For the gift/pic set, what about an astronaut au where they're apart for ages, only able to skype?
(also for @bandersnatch-cumberdict who asked for the same)
"Hey," Clint says, smiling widely into the camera, "you're wearing the hat I got you."
"Maybe I'm wearing the hat *I* got me," Bucky says, scowling, which is the way practically all of their conversations make him look, which is a good half of the reason he loves Clint so damned much. "I'm the fuckin' astronaut in this relationship, you're some kinda - space dilettante."
Clint laughs, delighted, and he's got the kind of laugh that bubbles out of his mouth and ends up somehow in your own.
"Oh fuck, that's going on my business cards. 'The Amazing Hawkeye, World's Best Marksman and Space Dilettante'."
"World's Biggest Ass, more like."
"Aaw, but you don't want that advertised, baby, that's all for you."
Bucky moved his hand, an aborted movement that he used to adjust his hat a little, pull it further down over his eyes.
"Wish it was a little closer, maybe," he said, looking out over the sweeping expanse of fields out back of Clint's farm, and even when you'd had the whole damn universe mapped out in front of you, they still made you feel kinda small.
The back porch had a swing seat that he'd helped Clint hang up, and it took them three tries to get it quite straight. There was a huge reel of copper wire next to it that served as a coffee table, and Bucky used to put the laptop there only Clint'd said it made him seasick, watching him sway.
"Hey," Clint said, and he lifted his hand to touch the camera, a moment of the whorls of his fingertips before everything went dark, and Bucky laughed again, stupid and a little jagged.
When it was him in space there were a thousand things to look at, and think about, and do. Sure, there was down time, and if he spent most of that time talking into the camera on his laptop that was no one's business but his own. But there wasn't a space for Clint out there, Clint wasn't missing even if Bucky was missing *him*. Out here, on Clint's farm, every space was a space without Clint, and every moment ought to hold his laughter and his warmth, and Bucky kept cooking too much and turning to talk and almost rolling out of bed reaching for something that oughta be there.
"Next time, take me with you," he says, and there's a flash of bright light while the camera reacts to Clint pulling away his hand. Takes a moment to focus in on Clint's dropped open mouth, the blue of his wide eyes.
"I thought you -" Clint's stuttering a little, not managing to get it first try, "you said you - there was that whole press conference, making room for the younger guys, I thought you were done with the whole -" he gestures, encompasses the wide window behind him, the endless black, the pinpricks of impossible distance.
"Turns out," Bucky says, "I can handle just about anything except this damned distance from you."
