A/N: *This is marked as complete because it can be read as a standalone; however, more chapters like it might be added later on if I feel like it.*
How did Bucky become part of the team? Beats me. Maybe Shuri gave him a hand (or an arm), maybe he got hit really hard in the head and recalibrated, maybe he clawed his way out himself-you pick! Also, shoutout to owlet's Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail, an absolutely *amazing* series that I loosely based Bucky's character on. Go check it out!
MONTHS AFTER
Romanoff is sitting on the floor outside his and Rogers' apartment in the Tower, leaning against the opposite wall and wearing her I'm-planning-trouble face when he opens the door.
Oh boy.
"Oh, hey Barnes."
"Hey. Why didn't you knock?" Does she not know she's welcome? "I would've let you in."
Her eyes smile. "I know. I haven't been here long, don't worry." she stands, brushes herself off. "You're usually out and on your way to the training room by now."
What.
"You have my schedule memorized?"
Ergh. Now she's amused. "You've followed the same routine for months."
He's read that routines are good. Should he change it to be unpredictable? He considers it for less than a second before he decides Romanoff is safe.
"Do you want...cookies? I baked."
Now she smiles for real. "Sure."
They sit at his kitchen island and split a plate of snickerdoodles.
"So," Romanoff says, taking a long swig from her glass of milk. "I brought you something."
She pulls two bracelets from her hoodie pocket, made of round stone beads with little holes in them, and hands them over. They're good quality, heavy in his palm. He looks back up at her.
"What are these."
"Bracelets."
Well, no shit. But why, lady? He raises one eyebrow and she continues.
"The blue one's for no talking to you. The black, no touching. You can wear them when you want more space, so we'll know without you having to tell us out loud. And you can put a few drops of essential oils in them."
Huh. That's actually...a good idea.
"I mean, if you want," Romanoff adds. "You don't have to."
He slips them on. The weight of the beads is comforting without being a distraction. He flips his wrist a few times and they shift a little, making a pleasant clacking sound.
"Thanks," he says. "I like them."
Romanoff flips her hair. "Cool. You can add more colors for different things if you want, I'll let everyone know what they mean."
This is kindness. Although he hates to admit it, creating a system of colors to indicate emotional wellbeing and personal parameters is something he will probably get excellent use of. And organization will soothe the mind.
Maybe Romanoff isn't always planning trouble after all.
"Hey," he says, a smile quirking his lips. "You think if I wear the blue one around Stark I'll finally get some damn peace when we're in the same room?"
Romanoff smirks, and he knows that equals a laugh. "He'll implode from all the pent-up quips."
"All the more reason to try."
Overall, the bracelet system works out nice. He adds an army green one made of thick cord for "just pretend I'm invisible," but on those days he usually isn't around for people to see it anyways. It is helpful for when he walks to and from the training room, though.
He also adds one-this time a red rubber band promoting cancer research-that he occasionally wears in addition to any combination of the others to mean "except Steve." The guy was more than a little misty-eyed when Barnes explained it to him.
"What."
"I just...I'm your exception?"
Obviously. Has he not made that clear, or is Rogers just oblivious? "Yes. Your presence is often more tolerable than that of others."
And, oh geez, it's hug time. Wipe your snot, pal, it's just a dumb bracelet.
"I'm glad, Buck," Rogers says when he finally pulls away.
"Don't let it go to your head. You're the exception for a lot of things."
Rogers gets that sappy look on his face again, to Barnes tacks on, "Things like intelligence, self-preservation, decent grooming-"
The hit to his shoulder is worth it.
Romanoff does good on her promise to make sure the rest of the team is aware of the system and sticks to it. They've started sending quick glances to his wrist whenever he enters a room, and adjust accordingly. The first time he enters the common room, blue and black beads visible, he's nervous. Not that they won't see them, or ignore them, but that it'll be a big deal. If it becomes the center of attention, he decides, he won't wear them again.
But when Barton looks up from his book and sees them, he just nods and goes back to reading.
Huh.
Nice.
The same goes for everyone else. Romanoff silently passes him a plate of fruit when he meanders through the kitchen. Banner smiles. Stark raises an eyebrow, looks for a terrible moment like he's going to open his mouth, and then shrugs.
Quadruple nice.
Pepper is more than thrilled to introduce him to the world of essential oils.
"I use them all the time," she says, pulling out little glass bottles and arranging them on her vanity between them. "They're amazing for stress relief, and I get to smell fantastic all day."
She shows him so many scents his nose starts to go a little numb to them.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to overwhelm you!"
"It's okay," he says. "Serum enhanced all my senses. 'S not your fault that smell's one of them."
"Well, just pick whichever ones you like the best. I think if you only use a drop it'll be less strong."
He selects vanilla, lavender, and one labeled calm that smells like pine and cut grass. Pepper shows him how to unscrew the caps off the bottles and use the little dropper to squeeze out the amount he wants. It takes a few tries with the metal arm to get it right, but she claps excitedly when he does, and he smiles.
"Thank you. I'll make sure to bring them back."
"No need, I can always have JARVIS order more. Oh! Here, take this." She hands him a plastic tube. "It's a migraine reducer. Roll it onto your temples when you get a headache and it should help."
That is very neat. He's going to have to show Steve.
The real challenge arrives in leaving the living floors to go down to the coffee shop located in the lobby. (He'd make his own mocha, but they have amazing blueberry muffins he has yet to duplicate.) Usually, when staff members see the Actual Winter Soldier strolling through their halls, at least 35% of them want to exchange greetings, which, on days like today, is sub-optimal.
But those pastries are too delicious for their own good, so he straps two more knives to the inner band of his jeans (Not that he'll use them. Probably.), adds a bit of lavender essential oil to his wrist, and braces himself as the elevator carries him down.
JARVIS once again proves his status as a critical asset by informing him via his earbuds that the main staff members he sees on a regular basis have also been informed, so he shouldn't be too bothered.
What did we ever do to deserve such niceness? Surely not last week's baking session, those brownies got burned.
Needless to say, the coffee run goes much better than previously anticipated. Writing is easier than talking, so he orders by scribbling on a napkin. The barista hands over his drink and muffin (excellent) and puts the tips of her fingers to her chin before tilting her whole hand down. Barnes remembers: ASL. More specifically, thank you in ASL. He signs a thank you in return and goes back to his and Rogers' floor.
He isn't sure when or how he learned ASL, but once he starts signing, it comes back to him like muscle memory. He isn't fluent, but he could probably have decent conversation.
"JARVIS."
"Yes, sargeant?"
"Where can I learn more sign language?"
"There are several ASL classes for intermediate students like yourself in the area," JARVIS says after a moment. "I've taken the liberty of sending their locations to your phone, along with multiple links to informative YouTube channels, should you choose to learn privately."
His phone dings. "Thanks."
"My pleasure. I'm sure Mister Barton will be pleased to know there's another signer in the building."
Of course. Barton is deaf. Barnes has seen the hearing aids he wears often, discreet and so tiny he suspects Stark made them, but he wonders how it never occurred to him that the man might not like to rely solely on those and lip-reading. That was probably rude of him.
He pulls up the first YouTube channel and selects a video with a smiling young woman and ASL REVIEW! REFRESH THE ESSENTIALS! as a title. He'd better get practicing.
He doesn't have to wear the blue bracelet the next day, which is good, because he wants to surprise Barton. He'd stayed up for almost four hours the night before, re-learning some of the vocabulary and syntax of what was still fuzzy in his head. He also found song covers done entirely in sign that are both educational and wildly entertaining to watch.
"Bucky, what are you doing on your phone still? It's two in the morning."
Watching this man pour his heart and soul into signing Despacito, Rogers. Whatever excuse you've got for being up can't beat that.
Now Barnes enters the training room, where Barton is perched high on one of his lofts, ripping a line of targets apart with a rapid succession of arrows. He turns when Barnes walks in (keeping his distance, some of those arrows explode) and fires one last time before laying his bow across his lap. Before he can say anything, Barnes raises his hands.
Good morning.
Barton stops. Blinks. You can sign?
Just remembered I could yesterday.
The archer breaks out into a wide grin. Dude, that is awesome!
Barnes shrugs. I'll probably mess up for a while. Not...he pauses when he doesn't know the sign and finger spells the word instead. Fluent.
But Barton doesn't lose that smile. You here to beat up some shit?
He nods his fist once. Yes.
They spend the next hour training separately-Barton shooting from above in one corner, Barnes going after a punching bag in another. Occasionally they'd glance approvingly at the others' obliterated targets or exchange a few signs. It's good. The workout is refreshing, wakes him up, and settles the early morning jitters all at once. Not enough to the point where he won't grab a coffee, but almost there.
When they're wrapping up, Barnes turns to him. Who else on the team can sign?
Clint says the names out loud while giving their name signs. Natasha. Tony. I think Banner is learning, and Phil did.
Phil? Barnes asks. Is there another Avenger he doesn't know about?
Phil Coulson. He was a SHIELD agent. Barton pauses, unhappy lines creasing his face. He helped Natasha and I a lot.
He sounds like a good man.
Barton's eyes lighten a little. Yeah. Yeah, he really was.
He locks his bow away in its case with a click.
Barton stops him as he's about to leave. I think this is the longest conversation we've had in a week.
Barnes feels his eyes crinkle into a smile, and Barton does the same. Good job, Barnes. Mission success.
A/N: In this house we love and appreciate canonically deaf Clint Barton. (Yell at me in the reviews! Feedback is chicken soup for the soul.)
