A/N: Quick note to say that I draw mostly from the comics in this, but having knowledge of them isn't important at all besides knowing that Kate is Clint's charge who also uses the name Hawkeye.
Clint Barton was not one to be found in hospitals. Ever since he fell ill with a kidney infection when he was sixteen, and spent a week eating nothing but broth and j-ello, blood being taken every day, and his brother eating delicious food in front of him. Something about the experience had struck a chord within him, and even several years later he would only go in if he had a serious injury.
Of course, he chose a horrible profession if he wanted to avoid the infernal building. Unless you were a super being, fighting a new bad guy every week came with its fair share of bumps and bruises.
This week however, the crooks in his neck of the woods would run rampant, as he was currently holed up in his apartment, absolutely refusing Kate's urgings to go to the hospital.
"Come on Clint!" Exasperation was heavy in her voice. "You've been feverish and throwing up constantly for almost a week. It's a wonder you haven't fainted from malnutrition or dehydration."
He shook his head vigorously, fighting the nausea the movement brought to the forefront. "I'm fine!" He didn't feel fine, in fact his voice came out sounding weak even to his bad ears, but he hoisted himself off the sofa and across to his kitchen anyway, hoping that he didn't appear as weak as he felt. He was sure that if she decided that enough was enough, he wouldn't be able to muster up enough strength to fight her off. And so he went about his day, sluggish in everything he did, managing to wait until Kate disappeared with a loud huffing noise to slip into the bathroom and lose the toast he had eaten at lunch in an attempt to show her he was fine.
The sun was going down when Kate returned, and she was not alone.
"You told on me!" He glowered across the room at her, not managing to pull forth the will to stand up from his slouched position on the couch.
"You're being childish!" And with that, his charge spun around angrily, slamming the door on her way out. Clint stuck his tongue out at the innocent door, before turning a stubborn look on his new guest.
Natasha Romanoff stared at him with one eyebrow raised. The assassin didn't say anything as she stalked towards him, and he was ashamed to say he shrunk into the cushions a bit. One slender hand came forward, knuckles resting lightly on his forehead for a moment.
"We're going to the hospital."
Something snapped in him at those words. He fought with all his remaining power as she quite literally dragged him out his apartment, down the stairs, an out to her sleek car. Once he was out of the hospital he would come to regret biting her hand in a futile attempt to get away.
He sat sullenly in the passenger seat, arms crossed across his chest, the motion of the car doubling the nausea he felt. Halfway to the nearest hospital, he made her pull over so he wouldn't ruin the impeccably clean interior.
As they were walking across the parking lot, he almost felt grateful that he was about to enter a hospital. He suddenly felt shaky and weaker than he had all week, reaching out to take hold of Natasha's arm so he didn't collapse in a heap on the pavement. After stumbling many times, nearly bringing them both down, they finally reached the bustling emergency room, where a nurse ushered them into a small room and handed them some papers to fill out.
Clint collapsed on the bed in the room, curling up tightly as a wave of nausea washed over him. He vaguely heard his partner say his named worriedly, but couldn't bring himself to react. He felt light-headed, and sick, and all around miserable. The nurse came in, took some blood, an promptly hooked him up to an IV drip. Before long, he felt himself slipping into a drug induced sleep.
His entire body felt heavy, exhausted somehow even though he knew had been asleep, and so Clint begged his body to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the two women sitting watch on either side of his bed were having none of that.
"Rise and shine!" Kate cheerily poked his shoulder, and with an overly dramatic sigh, he cracked his eyes open to glare at her.
"You should have come to the hospital sooner." He slowly turned his head in the direction that Natasha's voice was coming from. "The doctor says you'll be fine though, with a lot of rest and medicine." A small smile flashed across her face, before Kate drew his attention back to her as she started talking again.
He didn't really listen to anything she said. In truth, he was marvelling over the two women by his hospital bed; the girl that had become like a sister, and the woman who was his best friend and partner. Warmth spread through him as the realization hit that for the first time in a very long time, he had people who cared about him enough to drag him kicking and screaming to a hospital, and solely for his own benefit.
Despite all the bad in his life recently, Clint relaxed into the comfort that friendship brought with it.
A/N: Hello dear readers!
I haven't written anything in a long time, but then somebody left a review on a one-shot I wrote ages ago and now here we are.