You adjusted the comm in your ear and took a slow breath as the elevator climbed to the top floor of the Halberg Estate. It was one of those high society events. Boring. You were already in place by the bar, eyes scanning the crowd for the target.

And then Bucky entered. Black suit. Hair slicked back a little. Not a single thing out of place. It was almost annoying how good he looked.

“Target hasn’t shown,” you murmured into comms.

“Copy,” Bucky’s voice replied. “Heading in now. And Barton, no trouble. We don’t need another debacle like Madrid.”

“No promises,” came Clint’s voice, light and cocky.

But when Clint finally appeared, fashionably late, because of course he was, both you and Bucky did a double take.

The guy had bruising along his jaw, a thin cut still healing on his temple, and a black eye that hadn’t quite faded yet, but somehow it worked.

He wasn’t polished like Bucky. The sleeves of his dark purple dress shirt were rolled just enough to show the wrap on his forearm. His tie was slightly loosened like he’d just fought someone on the way in. And when Bucky turned to look at him fully, he froze for half a second.

Clint raised a brow. “What?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “You look decent.”

Clint grinned. “I’m full of surprises, huh? Hawkeye does have a certain charm don’t you think?”

Bucky shook his head and looked away. “Still betting he ruins everything.”

“I’m right here, Barnes,” Clint said.

The three of you moved into the crowd. And among them, the three of you, danger in formalwear. And you three were quietly surprised by how good you all looked in formalwear.