Clint was absolutely, positively fed up. And he had good reason to be, too.
He was sitting at the dining table of the Avengers' communal kitchen, nursing a novelty mug that may or may not have contained upwards of four shots of coffee. That extra caffeine was well earned, in his opinion, because before him stood the two most oblivious creatures Clint had ever had the misfortune of knowing. The pair were giggling like schoolgirls as they made Sunday's breakfast, blissfully unaware of the world around them.
Clint scoffed as he took a sip of the pitch black liquid. Despite the fact that his coffee cup had 'drama queen' emblazoned on the side, he was sure he was being perfectly reasonable in saying that the only person more laughably senseless than Bucky Barnes was Steve Rogers. Together; disaster.
The routine with which they cooked was so domestic and practiced that Clint wanted to yell at them. Bucky would pour the pancake batter into the pan, then check on the toast, while Steve would watch the bacon and eggs before flipping said pancakes. They'd brush past one another and exchanging secret smiles and it was entirely infuriating. Just kiss already, you ancient fools, Clint thought, examining the way Steve tucked Bucky's loose hair fondly behind his ears.
He was sick of their longing stares, he was tired of their lingering touches, and he was most certainly done with their aggressive pining.
"You two would make a super cute couple," the archer said decisively.
Bucky gave him an odd look, head tilted and eyes narrowed. Clint tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. Often he forgot that this man was the most dangerous assassin in the world, because it was just so easy when he was whisking eggs in the kitchen. Seemingly satisfied, Bucky turned to Steve, who shrugged and snatched a strip of bacon from the frypan.
"Uh," Bucky cautioned, scanning Clint from head to toe a second time. The marksman tucked his slipper-clad feet beneath his chair self-consciously. So what if he was wearing shoes that looked like sharks? It wasn't Bucky's place to judge him. "Thanks?"
Clint rolled his eyes and took another sip of his poison of choice.
It was shameful, really, that Captain America (the public's favourite superhero) and his partner (the public's favourite redemption story) were so completely blind to the other's affections. Even more so that Hawkeye (the public's most overlooked and hardworking and underappreciated Avenger) was the only one that noticed it.
Apparently, however, he was not the only one.
"Oh, yeah," Tony agreed, with a vague wave of his hand, not looking up from the contraption that was leaking thick black grease onto the expensive table. Knowing Tony, he'd probably just buy another like it was nothing. "They're totally in love."
"It's obvious," said Wanda. "But also not my problem."
"I don't think it's your problem either, Clint," Bruce warned warily. "I know you see yourself as a divine matchmaking force, but remember what happened with Thor and that receptionist?"
"It was not a fault of Barton's that she was afraid of the thunder! A merely unfortunate coincidence," defended Thor. Clint shot him two thumbs up and a toothy grin.
"You're the god of thunder, Thor. A fear of storms is an obvious dealbreaker," Pepper said. She scrubbed a hand over her face tiredly, promptly evacuating the overcrowded lounge area.
"I agree with Mr Stark," Peter supplied. He was hanging upside-down from the ceiling, furiously mashing the buttons of his video game controller, and Clint was considering firing an arrow at the web he was dangling from just to see if his attention would falter. "Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are totally in love. I ship it."
"I've already tried to play matchmaker with them. They're impossible, you have no chance," drawled Natasha, painting her nails a colour that was not dissimilar to the fresh stains on the coffee table. And, wow, if he hadn't been totally sold on getting Steve and Bucky together before, he definitely was now. There was nothing like a challenge (especially one that promised leverage over Natasha) to spur Clint on.
"What would you even do about it, anyway? Lock them in a closet until they declare their love?" Sam laughed, before cursing at Peter for sabotaging him, or something along those lines, with far more age-inappropriate diction.
"That," Clint said. "Is an excellent idea."
Which is how he found himself leaning on the door of a supply closet, twirling a key around his finger.
"We've been in here for an hour," complained Bucky. Clint imagined how the soldier was pressed up against Steve in the confined space, and gave himself a pat on the back for devising such a successful plan. "Let us out."
"If you two want to come out of the closet-" Clint had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing at his own joke. He was just too clever for his own good sometimes. "-you have to kiss. On the mouth."
"You locked us in a closet of cleaning supplies because you want to see us kiss?" Steve sighed. "I honestly don't know what I expected."
"I'm just doing my civil duty," insisted Clint. "Now do you want to get out or not?"
"Barton. I'm giving you one warning," growled the sergeant. "Step away from the door."
"Didn't you hear what I said? I'm not letting you out unless-"
The metal hinges of the door blasted off with a thunderous crack. Clint (who was wondering idly how the hell they'd managed that) quickly sprung out of the way, but not quickly enough to avoid being clipped on the arm by the screws that flew through the air like bullets. He swore like a sailor, rubbing the tender shoulder that was sure to bruise, purple and painful. Those asinine supersoldiers didn't even know what it was like to bruise, the privileged bastards.
But the screws were apparently the least of his worries, because then the door was kicked forward with excessive force (seriously, come on, Barnes) and Clint was propelled across the hallway along with the slab of wood. He shoved it onto the floor, and promptly collapsed upon it.
Bucky glared down his nose at where Clint was curled up on the floor, dramatically clutching his side, and ignored him, letting Steve exit the tiny room before him.
"Huh. Chivalry isn't dead," Clint said. He grinned at the way Steve was examining his friend's bionic knuckles for damage.
"I hope you broke a rib," said Bucky. Steve chastised him, but the chuckle in his voice showcased his amusement.
"Why didn't you break us outta there an hour ago?" Steve asked as the pair wandered down the hall, already completely absorbed in each other, the Captain's arm draped across Bucky's shoulders. Bucky replied with some flowery comment about not minding being stuck in there with Steve, and Clint grinned, because, well. The plan kind of worked. It just depended on your definition of success.
Clint unfurled, spreading out like a starfish and staring at the ceiling. He just needed a better idea.
"This idea is way better," the archer mumbled to himself, a sly grin on his lips. He was already mentally writing the best man's speech for Steve and Bucky's wedding.
The plan was simple. He'd hang out in the ceiling, listening out for anything he could use in the next phase, then slip away without a trace.
The air vent was a tight squeeze, but he managed. He shuffled through the metal tunnel on his stomach, turning left at a crossroads just like the map he'd stolen from Tony instructed. Hopefully he'd followed the directions correctly this time, because another awkward run-in with Vision in the vents was not preferable. (Although, Vision In The Vents was a totally kickass band name.)
There was light pouring through the gaps of a grate a few yards ahead, and Clint crawled eagerly towards it. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep his cheering internal when he found himself looking down at the Captain's private living room. He had a perfect bird's eye view of the faded red sofa and the two supersoldiers seated on it, and could hear the drawl of a woman singing about walking (or something equally pointless) from the record player on the coffee table. Clint supposed he had that woman to thank for the pair not hearing his arrival, but that didn't make her music any more bearable.
Steve was sitting with his back against the arm of the couch, scratching away at a sketchbook, and, okay, Captain America was an artist? Clint squinted at the page and saw that Steve was drawing Bucky's profile, looking up at his friend every now and again. Typical.
Barnes, on the other hand, was reading a book that appeared to be written in Russian. One of Steve's legs rested on his lap, and he was rubbing absentminded circles onto his calf with his flesh hand. The pair looked so gentle and relaxed, lounging in their casual attire, that Clint almost forgot why he was there. If he didn't know any better, he'd think they'd been together for years.
"Remember this song?" Steve said, and now there was a man whining about the sun through the brass speaker. Clint didn't understand the appeal of their old-man music, but he wasn't going to hold it against them.
"'Course, doll," Bucky replied with an easy smile. And, wait a second, doll? The marksman knew he'd cop it if he ever called the Captain that, but God was it tempting. He'd already paid for referring to him as Stevie, and this would undoubtedly be exponentially worse. Plus, it'd probably sell him out, and he didn't need the pair to be aware of his spying.
No, not spying. Information gathering. And he was already learning more about Captain America than he'd ever been taught in high school, so.
"We used to dance to it all the time back in Brooklyn," Bucky continued.
There was something about the thought of these two ridiculously built men waltzing that was absolutely hysterical, and Clint couldn't help the sharp inhale of muffled laughter he drew in. Unfortunately, the vent was fairly dusty, so air wasn't the only thing he breathed in, and the archer's eyes widened with a thought of oh fuck as he realised what was about to happen.
A violent sneeze tore through his body, which was apparently too much for the ceiling to handle. Clint fell through the vent, landing with a dull thud on the coffee table. A cloud of white, powdery sediment billowed from the hole in the roof, and the crushed record player screeched before tapering out. At least that man had stopped whining.
"Ow," Clint groaned. He could practically feel the bruises flowering all over his body as the dust settled around the room. His romantic quest was being repaid with more bruises than he saw fit, which was totally unfair. Being Cupid was hard work.
"What," Bucky started, disbelief dripping from his tone. Clint wasn't looking at him, but he could imagine the mixture of shock and humour and anger. His eye was probably twitching maniacally. "The fuck."
"I can explain-" Clint coughed, and another chunk of drywall fell from the ceiling. He could hear the telltale whir of Bucky's metal arm, plates shifting as he desperately resisted the urge to punch something.
Steve sighed, closing his sketchbook. "I'll call Tony."
Later, when he sat with Bruce in his lab, Clint thought that maybe it hadn't been such a great idea after all. To be fair, he had gotten some quality intel, but was it really worth it? He coughed, and swore a cloud of dust escaped his throat. Bruce frowned. Yeah, it probably wasn't worth it.
That did not, however, mean he was giving up. Clint Barton was nothing if not persistent (okay, that was a lie), and would not rest (also lie) until he singlehandedly managed to get Captain America and the Winter Soldier to confess their undying love for one another.
Singlehandedly being a slight exaggeration, he admitted, as he begged Peter to teach him how to make that sticky web shit he was always shooting around.
"I want to help, Mr Hawkeye, I really do, it's just that Pepper told me not to let you near dangerous substances," Peter was saying, nervously fiddling with his sleeves.
"Nonsense! Pepper doesn't know what she's talking about," replied Clint defiantly. "I'm a goddamn Avenger - one of the originals, too. I can be trusted with potassium and hydrogen and dilithium. Plus, I took chemistry in high school."
"Dilithium isn't a real element, Mr Hawkeye, sir."
"High school was a long time ago, okay! And I didn't say I passed..." Clint trailed off, realizing quickly that this was one of his worse anecdotes. He didn't even graduate, but he wasn't about to further ruin his case. "Look, Peter, it's for Captain America."
"Is this another plan to get him and Sergeant Barnes together?" Peter's eyes lit up with excitement. With a light chuckle at the radiant joy, Clint nodded. The boy chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "It's technically not disobeying Pepper's orders if it's me that uses the web, right?"
"That is absolutely the kind of loophole I was hoping for," grinned Clint. He ruffled Peter's hair playfully. "Smart kid. I see why Tony likes you."
And that was all it took to convince him.
Although, it took about as long for him to regret his hasty decision as it did to make it.
"I'm starting to understand why Pepper didn't want me to help you," Peter said later, laying flat on his back and wheezing.
Clint rolled his eyes, because if the teen thought this plan was bad, he should be grateful that he wasn't involved in the others. He glanced down over the edge of the building to where the two supersoldiers were pressed completely flush against one another, rubbery web binding them to the wall. Yeah, this time, it was foolproof. And, on the off chance it didn't work out, Peter would be the one to take the fall, and everyone knew that even Bucky Barnes wouldn't lay a hand on that kid.
"Man, she's gonna kill me. I should write her an apology. And another for Captain Rogers, and Sergeant Barnes, and-"
"It's going to be fine! Chill out, bro." Clint pet Peter's arm awkwardly, not knowing how to comfort anything that wasn't a dog. It seemed to help somewhat, though, because Peter's breathing steadied and he sat up, joining Clint to peer down at Bucky and Steve.
"Do I really need to remind you that we're on a mission, Katniss?" Tony said over the intercom. "Can't you use your meager talents for something useful?"
"This is useful," complained the marksman. "And technically, the mission is over, so I'm a free man."
Ignoring Tony's probably deeply insulting reply, Clint removed an arrow from his quiver, checking the label on the side. He really ought to thank Steve for his label-maker eventually; it was both the most ridiculous and most useful birthday present ever. Settling the arrow into the string of his bow, he effortlessly went through the motion of firing. The wire tensed. His toned back muscles tightened and locked. He slowed his breathing, exhaled, relaxed his hand, and...
Boom. Perfect. As usual.
The arrow whizzed through the air, colliding with the wall a few feet above the entangled pair's heads. A loud tune, audible even from Peter and Clint's altitude, began to play. It had taken a lot of digging to find Bucky and Steve's whiny old-man dancing song, but, there it was. Then the arrow exploded, raining tiny pink hearts onto them. Clint was certain he heard Bucky growl his name.
"Confetti? Really?" Peter asked, but he was grinning.
That grin fell pretty quickly, when Steve ripped apart the web with his bare hands, freeing himself and his friend. The sergeant whipped around, immediately fixing his famously terrifying glare atop the building Clint and Peter took refuge on. Shit.
"If I die because of this, my Aunt May will hunt you down," the spider-kid warned, and Clint only felt a tiny bit threatened as they raced across the rooftop. After all, while hawks regularly feasted on arachnids, he had no doubt that a disgruntled May would have no problem shooting birds of prey from the skies. If he wasn't certain that Barnes would catch up with him first, he'd probably be far more concerned.
Peter jumped over the edge of the building, swinging off of that top-secret web of his, and disappeared quickly. Clint cursed loudly. He took a deep breath, reached for his quiver, and sprang off the ledge with a quick prayer that chance was on his side and he'd chosen a grapple-hook arrow.
Spoiler alert: Lady Luck was a bitch.
He watched the arrow shoot a net from its head, which inevitably cowered in the face of gravity and wrapped itself around Clint's falling body. The last thing he saw before he landed harshly on his right leg was the face of one Bucky Barnes, staring down at him from the rooftop with an amused smirk. Clint didn't bother to wonder how he'd scaled the building so quickly. He was just grateful that it had taken him as long as it did, because the wrath of Russia's deadliest assassin was far more fatal than a dive from a three storey building.
"You are an idiot," Steve scolded once they were back at the tower, slapping him across the shoulder. It was a gentle blow, because Captain America wouldn't be caught dead preying on a man with a severely broken leg.
"Thanks for the label-maker," Clint replied, with a masterful attempt at scratching his thigh with a fork under the cast. This certainly wasn't his first broken bone, and it wouldn't be his last. "Now I just need a system to identify the arrows during free-fall."
"You're lucky you didn't blow yourself up with all the explosives you keep in that quiver of yours," Steve continued like the mother hen he was.
"I wish you had blown yourself up," Bucky added. Clint wasn't entirely sure he was joking. "Woulda served you right."
"He won't be walking again for at least a few months. I think that's punishment enough," Bruce said. He was faffing about on a computer, a three-dimensional diagram of Clint's bones warping as he typed away. The doctor scared Clint sometimes, because it was crazy how intelligent he was.
"I wish the building'd been ten storeys high," Bucky muttered into Clint's ear as he left.
Clint looked down at his plaster-clad leg and shuddered. Well. Now he was going to have to absorb some of Banner's academic air, because to resume his plan with a shattered femur he needed to get creative. Good thing it didn't look like he'd be leaving Bruce's side anytime soon.
Unfortunately, Bruce refused to help, no matter how much the injured marksman pestered him.
"Pretty pretty please?" Clint whined. He was spinning around the lab in his wheelchair, doing his very best to annoy the doctor into compliance. "Don't you want to beat Nat at her own game? That's a lifetime of bragging rights!"
"Clint. I will say this one more time. I'm a doctor, not a relationship therapist. This is their business, not ours. And the last thing I want is to get on the bad side of Captain America."
"But-"
"Clint."
Clint groaned dramatically, but he knew from the finality of Bruce's tone that he wouldn't budge. Cutting his losses, he wheeled himself out of the room and around the basement until he found the man he was looking for. "Tony!" He grinned. "My favourite Avenger."
Tony rolled his eyes, not even bothering to raise them from the wires he was fiddling with. "Obviously. What do you want?"
"I want to hack into Cap's phone."
"If I help you will you leave me alone?"
"Absolutely."
The better half of the afternoon was spent peering over Tony's shoulder as he hacked into his own security system, occasionally telling Clint to stop breathing so loudly. He couldn't help it, he was excited. Operation Icicles In Love: phase four was sure to be a hit.
This time, he'd be protected by the anonymity of technology, which was ensured by both the supersoldiers' staggeringly large ages. How could he possibly go wrong?
"Knock yourself out," Stark said, tossing a phone at Clint. Which, okay, totally rude. He was in a wheelchair for crying out loud. "It's paired to Capsicle's. Don't do anything colossally moronic until you're on Banner's time, not mine."
If the devilish grin on the archer's face didn't make his idiotic intentions clear enough, the attempt to stand up on his still very broken leg should have. Either Tony didn't notice, or Tony didn't care. Clint was betting on the latter. He ignored the pain in his leg and unlocked the phone, delighted that not only did Steve's phone lack a passcode, but his homescreen was a picture of him and Bucky.
He couldn't help the chuckle he let out as he typed a fairly lewd text to the sergeant, specifying exactly how little he should be wearing later that evening when Steve got home from his mission. This was a stroke of absolute genius on his behalf, and he'd give himself a pat on the back if he could. He bet Natasha had never pulled something as marvelous as this.
Only about ten minutes elapsed between Clint sending the message and Bucky bursting into the lab, but it was a glorious ten minutes that he spend choreographing his victory dance.
"Who," was all the soldier said, all gruff and aggressive. Tony snapped the fingers of his titanium glove a couple of times until the tips lit up with tiny flames, held them over a piece of bread, then pointed at Clint with a screwdriver.
Bucky stalked over, arms crossed and face terrifyingly blank.
"Snitch," said Clint, his deadly glare losing its venom as his voice broke. Barnes could be so goddamn scary when he wanted to be. Deep down, Clint knew he was as soft as a kitten (they'd had late night heart-to-hearts over glasses of Asgardian liquor more than a few times), but if there was one thing that got the ex-assassin riled up his was his protectiveness of Steve.
"'S not my fault you're a moron," shrugged Tony through a mouthful of toast.
"Barton," warned the sergeant, leaning into Clint's personal space. "I don't know what game you're playing here, but you need to stop. I swear to God, if you weren't such good friends with Steve I would rip you limb from limb."
"Delightful," Clint said. He wheeled himself slowly backwards, but Bucky matched him step for step. He knew the threats were empty, but that didn't stop his pulse from racing. "How did you know it wasn't him?"
"Steve hates texting."
Clint had to hold in a laugh at that, because wow, Steve was such an old man, and the way Bucky said that made it seem like the text itself hadn't been that far-fetched.
"Well, next time I'll send a carrier pigeon," grinned Clint nervously. He kept rolling backwards until his chair hit the wall.
Bucky placed his hands on the arms of the wheelchair, leaning in close enough that Clint could see the fire in his eyes. "You are on thin ice, Barton," he growled lowly. "Thin fuckin' ice."
He nodded stiffly, and Bucky backed off. Then like a flash he pulled a pocket knife from his pocket, slashed Clint's tires, and evacuated the scene.
Right. So that didn't go great. But, insert some inspiring quote about how one must first fail to succeed here, and Clint thought he was onto something. He just needed a plan that posed no physical risk and definitely couldn't be traced back to him. Honestly, he could really use Natasha's help on that front, but. No. He would not admit defeat.
He just needed another excuse for them to be all up in each other's business, close enough that they could see past the friendzone. And then it hit him.
It was ridiculously easy to persuade Tony to host a Christmas party, seeing as the holiday was right around the corner. It was even easier for Clint to persuade his favourite little rich girl to be his plus-one.
"Katie-Kate!" Clint said cheerfully. "You remember that favour you owe me?"
The groan she let out was so exaggerated that even Clint was impressed. She had well and truly earned the Hawkeye title (it wasn't all about archery). "Cli-int! C'mon, all you did was bail me out of jail that one time. I've done way more for you than you've done for me."
"Excuse you. I'm practically your parent. Plus, all I need you to do is accompany me to a party and take the fall for a few light-hearted pranks. Easy as."
"Nothing is ever that simple with you."
He supposed she wasn't wrong, though it was hard to imagine either of the supersoldiers beating anyone to pulp over some innocent mistletoe. And even if it came to that, he knew Kate could get out of it.
"Why are you even doing this? Sounds like a waste of time to me," grumbled Kate as she stuffed her pockets with mistletoe.
"Because," was all he said in response, but he could tell by the fond look the girl was giving him that she understood. He was doing it because he loved his friends, and his friends loved each other, damn it. They deserved happiness. And if it would save Clint from breakfast with a side of pining, that was just a bonus.
So there he was, in the penthouse of Stark Tower, jingle bells ringing in the background as he drank with Thor as an alibi. The Asgardian could drink circles around him, but that was half the fun.
"-then Loki said 'by Odin, brother, you have grown a second head!' and he stabbed me in the neck. It was years later I found there had been no second head at all, he had just wanted to stab me! What a trickster he is," Thor boomed, laughing deeply at his own story.
"That's great, Thor, but have you seen Kate? It's almost show time!"
"A show? A very good idea, indeed! Nothing increases the spirit of a Midgardian holiday like a performance!"
"Exactly," grinned Clint, spotting his apprentice (although he'd never call her that to her face) lurking in a doorway. "And this should be one to remember."
As expected, due to the trackers that Clint may or may not have planted on Bucky and Steve's respective glasses of alcohol, the sergeant strolled through Kate's doorway, seemingly unaware of plant she'd just fixed to the wood above his head. "Barnes," he heard her say, arms crossed across her chest and leaning casually on the wall. She nodded at the mistletoe with a devious smile. Clint absolutely adored that kid, damn it. She was just the best.
Bucky frowned and froze, halfway through the door. This was going to be good. After a few moments of Clint pointedly not watching, Sam shoved Bucky through, grumbling about him being old and slow. Sam. Not Steve. Clint's smile fell. Oh God.
"I am not kissing him," Bucky said, eyes scanning the man beside him judgmentally. And, damn, there in Sam's hand was the drink that he'd definitely stolen from Steve, subtly blinking tracker and everything.
"I give up!" Clint declared, downing the rest of his liquor hastily. These two were just so evasive and oblivious. He'd wasted his favour and his leg was broken; it was time to let it go.
"I beat you every time, Barton. Your tolerance is very unimpressive," chuckled Thor. Clint grunted in response. His tolerance was very high, thank you very much, he just had a habit of being compared to impossibly high standards set by literal aliens and laboratory experiments.
The next morning he had a pounding headache, and was most certainly not in the mood for seeing Bucky and Steve curled up beside one another on the sofa. But, as he was coming to learn, luck was not on his side a majority of the time. He snatched the entire pot of coffee from the communal kitchen and threw himself into an armchair, unfocused eyes staring at the television and crutches abandoned on the floor. Vaguely aware of some news reporter babbling about marriage in Australia, he downed a solid three-quarters of the jug in a series of large gulps. Wanda gave him a deeply concerned look but remained silent after Natasha dismissed it as 'standard Barton behaviour.'
"Wait a second," Bucky said in slight disbelief. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he transferred his attention from the flatscreen to Steve. "Fellas can get married now?"
"It's legal in Australia as of this mornin'," yawned Tony, scratching tiredly at his jaw with metal fingers. He had on his silky faux-suit pyjamas and one of his Iron Man gauntlets, which would have been odd if it'd been anyone other than Tony Stark. "The US still has a few states to go, but we're getting there. Yay for progress."
"Wow, Australia officially has basic human rights. Hurrah," Natasha said sarcastically, flipping through a newspaper and looking far too put-together for a Sunday morning. Clint was in an entire other plane of existence before his first sip of coffee, and even now (after at least seven shots) he was blinking owlishly at the television. That woman was unnatural.
"Stevie," said Bucky, voice breathless and eyes wide. He'd turned his body to face his friend, leaning forward eagerly. "Marry me."
Steve's jaw dropped open. Clint's did too. In fact, as the marksman looked around the room, everyone looked both much more awake and completely shocked. Sam dropped his mug, scarlet sparks shot from Wanda's fingers, Bruce's glasses slid off his nose. Tony muttered something about having too much whiskey the night before, rubbing his eyes with exhaustion.
Bucky wasn't fazed. He was staring hopefully at Steve, reaching out to squeeze his hand beneath metal fingers.
Clint found himself unable to stop the corners of his mouth from twitching up. Even though he was totally bitter that it was the government that ended up getting the two together (at least he assumed that was what was happening here) despite the archer's best efforts, Clint was a hopeless romantic at heart. Seeing his friends happy made his heart swell just a little bit.
"I'm serious, Steve," Bucky said. "You know I love you. Marry me."
Steve's gape morphed into a grin, and there was so much goddamn love in his eyes that Clint felt dizzy just watching. He could only imagine the effect it had on Barnes, especially when Steve whispered 'of course, you jerk,' or something to that effect.
Then Steve was kissing Bucky, affectionate and familiar, right on the lips. Clint stared absently at the pair as Steve's fingers brushed Bucky's jaw, and was that Captain America's tongue sliding easily into his best friend's mouth? Bucky practically melted at the touch, tense muscles relaxing like modelling clay. He was giving as good as he got, pressing impossibly closer, gripping Steve's thighs like they were the only thing keeping him from floating away.
"Did someone slip LSD into my coffee or are Barnes and Noble making out on my sofa?" Tony questioned, genuinely curious.
Steve pulled away bashfully, embarrassment evident in the heat that crept up his neck. The sergeant beside him, however, seemed perpetually nonreactive, and curled up against his friend - fiance? - like a goddamn cat. Clint had never seen the soldier so vulnerable and soft. Or happy, for that matter.
"Sorry, sorry. I usually wait till we're alone but..." Steve shrugged nonchalantly. He gave Bucky a ridiculously sappy smile, swiping his thumb across his friend's lower lip. "Y'know."
Clint wasn't sure he did know. He was so deeply, fundamentally confused as to what was happening right now. "So that's it? You're engaged?"
"That's generally how proposals work, Barton," sighed Bucky, not even sparing him a glance. Ah. There was the Bucky Barnes Clint remembered.
"But," Wanda tilted her head in confusion, obviously trying to read the two supersoldiers. "What? You know that Barnes loves you?"
Oh yeah. Clint hadn't even registered that vital piece of information. He blinked densely at the pair.
"Yeah?" Steve said with a frown and a furrowed brow, though it came out like a question. His gaze was darting from person to person like he was analyzing threats on a mission. "I've known since 1934."
"And you waited until now to act on it?" Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow. "You old folks took 'waiting until marriage' way too seriously."
"Uh... no?" Steve's brow furrowed deeper. "I acted on it in 1934."
Bucky's eyes suddenly widened with understanding. "Steve," he prompted gently. "Did you ever actually tell them about us?"
Steve seemed to catch on. "Oh. Oh no..."
There was a brief pause as the roomful of people let that new information sink in. Clint took a long gulp from his coffee pot.
"So you're telling me," Tony said slowly, breaking the silence. "That you've had a boyfriend for eighty-five years, and none of us knew?"
Natasha groaned, tossing her newspaper to the ground. "How did I miss this? I miss nothing!"
"I've been trying to get you two together for months now. Months. I broke my leg because of you. I could've been..." Clint scowled into his mug. "I could've been sleeping instead."
"I just assumed..." Steve trailed off. He looked absolutely dumbfounded. "I thought it was obvious?"
It was obvious, Clint realized. The pair looked so natural together, so uncharacteristically at ease, because they'd been that way for years. It was like second nature to hang off of each other like their lives depended on it, just like it was second nature not to verbally discuss the specifics of their relationship.
It wasn't Steve that was oblivious, nor was it Bucky. It was literally everyone else.
Clint sipped on his coffee absently. Maybe next time he should stick to Bruce's advice and not stray from what he was good at.
Damn it, he was never going to beat Natasha at anything other than darts.