"Please tell me we won," Clint groans, refusing to open his eyes until the jackhammers in his head stop.
"I don't know about you, Hawkeye, but I wouldn't exactly call this a win," Kate drawls. He pops his eyes open, squinting to find her standing over him, glaring.
"Wha' happened to your face?"
"Somebody punched it you doof, now would you stop with the pity party and get up before they come back."
"Before who comes back?" She just gives him a look, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"Seriously, this is the worst rescue ever."
"Oh come on Hawkeye, I'm sure it's not that bad," he insists, sitting up.
"Ever." She repeats. "Not only did you get yourself captured and thrown in here with me, but you also managed to break your bow and lose most of your quiver."
"Only most of it?" he inquires, wincing internally at the thought of asking Tony for another custom bow. Because no way in hell was he going to ask SHIELD R&D.
"They left a couple of blunt-looking ones; but seeing as how you never got around to labelling them," she remarks with another glare, plopping down to sit next to him, back against the wooden pylon they're both chained to, one shackle on each wrist with the chain wrapped around the beam, "I have no futzing clue if they're actually of any use to us."
"Lemme see 'em," he makes grabby-hands at her and the eyebrow goes up again before she hands over six arrows. Clint takes them, laying them on his outstretched legs so he can carefully examine them one at a time. "Bolo arrow."
"Useless."
"Net arrow."
"Really useless."
"Boomerang arrow."
"Just…no."
"Mini arrow shooter."
"Would, again, require one of us having use of a bow."
"Taser arrow."
"…potential." She concedes after a moment. "How the hell can you tell what they are?"
"Jus' cause I didn't label 'em with little tabby things doesn't mean I didn't label them at all girly-girl. Gotta know what tools you're using after all."
"Of course. So do we have a plan?"
Clint thinks about it for a moment. As far as he can tell, they're locked in some kind of basement. It's rather empty, with an abandoned work-bench in one corner; the floor is hard, packed brown dirt, as are the walls, and the stairs leading up and out are their only means of escape but look as if they could collapse at any moment.
"I've got nothing."
Kate sighs in exasperation at his declaration.
"Worst. Rescue. Ev-er."
Clint's not sure how long they're left alone before he hears shouting from upstairs. He turns his head slightly so he has a better view of the door, trying not to jostle Kate, who had finally fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder what feels like an hour ago. There are a few gunshots and then a shout before the door is kicked open rather violently, jerking Kate into wakefulness. They both squint against the harsh light suddenly flooding the room, blocking the person descending the stairs from their view.
"Wha'shappenin?" she slurs, pushing her hair back out of her face.
"Not sure yet," Clint mutters, pressing the taser arrow into Kate's palm.
"What's happening is I'm saving your sorry butt," a familiar voice answers, "again."
"Bobbi."
"Thank God, someone competent this time," Kate remarks at the same time, scrambling to her feet.
"Hey!" Clint protests; both women ignore him.
"You didn't happen to find a key for our lovely accessories, did you?" Kate asks hopefully; Bobbi smirks in response, holding up the small metal key before using it to unlock the manacle on Kate's wrist. Kate wraps the blonde in a hug the moment she's free of her restraints, briefly kissing her cheek before allowing her to free Clint. Bobbi pulls him to his feet before pulling him in for a brief kiss.
"You owe me dinner," she says before pulling away, leading them both upstairs, where about a dozen and a half men with guns are lying around in various states of unconsciousness.
"Now this?" Kate remarks with glee, wrapping an arm around Bobbi's waist and looking over her shoulder at Clint as they walk calmly out of what used to be the bad guy's safe house. "This is what I would call a win, Hawkeye."