Clint | Bucky | Vision
(I'd check this chapter out on ao3, because emojis.)
THURS 18 JUNE
His routine is shot to hell, and he doesn't mind, not even a little. Clint would stay in bed all day, if it meant that he could watch Pietro sleep. He's so peaceful like this. The minutes stretch into hours, and Clint doesn't mind. Not one little bit. The younger man is half on him, half off the bed. A hand rests lightly on Clint's bare chest, his fingers twitching every so often. The pale sheets are all tangled up around his ankles.
They always end up there by the morning.
(around ankles, or hips, or on a pile on the floor)
Pietro's breath hitches slightly.
He stretches, the muscles in his back twitching with the movement. Clint commits all of to memory: the curve of Pietro's spine. The way his skin feels underneath Clint's hands. That deep, jagged scar winding around his torso, and how it felt to kiss every inch of it. The light sprinkling of freckles across his shoulders.
The slope of his nose.
That warm, sleepy smile.
All of it.
Pietro grumbles into his pillow.
Coffee, Clint thinks, and he moves to climb out of bed to go fetch some. Pietro's voice stops him
"Where are you going? Come back to bed, old man."
[8:21AM]:
congrats on the birthday clint. from the 3 of us
[8:25AM]:
also steve says he'll call u later
[8:27AM]:
Thanks guys.
[8:29AM]:
Wait, the 3 of you? Why are there 3?
[8:30AM]:
yea we got a turtle
[8:35AM]:
steve says I have to ask if u r free for drinks tonite? ? Its just a bunch of us. me nat stark Wilson. maybe lang
[8:38AM]:
Sorry, we have plans. Another time?
[8:40AM]:
yea sure
[8:43AM]:
so "we?"? kids sticking around? good for him. i mean i personally find you pretty annoying but hey sometimes i guess you aren't so bad
[8:46AM]:
The feeling's mutual.
[8:47AM]:
you also have a great ass so maybe thats why
[8:50AM]:
Maybe. You'd have to ask him why. Anyway I appreciate the heartfelt birthday wishes and the comment about my ass. x
[8:52AM]:
np man!
Pietro goes home and it rains all day. Clint expected as much. It's bittersweet, when Pietro reaches for him, his arms wrapping tight around Clint's neck; he's warm and soft, and feels like home, and Clint doesn't want to let go.
But he does.
He kisses Pietro goodbye on the porch, then watches as Wanda's faded Beetle speeds off into the distance.
It shouldn't feel final, but it does. Clint can't quite put his finger on why that is. He lingers on the porch a moment, shoulder propped up against a wooden beam. The last few days play on repeat in his mind: coffee and languid walks and an arm draped heavily over his waist.
The best part was not sleeping alone.
The best part was—well, all of it. Every single moment. It was going for walks, and eating breakfast together, and Pietro gently kicking his ankle under the table. The best part was the pizza and the afternoon naps and teaching Pietro how to play darts and having all the conversations that Clint was surprised they'd never had.
("I thought of something," Pietro had told him, earlier that morning, in between peppering kisses along Clint's jaw, and pressing Clint into the mattress. "For the list. I want to go to a city. A big one."
"Yeah." Clint had replied easily. "Anything you want."
"And I want to go with you."
"Guess we're going to New York.")
With his eyes squeezed shut, Clint listens to the rain fall, to each sudden, violent clap of thunder.
Then he goes back to bed.
Pietro Maximoff:
happy birthday cowboy :-)
Clint Barton:
Thanks babe. Again. xx
Pietro Maximoff:
how is it so far?
Clint Barton:
I got back in bed?
Pretty awesome
:-)
Pietro Maximoff:
haha good! i would have too
Clint Barton:
I miss you
Pietro Maximoff:
like a hole in the head :-) ?
Clint Barton:
Yeah, but worse. Way worse.
A hole in the heart.
That sounded way less lame in my head.
Come back soon?
Pietro Maximoff:
i knew u liked me xx
ofc i will be back soon
Clint Barton
I do. A lot. What gave it away?
Pietro Maximoff:
hm
well u always let me pick the shows to watch even tho u complain that I only pick terrible ones. n u cooked dinner for me. u also let me sleep on the side of the bed that "belongs" to u... and then u carried me home when i hurt my ankle
Clint Barton:
Oh, right. Well that's actually because you're hot and not because I like you.
Like crazy hot. Super hot.
Pietro Maximoff:
very funny
Clint Barton:
That's my thing. I'm the funny guy. You're the hot one. I thought you knew that?
Pietro Maximoff:
ill let u have this only today
it is ur birthday after all
Clint Barton:
How sweet of you xx
Pietro Maximoff:
r u looking forward to dinner? ?
Clint Barton:
Oh yeah. I get to see you. And there's food.
What more could a guy want?
Pietro Maximoff:
pizza?
Clint Barton:
You know me so well.
Pietro Maximoff:
i left something behind for u
Clint Barton:
For me?
Pietro Maximoff:
a surprise
Clint Barton:
Is it pizza?
Pietro Maximoff:
not food
Clint Barton:
What? Another broken glass?
That won't be much of a surprise
Pietro Maximoff:
a present, old man. go look for it instead of making bad jokes. also u broke that glass not me
Clint Barton:
That's not even a little true and you know it
Pietro Maximoff:
go on
Clint Barton:
Where am I looking? Can I have a hint?
Pietro Maximoff:
it is near somewhere warm
Clint Barton:
That narrows it down.
The oven? So it's in the kitchen?
Pietro Maximoff:
go look use your eyes
Clint Barton:
What else would I look with?
Yeah, I know. Enough with the jokes. I'm looking. Gotcha. No jokes. More searching. I'm on it.
Pietro Maximoff:
good luck
Clint Barton:
I don't need luck
Pietro Maximoff:
did you check all of the cupboards? ?
Clint Barton:
Am now
Pietro Maximoff:
u were right
not the kitchen. look somewhere else
want another clue?
Clint Barton:
Nope I think I've got it
Pietro Maximoff:
did u find it?
Clint Barton:
Not yet. Wait I think I found it
There's a square, light package buried underneath a pile of sweaters in the old trunk by Clint's bed; right by the fireplace. He moves the blankets and knitwear, and picks up the present; it's wrapped in plain brown paper, with a string bow tied neatly around it.
Clint tugs on the string until it unravels, tears away the wrapping paper carefully.
Inside the small box is a beautiful ceramic mug, painted emerald green and blue, and a picture album. The mug feels so delicate in Clint's hands.
Pietro Maximoff:
so? do u like it? hate it?
u hate it
knew it
i should have gotten something different
Clint Barton:
Hey, slow down. I love it.
I don't know what to say. You know me so well.
A beautiful mug, 'cause I like coffee and this is probably healthier than injecting it straight into the vein. And an album, so I can fill it with pictures of you.
Obviously, right?
Pietro Maximoff:
obviously ;)
happy birthday babe
Clint Barton:
Did you make it yourself?
Pietro Maximoff:
the mug yes not the album
you really like it?
Clint Barton:
I love it. More than I can say.
Of course I mean it
Pietro Maximoff:
there is a picture inside look
Clint Barton:
That's us
Pietro Maximoff:
from the carnival
Clint Barton:
I remember. And I love it.
Love you
Even if you did make me play the clown game that night at the carnival. Yeah, that's right. I still remember.
Pietro Maximoff:
u loved it
Clint Barton:
Not even a little.
Maybe I can stay over tonight? At yours
Pietro Maximoff:
i would like this :-)
Clint traces his fingers over the inscription on the first page of the album. The photograph is from so long ago, but it isn't, not really. It just feels that way. The two of them on a pretty carousel, squeezed together on that tiny horse. Clint doesn't even remember posing for it, but oh, how he remembers the night.
Clint Barton:
Thanks. Not just for this, but for everything.
You've been great. And I didn't get to say this yesterday, so I guess I'll say it now: Laura will always be a big part of my life, but you're huge.
Wait
That came out wrong
Pietro Maximoff:
no no, keep going
Clint Barton:
Don't ruin it. I'm trying to be all sappy.
Laura was a big part of my life. But the past is the past for a reason. I screwed things up once and I won't do it again. Not deliberately. Not to you. I wanna be better.
I could never make up my mind about what I wanted, but that's all behind me. I know now that it's pizza. Pizza and you.
Pietro Maximoff:
i know how u feel cowboy xx
have to go
talk soon?
Clint Barton:
I'm here all week, folks.
Pietro Maximoff:
:-)
p.s i still think ur the hot one..
xo
Clint arrives at the Maximoff Apt. a little after 7:30.
He's only a couple minutes late (he blames the Uber) but he still hurries up the stairs, quickly taking a moment outside to straighten his collar, smooth the non-existent wrinkles out of his leather jacket, and—
"Ah, Clint."
Somehow, before the door is fully open, before Clint even knocks, that voice greets him. Clint's just standing in the hallway, with a sad-looking bunch of flowers gripped in one hand loosely, feeling a little nervous about dinner.
He's in the middle of smoothing down his hair and fixing his clothes when he recognizes that voice. Vision.
Vision, who is significantly more dressed up than Clint is, wearing slacks and a blazer. He looks neat and tidy, and he's smiling, which is weird, because Clint's never seen that before. Not really. But he does get this look, and a kind of half-smile, whenever he's around Wanda, Clint's noticed.
"It is pleasant to see you again." he says.
"Yeah, buddy," Clint claps him on the shoulder, and side-steps around him and into the apartment. "The same to you. Good to see you."
Pietro isn't ready yet, and neither is Wanda. He's arrived just in time to witness Wanda banging on the bathroom door, muttering angrily in Sokovian. Pietro shouts back and although Clint doesn't understand a word, he doesn't think that Pietro sounds even a little apologetic.
It reminds Clint of his childhood feuds with Barney, in a way, and brings a smile to his lips. Vision doesn't seem bothered. He just gives Clint a look, like he's used to it, to them. Maybe he is. Vision fetches a vase for the flowers, seems to know his way around pretty well.
He's definitely used to the Maximoff's.
"May I pour you a drink, Clint?"
"Sure," he nods, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He follows Vision further into the kitchen, and it's exactly how he remembered it. "I'll have whatever you're having."
The vase is filled with water, flowers, then set down on the kitchen table. Vision admires it for a moment.
"Ginger ale?" he asks.
"Maybe I'll just grab a beer out of the fridge."
"Well wishes to you, Clint, on this special evening."
"Thanks, man."
"Wanda is a remarkable woman."
"Yeah, she is." Clint nods, popping the cap off his beer. He clinks his bottle against Vision's glass. "They're both so," he trails off. There are too many words that come to mind. Clint goes for the very first. "Awesome."
"Exceptional, really." Vision nods.
"I'll drink to that."
Clint does drink, then nearly spits his beer out at Vision's next statement. Of course, Vision doesn't notice, and he carries on easily, like he expects that Clint already knows all about this. But he doesn't. Or, didn't. Until now. Vision takes another sip of ginger ale, nose wrinkled slightly, as if he can't decide whether he's enjoying it yet or not.
"What did you say?"
Vision fixes Clint with an odd, mildly concerned, look. "I said the weather is rather un—"
"No, no that. The other thing before that."
"In regards to Wanda?"
"Yep."
"The internship in D.C? I assumed you knew?"
"Oh, yeah." Clint gulps down another sip of beer. "I did. I mean, do. I do know about that. She's a great kid. Plenty of brains. And talent."
"It will be an adjustment, I'm sure."
"When does she leave?" Clint asks, when what he really means to ask is: when do they leave?
He swallows down more beer.
"Three weeks."
Clint's stomach twists up into knots. He feels sick. And not because of the booze, he's not even halfway through his beer yet, no, it's because of Washington. The news of Wanda's big internship that Clint knew nothing about. He consoles himself with the fact that maybe Pietro doesn't know either, and this could possibly be a big surprise for the both of them.
"Oh. That's pretty soon."
"Quite an adjustment, but I am certain that if anyone can adapt, it will be those two."
Two.
Clint swallows, hard, over the lump in his throat.
The beer goes down easily.
Vision continues to make small talk, blissfully unaware of Clint's anxiety (he's a little twitchy and uncomfortable, but Vision doesn't seem to notice). Clint's head snaps up when Wanda enters the room. She looks incredible in a little black dress, with dark red lipstick on, and her long hair falling in curls over her shoulders. Clint feels kind of underdressed in comparison. He shifts, toying with the sleeves of his jacket. Pietro appears, shortly after, in a baby-blue shirt and a pair of dark jeans. His entire face lights up at the sight of Clint.
He kisses Clint on the cheek and spends the whole drive to the restaurant with an arm slung over Clint's shoulder in the back of Vision's car, telling Clint all about his day, how he and Wanda went shopping and grabbed a bite to eat at this new sushi place they have to try, and all Clint can think about is how Pietro's leaving in three weeks.
For most of the night, Clint plays along.
He's not sure how he does it, but he sits through it, and drinks wine, talks work and life and even spins a circus story or two. It's tough, and confusing, and Clint's really not sure how much more of it he can endure. Then, while he's skimming over the dessert menu, and Wanda's busy making eyes at Vision across the table, Pietro excuses himself for the bathroom.
Clint gives it a moment, then climbs to his feet.
"I'm not feeling so great. You mind telling Pietro that I'm," he trails off. I'm sorry. "I'm going home. I'll get a cab back to my place. Really, you should all stay. I'm just—I should probably leave. Yeah."
Wanda, with a glass of red wine glass poised to her lips, frowns at him. Clint hates disappointing her. "What are you talking abou? You can't. This was for you."
"Raincheck?"
"You're not well?" Vision asks, a slight pinch to his brow as he glances down at their empty plates. "I wonder, has the food upset you?"
"I had a really late night. Think it's catching up to me."
He can tell that Wanda doesn't believe him.
He still leaves.
It's not at all like Clint pictured it—the night is different, now, changed in a way that he can't really explain. Not to Wanda, and not like this. Clint throws on his jacket and rushes for the door. He'll get a cab. It's better this way, he thinks. It's better that Pietro doesn't try to stop him. He gets to the curb and across the street, and doesn't even realize that Pietro's following him until he calls out, making Clint stop dead in his tracks; he briefly closes his eyes, wanting nothing more than to avoid this.
Pietro grabs his arm gently. "Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Vision will drive us, if you aren't well."
"No, no, not yours. Mine."
"I'll come with you."
Clint shakes off his hand and turns to face him. "Don't. It can't be like that. I'm not going home with you. Not when I know what I know, and you weren't even the one to tell me. Vision did. He told me."
"What did he say?" Pietro asks warily.
The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.
"I know about Wanda and D.C."
For a very small, fleeting moment, Clint holds onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, Pietro doesn't know. But he does. It's so obvious now, in everything that he does. In the way that he watches Clint, with eyes blown wide. The way his mouth hangs open, like there's so much that he wants to say and he just doesn't know where to start.
Clint's not sure that he wants to hear it.
It stings.
It stings, maybe more than it should.
"You have to listen to me," Pietro starts.
"Tell me I'm wrong about this. That I've got it all wrong. I wanna be wrong." Clint says. And when Pietro reaches for him, he gently brushes his hand away. "You only just found out, right? Tell me you didn't know. That you're not leaving in three weeks."
Tell me you're not leaving me, is what he really means to say. But it sounds selfish and wrong, so Clint can't put a voice to it, even if the words are itching beneath his skin, begging to be spoken.
Pietro's mouth works.
No words come out, and yeah, that's exactly what Clint thought. Pietro deflates a little. Clint doesn't like being right about this, of all things. Something in Pietro's jaw twitches as he looks away, and down the dimly lit street, then back to Clint. He looks sad. Clint wants to go back to Wednesday morning, to waking up with Pietro in his bed and kissing every inch of his body, to holding his hand on an afternoon walk, to trading stories and kisses over dinner.
"You're leaving." Clint says. It sounds odd and strained, and nothing like him. "How long—"
"It isn't my internship. I can visit all the time."
"That's not what I'm asking. How long have you known about it? This morning? Yesterday? A week ago? I wanna know how long. Was it right back at the start?" he asks. The way Pietro's face falls says it all. "This whole time."
"Clint,"
That's all he manages to get out, at first. Too much left unsaid. Clint lifts a hand to the back of his neck, just for something to do with his hands, because god, this sucks, and it's hitting him way too hard. This isn't his life or his choice. He shouldn't feel so wronged.
But he does. It's not exactly a nice feeling.
"Please—"
"All those times you wanted honesty. Wanted me to tell you every little thing about me, so I did, and you knew."
"This is different, Clint." Pietro insists. "It is."
"How?"
"Clint."
"It's not even a little different."
"This isn't about me. You have to see that." Pietro takes a tentative step forward. A hand goes to Clint's arm again, gripping his elbow lightly, as if he's afraid that this touch is the only thing keeping Clint here. "This is about Wanda and her future. I had to consider what I was going to do, not just for us, but for her. This is very different."
"How?"
"Because I would have asked you to come with me," he says, almost shouts that last part. "That's how. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I meant to tell you."
"When?"
"I was waiting."
"For what?"
Pietro shifts on his feet. "The right moment."
That's just the thing, Clint thinks sadly. Whenever you're counting on one of those moments, they so rarely come around. He bites the inside of his cheek, hard, to keep all the little things he wants to himself.
"I don't want an apology." Clint says. "You deserve to be happy. And if you've gotta to be in D.C for that to happen, then that's just how it has to be."
[9:39PM]:
That offer for drinks still good?
[9:42PM]:
yea man
[9:44PM]:
thought you n the bf had plans for tonite?
[9:48PM]:
Yeah. We did. But plans change.
[9:51PM]:
....
[9:52PM]:
Can you pick me up?
[9:55PM]:
sure its not a problem man you just owe me a pack of camels. i know you took mine at stark's party. so where am i picking you up frm? a denny's? vegas?
[9:58PM]:
I don't know
[10:04PM]:
you dont know
[10:05PM]:
Nope
[10:07PM]:
Didn't drive here. I went for a walk and now I'm lost
[10:09PM]:
Outside a pizza place if that helps
[10:11PM]:
send me the address. i should b there soon ish probably. wherever "there" is.. i mean unless "there" is somewhere i dont wanna go
[10:16PM]:
Thanks man. Appreciate it
[10:19PM]:
leaving now
[10:20PM]:
superman to the rescue
[10:23PM]:
I should've just called Steve.
[10:28PM] MISSED CALL: WANDA
[10:42PM] MISSED CALL: WANDA
Pietro Maximoff
where are u? ?
wanda tried to call but u didnt answer
I just need to know u arent hurt
clint?
please be safe
we dnt have to talk about this now ok clint? we can do it tmrw or the next day or never. just let me or wanda know that u are ok. please.
(5) New Messages
(3) Missed Calls
(1) New Voicemail
+unknown number
[10:54PM]:
Clint, this is Vision. Are you well?
[11:01PM]:
yea never been bettr
[11:03PM]:
Are you intoxicated, Clint?
[11:04PM]:
Perhaps you are in need of a transportation?
[11:06PM]:
yes nd no
[11:13PM]:
Very well. I will inform Wanda and Pietro of your response. Clint, are you quite sure you're well? Had I known that you lacked actual knowledge of Wanda's internship, then I would have kept such information to myself.
[11:14PM]:
It was never my intention to upset you.
[11:17PM]:
....
[11:18PM]:
I feel as though I am to blame for this distress. For that, I apologize. Matters of the heart are quite delicate. I should have handled it with much more care. I am sorry, Clint, you must know that.
[11:20PM]:
gnite vishy. tell evrybody to stop callingm e. im done
SAT 20 JUNE
Clint would stay in bed all day, if the sheets didn't smell like Pietro. Instead, he drinks plenty of beer and sleeps on the couch, and doesn't touch his phone for two whole days. When he plugs it into the wall to charge, a single Facebook message pops up on the screen (and several texts from a very concerned Steve Rogers, of course).
Pietro Maximoff:
i dont want to lose you
He swipes it away and goes for a shower and tries to not think about how, days earlier, Pietro had been in here too, had been crammed into the narrow glass cubicle, how he slept in Clint's bed and wore Clint's clothes.
Everything reminds him of Pietro, and it's super rude.
MON 22 JUNE
The message makes something in Clint's chest tighten. He stares at it until the words all blur together, until they mean nothing and everything, and he's not sure what to make of them, all he know is that it hurts.
Pietro Maximoff:
are you there? i thought you would like some space so i tried to give you some. but i miss you. and i thought you should know that i always wanted you to come with us..
and i still do
is this something you could want?
Clint Barton:
There's nothing for me in D.C.
Pietro Maximoff:
not even me?
or Wanda? we care about you
Clint Barton:
Yeah? Obviously not enough to tell me.
Look, I get that I'm not your actual family. I've known you weeks, not months, or years. I'm the guy on the outside. I get that. I guess I just felt like things were different. Like we'd known each other all my life.
But we haven't
And I see that now
Pietro Maximoff:
i dont want to do this over here
can we please talk?
not like this
i need to see you. to explain
Clint Barton:
I'm busy
Pietro Maximoff:
all day? then what about tonight?
or this afternoon
Clint Barton:
What's there to say?
Pietro Maximoff:
im sorry
Clint Barton:
Me too
TUES 23 JUNE
[12:22AM]:
really not gonna see him?
[12:23AM]:
thats cold man. ice cold
[12:26AM]:
but after what happend, im not gonna say he probably doesnt deserve that... maybe you should go? whats the worst that could happen?
[12:31AM]:
Seriously? What's the worst that could happen?
[12:33AM]:
I could find out (from someone else, BTW. Not from him) that he's moving to D.C. Of all places, D.C. He's moving in 3 weeks and didn't bother telling me. Kinda makes me wonder if he was ever going to tell me, or if he would've just left.
[12:36AM]:
so he told 1 little lie havent we all
[12:38AM]:
You give crappy advice.
[12:40AM]:
i know
[12:41AM]:
listen man all im saying is he seemed like a good kid. he did. sweet and young. maybe he panicked n didnt know how to tell you so he kept it to himself.
[12:44AM]:
or maybe he got scared that youd say no?
[12:45AM]:
He could've asked.
[12:48AM]:
man i know you ok. you wouldve said no
[12:51AM]:
Guess we'll never know.
THURS 25 JUNE
[3:28PM]:
Clint, a word?
[3:47PM]:
If you're here to play messenger, man, don't bother. Not really in the mood for it.
[3:49PM]:
A word of advice.
[3:50PM]:
From a friend, not a messenger.
[3:53PM]:
Alright. Let's hear it.
[4:07PM]:
Despite his actions, Pietro's intentions were pure. Good. He had intended to speak of this to you, Clint. I would ask that you hear him out.
[4:10PM]:
We already talked.
[4:11PM]:
Three days ago?
[4:15PM]:
Wait, I thought you weren't here to play messenger? So what's your advice? "Hear him out"? Well I already did. It didn't change anything.
[4:17PM]:
I see.
[4:23PM]:
Thanks for the advice.
[4:25PM]:
What it really comes down to, Clint, is this: can you imagine your life without him? Is it worse? You have your answer.
[4:27PM]:
It's not that easy.
[4:30PM]:
It rarely is. But you still have your answer, don't you?
[4:33PM]:
Yeah.
MON 29 JUNE
Pietro Maximoff:
are things finished then
is that what you want
Clint Barton:
I never said that.
Pietro Maximoff:
but you havent said anything
you wont tell me what you want
Clint Barton:
What do you want me to say?
Pietro Maximoff:
nothing
i dont know
Clint Barton:
Well that's all I've got. Nothing.
Pietro Maximoff:
i already said it
im sorry
i meant to tel you about DC
**tell
Clint Barton:
But you didn't
Pietro Maximoff:
but i didnt
i know that ok
Clint Barton:
It's great news. Really. Good for Wanda. She'll be great in life, whatever path she decides to take. I bet she'll love it there. You too, probably.
Pietro Maximoff:
have you ever been?
Clint Barton:
That your way of asking me if I want to tag along? Not sure if I would, even if I could. Things feel different now.
Don't beat yourself up about it.
Things change
Pietro Maximoff:
but i dont want them to
[DRAFT] Clint Barton:
I don't want anything to change. I don't want you to go. I don't want you to leave me. Everybody leaves.
Clint Barton:
You leave in 2 weeks. That's a pretty big change.
Are you excited?
You're young. You should be excited.
Pietro Maximoff:
why are you happy about this?
Clint Barton:
Wouldn't be a very good friend if I wasn't happy for you, would I? Soo I'm trying. Maybe D.C. isn't for me, but you two will love it. You can go to NY. It's not that far, just a car ride away. Lots to see. Great bars. You'll love it.
Pietro Maximoff:
you arent going to come are you
Clint Barton:
No, kid. I'm not.
Pietro Maximoff:
why not? because i didnt tell you?
im sorry
i should have and i wanted to
i dont want to lose you
Clint Barton:
You're not losing me that easy.
Pietro Maximoff:
really? it feels like i am
i dont want you to be happy about this
i want you to come with me
to tell me if things are over or not
talk to me
Clint Barton:
I'm mad. Ok? I'm mad that you felt like you couldn't tell me. That you wanted honesty, to know every little thing about me and my past, and yet this was kept secret. You wanna know how it made me feel?
Like maybe this was a fling to you
That you'd always planned on leaving
Pietro Maximoff:
you have to know that isnt true
can i please call
or come over ?
i have to speak to you
Clint Barton:
Not tonight.
Pietro Maximoff:
why not?
Clint Barton:
I've had a couple drinks. Not a good idea.
Pietro Maximoff:
tomorrow then?
Clint Barton:
Tomorrow.
Pietro Maximoff:
what time should i call
Clint Barton:
Swing by 1pm. Don't be late.
To: clintfbarton
Subject: [Clint, we just added a TV show you might like]
From: infonetflix
Date: Mon, 29 June 2015 7:21PM
VIEW ALL TV SHOWS & MOVIES
TUES 30 JUNE
Pietro isn't late. He rocks up at midday in a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Pietro's nervous, Clint realizes, as they move through the house and into the kichen. Clint waits for the kettle to boil and fixes them both a cup of coffee. When he spares a brief glance in Pietro's direction, he finds the younger man leaning up against the doorframe, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans. He looks to Clint, almost coyly.
"Are you still mad?"
"Not really."
"You should be."
Clint exhales a weary sigh. "Yeah, well, I'm tired of being mad." he says, flattening his hands on the counter. "Of not giving things a chance. So, that's what I'm doing. I'm giving us that chance. Let's talk."
Pietro nods and drags a chair out at the table.
"Not in here," Clint amends. "Outside."
"Why?"
"Because I—" he stops himself. Because I can't. Because there are memories in here and in every other room of my house, and I can't deal with how it all feels right now.
"Is there something wrong with this room?"
"No, it's not that."
"We had dinner in here." Pietro fondly recalls. He runs a hand over the back of a wooden chair, then across the polished wooden table, his touch reverent and careful. "I would like to do that again. This time, I will cook. Wanda taught me this recipe that you—"
"Stop. Please, stop."
"What?"
"I can't talk about this."
"Why not?"
It's so quiet that Clint nearly misses it. He almost wishes that he had. Tentatively, Pietro takes a step closer. Clint lifts his head, just in time to see the look on Pietro's face, before the younger man is pressed against his back: he's holding onto Clint, tight, arms wrapped around his torso and chin resting on his shoulder.
He feels his resolve crumble.
Why not?
"Because I wanna be mad at you," Clint says. "And when I think about that stuff, or I sit in here and remember that night, I can't be. I'm tired of being mad, but I don't know how to stop."
"Be what you need to be, just don't push me away."
"That's the thing," he hesitates.
"What?" Pietro asks, so close that he's radiating warmth, so close his breath tickles Clint's neck. "What is it?"
"I'm not the one going somewhere."
Clint gently unwinds Pietro's arms from around his waist, then turns to face him. In that one second, he had looked equal parts vulnerable and miserable, and so goddamn young. He still looks it, now, even as he tries to piece it all back together. Clint sighs. He doesn't want to be mad, no, not really. But that doesn't stop it from flaring up.
"I am mad at you. God, I'm—I'm kicking myself over this. I don't know what to think about any of it." Clint drags a hand back through his hair, pushes himself away from the counter, far away from Pietro, all thoughts of coffee pushed to the farthest corner of his mind.
"Do you want me to stay? Is that it?"
"Would it matter even if I did?"
"How can you ask that?" Pietro's tone grows accusatory. Of all things to do next, he rolls his eyes. "Yes, it matters, old man. It always mattered. How can you ask me that?"
"Forget I asked."
"You want me to stay."
Clint throws his hands up. "I want you to be honest with me and tell me when something this huge is happening in your life. You don't just push it aside and hope it goes away. Trust me, it won't. It never does."
"I thought it was too soon."
"There was time."
"You can still come with me." Pietro takes a small, and somewhat cautious, step forward, like he's considering reaching for Clint. He changes his mind at the very last moment.
"I can't."
He thinks of Lucky, of his friends and the business he's still trying to get up and running, of his favorite bar. The farm. Laura. It's all here. All of it, except for Pietro, soon; that thought that settles heavily in the pit of his stomach. Clint reluctantly meets Pietro's gaze.
"My life is here. It's not that easy to just pack it all up," he argues. "And never come back."
"We could build a life there. Together."
"I can't." Clint presses his lips into a thin line.
"Are you afraid?"
"Of what?" he frowns.
In the same breath, Clint realizes what Pietro's getting at: afraid of leaving. This is Clint's life, has been for years, he hasn't known anything else. And Pietro knows that. It feels like an insult. A sharp dig at his quiet little life in the middle of nowhere, with very little to show for himself, apart from all those half-finished jobs.
But Pietro isn't mean. He wouldn't make a jab like that.
"I'm not leaving," he says. "And I get the feeling you're not staying. What's so great about D.C. anyway?"
"Maybe you should leave this place." Pietro says.
Clint's inner-child can't help but retort: "Yeah? Maybe you shouldn't." he says. "But we both know you will."
"I have to be with Wanda."
"Why? It's her internship, not yours."
"You know why."
"I do." Clint nods. The words are out of his mouth before he can hit pause, and give them a quick, careful review: "Because you don't know what your life looks like when it's got nothing to do with hers."
Pietro shoots him a tight-lipped smile. "Really?"
"Yeah. If I'm afraid of leaving, then you're scared of being away from her. Of realizing that you don't know what you want from life," he says. "So you follow her around while she lives hers."
"Mm." Pietro nods. He makes a small, displeased noise in the back of his throat. "Well, at least I want to live my life. I'm not afraid to."
"I'm not afraid."
"Let me ask you something," Pietro says, eyes narrowed slightly, a crease to his brow. "Just one thing, then if you want me to leave, I will. One thing. Are you happy here?"
Happy enough, Clint nearly says.
After all, he's had it much worse over the years. This life, with his farm and his dog, and all the odd jobs around town, has been nothing but good to him. It suits him, in a way that he always quietly worried wouldn't suit Pietro.
"Not right now, no, I'm not. Not when we're like this."
"That's not an answer."
"It's all I've got." Clint shrugs. He picks up his coffee and drinks from the mug, but it tastes different, somehow. It's not bad, just different. When he looks back to Pietro, he realizes the younger man is still standing there, is watching him like he expects something else, different, more. Clint sighs and says, "You can go now."
"Don't do this. Not after—not after all of that." Pietro says, his voice breaks a little on the word. "I don't want to lose you, or leave things like this."
Clint sets his mug down, then reaches for Pietro, fingers snaking around his wrist, pulling him closer. A slowness overcomes his voice, when he next speaks, ducking his head slightly to meet Pietro's eyes.
"What'd I say about that? Hm? It's not that easy to get rid of me. This isn't easy, but do you see me walking away? I said I'd stick around, so that's what I'm doing."
It's the closest they've ever come to calling it quits, Clint realizes. He doesn't let go, his fingers still looped around Pietro's wrist loosely, and Pietro doesn't pull away. The kitchen grows quiet and the coffee grows cold and Clint still doesn't move away. Not an inch. When Pietro kisses him, sudden and urgent, Clint grips the back of his neck and kisses him back with twice as much urgency.
He won't even pretend that it isn't laced with apologies and goodbyes; the kiss is far sweeter because of it.
THURS 2 JULY
[7:53AM]:
I took your advice.
[7:53AM]:
....
[7:55AM]:
Tried to imagine my life without him in it.
[8:14AM]:
If I might ask, what conclusion did you come to?
[8:21AM]:
Oh it sucked. Massively.
[8:24AM]:
You helped me see that.
[8:36AM]:
Then I am glad to have been of some use.
[8:55AM]:
Don't know what to do next. I thought about it. A lot. Life won't be the same without him in it, but he's still leaving.
[9:01AM]:
And you discussed this with Pietro?
[9:03AM]:
Sorta.
[9:08AM]:
Remember, Clint, a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts.
[9:15AM]:
What's that supposed to mean?
[9:16AM]:
So you think we should call it quits? First, you tell me to picture life without him, so I do, and it sucks. Now you're telling me it won't last?
[9:20AM]:
You misunderstand me, Clint. It's precisely as I said: a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts. Yes, this particular stage of your relationship has changed and, in a sense, is over. It did not last. It was still enjoyable, wasn't it? And quite beautiful?
[9:22AM]:
....
[9:26AM]:
Yeah. It's been something else.
[9:30AM]:
You're certain you won't accompany Pietro?
[9:35AM]:
Yeah, I'm sure. Mostly.
[9:38AM]:
Mostly?
[9:40AM]:
I can't go.
[9:44AM]:
Understood.
[9:45AM]:
Might I ask why?
[9:49AM]:
My life is here. If I leave, then I'm putting it all on the line. Not sure I can risk that anymore. Maybe if I was his age, yeah, but I'm not. There's all this stuff to consider. Even if I wanted to, I can't throw it all away on something that might not even work out in the long run. Whatever.
[9:51AM]:
Gotta go. Thanks for the talk.
SAT 4 JULY
Pietro Maximoff:
happy independence day
[party popper emoji]
Clint Barton:
Happy 4th. x
SUN 5 JULY
"Jesus, Steve, stop yelling."
"Nobody's yelling."
"I'm gonna need you to take it down an octave."
"For the last time, Clint, nobody's—"
Clint winces, ripping the phone away from his ear. He's not really in the mood for one of Steve's lectures. It's way too early for that, he decides. The marching band playing on his brain is pretty unrelenting. Clint holds the iPhone in the general vicinity of his face, before he tentatively brings it back up to his ear.
"You done?" Clint asks.
"Are you?"
"I'd say I'm more medium-rare."
"Clint."
"Yes, mom. I'm done."
"Haven't been answering my texts."
This, Clint thinks, is usually the part where Steve breaks into an old fashioned lecture about mobile phones (and what are they good for, if you don't even answer them? "They're called 'mobile' for a reason, Clint. Bring it with you, so I know you're not in trouble. Mobile. It can be carried with you".) But he doesn't do that. Instead, his voice seems to soften. This is usually the part where he gives Clint the opportunity to opt out of the conversation.
Clint could easily do that, but he won't.
"I take it things didn't go well with Pietro then."
"Oh, see, that actually depends on what your definition of 'well' is. So." Clint explains. He precariously balances the phone between ear and shoulder as he wanders into the kitchen and works on fixing a fresh pot of coffee.
"That bad, huh?"
"Again, that depends on what your definition of—"
"Clint."
"Alright, alright. He came over."
"What, last night?"
"Nope. Earlier in the week."
"Then what'd you do last night? You sound," Steve trails off.
"Hungover? That's 'cause I am." Clint smirks. "It was the Fourth of July, man, so I got super drunk."
"And?"
"And I watched Beaches."
There's some minor interference on the other end of the line, a faint rustle, like Steve's moving around a lot, then Bucky's voice rings out into the silence. "Did you cry? Oh, man, I can hear it in your voice. You totally cried."
"Shut up."
"Dude."
"Bette Midler, man." is Clint's defense.
The sound of uproarious laughter echoes down the line. Bucky's seriously such a dick. Soon enough, though, the laughter is replaced by Steve's voice. Clint realizes, then, that he's forgotten all about the coffee. He's standing in the middle of his kitchen, wearing nothing but briefs and socks, is a little cold, hungry, and kind of lonely.
"Not now, Buck."
"He's chirpy."
"Yeah, well, it's a weekend. You know how he loves those." Steve murmurs. "When did you see him? Pietro. If not last night, then when? You didn't call back, or answer any of my texts, so I assumed things were either really good between the two of you or really bad."
"They're neither, I guess."
"How so?"
"We didn't break up."
"But?"
"I don't know, Steve. We didn't break up," Clint lifts a hand to his face, scratches at the stubble growing along his jaw. "But I'm not going to D.C., and he's not gonna stay here, so I'm just here wondering what the point is."
"The point? Of being together?"
"Yeah. Maybe."
"Long-distance relationships can work."
"Can they? I wouldn't know."
"You might as well give it a shot." Steve encourages.
"Well, I saw Pietro on Thursday, and we haven't spoken much since." Clint says. "Not sure if there's anything left to give a shot."
"If you didn't break up," Steve says, and he must pull away from the phone for a second, because his voice grows a little distant. "And you didn't come to any conclusions, then what did you do on Thursday?"
"We talked. A little."
"You talked?"
"Yep. Words were exchanged."
Steve makes a pleased noise. "Good. You discussed D.C.?"
"It got a bit ugly." Clint quietly admits. "Some comments were made. Not so nice stuff, about aspirations and life. Shit like that. It got tense."
"Clint," he sighs. "What did you say?"
"Why do you assume I was the one that said something dumb? Alright, fine. I might've implied that he's afraid of being apart from his sister, 'cause he doesn't know what his life is like when it's not attached to hers. That maybe he didn't know what he wanted out of life," he pauses. It doesn't sound like something Clint would think, let alone say. He winces a little. "So he just follows her, 'cause he can't figure it out. Stuff like that."
"Right."
"Yeah."
"I see how it might've gotten tense."
"Wasn't fun."
"And what did he say?"
"Oh, something along the lines of me not wanting to live my life." Clint says. "Of being afraid to. I'm scared to live, apparently, which is awesome."
Steve dwells on that for a long moment. "Are you?"
"Am I awesome? Shit yeah."
"No, not awesome. Afraid to live." he presses.
"I'm happy where I am, Steve."
"Not what I asked."
"Jesus, man, I'm not doing this again."
"Then I'll leave it alone."
"Good." Clint nods.
"Good." a pause. "What happened next?"
"There was less talking."
"It doesn't sound very amicable to me, Clint. And you said you didn't split up? It kind of sounds like you did."
"We didn't break up. Not that I know of."
Clint drops into a plush armchair in the living room and sips on his coffee, with the iPhone still nestled between shoulder and ear. The very last thing he expects of Steve is for the other man to laugh, warm and fond.
"You'd be the last to know."
"I know." Clint snickers.
"So? What happened?"
"We might've slept together."
"Might've?"
"Twice."
"And you think that was smart?"
Clint falters, nearly says: he asked me if I was happy and it escalated. Maybe it wasn't smart. Clint's got this habit, when it comes to love, when it comes to Pietro. He tends to put all of his cards on the table, without considering what happens next. It probably wasn't smart. Clint didn't get to say half the things he wanted to.
"Easy, Steve, we're all consenting adults here."
"Not what I'm getting at and you know it."
"I don't care if it wasn't smart."
"You said it yourself, Clint, he's leaving," Steve says, gently, almost pitifully. "And you're not. You're not going with him. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do."
"We had sex." Clint says, between sips of deliciously hot, bitter coffee. "We didn't get hitched."
"I know, I know. I'm just looking out for you."
"Well, don't."
"Clint."
"Don't stress, Steve. I'm fine."
And in that moment, Clint doesn't know who he's trying to convince more: Steve or himself. It doesn't matter, not really, because he's certain that neither of them are even a little convinced.
"What will you do?"
"I'm gonna drink the rest of this coffee, then I'm gonna put on some pants and meet Nat for lunch. And before you ask, Barnes, no you can't tag along."
"I meant about Pietro." Steve replies. "If you're planning on ending things, Clint, then do it gently. He's young."
"The only major decisions I'm making today," Clint says, sinking down into the armchair. "Will be about lunch."
Clint Barton:
We need to talk.
A/N: Ruh roh.