Gently
12. Patch It Up
His apartment seemed quiet, even with the television on. Normally he found bad TV grossly absorbing, but the last few hours were an exception; nothing could hold his attention. After the extensive debrief he'd showered and changed, ordered dinner, eaten dinner, and tended to his equipment, but there was no denying that Clint's mind was stuck in over-thinking mode, with only one thing on the agenda: the quietly-explosive argument he and Bucky had had not twelve hours ago. Their first 'big fight'.
Clint was adamant that what he'd done was right, just as Bucky was adamant that it had been wrong and was too stubborn to see past his own issues. When Steve had appeared, causing Bucky to end their discussion for fear of being found out, Clint was ashamed to admit it had made him a little angrier to see Bucky running away like that, even if he had agreed to secrecy in the first place; because as far as he was concerned, Steve could've made him see sense, and he was sure Bucky knew that.
A sudden knock at the door snapped him out of his stormy thoughts with a jump, and he reluctantly paused whatever it was he hadn't been watching to go and answer it. To find Bucky on the other side was surprise number two – he thought the other man would avoid him for a lot longer than twelve hours if he was anything like Natasha when angry (though this just confirmed to him that the Black Widow's anger was still the second most terrifying long-lingering wrath to be faced with, surpassed only by Nick Fury).
Shifting on the spot, Bucky cleared his throat. "Hi."
"Hi."
He glanced down the corridor. "I, uh… I guess we should talk."
"If you want," Clint said as he stepped aside. Bucky took the invitation, and the door was closed softly behind them.
There was a moment of silence as Clint waited for him to say something, noticing the way he twisted his hands together agitatedly, the metal fingers squeezing the real ones roughly. "I'm sorry," he said eventually, "about... I shouldn't have blown up at you the way I did."
Nodding, Clint folded his arms. "I'm sorry too. For… what I said."
"But you get it, right?" Bucky asked suddenly. "You understand why –"
"I do, though I still think you're overreacting."
"It was a –"
"Yeah yeah, and that dragged up some Soviet memories – I know, Bucky, I said I get it." Clint dared to close the distance between them, dropping his arms as he held Bucky's gaze. "But you gotta let it go already."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "You say that like it's easy," he said, tone low.
The eye-roll happened on its own. "I never meant that… Okay look; you know about Barney, right?"
"Your brother?"
"Yeah. Not gonna lie, he's a shitty brother at times. Most of the time, actually. But lately, he's been in a bit of trouble, and he actually came to me for help. I could've kicked him to the kerb for all the fucked up things he's done to me and people I care about, but instead I leant him a hand – not just because he's blood, but because I let all that crap between us go. Hell, I'm not saying we don't still argue about it if we're together more than five minutes, but my point is –"
"You moved on, I got that. But you also just said you still argue with him over stuff."
Clint sighed. "Bucky –"
"This is what I was trying to say last night, Clint: there's nothing you can compare my experiences to, nothing to make it easier to handle! And the more you try, the more you start sounding like Steve." Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose (again, with his metal fingers – didn't that hurt?), Bucky turned and sat himself down on Clint's couch, shoulders hunched as he rested his elbows on his knees.
Reading the tension running through the other man's body, Clint checked his frustration as he moved to join him. "Listen, Bucky," he said softly. "I'm sorry that what I did brought up your past, okay? But it was the right thing, and you know it."
For a long time, Bucky stayed very still. It was as Clint began to get worried that he let out a slow breath and opened his eyes again, shoulders still tight. "I'm still seeing a shrink," he said without warning, eyes darting to Clint before refocusing on his hands, fingers again twisting around each other. "It's why I can't do Wednesdays."
Confused, the archer couldn't help but frown a little. "Okay… Um, thanks for sharing, but why –"
"I knew you were right, but the part of me that was mad at myself for letting it get to me was also the part of me that was trying to prove that I was better than what I was in the memories, and that all added up to you being in the wrong, and I know that doesn't exactly make sense but that's why I'm still going to these stupid evaluations –"
"Bucky, hey – take it easy," Clint interrupted, resting a hand on his arm to get him to stop. "I don't care that you can't make Wednesdays," he said, a smile on his lips when Bucky looked up at him in confusion. "If you still need some time out to get the last few kinks in your head smoothed over, I'm not gonna complain. In fact, I'd…" He shifted a little, feeling a slight warmth creep up into his cheeks. "I'd want to help."
Watching the anxiety drain out of Bucky was like watching a child's paddling pool deflate, the only difference being the sad smile and the deep gratitude in his eyes. "Thanks," he said quietly, and Clint squeezed his arm in return. Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then Bucky broke the silence. "I should get going," he said, standing up and gesturing vaguely at the television. "You looked like you were in the middle of something when I came by."
"Wait." As he passed, Clint reached up and caught his t-shirt. Bucky looked back at him expectantly. "I heard Tony moaning at you for not watching 'Dog Cops'. I have the whole season on here if you want to, y'know… stay?"
The smile returned to Bucky's face again, this time without any sadness. "Sure."
By episode three the two of them were sat as if someone had glued them together from their shoulders to their toes, and Bucky's fingers weren't twisted with his own metal ones this time. It was also the point that Clint realised his apartment had stopped feeling so empty and hollow.
AN: Prompt: "The first time they made up after a fight!"
If anyone's interested, I have the fight in question already planned out - all I need is a prompt... ;-)