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Week 1: The Rooftop
Shared Silence
Sometimes, Clint would love to run headfirst into a wall at full-speed. Just occasionally, so that the noise in his brain shuts the hell up. Just… Just for a little while. It would be a much needed and appreciated break. Not like he gets many of those, like, ever.
Truthfully, all he wants right now is sleep, but even that is a little bit too ambiguous for his brain right now, which is running for miles and miles and miles. He’s long used to it, in some ways, but it’s exhausting nonetheless.
That night, Clint spends hours tossing and turning in bed, so long that his sheets are all knotted up and tangled around his legs, which annoys him even more. If he had more energy right now, he’d consider just setting everything on fire and starting new.
Man, that would be awesome, but unfortunately, it’s not an option, so he keeps trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Unfortunately, that task seems to be impossible. Either his back hurts, or he can feel his own heartbeat, way too fast, which only adds to his running anxiety-brain.
Eventually, he gives up entirely and kicks away the twisted sheets. Clint curses silently, rubs his face and messes up the unruly mop of hair on his head even more, then shuffles out of his apartment with rumpled clothes and mismatched socks.
From experience, he knows that sleep won’t come anytime soon, and waiting here alone, while tossing and turning in bed, will just frustrate him further.
Without really thinking about it, his feet carry him to the elevator, and without him having to do or ask for anything, JARVIS, the friendly AI butler of the Avengers-tower, sends him up to the rooftop.
Well. It is nice to be known.
When the cold night air hits him, Clint feels like he can finally breathe again. It’s a bit more frosty up here than he expected, but that’s alright - for now. If it gets too cold, he’ll have to go back inside to either stay there or to go get a blanket or a jacket or something, but he feels like doing neither at this moment. It would cost him too much energy, and it’s not like he’s got a lot of that left over at the moment.
Slowly, he steps around the corner. There is a nice and sturdy wall that isn’t glass that he can lean against while sitting on the floor, with a really nice view over Manhattan.
New York, especially at night, is an old and familiar friend to him at this point, but it certainly hasn’t lost any of its charme. If you like big cities, that is.
Clint sighs deeply, and leans back against the wall. He is so, so fucking tired, even more so because he knows that he is probably at the start of yet another downwards spiral. Truth be told, it doesn’t surprise him at all; his brain is a minefield on a good day, after all.
Before he can continue his way to rock-bottom and get entirely lost in his own, messy thoughts, the feeling of footsteps interrupts him. Whoever is here, slowly steps closer, but there is no threat or urgency and Clint doesn’t feel uneasy about it. More than likely, it’s one of his teammates, which is fine. Actually, Clint would really like some company now. Not necessarily talk much, but just sharing the space with someone else sounds nice.
Just as the footsteps come closer, he turns his head in order to see who approaches him. It’s Bucky, and Clint isn’t surprised at all.
The two of them have a lot of things in common, and haunting the tower at night like sad, lost ghosts is only one of those things. A long history of being used, hurt and brainwashed, is another one of the things similar between them. Add to that a streak of bad luck or missions gone wrong, and you have a perfectly messy combination of things that leave them sleepless and causes them to meet up in odd and well expected places.
The rooftop is one of the expected places - it is no secret that both Bucky and Clint like being high up and have everything in view. It’s second nature.
Without a word, Bucky sits down next to Clint, not quite close enough to be in his space, but still close enough to share some of the same air. Not touching, but nearby so that either of them could reach out at any given time, if they wanted to.
That, too, is part of their pattern. Some nights, they remain close-but-not-touching and silent while they watch the city together. Or the TV, or sometimes just a blank wall.
Neither of them likes to talk about the hard things, so most nights, they don’t. They either share the space in silence and not-touching, or they do reach out and hold hands. Those nights, they usually end up closer to one another, sharing warmth and human comfort.
However, they don’t talk about that, either.
That night, high up on the rooftop, it’s Clint who breaks and seeks out warmth, first. He doesn’t say a single word, because it would cost too much energy, and he is afraid of what could come out of his mouth if he were to start. Too many deep dark secrets that he wouldn’t be able to contain any longer, too many messy feelings, barely put into words.
Entirely too much to handle right now, even though he knows, whatever he’d spill, would be safe with Bucky.
So, he doesn’t hesitate to reach out for his friend’s hand, and isn’t surprised at all when Bucky slips closer to him almost immediately. Their shoulders and knees are bumping together now, and the shared warmth helps, not just against the wind-chill.
They don’t talk that night, either, but they do remain seated where they are, heads resting against each other and with their hands firmly clasped together the entire time. It’s a much needed break, especially after the last few weeks.
There had been many missions lately, back to back to back, with little to no time to decompress in-between. It happens sometimes - stuff happens, and the Avengers are needed. If they’re lucky, it’s some power-hungry Supervillain with killer-robots, monsters and such, all things that are comparatively easy to deal with.
On some messed up level, it can even be fun sometimes.
But the last few weeks?
No.
One mission had been worse than the other, and not a single team member would know where to even start with that fucked up ranking.
Kidnappings, human trafficking, murder, experimental drugs - the list goes on, and each and every one of those OPs has left a heavy burden on their shoulders.
So to say, that things are a bit tense would be an understatement.
The wind is picking up, and the two men on the rooftop shuffle even closer together than they already are, pressing into each other in order to get some more warmth, more comfort. More silent understanding that yes, things suck, but they’re not alone.