This is a sequel to my fic Vindictive; I suggest reading that first as this follows on

It hadn't taken long for the whole mission to go to shit.

Infiltrate, get the intel, get out; easy. An empty house on the outskirts of Paris, it was in disarray; neglected for years, wooden beams and half used paint pots littered the halls from when someone had tried, and failed to restore the previously impressive building.

It should have been simple. It would have been easy if the house was in fact empty. But instead they were met with 25 armed guards who had seemingly been expecting them...

They shot Clint in the shoulder before he'd even fully entered through the third floor window. They'd entered here because the intel they were after was supposedly kept on the third floor, not to mention the roof gave them easier access than the enormous front door, which was apparently the only entrance which was alarmed.

Natasha climbed in swiftly through the window after her partner, firing as she did, wondering what else about this mission would not be as they were expecting.

She took down six of the men easily but felt herself swaying slightly when a needled was stabbed in the back of the neck. She could see Clint fighting, despite the bullet wound in his shoulder; he'd taken down another four. So that left 15 still alive, but she could only count 12. Where had the others gone?

Her aim was slightly off as her head swam; she hated being drugged, but she fired off another round of shots anyway. Another three down, Clint gazed at her, he knew she'd normally have taken down more than that; her aim was nearly as good as his.

Clint was unable to use his bow, and Natasha's aim was ever worsening; they needed to get out and regroup. Silently, they commuted this to each other and both turned for the door at the same time. Natasha got there first as she remembered the three missing men, they had been waiting for them to flee and swung a wooden beam at her, knocking her off balance and down the flight of stairs.

Clint was by her side a moment later, he'd killed the men at the top of the stairs, but the remaining few would be after them in no time; the smoke grenade he's had in his pocket (intending to use it to prank Fury) wouldn't keep them confused for long.

"It's not that bad" Natasha told Clint, trying to believe her own words.

She knew he was worried, a simple mission like this one meant they didn't require back up, there was no emergency evacuation and there would be no medical team standing by. It was just the two of them, and a small jet parked several miles south. The next time a 'simple' mission was offered to them, they'd make sure to take Coulson up on the offer of a safe house 'Just in case

Clint placed his hand on the back of her head and withdrew it to find blood coating his shaking fingers.

"We've got to move Nat, are you with me?"

She nodded, he was right. They needed to get out of here, this whole thing was a set up and they'd both been injured.
Clint helped her to her feet as they heard movement from above.
She stumbled and clutched his arm for balance, he didn't know about the drugs she'd been injected with, only the whack to the head she'd taken. And for now it'd have to remain that way; worrying him now could only serve to get one or both of them killed.

"Tasha?"

"I'm good. I'm good"

Clint's left arm was pretty much useless; he couldn't carry her with a wound like that, so he had to settle for wrapping his right arm round her waist, helping to support her weight and guiding her forward as a shower of gunfire caught up to them.

Once out of the house, Clint threw one of his exploding arrows just inside the doorway, bringing it down on top of the nine men who were still alive.

"What the fuck was that?!" Clint asked, outraged

Natasha was slumped by a tree and shrugged in response

"Let me have a look at your head" he told her, rather than asked, striding the short distance to be by her side

"Let me look at your arm first"

"Can you even see straight? It was a pretty nasty knock the head you took"

"Which one? The one where I was hit with a beam, or the one where my head collided with the wall at the bottom of the stairs"

"Natasha, do you have a concussion?"

"It'd seem likely"

"What's your favourite food?"

"Salmon"

"Tasha, you don't like fish"

"Salmon is fish?"

Yep, she was definitely concussed, and it was fast catching up with her as the adrenalin in her system started depleting
"You're definitely not looking at my arm"

"Well you're not looking at mine either"

"Well, it's a good job I want to look at your head then" he told her, dragging her away from the tree to get a better look at the heavily bleeding laceration at the back of her head. Moving her long red hair out of the way he saw the puncture mark of the needle, and a steadily growing bruise surrounding it

"Nat, did you get injected with something?"

"Yeah, it hurts" she said, swatting his hand away when he pressed his thumb to her neck

"Well, that just makes everything much worse" he deadpanned

"You're such a pessimist" she told him, closing her tired eyes

"With good reason" he told her, but she didn't hear him; she had already passed out