Another story I thought up. I am working on Learning To Share as well, but I don't have a lot of time to write lately. So excuse the slow updates. This will probably only be a few chapters long. Drop a review.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Natasha sighed as she ran a hand through her hair, starring up at the ceiling fan. Her thoughts were clouded and she was beginning to become quite stressed. It had been a long day, way longer than she had intended it to be. S.H.I.E.L.D had reported the entire Avengers team on lock down. They weren't to leave their current locations without a severe penalty. For Natasha that meant she had been stuck inside her apartment all day and it was driving her crazy. She had spent the better part of the day pacing, trying to figure out what was going on.

"We've been breached. One of your team has breached our inner defenses- from this moment on they are a wanted fugitive. You are to remain exactly where you are until further notice. We lost several men in a squall." Fury's word stuck in her head, constantly nagging at her. What had happened? Who would have done something like that? And who were the several men? She didn't like it, but she found herself worrying about Clint. God knows he was the type of guy to throw himself into the middle and try to help out, even if it wasn't practical.

She growled under her breath as she rolled out of bed, heading into the kitchen. She was wanted answers, but no one would give her any. They just kept telling her to wait and stay put. Somehow they had managed to block all lines of communications, so she really was alone. After pouring herself a cup of coffee Natasha sat on the couch, checking her watch. It was four a.m, yet she was still wide awake. She hated not knowing things. She jumped as her phone beeped and she anxiously snatched it up, hoping for it to be some form of information. Instead the low battery warning flashed and she considered hurling it across the room.

"Hell fire," she said aloud, sitting her coffee down harder than necessary. The brown liquid nearly sloshed over the side and she raked a hand through her hair. This was going to drive her mad.

Suddenly a light knock made her whip around, her eyes narrowing. Who in the hell would be at her door at this hour? She knew she shouldn't answer it, but she was tired of being told what to do. She grabbed her gun from it's secret compartment under her desk before tucking it into her waist band, heading towards the door. The knocking became more urgent and she hesitated before opening it. She froze, not moving.

"Oh my god," she managed weakly, examining the sight before her. A trail of blood ran from the elevator to her door where it continued to drop from the source. Natasha instantly yanked Clint inside, shutting the door behind her and latching it. "What in the world happened?" She asked, gaping at the large hole in his side.

"S.H.I.E.L.D, breached," he managed in between gasp. "Been running all night." The last statement made her narrow her eyes and put her on edge, but now wasn't the time for questions. Even if he wanted for some reason, she wasn't about to let him bleed to death.

"Here," she led him into the kitchen, grabbing the nearest towel and pressing it against the wound. "God, Clint," she frowned as blood soaked the towel. There was no way to get the shirt over his head without causing more damage, so she grabbed a knife, easily cutting it off of him.

"That was my last good shirt," he managed.

"Oh, shut up," she rolled her eyes, pressing the towel to the wound once more. "Keep that there, ok? I'll be right back."

Natasha went into the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinets as her brain reeled. If Clint had tried to help, why was he running? And how had he got shot? Unless...But no, surely not. Clint wouldn't do that...She shook her head, clearing the thoughts as she took her medicine kit back to the kitchen. Clint was slumped against the counter, pressing the towel to his side as he continued to try to gain control over his breathing.

"Bullet still in there?" She asked.

"Dug it out," he said weakly. "Made things worse."

"Obviously," she sighed, pouring some alcohol onto a rag. He cursed as she squeezed it onto the wound, his muscles jerking violently. "Take it easy," she dabbed the rest of the blood away before pressing several large gauze pads to the area.

"Nurse Natasha," he said with a slight smile.

"Now is not really the time to joke," she rolled her eyes as she began to steadily wrap his ribs with the medical tape.

"Better than thinking about how bad it hurts," he flinched as she tugged a bit too hard.

"Sorry," she frowned.

"You're fine," he ground his teeth, waiting for her to finish.

Natasha stepped back as she finished, examining her handy work. It wasn't professional, but it would do. At least it would stop the bleed. She grabbed a glass of water and handed it to him before leaning against the counter, crossing her arms. It was time for some answers.

"Thanks," he took a long drink, sighing as he rinsed the blood from his hands.

"I wouldn't thank me yet. What is going on, Clint?"

"I don't want to get your involved anymore than you already are. Just let me rest for an hour, then I will leave."

"Oh, bull crap," she rolled her eyes. "I want answers. You show up at my door at four in the morning, after we were put on lock down, a bullet hole in your side, and bleeding like crazy. You can't expect me to just watch you leave without asking questions."

Clint sighed, running a hand through his hair, watching her with grey eyes. He trusted her, but he really didn't want her involved. They had always been partners and he knew she would die before letting him walk away once she found out what was going on. He didn't want to lead her into what could be the end of both of them.

"Tasha, I messed up," he began.

"You killed those men?" She asked without any emotion.

"No! God, no."

"Then what in the hell is going on?"

"I was working undercover for Fury on a special project. A group of men higher up in the organization were thought to be planning something. I went in and everything seemed normal, but then I found out one of them was a Russian Super spy. He had no idea who I was, but he had his suspicions. So one day I was called down to the front desk. No one was there for me, so I ran back as fast as I could, but it was too late. I could tell someone had been in my brief case. I was on alert then, I was afraid he might go after one of the team. But instead he waited until he had me alone with a few other men on our "board." He shot them all, killing them. He knocked me out and shot me once with his gun, then left me there. He shot himself in the leg using my backup gun, then went to Furry telling them I had turned against them all, that I was selling them out to terrorist. Of course they believed him- I had been in the middle of a blood bath and all the evidence pointed towards me. They wouldn't even listen- Furry but a bounty on my head and ordered a lock down. I've been running ever since. I was in the neighborhood and I didn't want to bleed to death, but I couldn't just go to a hospital. So I stopped here," he finished, looking up to meet her eyes.

Natasha watched him quietly, letting his story sink in. He could have been lying, but she knew he wasn't. He had never been able to lie to her, no matter how hard he tried. She always saw through him. Without saying a word she walked to her room, grabbing a backpack.

"What are you doing?" He frowned. "If you want to turn me in all I have to do is go outside."

"You seriously think I would turn you in?" She turned around to frown at him.

"No?" It was a question.

"Oh, whatever," she huffed before cramming clothes into the bag. "Go look in that bottom drawer, you have stuff in there you've left," she said, blushing a little. It had been two years since the battle in New York and yet she still had stuff he had left when he needed a place to stay, a place to talk.

"Ok," he dug around, finding a few pairs of pants and a couple of t-shirts. "I have the rest of my stuff in my bag in the kitchen."

"I didn't even notice you had a bag," Natasha sighed as she packed a few other thing.

"You aren't coming," he realized what she was doing.

"And who's going to stop me? You?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes, I am. I am NOT dragging you into this, Tasha. Please don't."

"Clint," she sighed. "You are my best friend. I am not going to let you run around and get yourself killed. We'll find a way to clear your name, but in the meantime we have to get you out of here," she zipped the bag up, adjusting it on her shoulder.

"Fine," he frowned. There was no point in arguing with her. That never ended well. He tensed as he heard pounding from the hall then heavy knocking on the door. "We have company. And Natasha, there is something else you should know," he frowned.

"What?"

"That Russian guy, he has the mafia after me too. I...might be in some pretty deep trouble," he hitched one shoulder.

"And I get to save your ass, as usual. Just like old times," she smiled slightly. "Let's get out of here."

"How?"

"Well, we obviously aren't using the door," she rolled her eyes before walking out onto the balcony. She grabbed a rope from her bag, tying it around the rail before throwing it over the side. Thankfully her apartment was only four stories up so the rope reached...barely. She readjusted her bag before climbing over the rail and easing herself down. "Do NOT fall on me," She said suddenly as he began lowering himself just a few feet above her.

"I won't."

"And try not to strain your side too much."

"Thank you, mom," he said sarcastically.

"You are so welcome," she hissed. Her feet finally hit the ground and she crept along the back alley towards the parking garage. Clint followed, keeping up remarkably well for someone with a hole the size of a golf ball in his side. They made it to the red sports car and both jumped inside. Natasha took a deep breath she drove down towards the exit-she had already caught sight of what was waiting for them.

"Stop!" Barked someone from the line of soldiers in front of them. They lined the entire exit, complete with riot shields and machine guns.

"No can do," she muttered under her breath. "Put your head down," she ordered.

"What?" Clint frowned.

"Put your head down!" She revved the engine, heading straight towards them.

"Open fire!"

A roar shook the garage as the men opened fire on them, but Natasha kept her foot on the pedal. It was do or die time. Bullets sprayed the car, taking off a mirror, but she kept going. They were either about to begin there journey, or die trying.

Chapter 2 coming asap :) Enjoy. Please leave a review.