Two weeks. They were trapped in the middle of the goddamn South African jungle for two weeks. Minimal contact with the nearby village, supplies air-dropped. Their target was the local warlord. Just the two of them, Clint and Natasha. They'd been working together for a few years now, yet Natasha held herself apart. She didn't lower her walls in front of Clint, no matter how often he told her she could. This mission marked a change in their relationship, little did they know it at the time.
By the end of the first week Clint had managed to offend one of the locals. Despite being ordered to observe and only interact if absolutely necessary. Natasha hated that about him, he never followed orders. In her mind that could get a person killed. Well, the local was proficient with a blow gun. The next morning, the beginning of the second week, Clint stumbled into their shared camp. He was slurring his words and practically screaming about crazy locals. Natasha thought he was drunk, until her partner turned and revealed a fairly large dart stuck in his left ass cheek. She barely held in her laughter as she ordered Clint to lay face down on his bedroll. She was efficient about removing the dart, inspecting it carefully.
"Barton, you've managed to get shot in the ass with a poison dart. I don't know whether to be appalled or amused." She coolly informed her partner. With rough hands she yanked down his pants and boxers, the man in question drunkenly protesting at being molested so. The point of entry was already red and swollen. She had no doubt the poison was some local concoction, they likely didn't have an antidote, and she couldn't very well go ask the locals Clint had managed to anger. She sighed, looking back up at Clint's face.
"You with me, Barton?" She asked, getting a slurred response in return. The poison was already likely in his system, but she had no way of knowing that for sure.
"This is going to hurt, keep still." She ordered, placing a hand on his lower back to keep him still if he couldn't. Inwardly she groaned, this was going to be embarrassing on the report, but she couldn't very well let Clint die. If she thought hard enough about it, she could even say she liked the guy. She pulled out her pocket knife and enlarged the wound, giving herself more space to work with. With a cold efficiency she bent over and began to suck the poison out. He bucked under her hand in response. She spit and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"You are a moron, you know that?" She muttered before repeating the process. Clint lay still beneath her hand, she almost thought he had passed out, until he started mumbling incoherently. She shook her head, getting up to get their medical kit. Natasha quickly washed the wound before plastering a large bandage over it. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped him in it before snagging a water bottle. The assassin sat by his head and slid him up so that he rested against her chest.
"Don't you dare feel me up." She warned half-heartedly. He was only semi-conscious, and it made her worry. She managed to get him to drink half the bottle of water before he finally passed out. Desperately she wished SHIELD had left them with a way to contact their handler in an emergency. She wouldn't let them make that oversight again.
"Coulson will murder me if you die, you idiot." She muttered to him, stroking his hair. She held him against her for the next couple of hours. Just past nightfall she felt his temperature spike even as he broke out in shivers. She had dragged him under their shelter, along with most of the supplies, as it had started to rain slightly. Thankfully, she had also put out a bucket to collect the rain water. She settled his head in her lap with a damp rag on his forehead. Natasha felt helpless, a feeling she hadn't often felt in her adult life, and she hated it. Another few hours passed before he opened his eyes, clouded with fever.
"Hey, are you with me, Barton?" She asked softly, taking the cloth from his forehead to wet it again. He blinked slowly in confusion.
"You got shot with a poison dart. You're probably going to get worse before you get better." If he got better, but she didn't add that. She smoothed the cloth on his forehead. A particularly violent spasm wracked his body and she frowned, hoping he wasn't starting to seize. She ran her fingers through his hair.
"Talk to me, Barton." She said.
Their night blurred together, Clint talking about everything from his childhood in the circus to his time in the military, in his hoarse voice. And Natasha held him as his body seized. He slipped back into unconsciousness an hour before dawn. His seizures had stopped an hour before that. She was positive the worst was over. It took another two days before Clint was able to stand, she left to do their mission intermittently, and the time they spent together was spent talking about their respective pasts. In the end they completed their mission, and forged a bond that nothing could break.