Day 8 – Champagne

It was well known that Clint would do anything for his friends. Need money? He'd clean out his bank account for you. Clothes? He'd probably do a strip tease to give you the clothes he was wearing. Advice? He could search Google like nobody's business. This, however, was the one thing he hated doing, even for his friends – dressing up in a tuxedo. It was one of the reasons he left SHIELD. Well, that and the fact the majority of the people he knew were actually HYDRA; present company excluded, of course. Natasha had tried to get him to stay with the Avengers. However, it was too close, still too intertwined with SHIELD/HYDRA, so he politely declined, took his retirement fund (who knew SHIELD had 401K's? Thanks, Phil), and used it to legally purchase the apartment building he lived in, then opened up a gym/archery/self-defense studio. "Still can't believe Tony and Pepper are getting married," Clint said as Natasha straightened his bow tie.

"It was only a matter of time." Natasha slapped Clint's hand before he could run it through his hair again and mess up all her hard work. "I think she finally saw how he changed his ways after being kidnapped."

"That'd do it." Clint shivered, remembering his time under Loki's control, which affected him more than any kidnapping he'd ever been through.

Natasha smoothed the lapel of his jacket, then spun him around to face the mirror. "Still presentable."

Clint stared at himself and gave a wry grin. "Guess I do still clean up okay."

"I wouldn't hang around you if you didn't." Natasha looked at her watch. "Just in time. Let's head out. I'll drive." Clint nodded, knowing they'd have a better chance of getting to the ceremony in one piece that way. Natasha whipped her way through the city traffic and then pulled into the parking garage of Avengers tower. "Oh," she said, "I forgot to tell you. Steve's bringing a guest." Clint tilted his head with a quizzical look. "The Winter Soldier, otherwise known as his childhood friend James Barnes."

"Damn. Can't wait to hear that story. How did that even happen?"

"The condensed version is HYDRA found him after he fell from a train during World War 2, injected him with their version of the super serum, brainwashed him, and kept him in a cryo chamber between missions. He broke free from his programming after the DC debacle."

"Good for him." Clint couldn't imagine being mind controlled for 70 years. He was only under for three days; if it wasn't for Natasha, he didn't think he would've made it. "I can't imagine the strong will it took for him to do that," Natasha smirked, knowing that's not all that Clint would appreciate about James.

The two friends arrived in time to slide into their seats for the wedding. Clint swore the ceremony was the calmest Tony had ever been. It was also good to see Bruce not fidgeting as much as he stood next to Tony. After the wedding, everyone went to the rooftop for the reception. The first person Clint noticed was a man leaning against a column. He had brown hair hanging just below his shoulders and stubble along a jawline that Clint thought should be registered as a lethal weapon; it was so sharp. Clint turned to Natasha, but she nudged him before he could make any comment. "Go on, looks like your type," she whispered, then smirked as he left her side.

Clint grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray, gulped it, then sneezed as the bubbles tickled his nose. The vision of sultriness propped up against the column chuckled as he watched Clint, who got so distracted he tripped over nothing. "Hey, doll." Clint looked up and saw the dreamboat had caught him by the elbow before Clint hit the ground. "Champagne that strong?"

"Uh," was the only noise Clint could get to escape his mouth.

"Thought I caught you before you hit your head, but guess I was wrong. Come on, let's go have a seat." The mystery man led Clint over to a bench off to the side. When they sat down, the man let go of Clint's elbow, took Clint's chin, and looked into his eyes. "Doesn't look like you have a concussion. You sure you're okay?"

Clint blinked and tried to get the man's gaze out of his brain. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

"My pleasure, doll." He smiled again. "I can't keep calling you doll. Surely you have a name." Clint nodded. "Want to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?"

"Uh, Clint. Clint Barton."

The man dropped his hand. "You're Hawkeye? The guy who never misses?"

Clint became defensive. "Yeah, what of it?"

Before the stranger could answer, Clint heard someone yell, "Bucky!"

"Who the hell is Bucky?"