Just a little something...
All that Clint's eyes see is darkness. Complete and absolute darkness. He never really valued the importance of sight up until he lost it. The sight lost was temporary; it'd gradually come back within days. But he'd never fully recover it back; he was warned about that though. And his depth perception; that he lost it for good. And his hands shake, as if he is constantly feeling cold. He can't control the shaking and the more he gets angry, the more they shake.
All thanks to a single poison injection during his solo mission in Rwanda some days ago.
Clint made his way to the depths of the forest with the quiver of arrows on his back and the bow in his hands. He doesn't accept his life's twist of events. Fury deposed him of his duties; kind of acceptable and understanding. But he was pissed and all he wanted was to shoot some arrows and prove the world that he was still Clint Barton, the best marksman everyone had ever met.
One after one he listened to the arrows flying endlessly without hitting anything. And his hands shook more and more. He couldn't listen to anything but his heart pounding in his ears and his troubled breath leaving his mouth.
One hand traveled along his left arm and tightly gripped around his wrist. He would have fought if he didn't recognize her touch, if he hadn't, by now, been tantalized by her perfume invading his nostrils. Her other hand rested on top of his. Her hold soothed his shaking, and she helped him adjusting the shooting trajectory.
"Let go." Natasha spoke in low voice.
And so he did. In seconds he heard the arrow piercing on the wood.
"Right in the tree." She told him.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked, disturbed and angry at everything and everyone.
"Because I know if something would happen to me, you'd stick by my side." Clint shook his hand and walked forward, wanting to get back at that arrow. "No matter how much I'd try to push you away."
And so it started raining. He was holding to a tree's trunk. He felt defeated. Natasha pulled the arrow out of the tree and put it on his hand.
"Come on, let's go." She said, pulling him by the arm. "You don't wanna get a cold and turn it all worst."
"I might as well be dead." He grumbled as he dragged his walking, being guided by her. "Who am I now?"
"As far as I'm concerned you're still Clint Barton. And you still are the best marksman the world has ever known."
Clint straightened up his posture. His body erected, his walking was confident again and he breathed out. "What would I do without you, Tasha?"
"You'd probably die." She joked
He laughed out loud, pleased. "You better not kill me though; I'm counting on you to guide me."
"Please, you'd follow me to hell and you'd still smile."
He tightened her hand on his, letting their fingers intertwine. "Hell got nothing on me when they mess with my woman."
A review maybe...?