"Good point," Clint said, nodding thoughtfully. "Guess there's no reason to maintain the mystery after you kick it." He watched Bucky pluck the kitten up and smiled as she started to work Bucky over with her claws. It stung a little, he knew, since she'd done it to him a bit on the train, but the purring and the general cuteness more than made up for a couple of shallow scratches. "She's a cow, man. she doesn't give a shit about your personal comfort while she's being fuckin' cute."
And then Bucky laughed at the swan thing, and Clint flooded with relief. Maybe (probably) it was just the drug, but goddamn it was good to laugh like that, as if none of the shitty things that had happened in the past week had actually happened. Smile were one thing, but laughter, that genuine kind of laughter, that was freeing. Lie a subtle fuck you to the Capitol, almost, since it proved that they were still capable of doing this. Of experiencing joy.
And somehow, somehow, the fact that Bucky followed it up by talking about the asshole from last night didn't diminish the momentum. Because he was still snickering about it, making fun of the painted swan on his canopy. "Holy shit, I remember that! Clint chortled. "Oh fuck, I'd forgotten. He was so proud of it, said something like how it was gonna start a trend. He must've just gotten it done, back then." It had been years ago, a decade, maybe, but Clint remembered it now, that haughty grin of his. Clint laughed. "Guess it didn't stick, huh? Now he's stuck with a fuckin poodle on his bed forever."