Just a one shot because I thought of it and had to get it written down! Other stories are continuing :)
Clint was due to be gone two weeks. Two weeks then he and Natasha had a week to themselves. But instead he'd been gone two months. And when he finally returned, something was wrong. just a drabble about how Natasha copes when Clint is in a coma and seriously injured.
"I haven't got any more information at the moment. We will keep you updated." Natasha turned on her heel and left the room, walking down the corridors and bypassing the exit in favour of the gym. She punched the bags a few times, shot the targets even more and eventually, after hours of various equipment she swung up to the tops of the higher beams and sat, watching the world go by.
"Two weeks and then we both have a week off, Tasha when was the last time that ever happened?!" Clint grinned, pouring the steaming coffee into two mugs and bringing them over to the sofa. Natasha was sitting huddled in a blanket, flipping through television channels and graciously taking one of the mugs. Clint placed his own coffee onto the table and practically threw himself onto the sofa, stealing most of the blanket as he did so, earning a playful slap from his partner.
"Got any places in mind?" She asked quietly, sipping on the hot liquid.
"Nope. We'll just drive. Keep going until we find somewhere we want to stop. Anything catches our interest; add it to our list."
Natasha walked through the corridors, an icy glare upon her face warning most, if not all to keep out of her way. It worked for the best part, until she ran into Coulson.
"This way." He suggested, leading her into one of the empty rooms.
"Is it news about Clint?" She asked with a dry tone.
His blank stare answered the question for her.
"Then I'm not particularly interested." She replied quietly.
"Come on Natasha. It won't kill you." He insisted and led the way.
The room was one of the interrogation rooms, empty for the moment perfectly private.
"What's this about Phil?" Natasha asked, slipping into one of the chairs and facing her handler.
"Natasha, I know you're struggling. I don't blame you, you and Clint have been through a hell of a lot together. But nobody is giving up hope just yet."
"He's been gone two months! Two whole months we haven't heard anything Coulson. I swear, I want him to come back more than anybody else you know that."
"I know. We have every faith he'll come back. You do still believe that don't you?" He looked at Natasha with concern and she dropped her head. It was very rare for Natasha to be the one to break eye contact, more so with anyone other than the archer.
"He's never been gone this long." She said softly.
"What time are you leaving?" Natasha asked as she walked out of the en-suite bathroom with a white fluffy towel wrapped around her body and her dripping wet hair hanging just below her shoulders. Clint was finishing up his packing, throwing a load of clothes into a duffle, not bothering with the folding and organising.
"Tomorrow morning. I think Coulson said like, seven or something." He replied, glancing up as he finished with the clothes and moved to zip the bag, tossing it onto the floor by the bedroom door. She moved to the bed, leaning up against the pillows and watching him finish up. After, he jumped onto the otherside of the bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"What's the matter? You gonna miss me Tash?" He joked, with a small grin on his face. Her eyes flickered with humour that didn't show on her lips.
"Dumbass." She replied, kissing him back.
"Aw, I'll miss you too." He grinned, and the towel was shed.
It was late, very late or incredibly early depending on how you saw it. Natasha was asleep, for the first time in nearly 48 hours when her phone buzzed. Then suddenly the phone was ringing, her communicator was bleeping and the laptop receiver was going nuts.
"What?" She stifled a yawn, answering the phone in favour of everything else.
"Natasha. It's Clint." Coulson spoke swiftly, his tone clipped. In less than a second Natasha was bolt upright in her bed.
"Where am I going?" She asked, climbing out of the bed and finding some clothes.
"Medic ward main headquarters." With that noted Natasha ended the call, putting the phone in her bag and slinging the bag over her shoulder. Fully dressed she headed down to the garage and took her own car, a sleek black model, one she knew would get her to HQ faster than waiting around for S.H.I.E.L.D transport.
The medic ward was always busy but tonight it seemed more so. Natasha was barely in the door before she found Coulson waiting outside on one of the plastic chairs. He stood as she approached, ready to fill her in.
"He was kidnapped Tasha, they tortured him pretty bad. He's in surgery at the moment."
"Why, why is he having surgery?" She asked.
"He lost a hell of a lot of blood. There might be some infections and broken bones." Coulson explained.
"Is he going to be okay?"
"I don't know Tasha." Coulson replied honestly. She nodded, understanding.
"Tash? Tasha?" She mumbled something in Russian and buried herself further into the thick duvet. Clint tossed a cushion to her head in response.
"Oi, get up you're not seeing me for two weeks at least pretend to act sad." He continued to nudge her until finally she rolled over and gave him a sleepy smile.
"See you in two weeks." She replied and rolled over.
"Tash." All joking aside, Clint pulled one of her curls and she moved sitting up in the bed.
"You going now?" She asked. He nodded and she curled up against his side. He brushed a hand through her hair, moving it down to settle against her waist, pressing a kiss to her head.
"Tash I have to go." He whispered after about fifteen minutes of sitting in silence. Natasha sat up, looking him over once more. She leaned close, pressing a kiss to his mouth, which he responded to in kind.
"Stay safe ястреб" She whispered, pulling away. He kissed her forehead and grabbed his duffle, leaving the room.
After six hours of surgery and another four of tests Natasha was finally allowed to enter the room. She grabbed the chair from the corner, bringing it to his bedside and sitting down. Rubbing the pad of her thumb against the back of his hand she was careful not to move the various wires and tubes attaching him to all sorts of machines.
She did this for the next few days, telling him different stories, things he missed out on while away and complaining that their holiday had gone amiss. It was only half-heartedly though, more something to mention in the hope he could hear some of it. By the end of the first week she had become a common, if only visitor. Coulson dropped by in the afternoon's every other day, catching up with the doctors and occasionally sitting with Natasha, though she had become a silent companion, usually sitting at the bedside with a book or some sort of distraction. When he does get conversation from her it tended to be single sentences, a small smile here and there but nothing much.
Two weeks in and while he was stable there were still no signs of movement from Clint. It was late into a Wednesday afternoon and Coulson had dropped by the hospital after a debriefing with some other agents. It had been a quiet day yet with more paperwork than usual, meaning his turn up was later than normal, something he noticed Natasha had not been too fussed about.
"Have you been here all day?" He asked rhetorically, knowing her response.
"What do you think?" She asked, a little snidely.
"Natasha, you need to get some fresh air. You can't sit all day in a hospital."
"Phil I've done it for the past two weeks and you know that Clint would do it if it were me in the bed." He had to admit, if it were Clint he'd have probably been worse.
"You'll drive yourself mad."
There was no response, Natasha fixed her gaze back to her own book and that was the end of the topic. Coulson sat for a while longer before leaving to talk to a doctor.
Natasha next looked up at the commotion outside the room. Voices were chatting, first quietly but some were getting louder and louder. They weren't difficult to identify Nick Fury, the louder more in control, the quieter yet rational tones of Phil and the other voice must be the doctor. She heard Clint's name a few times, by all the voices but only the Director entered the room. He walked over to the bed, lifting the chart and scanning the details. Then he moved to stop the opposite side of Clint's bed, looking at the lifeless archer for a moment before grabbing a plastic chair from against the wall and sitting to face Natasha.
"Coulson tells me you've taken up residence?" He commented dryly, looking at his Agent. She looked up from the book, closing the page and leaning back in her own chair, crossing her arms and legs.
"I already told Coulson I'm not moving. He's my partner, he's my friend. I'm not letting him wake up alone." She responded.
"Natasha we have no evidence that Barton is gonna wake up in the next few days you need to get some air, clear your head."
"I'm not leaving him."
"It's not a question,' he stood up to leave, 'I want you out of this ward for the next 48 hours Romanoff. Or we'll start charging you rent."
She made no effort to move, instead just raising one eyebrow – a dare for him to challenge her.
"No buts, we will call you should anything happen." He issued, holding the door open and waiting for her to leave.
Natasha wasn't happy about being away from the ward and despite Fury knowing that she could take out his agents in seconds, he still put some on the door to the hospital, door to the ward and door to Clint's room in an attempt to slow her down. Surprisingly however she didn't make an effort to see Clint, instead staying out of sight.
She used her time as a distraction like Fury and Coulson suggested, but not quite how they intended. She listened to any conversations that brought her partner up, anything to tell her how he was doing and whether there were any developments. She spent a lot of time in the gym, fusing her anger and worry into beating punch bags senseless and beating any scores she had on particular training mats.
At night, when she knew she wouldn't be disturbed, Natasha had taken to sleeping in Clint's bed. When he was around they usually spent the night in either ones bed so this was nothing new, however she rarely slept in his alone. Wearing one of his t-shirts she lay awake tossing and turning, the smell of Clint around her was more distracting than comforting.
Around 1, Natasha had had enough. It had been one and a half days and that was enough for her. Climbing out of bed and searching around in the drawer she kept her own clothes in Natasha quickly dressed and headed back to the hospital. As expected, it didn't take her long to get past Fury's men and she had probably set off some sort of trigger to warn him that she'd arrived but Natasha didn't care. Approaching the bed she returned to her silent post, keeping watch.
"You're a bastard Clint. Two weeks that was all it was meant to be. You just had to go and get yourself caught didn't you? And tortured?! What the hell? You've been in all sorts of situations why didn't you just talk your way out while calling for back-up? It's procedure you dumbass and yet now look at you,' She paused, leaning forward to brush his hair away from his eyes, 'You have to wake up Clint you owe me a week away remember. You said we'll just drive, see where we end up. I'm not doing it on my own, if I get tired whose gonna swap with me?"
Natasha stood up and paced the room, running a hand through her hair. She was tired – she was exhausted but her emotions were wild, nothing would settle.
"You told me you'd stay safe." She looked out the window, surprising herself at the quietness of her voice, the funny sensation at the back of her throat she didn't think she'd ever felt. And the stinging at the back of her eyes.
"I'll be damned if I cry over you Clint Barton." She hissed, with no real threat behind it.
"Don't cry Tash, I can't dry your eyes from over here can I?" He croaked from the bedside. She turned, her eyes a little glistened but her cheeks dry as she looked in disbelief. There was a small smile on his face as he wrestled against himself to move into a sitting position.
"No don't bother." She cautioned, moving closer and fumbling with the bed remote, easing him into a more comfortable position.
"I really messed up this time didn't I?" He asked quietly as she handed him the cool glass of water.
"Don't be silly, it wasn't your fault." Natasha reminded him, rubbing circles against his hand.
"That's not what you were saying a moment ago."
"I wasn't thinking straight. I was angry, and upset and I haven't slept in 48 hours. I haven't had a decent sleep in just over 2 months funnily enough." She told him as he reached up to stroke a finger across her cheek. Leaning in to the small touch Natasha sighed, a breath of relief.
"I'm sorry." He told her honestly. She responded with just a smile.
After a week of hospital rest, Clint was finally given the all-clear to return home. He was given crutches much to his frustration, just for a while until his leg was completely healed. Opening the door, Natasha moved to let him into her apartment, the one used for when they were off mission. It was your basic living quarters, rarely used but fully stocked. In the last week Natasha had bought food and clothes to ensure everything was set up for Clint's return.
"As soon as I get rid of these we're taking that trip Tash. I promised you a road trip and that's what your getting." Clint promised, tangling his fingers in her hair as they sat in bed.
"And if either of us have a mission?" She said with a smile.
"I've just been kidnapped, tortured and in a coma. I think they can give me a frickin break for a week or so. And I will need someone to keep an eye on me."
"Can't have you ending up in the same situation again now can we?" She spoke softly, moving her head upwards from his chest to place a kiss on the base of his neck.
"I think you might actually kill me if I did." He joked.
"Dumbass." She kissed into his neck.
"Love you too red." He whispered.
Hope you enjoyed, appreciate any reviews :) x