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Clint isn’t exactly sure how it happens. He’s just walking to his favorite coffee shop and when he steps out into a crosswalk, the car that's waiting at the stop sign starts forward unexpectedly. It just grazes him a little, but he jumps back in surprise and watches as the car keeps going and drives away. He’s so startled that he doesn’t even process the license plate before the car has disappeared into the busy street.
He’s still standing there, just off the curb, as he pulls out his phone and types out a message. Bucky has been living with him for a few months now. Bucky was tired of the Tower and he was spending most nights with Clint anyway, once they figured out what they both wanted, so it just made sense. Clint doesn’t want to worry him, since he’s fine, but he feels like it’s good etiquette to let Bucky know what happened.
His phone rings instantly and Clint picks it up, starting towards the coffee shop again.
“You got hit by a car ?” Clint holds the phone away from his ear as his aids crackle with the volume of Bucky’s voice. “Where are you?”
“I’m fine. It just kind of grazed me.”
Bucky sighs, long and low. “Where are you?” he repeats.
“Just getting some coffee. I’ll be home soon.”
“You shouldn’t just be walking around,” Bucky says. “Get in a cab and come home.”
“I’m two blocks away,” Clint says, scoffing, even as his knee throbs a little where the car nudged him “Relax. It’s not the first time I’ve been hit by a car. At least this one wasn’t going more than five miles an hour.”
For a second, Clint thinks Bucky has hung up on him, but then he hears the muffled curses.
“Fine. I’ll be there soon,” he says, and he hears Bucky sigh with relief.
He still goes to get a coffee first, but when he gets back to the apartment, he finds Bucky pacing in the kitchen, brow furrowed harder than it’s been since he moved in.
Lucky nearly bowls him over at the door, all wagging tail and slobbering tongue and Clint feels a twinge in his leg as he twists away from the overenthusiastic dog. He winces and Bucky is there in a second, sliding an arm around Clint’s shoulders.
He’s strong, solid, and he always smells so good. That’s what really hits Clint: the scent of Bucky’s shampoo. Actually, it smells way more familiar than Clint expects.
“Did you use my shampoo?” he says, craning his neck and trying to get a better sniff.
“Did you hit your head again?” Bucky asks, looking alarmed as he tries to simultaneously pull away and continue to hold Clint up. “Come on. Couch.”
Clint lets Bucky guide him over to the sofa, sitting down with a grunt as the achiness starts to creep in around the edges of his consciousness. Bucky takes the cardboard coffee cup from Clint and sets it down on the table. Lucky nearly knocks it over with his tail as he rests his head in Clint’s lap, tongue lolling out of his mouth.
“What hurts?”
Clint sighs and strokes Lucky’s head. “I’m fine. I swear.”
Bucky folds his arms, and there was a time when Clint would have thought that was intimidating, but now he knows what Bucky looks like when he falls asleep on the couch while watching TV, and what he looks like with his hair all mussed from sleep, so the pose loses a bit of its edge.
“Just let me help you,” Bucky says softly, and Clint is tempted to keep arguing, but he’s tired now, and his leg is really starting to hurt.
“Fine. It’s this leg,” Clint says, tapping his left thigh. “Actually, it’s my knee. The bumper hit me a little.”
Bucky nods, and then his hands are closing around Clint’s calf as he lifts it and shoves one of the throw pillows that Clint usually throws on the floor under his leg.
“Stay there,” he says firmly and Clint nods. He considers saluting, but Bucky is trying to take care of him, and honestly, it’s pretty adorable.
Bucky comes back with an ice pack, a glass of water, and a bottle of Tylenol. He settles the ice pack against Clint’s knee and the cold seeps through the pain. Clint closes his eyes and lays his head back against the couch, relishing the relief.
“You sure you didn’t hit your head?” Bucky says, and Clint’s eyes shoot open as he sits up straighter.
“I didn’t even fall down. It was really more of a nudge than anything else.”
“Take this anyway.” Bucky holds out two tablets and the glass of water. “And then rest.”
“What about my coffee?” Clint says, stretching for it and groaning when the ice pack slips off his leg.
Bucky sighs, reaching for the coffee first and handing it to Clint while he retrieves the ice pack from the floor. He’s not quite fast enough to get to it before Lucky does, and he has to tug it out of the dog’s mouth.
For all that Bucky used to be a terrifying assassin, he’s very gentle in loosening Lucky’s grip until he can pull the pack free. It’s one of the things Clint likes most about him: all those contradictions in who he is and who he appears to be. It’s fun figuring out how all the pieces of Bucky fit together into the incredible specimen in front of Clint now. He still can’t quite put together why Bucky gives him the time of day, but he’s definitely not complaining.
“I’ll go wash this off.”
“I didn’t even know I owned an ice pack.”
“You didn’t. I bought one.”
“Why? When?”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “About a week after I moved in. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom, too. I can’t believe you didn’t have one before.”
“What do you mean?”
“You get into more accidents than anyone I’ve ever met, Clint. You need to take better care of yourself.”
“But why do that when you’ll take care of me?”
Bucky doesn’t say anything, just blinks at Clint and shuffles over to the sink to wash the dog drool off the ice pack he apparently bought for Clint’s many injuries.
“Sorry,” Clint says, when Bucky returns to his side. He won’t look at Clint, just stares down at the spot where the ice pack is now resting on Clint’s knee. His hand lingers there too, and he doesn’t seem inclined to move it away. “Bucky?”
“I don’t like when you get hurt.”
Normally, Clint would brush that off, laugh about his own clumsiness, but then Bucky’s eyes meet his again, and Clint can’t quite get the words out.
“I’ll be more careful, I promise.”
Bucky nods, but still doesn’t move away. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Deal.”
“But next time, don’t stop for coffee, okay?”
Clint grins. “Now that’s a promise I can’t make.”
Bucky squeezes Clint’s good knee gently with a soft smile. “Drink your coffee and rest your leg. I’ll be here if you need me.” He stands to leave the room, but Clint can’t quite leave it there.
“Hey, Bucky?”
“Yeah?”
Clint has always had a hard time saying the words, and maybe it’s the pain or maybe it’s the way Bucky is taking care of him, but he can’t help himself this time. “I, uh, I love you?” He doesn’t mean to phrase it as a question, but as soon as the words spill out, he can’t decide if it was a mistake or not.
Bucky comes back over and sits beside Clint, taking his hand with a soft smile.
“I love you too.” He presses a gentle kiss to Clint’s forehead. “But I’d really like for you to stay in one piece, okay?”
Clint nods, shifting over on the couch and tugging Bucky closer. Bucky snuggles in on one side of Clint, Lucky on the other, while they watch something dumb on TV. Clint is warm and secure and of all the times he’s been hit by a car, he has to say this is probably his favorite one. As he drifts off into a drowsy nap, he wonders what he ever did to deserve this.