Focus
Bucky Barnes blew out a breath carefully as he scrubbed his face, trying to get rid of the tingling feeling that ignited all over his body. Olympics. They actually made it to the Olympics. It was surreal and half of Bucky still felt like it was a fantasy.
They had just been assigned their pools. Apparently it was Romania, America, Australia, and Sokovia. Which was fine to Bucky, they were all pretty evenly matched.
He remembered doing research on the 24 qualifying teams not including himself. From what he could recall, America had a good defender by the name of Clint Barton. Their blocker was Phil Coulson, who won a championship in Australia last year. Australia’s team was all about brute force and strength. Thor Odinson, legendary at both roles, and the less famous Korg, who could block anything. And then lastly was Sokovia. Zemo was a tactician and defender while Pietro could move at high speeds. The kid was also a track competitor, managing to become competent in beach volleyball and sprinting.
As for Bucky? Well he was a good defender. Able to serve like a machine and hit harder than ever. Steve, his partner, was the best spiker Romania has ever seen. He felt fairly confident that they would make it to single elimination.
“Buck, hey, get outta your head,” Steve said when he noticed the brunette scowling at the floor of the locker room. “What’re you thinking about?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow at the stupid question and stead moved to swing his jacket on. The first matches were Sokovia and Australia and America versus Romania. “What do you know about the Americans?”
Steve shrugged a bit, helping Bucky tie his hair back. “Barton will do literally anything to keep the ball from touching the sand. In Japan he dived face first to save it, and that was regular volleyball indoors. He also has unnaturally good eyesight and can predict exactly where the ball will land. His problem is he gets easily overwhelmed and distracted,” he recounted thoughtfully. “Coulson is very calm and methodical. He can analyze us from a million miles away and know our weaknesses and how to exploit them.”
Very comforting, Bucky thought.
>>——>
Admittedly, Clint figured the only reason he’d made it to the Olympics was because of his partner, Phil Coulson. Clint didn’t know people like Phil did. He didn’t have those connections, or sponsors, or well… anything. He was just a damn good volleyball player.
When Clint saw the pool they’d been assigned to he whistled quietly. This wasn’t championships or tournaments, this was the Olympics, and every single player listed was on god tier level.
“Welcome to Pool 6’s 1A match!” The announcer, Scott Lang, said cheerfully as the crowd erupted. They roared over the man’s voice until finally it died down enough that Clint’s hearing aids could pick up the speech again. “For this match we have James Barnes and Steven Rogers representing Romania. For America we have Clinton Barton and Philip Coulson!”
Clint nearly snorted at their full names, it was always weird to hear them.
“And now, for the coin toss,” Scott continued excitedly as the cameras all zoomed in. “It’s Romania’s pick.. and of course they choose to serve. Warm-ups will now begin for the next 3 minutes, after that we will get this match on the road!”
More cheers.
Clint spent the next minutes testing the sand and the balls, getting his body reacquainted with all his training. He took deep breaths, in through his nose out through his mouth, urging his heart to calm down. Panicking would be anything but helpful in this situation.
Before they started their game Clint handed off his hearing aids to their coach. He didn’t wear them in games due to the pressure they caused and how he got headaches that could knock him off balance. Hearing loss wasn’t a section in the paralympics though, which still qualified him for playing regular with Phil.
Set 1 began without further ado. Barnes had a mean face when he served, completely focused like nothing could ever stand in his way. He tossed the ball up and than smacked it with what Clint could only assume was a satisfying slapping noise. Phil popped up to block and Steve set it for Barnes to attack again. This time to the far left corner.
Clint had to sprint to save it, almost debating if it was out of bounds. Phil carried it for him to make up strength in his hesitation and by that point they were well off into the game.
He could tell by the way their mouths kept moving that Barnes and Rogers were very vocal while playing, yelling and cursing in what was assumedly Romanian. By the end of the first set Romania had won it with a 21-17.
The second set didn’t do much better. Clint struggled under the pressure of Barnes powerful serves. Countering them was painful without a set and Phil wasn’t great at attacks so they’d need to risk a double set. And right off the bat of a serve it just wasn’t worth it.
Halfway into the second set their coach, Nick Fury, signaled for a time out, hauling them over to the bench.
“What are you boys doing out there?!” He demanded. “You look like dancing monkeys with the way you’re playing. You do not play, you compete.”
“It’s Barnes,” Clint said after swallowing a good portion of water. “His serves are ridiculous. They clocked his last one at 150 MPH, Fury.”
“They’re brutal,” Phil agreed, glancing over his shoulder where the two Romanians were strategizing with their own coach.
“You went against Odinson and Korg last year, what’s any different than their powerhouse style?”
Clint couldn't think of anything to say. How to explain the way Barnes could look at him and he felt paralyzed. He didn’t have the vocabulary to express the Romanian’s glare. “It’s like Loki,” he finally said, knowing that would get the message across.
Fury’s face darkened as he exhaled roughly. “Get out of your damn head and play. Close your eyes if you have to, but you need to pick up the pace, at least gain points,” he decided before the time out was over and they were back to their positions.
The sand was getting hot as the sun rose higher, beating down and making Clint’s hair damp with sweat. He’d left his aids in, half on accident, but now he could hear the roaring of the crowd and Scott’s commentary. He felt like he was being violated, like his thoughts were being broadcasted to the world.
“Focus,” Phil said through his grit teeth. Barnes had the serve. Of course.
“And would you look at that, a solid overhand serve! Barton races to the middle and manages to pop it up, Coulson sets it again while Barton get’s a running start and slams it to the middle left court! Barnes recovers with a sloppy dive that gives Rogers the chance to send it back. Clearly unprepared, he sent it right to Phil who has struck it down inches from the boundaries!” Scott yelled, cheering as the American’s roared in the stadium.
Clint could see Barnes cursing loudly as he redid his ponytail, glaring furiously at the other half of the court.
Scotts voice popped up again with his cheery tone. “Barton’s first serve in this second set, America has not been doing well this game. It’s 14-0 with two rotations. It seems like Romania has this match in the bag already!” He unhelpfully informed the audience as Clint scowled.
He took another steady breath, moving back into position to serve. Then he tossed the ball up and served overhand, the slap echoed and his palm burned even as he added a last second twist in his wrist. The volleyball soared over the net, curving away from Barnes and hitting the sand in bounds.
The American side of the stadium blew up with cheers and Clint knew if his dad was alive and watching he’d be damn proud of that serve.
Phil high fived him though so that was good enough.
>>——>
Bucky struggled to keep up now that Barton had the serve. He couldn’t predict where the ball was going, and it took him 3 losses to realize that was the point. The futzer. He stationed himself light on his feet in the back middle, ready to sprint any which way the ball came. Once it was over the net he moved because Barton had some magic touch like he could yank the ball wherever he wanted as if it was on a string.
Logically it must have been something in the way he served. Similar to a pitcher on a baseball mound.
“Barnes!” Rumlow yelled, “Head. In. Game.” He insisted after Bucky lost 2 more points. It was 14-6, the American’s were catching up, albeit slowly.
At least the next point they lost wasn’t right off the serve.
They switched sides and during the small seconds of respite, Bucky tried to focus himself. He knew Barton was deaf but in this set he had his hearing aids. They were obnoxiously vibrant purple and clunky. He noticed Barton was also serving left handed, more power and less finesse. Coulson for all that mattered seemed exactly the same. Steel cold eyes and laser focus.
“A powerful left-handed serve by Barton! Met by Barnes’s set and Rogers’s spike. A smooth block by Coulson and a spectacular dive by Barnes, the ball is still in play as it goes up steadily. Here it comes, it’s unclear which side of the net it’s going to land on… Barton sets a run and jump, Rogers in for the block—OH! And it’s a decoy! Coulson lands a strike to the far left corner of the court! Fantastic rally for America right there!”
Bucky’s breathing heavily as he tries to force his body to calm down. His heart rates too fast, he needs to slow down. But their lead is only 6 points now. And if they go into the third set of 15 points Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll last. Most of their games they’d won 2-3 but it would be naive to think that in the actual futzing Olympics.
>>——>
Clint was absolutely wiped out by the end of the game. Romania won, but they did go into the third set. They also scraped together a lot of points which would be used for ties and stuff so he was feeling okay. A solid 57-46.
“Clint, let’s check the scores,” Phil insisted as they headed toward the break room with real air conditioning. It was glorious.
The scores were updated live on a huge TV that surrounded 3 wooden benches. In Pool 6 1B Sokovia beat Australia 2-0. As always, speed beats strength over half the time. Their total points were 42-11, pretty bad.
They only had four hours break before the next match, America versus Sokovia and Clint wanted to watch as much footage as he could of their game against the Australians. It never hurt to analyze his competitors.
“Get some food and water before you pass out,” Fury ordered Clint as the blond waved dismissively and headed back to his room, his mind preoccupied with Barnes’s glare like it had been burned into the back of his brain.