint breaking rules for him.
"Fine," Bucky agrees through his teeth. Angry even though he knows he's not angry at anything Clint is doing. He's angry over the incident that had left him with bloody knuckles and a bunch of kids looking at him with large and terrified eyes. He's angry at the fact that he'd seen himself in their eyes and he'd been monstrous and out of control. A worse kind of man than the asshole he'd hit had outright told him he was.
"It'll be fine," Clint slides back over and Bucky finds himself wrapped up in Clint's arms. "They didn't understand what was happening. They know, we explained it. It's not you they're upset with anymore."
Bucky doesn't answer. Not because Clint wouldn't know what he was saying, but because he can't even think of anything to say right now. He holds onto one of Clint's arms with his right hand. Pressing his five fingers hard into the flesh to reassure himself, because the words Clint's muttering —almost indistinct now— aren't going to do anything to ease his anxiety. Nothing is going to do that but going to the center and seeing the kids for himself. Seeing with his own eyes how many flinch back from him, and how many don't.
"I'll go," Bucky says to himself though Clint probably feels the vibration of the words. It's going to hurt and it's going to suck, but waiting is worse. "I'll go."
They don't really talk or move from the couch for the rest of the night.
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