Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Isn’t it interesting?” Steve says happily. “You want coffee?” 

“I had one beer and I live three minutes away, Steve,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Interesting is… not the word I would’ve chosen. No offense to Peggy, I’m sure the songs are fantastic, but this is fucking bizarre. Superheroes? Brainwashing? Who came up with this shit?” 

“The playwright’s name is Nicholas Fury, but I think that’s a pseudonym, because I can’t find anything about him online. It was Stark’s call, though. Apparently he has some personal investment in getting this staged, he’s funding the whole damn thing.” 

“So… it’s somebody’s vanity project?” 

“No,” Steve says huffily. “C’mon, you really don’t want to audition? You used to love theater!” 

“In high school. Before I got blown up.” 

“It’ll be good for you to get out a bit. Make some new friends.” 

Bucky ignores that and flips through a few more pages. “These names are fuckin’ absurd, even for goddamn superheroes. And how the hell are you going to stage these stunts? You want somebody flying around on webs?” 

“That’s where Tony really comes in,” Steve says excitedly. “He’s offering to pay for all the construction, but also, the guy is a genius. I’ve never met him but I saw a video of this thing he did for last year’s Fringe Festival, he made a robot that actually moved around the stage.” 

Okay, that does sound cool. But still. 

“The lead is named Captain America, for fuck’s sake.” 

“Sam’s auditioning, did I tell you that?” 

“Oh boy,” Bucky says flatly. 

“You guys are going to get along great once you actually talk to each other. And Thor! You liked Thor, right?” 

Bucky shrugs. “We only met that once. But yeah, sure.” It’s very hard not to like the self-proclaimed God of Lighting. 

“Do you remember Natasha Romanoff? She moved back to the area last year, she’s the choreographer.” 

“Course I do. It’ll be nice to see her.” 

“It’s gonna be great, Buck. Will you be my assistant director, at least?” Steve wheedles. “C’mon, I don’t care what you’re doing, I just want you around for moral support. Please?” 

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But there’s no way in hell you’re getting me on a stage.” 

Famous last words.

Clint spots a few familiar faces when he walks in. The Maximoffs are in one corner, talking to Sam, who gives Clint a grin. Jessica is sitting on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, arms crossed, completely still — she looks like she’s just judging everybody silently from behind her massive sunglasses, but Clint knows her well enough to guess that she’s napping off a hangover. Eddie is sitting with his back to the wall, squinting up at the ceiling blearily — and you’d think he was hungover, or maybe still drunk, but that’s just how he always looks, as far as Clint can tell. 

Kate waves from another corner, where she’s stretching with Yelena. 

“Where’ve you been?” she asks. “They should be starting any minute now.” 

“A wizard is never late, Kate Bishop,” he tells her. She raises a judgmental eyebrow in the direction of his venti extra-whip frappuccino. 

Also, he thought auditions started at 11, not 10. Oops. 

When they head into the theater, Nat’s leaning against the side of the stage chatting with Steve and a guy Clint doesn’t know. The part of his face that Clint can see involves a really fucking pretty jawline, which Clint would like to lick, pleaseandthankyou. 

He catches Nat’s eye. She raises an eyebrow in his direction, giving him a little wave, and the pretty dude turns as well, revealing a fucking fantastic face. 

Clint maybe trips over his own feet because he’s too busy staring, but at least he doesn’t drop his Starbucks. 

“Put your eyes back in your head, Barton,” Yelena tells him. 

“Save me a seat? I’m gonna go say hi to Nat.” 

“You mean get the dirt on Cheekbones?” Kate teases, and he flips her off over his shoulder. 

Nat meets him halfway. 

“I don’t think I know that guy,” Clint says, totally casual. Natasha follows the line of his gaze and smirks. 

“James? Steve’s best friend. Better known as Bucky. We dated, way back when. He broke my heart.” 

“Wait, really?” Clint says incredulously. 

“Mm. Asked for his ring back and everything. Very sad.” 

“Oh.” 

Well, shit. He’s never actually heard Nat admit to anybody breaking her heart. He immediately vows to hate the guy. Figures that the cute ones are always straight, assholes, or both. 

Steve jumps up from his chair and starts gesticulating wildly at another guy Clint’s never met. 

“Who’s that?” Clint asks. 

“The guy with the sunglasses is Matt Murdock, our vocal coach. And the other guy is Tony Stark. In the two hours I’ve known him, he’s made three stupid jokes about Matt being blind, so I’m gonna guess that right there is the aftermath of number four.” 

“Matt doesn’t seem to mind,” Clint observes. Matt is in fact muttering something to Bucky under his breath that is making Bucky smirk like a motherfucker, and Clint chokes on his own tongue a little bit. That smirk might kill him. 

“No, he’s very… patient,” Natasha says, with the absolute faintest hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. “But you know Steve.”  

“Patient, huh?” Clint asks gleefully. She elbows him. “Ow.” 

“There may be some appeal to the idea of a guy who doesn’t stare at my tits all day.” 

Fair enough.

Steve’s working himself up into full righteous fury mode, and Clint watches bemusedly as Stark laughs in his increasingly red face. 

“Twenty says they fuck at the closing party,” Clint says. 

“My money’s on tech night,” Natasha replies. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go intervene before Steve does something stupid. Break a leg.” 

If Tony fucking Stark says one more fucking word, Steve might punch him in his stupid pretty mouth. Asshole. 

“I’m telling you, it’s gotta be Wilson,” Stark says. 

“And I’m telling you, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve snaps. 

“Steve’s right,” Natasha says quietly, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. “Sam is great, but there’s no menace in him.” 

Stark’s bouncing his knee so fast it looks like he’s vibrating. Nat reaches out slowly and takes his coffee out of his hand, raising an eyebrow. Stark opens his mouth to argue and then clearly thinks better of it, so maybe he’s not quite as dumb as he looks. 

“Fuck. Maybe I could convince Banner to audition?” Steve says, without much real hope. 

“There’s no way in hell, Steve,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes. “Behind the scenes only, he made it very clear.” 

“What about Parker? He’s the only other one who can sing worth a damn,” Stark says. 

“You’re shittin’ us, right?” Bucky asks bluntly.

“What’s wrong with that idea? Granted, with the difference in height and muscle mass, a fight between him and Barton might be challenging, but Loki is great at body painting, and —”

“It’d look stupid as shit,” Bucky interrupts. Steve manages to turn his laugh into a snort. 

“What about you, James?” Murdock says thoughtfully. Everybody turns to look at him. 

“What the fuck about me?” Bucky growls. He casts a furtive look back to where Barton’s sitting; then he turns bright red and looks even angrier, which Steve recognizes as a sure sign that Bucky’s got a crush.

“Steve said you have a wonderful voice.” 

“Did you pay him to say this?” Bucky asks Steve furiously. “Because I swear —” 

Murdock laughs. “No, he most definitely did not.” 

“It’s worth a try, at least,” Natasha says. 

“Et tu, Nat?” 

She gives him a look. “James.”

Bucky holds eye contact for all of two seconds before letting off a string of curses in Russian. Steve resists the urge to jump up and down. 

Clint’s been her best friend for years now, but Natasha’s still amazed by what he can do, sometimes. Off-stage, he can’t take two steps without tripping. On-stage, he’s a force of nature. 

James is brilliant, too, but what really sells it is the chemistry between the two of them; it’s just a read-through, but the energy is electric. There’s this fire in Clint’s eyes that he only manages in real life when he hears about somebody mistreating an animal. 

He’s a marshmallow, but he’s her marshmallow. 

As for James… well, he’s also a marshmallow; he just hides it exceptionally well. 

There isn’t much of a difference between the Soldier he’s playing and the one Steve has talked about seeing since James was discharged. It can’t be an easy thing to live with, but it’s a hell of a thing to watch onstage; Natasha feels a pang of sympathy at the wounded, haunted look in his eyes. He prowls forward, advancing on “Captain America,” physically menacing in spite of the emotion in his face, and Clint clenches his jaw in a silent dare. 

“Holy sexual tension, Batman,” Stark comments under his breath, and if Natasha didn’t find him so incredibly irritating, she’d agree out loud.

“Barnes is strong, isn’t he?” Murdock says quietly to Natasha’s left. His head is tilted like he’s deep in thought. 

“Very,” she says. “How can you tell?” 

“I have my ways.” He’s wearing this tiny smug smile that’s entirely too intriguing. 

“Remember that time in Kindergarten when you beat him up?” Steve says fondly. 

“How could I forget? He proposed as soon as he stopped crying.” 

“What did you say?” Murdock asks. 

“I told him to come back with a blue raspberry Ring Pop,” Natasha says. “And he did. But then he decided he wanted to eat it, so that was that.” 

“Ah, young love.”