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Bucky’s phone began vibrating the moment he was through the passport check point, as if Natasha knew exactly when he was safe to be contacted. He wouldn’t put it past her.
As he dug the phone out of his jacket he rolled his shoulder—the metal one, because it had a way of tingling unpleasantly when his mobile rang in close range. He had considered asking Stark to take a look at it, but it was a bearable pain and he much preferred his arm as un-tinkered with as possible.
"Tasha," he said, as warmly as he knew how. He still had trouble making his voice reflect what he felt, especially after jobs like this one, when he had no companionship except himself and his gun for days while he waited for his target.
"James," she said in return, and that was as close to a ‘hello, how are you’ as they ever got. "Don’t go home, we’re at the clinic. Barton got shot."
She said it so casually that he was nodding along before he fully realised what she meant. When he did, he stopped, mid-stride, for just the smallest fraction of a second then he was moving again, taking larger and quicker steps toward the car hire counters.
"Status?" he asked, his voice gone terse and cold, more Winter Soldier than Bucky Barnes.
"Alive and all four limbs intact. More details when you get here."
Bucky ruthlessly suppressed his urge to ask questions. It didn’t matter how secure these phones were supposed to be, it was always better not to take risks. News about The Avengers were always in high demand and not all reporters had the journalistic integrity of Jessica Jones or Ben Urich. Bucky sometimes longed for the days when HYDRA and AIM were all they ever had to guard themselves against.
"I’ll be there soon," Bucky said.
"Don’t break any traffic laws," Natasha said, as if she could read his mind. "He’s fine and complaining up a storm."
"Remind him that it was my turn to get shot this month," Bucky said, sidestepping an elderly Japanese couple who were trying to get his attention. And because Steve Rogers and his own mother, God rest her soul, had trained him well, he mouthed ‘sorry’ at them.
"I will," Natasha said with a laugh in her voice that did more to reassure him than her words. "Welcome back."
+ + +
In the end, Bucky did end up breaking at least five traffic laws and abandoning the car when New York traffic proved too large a problem for him to solve. He sent Stark a message regarding said car and a request that he send someone to take care of it. Stark loved spending money and ordering people around, it was perfect.
The clinic was Avengers code for Ross’ lab in Avengers Tower. For the twentieth time since Steve had cognitively recalibrated him (read: punched really hard until the memories came back) Bucky sent up a prayer to a God he didn’t fully believe in for Dr Betty Ross. On her arrival in New York and in Banner’s arms, she had firmly and quietly demanded that Stark set up a medical lab where she could take care of her boyfriend and his teammates post battle. Stark had only been too happy to comply.
The lab was divided into halves: the back half had three beds fully equipped to handle anything short of major trauma, while the front was set up everything else. The latter was where Bucky found Nat, perched on the window’s ledge, her legs swinging back and forth. She smiled when she saw him, the not entirely real and sweet smile she used for post-battle interviews and magazine shoots. He didn’t mind. That she was even making an effort for him meant something.
She slipped off the ledge and sauntered over until she was standing mere inches away from him. She kept her hands in her back pocket as she tilted her head back. Bucky obeyed her silent command and leaned down to kiss her, short and sweet.
"You can’t laugh," she said against his lips. When he leaned back, there was something more genuine in her smile.
"I just found out my boyfriend got shot, can’t imagine laughing all that much," Bucky said, quirking an eyebrow.
"Oh you will," she said, and lead him inside.
About ten seconds later, Bucky was chewing the inside of his cheek and pulling on all of his HYDRA and Winter Soldier training to keep as straight a face as possible.
Clint wasn’t helping matters by burying his head under the pillow and playing turtles, leaving only his bare naked ass for Bucky to look at. Bucky turned to Natasha, who shrugged and said, “He said the weight of the blankets hurt.”
"That makes sense," Bucky said, proud that his voice barely shook at all. Barely, being the operative word. "Doesn’t it get a little…cold, though?"
"He was complaining of that, yes," Natasha replied.
"Want me to warm them up for you?" Bucky asked, raising his voice for Clint’s benefit. "Maybe, give it a bit of a rub?"
Clint ripped the pillow off his head and twisted around to glare at Bucky. “I hate you. Go ahead and laugh. Go on.”
"What’s funny? I don’t see anything funny," Bucky protested, holding up his hands. "Sure, you got shot in the butt by one of your own arrows in a training session because you miscalculated the angle but that’s not—"
That was about as much as Bucky could manage before peals and peals of laughter burst out of him. He groped for the nearest chair and collapsed into it, tears coming to his eyes as he laughed.
"Tell me Tony hasn’t heard about this yet," Clint pleaded at Natasha. "Tell me he’s still in Malibu and there’s at least one person on the damn team who doesn’t know."
Bucky was in the process of successfully strangling the next fit of laughter when Natasha ruined it by saying, “Oops,” and held up her phone, which showed a picture of Clint’s ass and a file transfer icon.
"I hate all of you bastards," Clint muttered.
"Don’t—don’t you mean, assholes?" Bucky choked out.