Pretty nails
Carefully so as not to spill the paint, he wipes the edge of the brush and watches as excess paint flows back into the small ampoule. With steady hands and a concentrated gaze, he now begins to apply the paint. One stroke after another is done. In between, he dips the brush back into the ampoule to pick up new color.
"What are you doing?"
The question surprises him and in shock he drops both the brush and the ampoule. Purple nail polish spreads across the white duvet cover. “It’s Sunday,” Bucky says and looks at Clint, who is struggling to sit up. “Stay there,” Bucky warns, gently pushing him back onto the mattress. “What happened?” Clint asks in a rough voice, looking first at his arm in a cast and then at the venous catheter in his exposed hand.
“You fell off the roof,” Bucky explains, sitting back down in the chair. Clint looks at him confused. "Really? Because I feel really good,” Clint explains and Bucky gives a smile. “That’s because of the very good painkillers,” Bucky replies, pointing to the infusion that flows slowly through the venous catheter.
"Oh-" Clint says and then leans back on the bed. "How bad is it?" "A broken wrist-" Bucky starts to list and Clint grimaces. “a cracked rib, so don't move too much. Your ankle is sprained and a mild concussion. You were lucky. If Wanda hadn't buffered you, you'd probably be mud."
Clint grimaces again. "You need to send Wanda a thank you bouquet of flowers," Clint says after a moment, sounding like he'll fall back to sleep at any moment. “It’ll be done,” Bucky confirms, picking up the vial again. He will secretly change the blanket before Sister Janice sees it. She watched him and threatened that if there was even one purple stain, he would have to do the entire ward's laundry.
He carefully begins to apply the color to Clint's fingernails. “What are you doing?” Clint repeats his initial question and looks at him through half-closed eyelids. "It's Sunday. Nice nails,” Bucky grins and shows Clint the small vial. A tired grin creeps onto Clint's face.
“I hope it looks pretty”
Bucky looks at the four nails he has now finished. He has to paint over a nail again. The thumb took a bit too much. He brushed over the others and brushed the skin lying around, which he had to clean later.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be pretty.”