WARNING: Slightly foul language and mentions of blood and gore. I have it rated as T but I will bump it up to M if you think I should.
This mission was supposed to be routine, key words supposed to be.
About a week ago, Sitwell found a small warehouse that was receiving suspiciously large shipments from around the world. Normally that wouldn't be SHIELD's business, but when a bogus company buys an abandoned warehouse in cash and starts shipping in research equipment - the kind used to make weapons - something's fishy. A few days observation was all he needed to confirm it was AIM's latest headquarters. He sent it along to Coulson, who immediately dispatched Clint along with Natasha, as always.
Their orders had been to get in, gather as much information as possible, and then destroy the place. What their orders hadn't detailed were the high-end explosives housed in the warehouse and the pseudo army of guards that kept watch over the scientists.
Needless to say, their mission had gone from smooth to seriously fucked up five seconds after they entered the facility. This confused Clint greatly. Granted Hawkeye and the Black Widow were only called in for the tough missions, but the facility was in Nebraska. Nothing ever happens in Nebraska, the state was almost as desolate as his home state of Iowa. The small town the warehouse was located in was famous for having the only strip mall within 50 miles (that and a Taco Bell, they were very proud of their Taco Bell). How the hell was it even possible for a life threatening event to take place here?
Regardless of his disbelief, he still found himself perched in the rafters of the warehouse (which was on fire now) providing covering fire for Natasha. She was trying to salvage anything she could from the various labs on the ground, but it didn't look like she was going to get much. Her conversation over their comm links echoed his thoughts.
"Hawkeye it's time to quit. This won't end well if we don't leave soon."
"Copy that."
He kept his eyes on her as she made her exit, ignoring the smoke billowing around him. Just as she was about to reach the door, five guards intercepted her. He had no idea why they hadn't left the burning building, most of the scientists had. It seemed pretty dumb to try and defend something that was going to be destroyed anyways. If any of them shared his thoughts, they didn't have any time to voice them. Natasha dealt with them swiftly, taking each man out without even reaching for her gun. Her work was rendered meaningless though, when twenty more idiots showed up.
Normally, Clint wouldn't worry about his partner facing twenty to one odds. In a fight she was vicious, to say the least, and trained to win against fifty to one odds if need be. But this fight wasn't a normal fight. Each man had a gun and she had a bullet wound in her arm, coupled with at least two gashes in her abdomen. She still fought on, but not without hesitation. The pain was getting to her, and that worried him.
"Widow, stay focused!"
"How about you stay focused on getting rid of these guys." she snarled back.
"Well, since you asked so nicely."
He shot arrows two at a time into the crowd, hitting everything he aimed for twice just to make sure. Their combined efforts had the number of bad guys halved in moments. Then the fire took its toll on the building.
The walls started to crumble, a particularly large section of brick and steel took out two guys for them. Clint was forced to move to a different rafter when his perch snapped. Still, the men fought on. The two assassins were officially more screwed than they had been before.
"Barton, do you remember that question you're always asking me?"
"What question- oh!" He knocked an arrow and sent it through the shoulder of the villain trying to flank Natasha. "You mean the one I've been asking you for five years?"
"Yeah that one."
"Why are you bringing that up now."
Everything in the warehouse that could burn, was burning. He could barely see his partner through the smoke, but he knew she was dodging flaming debris just as much as she was fists and bullets.
"Now really doesn't seem like the time for that."
"Well," she paused for a moment. He heard the sounds of snapping bones and then she continued. 'If you can get both of us out of this burning mess alive, I will actually marry you."
He was even more worried now. For her to be making promises like that, she'd have to be delusional from blood loss. Still, he wasn't going to let an opportunity like this pass.
He quickly scanned the contents of the warehouse, searching for anything that could get rid of the seven men quickly. The low groaning of bending walls only hastened his search. What he found was a gas tank - most likely used to fuel Bunsen burners - yet untouched by the fire. It would work.
"Do you trust me?" he called to his partner.
"No."
"Good, now get to the exit."
The smoke around him was thick and black. Coupled with the intense heat from the fire, it made it nearly impossible to breathe. He could just make out Natasha's body as she slipped past the goons and made her escape. Normally he would look for her bright red hair, but it blended in perfectly with the flames. It was the stirring in the smoke her running caused that alerted him to her whereabouts.
As soon as he was sure she was safe, he shot an arrow at the tank then scurried across the few beams still standing. There was a window on the other side that had originally provided him access to the rafters that would work just fine as an exit. He didn't want to be in the building when the thirty second timer on the explosive arrow ran out.
He had just reached the edge of the window when he heard the telltale beeping. Without thinking, he jumped. Thankfully the roof of the adjacent building was close enough for him to land on. The arrow detonated, igniting the gas inside the tank and destroying everything on the inside. Face down, he waited for the debris to stop falling before he moved again. Eventually he pulled himself up into a sitting position to view his handiwork.
The warehouse roof was gone, presumably resting somewhere on the ground floor or in pieces scattered around the vicinity. Only two of the walls were left standing, framing a large pile of burning materials. He couldn't help but smile a bit as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Today was not the day to seek help for his bordering on unhealthy appreciation for explosions. He stood up only when the distant sound of sirens alerted him to the mobilization of the local fire department.
"Nat we should probably get out of here. Public appearances mean more paperwork when we get back to base."
The time it took her to respond was far longer than he would have liked.
"Barton, one of them followed me out. He's got-"
A gunshot rang in his ears, echoed a fraction of a second later in his comm link. The sound of the gun wasn't one he was familiar with. It wasn't Natasha's gun.
He was at the fire escape within seconds. His feet never touched the rungs of the ladder, he slid down using the metal side poles as guides. By the time he reached the bottom his hands were so chapped they stung as if they had been dipped in acid. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind, concentrating only on getting to the main street.
What he found on the other side of the ex-warehouse made his blood boil.
Sure enough, one of the AIM guards had escaped and followed Natasha. She had made it five blocks down the street before he shot her. Now he was approaching her collapsed body, gun still in hand. His face spoke of unholy intentions.
There was an arrow through his heart before he could take a single step closer to Natasha.
Clint slung his bow over his shoulder, and ran to her. He could see her chest rising and falling with irregular breaths. She was still alive, for now.
He reached for his earpiece as he ran, pressing a small button that switched it from short range communications to long range radio.
"Hawkeye to Quinjet, do you copy?"
He waited seconds for the response, but it felt like hours.
"Quinjet to Hawkeye, we read you loud and clear."
"I need immediate evac and a medical team."
It took all his control not to shout into the mic.
"Roger that, we have your position. ETA five minutes."
Once the conversation was over, he focused all his energy on running. He was three blocks away when he could see her face clearly; two blocks away when her eyes fluttered to a close. He ran faster than he ever had before.
"Natasha, can you hear me?"
He skidded to a halt at her side. There was a pool of blood forming around her, mostly from the new hole in her lower abdomen. The sirens were louder than ever now. He guessed the trucks were only a few blocks away. They needed to disappear, fast. He scooped her off the ground, hoping that she didn't have any broken bones. To his left he could see an abandoned parking lot with enough cover to hide and a spot for the jet to land. It would have to do.
The fire trucks passed just as he laid her body down on a small patch of grass. A second later he collapsed to his knees at her side. He was completely drained of energy.
"Come on, you've got to stay with me!"
She didn't respond.
His chest was heaving, he was breathing in heavy pants. His torso was covered in her blood, as were his arms. The site of the crimson liquid sent a new wave of adrenaline through his veins, along with a paralyzing sense of fear. For a moment he couldn't do anything but watch as the one thing he couldn't lose bled out in front of him.
The fear was quickly overridden by desperation. Everything was blocked from his mind; his pain, his lack of breath, the burning building, the sirens, everything. His world shrank to nothing but her existence. His only focus was perpetuating that existence. He ripped off his tactical vest, making quick work of the tank top underneath. He tore the black fabric into strips and wrapped them around each of her wounds. His hands moved to the hemorrhaging bullet wound in her abdomen, applying pressure in hopes of slowing the blood loss.
She was still unresponsive.
"Tasha, please." he whispered, choking on the words. "You can't leave me."
He leaned forwards, his entire body slouching until their foreheads touched. He closed his eyes; he couldn't handle looking at her like this. He tried to speak once more, but nothing happened. He could feel his throat closing, his words failing, so he remained silent. Mentally he willed her shallow breathing to pick up, for her to say something, open her eyes, move, do anything but die. But there was nothing but silence.
"I thought you would know … by now … how much I hate … when you call me that in public."
His eyes flew open.
She was awake now, a small half smile adorning her face. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her speech interrupted by labored breaths, but it was better than nothing.
"I thought you would know by now how much I hate when you die in public!"
He tried to seem angry, but it was impossible. His attempts at scolding only succeeded in making Natasha laugh. Her amusement was cut short by a violent coughing fit. He helped her move into a seated position, rubbing one hand across her back until the coughs receded.
"Oh please," she stated when she had her breath back. "I wasn't going to die."
"You were bleeding pretty badly Tash, still are."
He checked the makeshift bandages. They were pretty much soaked through and he didn't have enough shirt to make more.
"You're losing a lot of blood."
He could hear the far off sound of jet engines. He turned his head away from her, looking up to the sky. A black smudge that was most likely their rescue was flying off in the distance, but they were still quite a ways away. Five minutes his ass.
"Hey," Natasha whispered.
In his peripheral vision he could see a slim fingered hand reaching towards him. Her thumb gently caressed his face, wiping away a single tear he wasn't aware existed.
"Don't cry."
"I'm going to fucking cry Nat, one of us has to."
His voice was gruff, filled with the emotions his partner would never willingly express. Her hand lingered. The smooth surface of her palm cupped his cheek and forced his head to turn back. He was looking her in the eye once more.
"It's alright. We made it out alive."
He grasped her wrist before she could move her hand away. Unconsciously, he leaned into the embrace while she ran her thumb over his cheek. They stayed like this, silently observing each other before he donned a bright smile.
"Does that mean you have to make good on your promise?"
The jet arrived, engines whipping up dirt and leaves as it landed in the parking lot. The rear hatch opened and scores of medical personnel filled out. One man stood on the hatch, hair as neatly groomed as his suit, waiting for their return.
"I did promise I would," Natasha shouted. She was barely audible over the engines. "I suppose I have to. "
His expression softened immediately. He lowered the hand in his possession to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to the back before the medics could separate them.
I had this stuck in my head so I wrote it down. I hope you enjoyed it, and didn't cry nearly as much as I did. Then again I only cry so much because I'm a bit of a baby.