A/N: Hey guys, I'm back! (: This document's been sitting in my saves for a long time now, for about a month at least. So today I told myself, nope, no more procrastination, you sit on that chair and finish this, whether inspiration flows or not. So I did. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. Unfortunately.

(unbeta-ed. My apologies for any mistakes.)

Just like Budapest

"Well done, guys. Get up to a rooftop, a helicopter's on its way." Fury's deep voice boomed in her earpiece, and Natasha winced, rubbing her ear uncomfortably. She was tired, bruised, violated, but alive. Natasha cast a sideway glance at her partner, who was even more injured than she. The ugly gash on Clint's left arm reminded her that had she not pulled him behind a overturned car, he might not be with her now. The knife that had been flying right at his throat slashed his arm instead, leaving him handicapped and unable to use his bow any longer.

But it was better than him being dead.

"Clint?" Natasha crawled over to him now, carefully weaving her way between the shattered pieces of glass that lay on the hard cement. He grunted, turning his head so that he was facing her.

"How's your arm?" She asked, longing to run her fingers down his arm, but restrained herself, knowing that the wound was still fresh and smarting.

"Just peachy," Clint said, the words coming out more tired and less sarcastic than he meant them. He caught Natasha's eye and conveyed the message that wasn't spoken: I'm glad we're both alive.

Natasha looked back down at the mass of bodies, blood, and broken weapons.

The streets of Russia were so peaceful 10 hours ago. Now all that was left was death and destruction.

"Worse than Budapest, huh." His disgruntled voice cut through the howling wind, and she didn't even need to look back to know that he was in pain. She chuckled, a sad, soft sound.

"Never thought I'd be able to say that," He continued, obviously making a effort to hide the strain in his voice.

"But then again you and I remember Budapest very differently." When he failed to shut up she had to laugh. It was ironic that he was the one trying to keep the mood light, when she was the one that didn't have that big a bruise.

"Hawkeye, could you please shut up and rest for a second?" He looked up at the sound of his codename, a single eyebrow raised. She meant business. Holding his hands up(or attempting to) in surrender, Clint placed his head back down on his arrow bag, using it as a substitute pillow.

A rather hard, prickly pillow, but it would have to do.

Natasha sat back and examined the sky - blood red, just like the liquid that stained the streets.

"Natas-"

"Shhhh," she said fiercely, then, feeling a bit guilty, added, "what?"

"Just... Thanks. For having my back." Clint managed weakly, before closing his eyes and dozing off peacefully.

Natasha cracked a small smile at him. Then she looked at a nearby door, with its blue paint so chipped that it was more grey than blue. A sign that looked like it was in equally bad condition was stuck to the door, with Russian words on it in fine print. Natasha glanced at Clint, at their surroundings, and walked briskly to the sign.

"To rooftop," she read aloud, then looked back at her blissfully unconscious partner. A groan escaped her lips. She really hoped Clint's blood loss would make it easier for her to carry him up to the roof.

Natasha walked back to Clint and slipped her right arm under both of his legs, and her left arm supporting his neck and upper torso. She mentally counted to three, and grunted as she not-so-gracefully lifted Clint up. Then she looked right that the five flights of stairs she needed to get up.

"Yay," she murmured, and began her very long ascent up the stairs.

Loud voices, the clinking of metal and beeping of machines met his ears. Well, the voices were hushed, but to him they were loud. Can all of you shut up, I'm trying to sleep. Clint groaned and tried to bury his head further into the pillow. Which, he noted with relief, felt nothing like the hard, uncomfortable surface of his arrow bag. He lifted his left hand to adjust the pillow, but he hadn't lifted it more than a inch when he felt it being constrained by some kind of cast.

"Woah there." A cool hand rested itself on his hand, pushing it back down gently. "I'll get it, partner." At the sound of her voice, he sobered up and cracked open one eye, only to close it again, squinting at the sudden brightness.

"Natasha?"

"You're going to be okay, buddy." His mouth twitched at the familiarity of the words. "Is that what you think?" He croaked out, attempting a half hearted joke. He attempted opening his eyes again- much more slowly, and immediately saw a fiery red blob, illuminated by the white light overhead.

"Tasha, what did they put on my arm?" He focused on the girl sitting on his bed, her green eyes watching him intently.

"Just a cast, you'll have to leave it on for now, but in a few days you should be able to take it off."

"Good." He leaned back and closed his eyes again. She didn't move.

"Did Fury manage to identify the bad guy?"

"Yes, he did. His name's Jim." Clint snorted. Jim? "That's a plain name for someone who tried to blow up SHIELD's base."

"I know, he should've chosen a more badass name, right?"

"Yeah, I mean look at Fury. He has a name a villain would choose." He and Natasha both laughed, his coming out as more of a wheezy breath.

"Anyway, Fury seemed pretty pleased with our work." Clint grinned this time.

"That's a nice change, last time we went to investigate the enemy's base, both of us nearly lost our jobs."

"And they didn't even turn the full troops on us in Budapest," Natasha added, grimacing. "But job's not even close to being over yet, so don't think of resting. After your arm heals, we gotta confront the big man." Clint nodded, his mind already working at full speed. (They were never trained to rest, anyway.)

"I better go before he chases me away," Natasha said, her eye flicking to the medic who was scowling at them, or rather, at Natasha for robbing Clint of his rest time. She rose from the bed, nodded once, and almost vanished out of the room. Clint leaned his head back, and closed his eyes, ready to fall back to sleep. Suddenly, he felt a pair of soft, feminine lips press against his cheek, just a inch away from his own pair. His eyes flew open and he scanned his surroundings. But there was no one except the medic in the room. Clint smiled to himself, and leaned back to sleep again.

From the corridor, Natasha watched him drift off, a similar smile ghosting her lips.

[Love is for children, I owe him a debt.]