Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters. Unfortunately.
A/N: Just a quick one-shot that popped into my head earlier this evening. Set directly after the movie during the bonus scene at the end. Hope you like it! Please read and review :)
Shawarma.
Natasha pretended not to notice Clint wince every time he leant forward to take a bit of his burger. She attempted to ignore the significance in him resting his leg on her chair. She knew that Clint would not appreciate her making his injuries public, so she simply stayed quiet, biding her time.
Clint had realised that Natasha was aware of his injuries as soon as they had sat down to eat. Whilst everyone else was tucking into their food keeping themselves to themselves, Natasha kept glancing over at him. Clint groaned internally. Natasha always did this. Every time he gets hurt she makes a big deal out of it, lecturing him to be more careful, but this time it really wasn't a big deal.
Okay so he had a few bruised ribs, and some cuts here and there, and he may have twisted his ankle slightly after jumping through that goddamn window, but he wasn't a baby for Christ's sake! Natasha made a point of elbowing his leg by 'accident'. He knew she was testing him, but the action forced Clint to suck in a sharp breath nevertheless. He glared at her, and she raised her eyebrows at him in return. He was not getting away with this, that's for sure.
He really didn't know what Natasha expected of him. He wasn't a Demi-God or a super human or a massive green monster. Nor did he have an industrial metal suit to protect him when he fought. He was simply the archer.
When he and Natasha made to leave, he got up slowly, easing himself out of his chair and testing his ankle to see if it could hold any weight. When Bruce asked him if he was okay, he passed it off as an opportunity to take one last dig at Tony. Natasha however, wasn't fooled.
He strode out of the small restaurant and onto the dishevelled streets of Manhattan, ignoring the sharp pains that were shooting up his leg. He found it hard to believe that only a few hours ago this city had been full of life – people hurrying around to get to their destinations, trying to hail a cab or get a seat in a cafe. All Clint saw now was a mass of rubble and police tape.
In truth, Clint wasn't reallybothered about Manhattan. He didn't reallycare about the lack of people running around. He was thinking about Loki. No-one understood what he had gone through, except maybe Natasha. It was hard for him to admit that the SHEILD agents, his colleagues, had died because of him. He had even tried to kill Natasha. It wasn't like he didn't know what he was doing – that was the worst part.
He had known exactlywhat he was doing the whole time. And he had wanted to do it. He had wanted to kill her. He shuddered and shook his head visibly, as if it would banish the thought from his mind all together. What was really getting at him though, was a tiny suspicion niggling at the back of his thoughts. What if it didn't work? What if I'm still under Loki's command?
He looked over at Natasha to find her staring at him. She probably thought he had stopped to give his ankle a rest. He flashed her a smile and winked at her before walking past her down the street, leaving her to trail behind him.
Clint didn't give Natasha enough credit. She had realised back when they were eating that his solemn attitude wasn't just a result of his bruised ribs or sore ankle. She knew that he was still blaming himself for the SHEILD agents that had died at his hands. Except that they didn't die because of Clint. He didn't kill them. Loki did.
She had tried to tell him this of course. Tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault. She half wished he'd just come out and say it. Admit that he was afraid, that he was confused, but she knew he wouldn't. He never does. Clint never lets things affect him for long. He just stands up, dusts himself off and moves on. That's probably the thing she likes the most about him – his ability to bounce back. She had a feeling that this time it wouldn't be as simple as that.
If Natasha was being honest, she would admit that she was scared as well. Not of Clint – never of him, but of the thought that he wouldn't get over it. That he would never be the same laughing, joking clown that he had always been. She needed him, just like he needed her.
Natasha had no idea how long it would take for her partner to recover from this. She had no doubt in her mind that he would just shrug it all off, and attempt to bluff his way through it, but she would stick by him no matter what – because that's what friends are for.