Okay. This was pretty dire, and that had been obvious from the get go maybe but Clint rather liked to hold onto hope about situations not immediately being on fire when he walked into them. Mind, he also probably would have done a bit better if he'd have been warned a little. Because Natasha always knew stuff and maybe she'd just neglected to tell him?
Not that it mattered. Not really. The why of it was -- unimportant. Sometimes there wasn't even a reason, anyway. But if he'd known he would have brought Lucky with.
Clint trailed after the both of them, letting Natasha take lead on getting Bucky up and going and minding his own business by looking around the place (spartan, but it had a bit more in the way of furniture than Clint's place had. No nest though which was mostly a shame). He set the cake down on the table and looked into that utensil drawer for about as long as Bucky did before glancing back up, both eyebrows raised slightly. "We'll chill," he said to Bucky. "Take your time. But not too long. Because, again. Dick cake."
Once Bucky was gone down the hall, Clint turned a curious look toward Natasha but didn't actually ask. Instead he looked around again, let a moment pass in silence, hands twitching at his sides a little like he was itching to say something, but couldn't quite figure out what the English for it would be.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "That's not great." He didn't say it like he was mad he was here or that things were awkward, but like he genuinely was worried. "You think I should check on him?"