The sun is just struggling it’s way into the sky, all bleary oranges and purple. It’s already hot, already muggy, despite the early hours. Clint knows the goats are gonna be mad when he finally gets back, feeds ‘em.
He stares into his coffee and wonders if he even cares at this point.
“They’ll be fine,” Bucky tells him. “Look, foods almost ready.”
It’s true, Clint can see the one cook, a dark skinned girl with wild curls, flipping their waffles and poking at their bacon.
“Extra crispy,” Clint grunts at her. “Extra, extra crispy.”
America cuts her eyes at him, “Yeah, I know how you like it.”
Bucky pokes at Clint’s cheek until Clint turns sleepily. He kisses the cold metal palm absently, and asks, “Need somethin’?”
“Yeah, I need you not to anger the only decent cook in this backwoods town,” Bucky snorts.
Clint blinks at him slowly, several times. “Bucky, darlin’, you realize this is a Waffle House, yeah?”
Bucky just shrugs at him and gives America a flirty grin. “Can I-“
“Already done,” America grins back. She tosses a whole handful of jalapeños into Bucky’s omelette. “Just make sure that one is ready for archery lessons this afternoon.”
Bucky’s grin falters for just a second. “Dunno, Meri, rough night.”
Clint pushes his coffee cup forward, a silent begging. “You keep this comin’ and I’ll be ready.”
America studies the two men, dust covered and bleary eyed. Clint’s definitely worse off, deep bruises making his pale eyes paler. He slumps into Bucky’s side, bumping foreheads every time Bucky leans down to whisper to him.
“Nightmare?” She asks quietly.
“That requires going to sleep,” Clint grunts. “Something like that, though.”
Bucky gives America a rueful smile. She sets down large portions of scrambled eggs and hash browns, a pile of almost-burnt bacon, and two waffles loaded with chocolate chips and peanut butter. She refills Clint’s coffee and puts a second cup in front of him.
Clint manages to haul himself up onto his elbow and plant a sloppy, off-center kiss to her wrist. “Angel!”
Bucky snorts again, but he pushes bacon at the blond. “Joining us?” He asks America.
“Sure,” she grins as she piles more bacon and some fried eggs onto a plate.
It’s a routine, these sluggish mornings. She doesn’t mind though, kinda likes the strangers who rolled into town a few months back and bought the old Peterson farm. “How’re the plants coming?”
Clint gets a scowl on his face. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Told you it was too late in the season,” She says. “But I can come by after work, help see if we can save them?”
“Sure,” Bucky agrees. He pauses a moment, poking Clint’s cheek again. “Who knew retirement was so much work?”