Clint Barton, best marksmen Bucky had ever met, even in his time with HYDRA, blinked at him.

"I-what?" He squinted as though he couldn't hear Bucky quite right, and stuck his pinky finger in his ear; checking his hearing aids, Bucky realized. "You lost me."

Bucky tightened his grip on Clint's shirt. "My house. You burned it down. You wiped my bank accounts." He was nose to nose with Clint, could smell the piña colada on his breath-he would drink that-could see every lash and pore. "Why?"

"Someone, not me, is trying to kill you," Clint said, like it wasn't totally obvious. "Flush you out."

Bucky leaned away, sick of the sweet pineapple smell. "I know someone is trying to kill me, Clint." He stared at his old friend, more of an acquaintence really, searching his face. It was disgustingly earnest, and it reminded him of Steve. "And you're the only one left. The only one." He pulled Clint closer, just a fraction, and then shoved him into the wall again.

Clint winced. "It wasn't me," he insisted. "I just got here."

Bucky stared at him. "I'm pretty sure it's you." But he let go of his shirt, and Clint staggered a little.

Clint rubbed his chest and stared at Bucky. "No, you're not," he said. He sighed and leaned against the wall, still massaging his chest. "Fuck, that hand's solid."

Bucky resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at him-I am a grown man-and instead rolled his eyes. "I killed a lot of people to get here." He let the statement hang in the air between them.

"I know, man," he said. "But you made a lot of enemies in your, uh, line of work."

"Yeah, but," Bucky swiped his flesh hand over his face, "I took care of them." He squinted at Clint. "Did I piss you off? I had millions saved up."

"You're oddly conversational with someone you think is trying to kill you," Clint observed. He watched Bucky for a moment more before he said, "How long ago did your house burn down?"

Bucky sighed and looked up. "A few weeks, maybe a month. I dunno. I kinda... lost track of time."

Clint blinked.

"I'm a working man now, Clint," he said, and he shrugged.

"You were a working man before," Clint said, propping his hands on his hips. "What'd you think you were doing? Volunteering?"

Bucky snorted. "Essentially," he said. He leaned on the wall opposite of Clint and crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you really just get here?"

Clint nodded. "Got in this morning," he said.

Bucky watched Clint, and then something hit him. "Why here?"

"Heard you were in town," Clint said, shrugging, "wanted to catch up."

Bucky froze, and he fought to level his breathing out. "Heard from who?" His voice sounded eerily calm.

Clint scratched the back of his neck and looked up, squinting. "Uh..." His hand dropped. "I don't rightly know."

Bucky slumped against the wall. "Fuck."

"It was just passing word, I'm pretty sure," Clint said, like it was reassuring. "I took care of whoever I heard it from, if that helps."

It didn't.

"Shit."

"Uh, Bucky?"

"Oh my god." Bucky swiped his hands through his hair. "Oh my god." He pushed off of the wall and started pacing.

Clint watched him, but didn't move.

"It wasn't you?" Bucky asked, his voice cracking. Clint ignored it. "Oh my god, Clint, tell me you're the one trying to kill me."

He laughed. "Buddy, I thought about it," he said. "You took everything from the minifridge, cost me a fortune." His face straightened when Bucky kicked a trashcan, sending it-now heavily dented-and its contents flying.

"I was starting to think I could have a life," Bucky said, still pacing. "All I had to do was kill you, and boom. I was home free, yunno?"

"I mean, the option's still there," Clint said, "I just don't think it'd help very much."

Bucky ignored him, and then froze. He rushed to Clint and gripped his shoulders. "You have to remember who told you," he insisted, squeezing with his metal hand for emphasis; Clint winced. "I'm serious, I don't want to leave."

Clint's jaw fell. "You said you were fine with living on the run!"

Bucky's hands slid from Clint's shoulders. "I was!"

Clint's hand flashed out and grabbed Bucky's metal wrist. "Oh my god."

"What?" Bucky's eyes were wide; he didn't even care how desperate he sounded.

"You..." Clint's grip slackened and he was suddenly grinning. He cupped his hand around his mouth and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "You met someone."

Bucky's face fell and he was staring at Clint with an almost bored expression. "Shut up."

"You're not denying it," Clint said, leaning back, tapping his chin. He was looking down his nose at Bucky, his lips puckered slightly.

"I'm not confirming it, either," Bucky snapped.

"You basically did," he said.

Bucky sighed; he had.

"Shut up," he reiterated.

Clint raised his hands in mock defense, still smirking. "Fine. You want to stay. Just sit on your ass until, what? Whoever's trying to kill you does?"

Bucky glared at him. "No." Just wait around until I can kill them, maybe.

Clint gave him a leveled look. "Look," he placed his hand on Bucky's shoulder and shook him a little, "you gotta think about this. Like, have you? Because someone is trying to wipe you off the map. And you're just working."

"It's a good job," Bucky said in a small voice.

"Good enough to be killed over?"

Bucky shrugged.

"Where do you work, anyways?"

Bucky looked away before he mumbled, "Bakery."

Clint barked a laugh. "Oh my god," he said. He laughed again. "That's-oh my god, that's really cute." He wiped the corner of his eye.

"It's not worth dying over," Bucky sighed-although he wasn't entirely sure about that-and he shook Clint's hand off of his shoulder.

Clint put his hand back; Bucky glared at the connection. "Then what is?"

"God, shut up," Bucky said. He stepped away and Clint's hand fell. "I like it here. I wanna stay. I'm actually sick of sleeping in caves and eating squirrels, believe it or not."

"Squirrel isn't that bad," Clint said. "You know, for a master assassin, you kind of suck ass at disappearing. I mean, Zola escaped here. And so did you. That's like a big no-no, right?"

"Big no-no," he said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around the alley. It was only dimly lit by the exposed bulb above the side entrance, and cast an eerie glow around them. "You been around town?"

Clint let out a low whistle. "Very cute," he said. "Mind if I stick around?"

Bucky froze. "Huh?"

Clint shrugged. "You need help, right?"

Bucky stared at him.

"I know you're a big boy, but I feel like I owe you," he said.

Bucky blinked, and then he laughed. "You saved me, remember?"

"That was nothing, I just pushed you," he said. Clint poked Bucky in the chest, hard. "You took care of those goons, who were there to kill me."

Bucky rubbed the sore spot on his chest, his mouth slightly open in surprise. He frowned. "I didn't know that."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Pierce's guys. That's why you were there, right?"

Bucky slowly shook his head. "Pierce and Rollins, that's who I was there for..." His eyes widened, just a fraction. "Who else was there?"

Clint frowned. "Pierce wasn't there, Bucky," he said.

"He was," Bucky said. He rubbed his chin with his metal hand. "I saw him. But... there was someone else."

"Rumlow," Clint said slowly, nodding and then his hand flew to his face, clamping over his mouth.

"What?" Bucky asked, almost shouting. He glanced around the alley again, making sure no one was around before he repeated, quieter this time, "What?"

Clint's eyebrows furrowed and he slowly moved his hand aside. "Do you know if Rumlow made it out?"

"I didn't even know he was there," Bucky said, waving his hands in front of him for emphasis.

Clint swallowed audibly. "Shit."

"So... he was one of Pierce's?"

"Bucky, my guy," Clint said, and he put his palms together in a prayer, giving Bucky a leveled look, "he was Pierce's main. If he's the one coming after you, he's not doing it of his own volition."

Bucky lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Clint to continue. He didn't-Bucky assumed it was for dramatic effect-and Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Meaning?"

Clint gave a satisfied nod and continued. "Meaning," he said, pausing-again, for dramatic effect-and closing his eyes, "Pierce is still very much alive."

Bucky sighed. "Shit." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Shit. I mean, we got the hell out of dodge before I was even sure..."

"Yeah, but we'd both be dead had we stayed," Clint said, dropping his hands and taking position against the wall again. "But if you took everyone else out, then it's just those two. Because Rollins is for sure a goner."

"How d'you figure?" Bucky asked.

Clint made a finger gun and pointed it right between Bucky's eyes; he popped his lips and his arm fell to his side. "Can't seem to miss," he said.

"Doin' my job for me, Barton," Bucky said, staring at the ground, brows still furrowed.

"Yeah, 'cept I don't get paid," Clint said.

"I didn't either," Bucky said. "I was kind of killing my employers. So."

Clint nodded with a small, "Ah." He looked up, then, at the sky and smirked. "Not all of them, evidently."

Bucky nudged the toppled trash can with the toe of his boot. "That's gonna be a problem."

"Pal," Clint said, "it already is. But hey, at least my name's cleared."

Bucky snorted. "Sorry."

"Nah. Don't stress it," Clint said. He cleared his throat. "I'll help you out. If they're still around, I'm still a target."

"I think I'm their main priority," Bucky said, and he looked up at Clint and suddenly they were back in that cramped hotel room and he was staring at the guy who'd just risked his own skin for Bucky's. "Thanks."

Clint smiled. "No problem." He stared at Bucky and frowned. "Gotta get a respectable job now, I s'pose." And then he perked up and leaned in closer to Bucky, lowering his voice, "That bakery still hiring?"

"Not a chance, Barton," Bucky deadpanned.