Thanks to RussianAssassin, nightmarehunter676, Rebecca Frost, Guest (Guest), Dreamer558750, TheGirlOfTooManyFandoms and Anonymous (Guest) for reviewing the last chapter.

The look on Bucky's face as I pulled up to the in a cop car was priceless.

"What did you do?" he scowls.

"Flipped a badge," I reply with an innocent grin as I get out of the car. "Official Avengers' business, you know."

He glares at me. "Steve is going to have your head for misuse of official privileges, you know that?"

"Not if you're there," I smirk. "He loooves you."

"Shut up," Bucky growls, his cheeks flaring red. "He does not."

"Keep telling yourself that," I snigger, remembering the pictures I had on my phone of Steve in BuckyBear PJs from earlier this morning. "And besides," I continue, turning so I was walking backwards, facing him, "we're currently missing an Avenger. This takes priority, I think."

"Well, he's not exactly missing," Bucky admits. "I found him. He's just…"

I stop and look at him. "Just what?"

He sighs and hands me a pair of high-tech binoculars. "See for yourself. "He's at your one o'clock."

I take the binoculars and look in the direction Bucky had mentioned, following his finger to the very top of the Stratosphere Hotel, Casino, and Tower. Zooming in, I can just make out a small, huddled shape on the eastern side of the observation deck.

I lower the binoculars. "How did he even…?"

"Beats me," he shrugs. "I figured you'd know."

I give him an incredulous look. "Buck, that's got to be over 1,000 feet up, he's probably drunk, and I haven't seen him in nearly 24 hours. How on earth would I know?"

He seems to consider this for a moment before shrugging again. I roll my eyes and begin towards the tower, but I'm stopped by Bucky – again.

"There's only one problem," he says. "Because of your moronic boyfriend, they've locked down the entire tower. Nobody's getting in the normal way." I turn around to protest, but he just shakes his head. "Not even you."

I sigh and slowly turn to face him. "You know what this means, don't you?"

.

Half an hour later, I'm back at the hotel, staring down at the Mark V – because, of course, the one time I briefly stop being paranoid and don't bring my own suit, I needed it.

"Are you sure this'll work?" Bucky asks dubiously from a few feet away.

"Yeah," I brush him off. "The concept's the same, it'll be fine."

"Right…except for the fact that Tony has about seventy-five pounds and nine inches on you," Bucky mumbles.

I ignore him as I position the armor and get ready to deploy. "Stand back," I order. "Just in case."

Bucky nods and scoots backwards as I force my foot down on the pedal with a little more force than was needed with mine. I step into the boots – they're a little too big, and I'm suddenly reminded of when I was five and literally trying to fill my dad's shoes.

The chest piece is a fair bit heavier than mine, but it goes on without much trouble – although I soon find that although my father is flat-chested, I'm not, and wow, that's a bit tight.

Other than that, everything else is a little big – his arms and legs are longer, his shoulders broader, but mostly everything fits well enough.

Once I'm fully enclosed, I stand there for a moment, shifting around in the sit. My feet weren't actually touching the ground, and my hands didn't reach the end of the gloves, but that's what Jarvis was for.

Speaking of Jarvis, I watch as the holoscreen lights up. "Good morning, ma'am. May I advise against whatever endeavor you have planned?"

I take a deep breath – or at least as deep as I could with the restricted chest space. "Good morning, J, and no you may not. Snowflake, how do I look?"

"This is creepy," Bucky's slightly muffled voice comes from my right, and I move to look at him. "I'm looking at Tony, but he has your voice."

I shrug. "Yeah, it's only temporary." I shift to try to revile some of the pressure on my collarbone and armpits. "Can we go get the hawk now?"

"Sure thing, Iron Man – I mean Beta." Bucky looks around the room. "How are you getting out?"

I just point at the window before straightening up, taking off – ignoring the scorch marks on the carpet – and heading straight for the window, smashing through and ending up in the air forty feet above the ground. It takes me a minute, but eventually – with a lot of wild flailing and help from Jarvis – I get my feet underneath me and my hands to steady out the flight.

I quickly connect to Bucky's phone. "I'll meet you at the hotel?"

"Yeah. Tell me when you find him, okay?"

"Will do." He hangs up the line, and I take another not-deep breath and try to calm down my jittery nerves – this was just like my suit, which I had flown for over seven years, just bigger.

Just like my suit.

Less than a minute later, I manage not to crash into the Stratosphere's observation deck, but I do crash through another window before getting inside. Once I'm in there, I can see Clint on the eastern side of the room, curled koala-style around one of the observation viewing things.

He doesn't see me as I lower myself to the ground, nor as I open up the suit. He does look up, however, as I faceplant into the hard cement floor because of a complete loss of coordination in my legs.

"You came!" he cheers, and there's still a major slur to his words.

"Well, yeah," I mutter as I prop myself up on my forearms, rubbing at a new sore spot on my nose. "Bucky wasn't going to."

"But you came!" he repeats. "Knew y'would."

I pick myself up off the ground and approach slowly. "You've cause quite the stir."

He frowns. "I was jus' enjoying th' garden."

I squint at him. I didn't remember there being a garden on the checklist of places I'd visited. "What?"

"Th' garden," he repeats, waving a hand at our surroundings. "Isn' it pr'tty?"

I frown at glance around at the deck around us – which was definitely not a garden – as I approach him. "This isn't a garden, love. We're in Vegas – don't you remember?"

He frowns deeply. "Nooo…so this isn' a garden?"

"Nope," I shake my head. "Sorry."

"S'ok," he sighs, as if deeply troubled, and shakily gets up to play with one of the quarter-fed viewing glasses.

Keeping one eye on him like one might an errant toddler, I take the opportunity to call Bucky.

"Yeah?"

"Hello to you too," I snort. "I found the bird."

"Finally!" he exclaims. "I thought I would waste away down here, slowpoke."

"Shut up, you're only, what, 24?" I remind him.

"Technically I turned 94 last March," he corrects. "I could very well waste away out here."

"I'd put more money on you melting, snowflake," I quip, before my attention is drawn to Clint, who was getting too close to the center railing for my tastes. "Don't do that, yastreb."

"What?"

"No, not you, Buck," I backpedal. "Bucky, we need to get him down – he's drunk and I really don't fancy him falling a hundred stories."

"Alright, I'll get the tower unlocked." I hear him say something to someone else in the background. "They're getting it back up know. Try not to let feathers kill himself until then."

"I'll do my best," I tell him dryly, watching as Clint pressed his nose against the glass. "I gotta go. See you soon." I end the call and walk over to where Clint was, grabbing his collar and pulling him away from the glass. "Has anyone told you that you're an immature drunk?"

"Yes?"

"Between you and Dad, I'll have grey hairs by thirty," I groan. "You'll pay for my hair treatments."

"S'rry," he mumbles, wrapping his arms around my torso and leaning his head against mine.

I shift and reach up to awkwardly pat his head. "You probably won't remember this in the morning anyways."

He just squeezes harder.

It takes the combined efforts of Bucky, three beefy workmen, and I to pry Clint off me and get him downstairs and out to the car, but we eventually manage it and get Clint safely into the back of the SUV.

"Well then," I brush off my hands and look over at Bucky. "Now what?"

The ex-assassin gives me a wan smile. "Now the fun part – we get to clean up our messes."