Contrary to popular belief, Clint really could be left on his own for long periods of time and he'd be just fine. He did it pretty often in fact and most usually didn't end up half dead or in any kind of trouble. Like. At least thirty percent of the time.
He tapped on the table once Natasha was out of the room, making up a beat that was definitely lacking in actual cohesion as he was apparently about as tone deaf as he was deaf, but it was something to pass the time.
When the two returned -- Bucky looking significantly better than he had when he'd wandered off in the first place -- Clint offered them both a lopsided smile in greeting, and leaned his elbows forward on the table. Natasha had obviously gotten the job done and gotten Bucky moving properly and that was good to see. Clint knew that that wasn't necessarily everything but the act of getting up and showering was genuinely a really great start when it came to feeling at least a little like a normal person again.
Saying you look good or how are you feeling seemed completely out of the question - Clint knew better than to ask, because Bucky wouldn't have cared for it at all. And Clint knew that he hated being asked those things too, when he was low. Because it felt like a trick, or like he was being disappointing when he couldn't possibly work up a positive response that wouldn't be a lie.
So, really, it was just a good thing that the first thing anyone said to break the silence was about the Dick Cake.
"The tip was the first thing to go," he said remorsefully. "But we saved you the best part of the balls." A pause, and he leaned forward even closer. "It's from space. Er. An alien planet. I guess technically every planet is in space."