Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.
AN: Written for the October 27th Whumptober prompt: "I can't walk."
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Bound and Chained by luvsanime02
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When Clint Barton goes to see Natasha Romanoff in her hospital bed, he isn't exactly expecting her to be cheerful. Nat's not that kind of patient. She's not patient, for one thing, and yes, Clint is patting himself on the back for that little word play.
Still, Nat's usually at least energetic enough to engage him in witty conversation. More wit on his end and dry barbs on hers, but hey, that's just how the two of them roll.
This time, though, when Clint strolls into the med wing with a bouquet of flowers that she'll hate and a box of chocolates that she'll only pretend not to like before eating more of them than Clint will, Nat doesn't lift her head from where she's staring at the sheets covering her lower half.
She knows that he's there, of course. She's conscious, so Nat definitely knows that Clint is there. She likely knew it when he walked into the building, somehow. She's probably already hacked into the building's security, and watched him walk the whole way up here, never mind that he doesn't see a phone or computer anywhere in sight. Clint knows her.
Which is why he's so very worried when she doesn't acknowledge his presence.
Nat's well aware of Clint's insecurities. She knows that he has issues with abandonment, and with being ignored, and if she's still doing that kind of shit right now, it means that something is very wrong. Sometimes, Nat will tease him. When she's escaped death by the skin of her teeth and is lying in a hospital bed, her head and shoulders propped up, isn't one of those times.
Clint sets the flowers and chocolates down on the small table beside her bed, and then he sits in a chair and waits. He could wait all day. For Nat, Clint doesn't even need to ramble. Nope. He can sit here in this chair and stare at the walls, and think nice thoughts in his head, and meanwhile, he can wait for Nat to say something first.
"So," Clint says into the tense silence, "funny thing happened to me on the subway today. See, this older woman walks into the car, so of course, I offer her my seat. Well, apparently, she's a little hard of hearing, and I maybe my hearing aid was turned down because who wants to listen to people on the subway? But at least I can read lips, and well, she thought I said-"
"I can't walk."
Three words. Three small words, and Clint feels his whole world collapsing around him. He should be well used to that feeling by now, but somehow, it never fails to make him feel like he's missed a step. Hell, missed a whole flight of stairs, and now he's just free-falling forever.
Clint honestly cannot imagine how Nat's feeling right now.
"Cool," his mouth says. "Well, I always wanted to see what Tony could do with one of those new wheelchairs if he sets his mind to it. I'm thinking lasers? Oh yeah, definitely lasers. And rocket launchers, of course. Those would be cool. Maybe a flame thrower strapped onto the back? You know, somewhere in the middle of your regular arsenal. And thrusters, of course. There's no sense in having a wheelchair made by Tony Stark without thrusters. No, really, I'm almost kind of jealous. I mean, does Tony think about making an awesome suit with thrusters for any of the rest of us? Oh no, of course not. Wouldn't want to capitalize on an advantage, after all. But now, I bet he'll make you a suit. It'll be so awesome. Think we can get him to install HBO in it, too? I bet we could-"
"Thanks, Clint."
Clint falls silent. Nat reaches out and squeezes his hand, and Clint lets her cling to his fingers, and he doesn't say anything about the tears on her face.