How Clint (or more appropriately Lucky) endeared himself to Bucky

The sound of a loud thumping on his door startled Bucky out of the mind-numbing television he was watching. He instinctively reached under his pillow for his weapon but stopped when he heard Clint say, "It's me, Barnes. Open up."

Leaving the handgun, Bucky clicked off the television with the remote, then walked toward the door where he undid the three deadbolts and chain lock. He'd only opened the door a small crack when something crashed into his chest, knocking him backwards. The breath whooshed out of his lungs and his ears rang in panic. He reached for whatever it was and grabbed a fistful of…long silken hair?

His brain stuttered, most likely with lack of oxygen. He expected to feel a sharp metal edge against his throat, or hear the sound of a gun going off, but instead, a wet object wiped against his cheek repeatedly and hot breath blew into his face.

"Lucky!" he heard someone distantly shout and, suddenly, the weight was gone from his chest. "I'm so sorry!" someone…a male…Clint…apologized.

Still breathing hard, Bucky lifted his head to see Clint pushing down a yellowish dog's rear. The dog—Lucky, apparently—obediently sat but his tail continued to wag excitedly.

"He's usually much better trained than that." Clint gave his dog a deadly look that didn't last as Lucky continued to stare adoringly at his master.

"What the hell?" Bucky growled, drawing himself into a sitting position.

Clint, who apparently had no concept of personal space, walked into the room and sat on Bucky's bed. He clapped his thighs and the dog obediently ran over to him, sitting on Barton's feet and tilting his head back so Clint could scratch behind his ears. "When I got back from Afghanistan, everything was different. One of my friends runs a rescue and got me walking the dogs every weekend. It gave me purpose, made me feel good. Plus the dogs don't judge. They are happy for whatever attention you give them."

Bucky watched dog hair fly into the air and settle on his mattress. "So you thought—"

"You'd like petting him. Seriously, this dog lives for affection. He'd be pet 24/7 if you'd let him. You'd be doing me a favor." Clint made a pleading face and held his right wrist with his left hand, as if it were suddenly giving him problems.

"I don't know," Bucky said hesitantly as Lucky straightened up, his front feet pounding against the ground in excitement.

"Just give him one pet, and if you really hate it that much, we'll go."

One pet. That Bucky could do.

"Okay." Barnes held out his flesh hand and slowly reached for the dog who had fallen still, as if sensing Bucky's indecision. The second his palm landed on Lucky's head though, the dog's eyes closed expectantly and his tail thumped once against the carpet before he froze again. Bolstered by this show of faith, Bucky leaned forward slightly so he could push his hand down Lucky's head to the base of his neck.

"Perfect," Clint said and Lucky bucked against Barnes' hand. "See, he likes it."

Bucky hesitated, then pet Lucky again…and again…and again, a smile coming to his own face as Lucky's tail began wagging with fervor. "He likes you," Clint amended with his own grin.

Bucky rose to his knees and scooted forward so he could scratch the dog's back. Lucky responded by licking him in the face.

"He's not so bad," Bucky tried to say with a straight face but they both knew better.

After that, Clint brought Lucky over once a week, until Barnes felt comfortable enough leaving the house to go on walks with them. It took almost three months but eventually Bucky joined the same organization Clint had and walked shelter dogs on Saturdays.

It was his favorite part of the week.

And that's the last backstory I had written. I hope you enjoyed this mini-series!

Thanks for reading!