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Clint pulls his coat tighter around him, trying to do it out of Bucky’s line of sight since he fought him on wearing it in the first place. It’s late September, it shouldn’t even be cold yet in his mind. It’s low sixties during the day, hence the fight, but now that the sun has dropped, he’s cold. Which means Bucky was right.
They’re here on business technically. Clint would never say it but Bucky looks like he belongs here somehow. His intense gaze and the way he carries himself. They were sent as part of a security task force. The recent Euro Cup had left a sort of vacuum. After the tournament ended, much of the heightened security presence got scaled back, creating an opening for black market groups, arms dealers, or terrorist cells to exploit leftover supply lines and international networks. There were suspicions that a HYDRA splinter group acquired something during the chaos of the tournament and was now moving in the reduced security. The suspicion is Chitauri salvage and Cold War-era bio-weapons are moving on the market.
Clint leans forward towards the young lady working the booth and orders a sugared waffle, his new favorite treat here. It’s warm in his hands. “So they think this guy is going to be at the ballet tonight?”
“Remember Odessa?”
Clint smiles fondly. “That was a vacation.”
“Yes,” Bucky leans forward and takes a bite of his waffle. “I can’t buy you beer to make it through the ballet and I think you’ll hate it.”
“Hey!” Clint protests, taking his own bite of waffle.
“You used my food stipend.” Bucky lifts a brow.
“Mine’s almost gone.”
“You should stop buying dumplings, darling.”
“But the varenyky are so damn good,” Clint moans, pouting at Bucky. “The least you can do for making me watch this ballet is have a waffle.”
Bucky chuckles, “you shouldn’t be watching the ballet. We’re supposed to be watching Sergei Khaldin.”
“Right. I know.”
Sergei Khaldin, also known as the archivist. A 61 year old ex-KGB operative, originally assigned to Department 12 (special weapons research) in the 1970s. Transitioned into counter-intelligence and internal security, specializing in surveillance and record-keeping. Served as an intermediary between the KGB and HYDRA’s Soviet operations. He knows a lot about the Winter Soldier program, which is why Bucky was picked. Now, he operates under the cover of the Khaldin Cultural Preservation Foundation, ostensibly dedicated to archiving Soviet-era documents and Cold War artifacts. In reality, uses the “archives” as both cover and weapon for information brokerage, weapons trafficking, and mind control research with possible links to what they had thought was a defunct Hydra sect that broke off awhile ago obsessed with mind control. He’s rumors to have a Red Room bodyguard which is why Clint was sent.
“Besides, you would hate ballet.”
“I can appreciate art. The opera was fine.”
“They don’t talk. You have to interpret the story through dance alone.”
Clint pouts, deflating. “Okay maybe I would hate ballet. Why couldn’t it have been an opera? Guess oligarchs prefer no one else talking.”
That makes Bucky smile. “We need Teatralna station,” he advises, turning to disappear down into the elaborate metro system. Clint follows him into the station, falling into the rhythm that has become familiar - sticking the plastic token into the slot, double checking which way they need to go and moving quickly onto the surprisingly fast escalator that plunges them into the earth, 230 feet down. Clint’s never been on escalators that move so fast but then commuters needs to get down to trains quickly, he supposes it’s good they aren’t on the escalator more than they have to be.
“What ballet are we going to?”
“Swan Lake.”
Clint nods like he knows what that one is about but he has no idea. “That’s the one…”
“It’s why I made you watch Swan Princess over zoom with Nat last night.”
“Oh, easy. I know that story.”
“Yeah, except the Prince’s name is Siegfried not Derek.”
“Siegfried is a way cooler name.” Clint steps onto the metro car behind Bucky.
Bucky nods. “It’s a Tchaikovsky.”
“Oh, like the Nutcracker.”
“Yeah, exactly, and Sleeping Beauty. He also famously used canons for his 1812 Overture.”
“Having canons in the theater would make our job easier.”
“He was gay too. Allegedly. And awful to his wife. He married a woman he barely knew and didn’t love to shut everyone up.”
Clint looks over with sad eyes. “What?”
“He said he wanted a woman who would not interfere with his peace of mind or his freedom, and initially he reported Antonina was ‘blindly compliant with my every wish’. Later he admitted to finding her physically ‘absolutely repulsive’. He had a nervous collapse and ran away to Switzerland and called her a reptile for the rest of his life. All that to say, we’re very lucky to be able to be ourselves.” Bucky slides his hand into Clint’s. “It’s not legally recognized but at least it’s not a crime anymore.”
Clint leans into Bucky. “We’re supposed to be working.”
“We are working, kohaniy.”
“What’s that mean?”
Bucky kisses his temple. “Ukrainian for my love.”
“Oh, all right.” Clint murmurs as he melts against Bucky for only a split second before the train jolts them apart. “Why does every pet name sound good on your tongue?”
“I can do a lot of things with my tongue,” Bucky teases, sticking his tongue out with a lowering of his brows that makes Clint crazy.
Clint swallows hard. “Maybe we should just go back to the hotel.”
“So I can fold you like a varenyky?” Bucky asks darkly.
Clint’s mouth falls open. “What? No. Of course not.” Clint stutters as he fixes the tie around his neck. It’s stifling but Bucky made him wear it to help them blend in. Bucky who looks like a 007 daydream in his suit. It’s honestly not fair.
“Sure,” Bucky smirks playfully. “If you’re good, maybe we can do that anyway, sonechko.”
“Okay, what’s that one mean?”
“Little sun.”
Clint softens. “Okay well, why’d you choose that one?”
“Because I feel like a sunflower, always turning towards your light.” Bucky looks up to the scrolling letters on the screen. “This is us.”
He pulls Clint off the car and onto the escalator to take them up. The street outside of the station is crowded. “We’re just watching tonight, right? Confirming location and entourage?”
Bucky nods absently, planning a path through the crowd. “Right. We’re not supposed to engage. Collect information for Natasha and Yelena.”
“And then we can go back to the hotel and get varenyky? And some of that cheese bread? And a sprite?”
“A sprite?”
“It’s so much better here.”
“Sure, we can get a sprite.”
Bucky keeps his word. Clint happy walks home from their metro stop with a sprite in a little plastic bag, dumplings in another small bag so the sprite doesn’t get gross, and a cheese bread in hand. Bucky walks next to him with his own poppyseed bread, mumbling that they better not drug test him in the next few days.
“The opera house is beautiful,” Clint comments, looking over at Bucky.
“Yeah, I thought so too.”
“The gold ceiling was really impressive. I don’t know. Something about the red and the gold. Just very opulent. No wonder Khaldin goes. He probably feels at home in his private booth.”
“Nat is going to be thrilled. She’s been looking for Ava Orlova.” Bucky ushers Clint into the elevator and presses the button.
They’re staying at a Hilton, which feel ridiculous to Clint. But he’s not going to complain. As soon as they’re in the elevator, Bucky takes Clint’s bread, tucking it into the bag with the sprite. “Hey what-”
He’s cut off with a kiss. A desperate kiss. Bucky’s tongue sweeps into Clint’s mouth. Their floor dings and Bucky pulls back only enough to grab the loose end of Clint’s tie and pull him down the hallway to their room. He backs against the door, the card reader identifying the card in his back pocket so they can easily push into the dark space.
“I did pay attention to the ballet.” Clint breathes between kisses, ready to give his full review. “I pretended his name was Derek the whole time.”
Bucky kisses up his throat and Clint sighs, melting against the first wall he gets pushed into.
“Do you think Derek’s escapism and repression mirror Tchaikovsky’s? He is caught between his royal duty to marry and his longing for an idealized, forbidden love. And Tchaikovsky married for societal pressure but really he was queer and not able to be out so he longed to the idealized, forbidden love like Derek.”
Bucky unbuttons Clint’s shirt, following the path with his mouth.
“Or do you think that with the success he was experiencing he felt a responsibility to continue producing art and was prevented from pursuing his own desires and finding true love on his own terms? Like maybe, oh fuck babe, maybe he saw the obligation of a heterosexual marriage as a prison sentence to keep his career going.” Clint fists his hand in Bucky’s hair as Bucky drops to his knees.
Bucky unzips Clint’s pants and pulls everything down around Clint’s knees. His mouth slides over Clint.
“And maybe, shiiit, okay whoa, but like maybe he was exploring escapism? Like Derek goes to the lake but maybe Tchaikovsky went to music to escape reality since psychologically, the lake could represent Derek’s unconscious—deep, mysterious, and ruled by emotions that he cannot control.”
Clint thrusts into Bucky’s mouth with a moan.
“Ands then like, his betrayal is self-destruction because it’s not just a simple mistake. It is a form of self-betrayal and an acknowledgment that his inner fantasy can never be realized. When realizes his error, the reality of what he’s done is too much to bear. He fails to find happiness in the real world or in his dreams.”
Bucky pulls off with a huff. “Clint.”
“I know, but how sad that Tchaikovsky had this dream that if he got married, he’s find happiness but he didn’t.” Clint cups Bucky’s face affectionately. “But I did. And I feel bad for that elder gay.”
Bucky shakes his head. “We don’t feel bad for men who treat women badly. Even if they’re gay.”
Clint frowns. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d never call Nat a lizard.”
Bucky licks sweetly over Clint’s tip, sucking lightly.
“Sorry, right.” Clint smoothes his hand over Bucky’s head. “You were busy.”
And soon Clint can’t think about Tchaikovsky or Derek or swans at all.
The next morning, the bed is empty and Clint groans. He knows Bucky is probably out on a run, picking up breakfast, because he’s a good boyfriend like that. And he fucked Clint so thoroughly that Clint finally overcame the jet lag with a solid night’s sleep at the appropriate hour.
He flops on his back, basking in the comfortable hotel sheets and loads of pillows, turning to look out the big window at the city of Kyiv. He had spent the night before the ballet with a glass of whiskey, watching as dusk settled and street lights flicked on. Bucky had mentioned that he’d been here as the Winter Soldier a long time ago. Clint knew Natasha had come here to get a file on the Winter Soldier and that’s when they had the first picture of Bucky in the cryostasis Chamber and were able to get some notes about his transformation. Bucky hadn’t said much about his mission here but he’d muttered in his sleep that night about the KGB and an engineer. Clint has learned not to press too hard into some of those things.
Knowing Khaldin was out there with mind control research linked to Hydra Nox, a group he’s only ever heard about and hoped doesn’t actually exist, makes his skin crawl. Being under Loki’s control was one of the top three worst experiences. He doesn’t want to imagine what Hydra could do.
Clint swings his legs over the bed with a deep breath, wrapping a blanket over his shoulders as he pads to the window. Kyiv is a beautiful city with gold domes and colorful churches and so much green space. He’d been surprised when Bucky had taken him into the underground mall system. You can get on the metro, go to the store, shop to your heart’s content, and go back home on the metro without going above ground. Instead, above ground are parks, beautiful walking spaces, fountains and statues, like the giant motherland monument overlooking the river. Even the metro stations were beautiful. Bucky has explained that for the soccer tournament, they had changed all the signs from Russian to Ukranian with English underneath, a modernization for the country. They were so proud to host something so prominent.
From his view, Clint can pick out the Kyiv Monastery of the Caves, what Bucky had called the Lavra. It’s complex of green and gold buildings close to the banks of the Dnieper River makes it easy to spot. It was establish in 1051, which blows Clint’s mind to even try to comprehend. He and Bucky are supposed to go walk the Andriivs'kyi descent later today because Khaldin is supposedly running a front in one of the shops in the Vozdvyzhenka Barrio, just a short walk from St Andrew’s on Andriivs'kyi. They need to see if they can detect any Chitauri salvage in the city before they report back now that they’ve confirmed Khaldin is here.
The door opens and Bucky is standing in the doorway, a little sweaty with a small bag in one hand and two drinkable yogurts in the other. “Hey, sonechko. Good morning.”
“Hi, my little sunflower. What did you bring?”
“Cheese blini. And blackberry kefir.”
Clint plops back on the bed, bouncing a bit. Bucky sets down the bag and the kefir bottle. “I’m gonna just rinse off quick. Don’t eat all the blini.”
Clint smirks. “Better hurry,” he teases, knowing full well he would never eat them all. And as he hears the shower turn on, Clint sighs happily, looking back out at the golden light bathing the city. Not such a bad mission after all.