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WOUNDS
"If you dare fucking die on me, I'm hunting you in the afterlife and killing you myself." Natasha grunted, dragging Clint up the stairs and into their safe house.
She shoved Clint onto the single bed, grabbing the first aid kit and clambering onto the bed beside him.
"Clint, eyes on me." She growled, nails digging into his jaw as she forced his face in her direction.
"Tryin' Tash." The archer slurred, his eyes glazed and drifting.
"Just keep looking at me." She ordered, pressing down on his side, not letting up even when he bucked under her touch.
"Stop. Moving." She grit out, expertly replacing the bloodied gauze and pressing down again.
"I need to get the bullet out." She murmured, rifling in the med case, pulling out a tiny bottle of vodka.
"For me?" Clint grinned tiredly.
"Hell no, you've lost too much blood. This is for me." She hummed, winking as she tipped half the bottle into her mouth.
She swallowed with a shudder and poured the rest of the liquid over the instruments in the med case.
She unceremoniously shoved a strap of material in his mouth and jabbed a needle down into his side.
"I know-" She whispered as he shuddered and arched up.
"It's not much, but it'll numb the wound a little. I need you awake to tell me if anything feels wrong." She murmured, peeling back gauze, pliers in hand.
"Alright, I can't wait. Bite down and try not to move."
She braced her hand against his shoulder, pressing him into the mattress with one hand, the other digging into the bullet wound.
Clint grunted and bucked up despite his best efforts but he was weak with blood loss and she was stronger, holding him down.
It took ten minutes to dig the bullet out his side and she finally dropped it in the trash can, pressing fresh gauze over the wound.
"Clint, talk to me." She murmured, tapping his cheek. "How's it feeling?"
"Fucking...awful." He grimaced, trying to wet his lips. "But...doesn't feel like there's any issues."
Natasha let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, nodding and peeling back the gauze.
"The blood is slowing." She hummed, beginning to calm down for the first time all day.
"Now we obviously don't have blood here so you're staying in bed, drinking a lot of water and eating whatever I put in front of you." She said quietly.
"I'm gonna stitch you up then you can rest." She brushed back sweaty strands off his forehead.
Clint had already drifted off by the time she'd finished the stitches.
She brought the med bag to the little bathroom, the overhead lights harsh as she stood under them.
She peeled off her bloody, sticky clothes, standing in just her underwear.
She rifled through the bag, finding no more vodka or any alcohol and cursed, rubbing her forehead.
At least an infection would be less drastic in her wounds than in Clint's gunshot wound.
She silently gritted her teeth and set about wiping the scratches and grazes down with water from the sink.
Soon the porcelain was streaked with blood as she dug the needle in and out of her skin, expertly stitching up a deep cut winding over her hip and down her thigh.
One more set of stitches around her arm and then she was done, pressing the last of the clean gauze to the one worst cut, leaving another square for when Clint would need his wound cleaned.
She attached it down with tape, biting her lip and wrapping tape around the stitches down her arm, figuring it would at least keep it clean.
She set up the tiny camp stove, warming a few cans of soup over the flames. It took ages to get hot enough.
She sat on the bed, lifting Clint up into a sitting position.
The next half hour was spent rousing Clint enough to get the soup and a couple glasses of water down him.
She let him rest after that, quickly drinking her own soup as she set up a blanket on the floor. She didn't want to sleep in the bed and jostle Clint so the floor it was.
She'd had worse, she was indoors and even had a blanket so it was practically luxury.
She drifted off to the reassuring sounds of Clint's snoring.
...
Natasha woke up shaking.
Her throat felt dry and her eyes burned as she forced herself to sit up.
A quick look at her watch told her that she'd been asleep for at least seven hours.
She cursed, pushing herself to her feet.
The air felt freezing so she wrapped the blanket around herself like a cape, tying it at her neck.
Another look at Clint told her he seemed well enough for actual food so she set up the stove again, a tin of stew on the flames.
She got a couple glasses of water into him and soon he was awake fully, blinking and rubbing his eyes.
"Natasha?" He asked thickly, grimacing as he pushed himself up on his elbows.
"Hey. You're alright, been sleeping for a while." She said softly. "You alright to eat yourself?"
She offered him a bowl and he nodded, grabbing it and tucking in.
"Well you seem better." She smiled.
Clint paused with the spoon at his mouth. "Sorry." He said sheepishly. "Hungry."
"I know." She smiled, placing her bowl in front of him. "Here, you need this more than me."
Clint frowned, swallowing and wiping his mouth. "Tash, you gotta eat too."
The redhead shrugged. "I'm not hungry." In fact, she felt incredibly nauseous and just the smell threatened to send her stomach rolling.
Clint frowned as his tired gaze roved over her.
"You're sick." He said quietly, pushing the bowl away and reaching for her.
She tried to shy away from his touch because she knew what he'd find, but his fingers grabbed her wrist.
"Fuck, Tash." His eyes widened. "You're burning up, come, sit down." He tugged her wrist and she sat down without fuss.
"I'm fine." She said quietly, shaking her head.
"No, you're not." He said firmly, raising an eyebrow.
"We ran out of alcohol." She shrugged.
"Let me look." Clint murmured, pushing up the hem of her shirt.
She sighed and let him pull it over her head.
His deft, calloused fingers lifted the one sheet of gauze, running around the wound.
Frowning, he pulled up her arm, picking at the tape she'd unceremoniously wrapped around her forearm.
She winced and hissed sharply as he began to pull it off.
"I'm sorry." He said, more gentle as he pulled the rest of the tape off.
It was covered in blood and something green looking. The skin around the cut was red and warm when he touched it.
"Dammit, Tasha. Did we run out of gauze too?" He sighed, standing gingerly and taking her to the bathroom. It was a tight fit but they managed.
"I...I left the rest of it for you. We need to keep your wound clean and dry." She shrugged as he picked the gauze up.
"Yours need to be clean too." He tutted, sighing as he ran the tap.
He wiped her arm with water and tissue, wincing sympathetically.
"Shield is coming tomorrow." He said quietly. "Use the gauze, it's already infected, we can't let it get worse."
She sighed. "Split it. Maybe there's enough for both of us to use."
Clint narrowed his eyes but complied anyway, cleaning the wound the best he could, taping the gauze over her arm.
He dragged her to the bed next, laying down and encouraging her beside him.
"Now, take these." He hummed, offering her two tablets. She didn't even want to know where he'd gotten them from but she trusted him.
Drowsy, she barely noticed as he lay wet tissue over her forehead. "Open up." He hummed, spooning stew into her mouth.
She was too tired to argue so she let him, swallowing methodically until the food was gone.
"Just a day till extraction." Clint murmured, wincing as he tried to get comfortable. "We can hold out."
Natasha hummed in response, shivering under her blanket cape.
It was how they worked. Sacrificed little things like gauze or stew for each other, they took care of each other and they always would.
Partners, best friends, boyfriend and girlfriend, wife and husband.
Soul mates.