Waking up was hard enough some mornings, waking up after being knocked out by something that he had been told was safe was the last thing that Clint wanted to do. "Sure," he muttered. "They're stable, he said. They just emit a little bit of noise, he said."
Sudden touches on his shoulders - both shoulders - made him jump, opening his eyes. White. Boring. Hospital. Natasha on one side, Stark on the other, Stark's feet on the bed. Slight tugging and a dull ache in his wrist suggested that he had been there long enough to get an IV. He could feel stickers on his chest from the monitor, but the beeping that was normally present was missing. Reaching up, he tugged off the cannula that was blowing oxygen up his nose; it felt like his own personal wind tunnel. "The hell?" Even his own voice sounded weird to him, almost like it did when he was little and had that ear infection and went around with cotton in his ears. Flat. Muffled. Clint struggled to sit up, Natasha helping him with one hand on his back, followed by her of them raising the head of the bed so that he could lean back. "Tasha. What happened."
Clint watched as her lips moved, but was unable to hear anything. Shaking his head, he repeated, "What happened. Natasha, I can't hear you. Speak up." Raising his hands to his head, he felt for the bandages that were sure to be there, covering his ears. Stupid, that the medical staff had bandaged him up like they did, but he was awake now, didn't see any blood, and didn't even hurt as much as he had in the past, when he'd woken up here after being knocked out on a mission. As his hands hit bare skin, Natasha went pale, and he started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Tasha?"
A small notebook and a pen were tossed onto the bed, making Clint jump slightly. He hadn't forgotten about Stark, just...put the other man out of his mind. He saw Natasha focus on Stark, then say something - thank you? Sure looked like the other times that she had said those two words. Picking up the objects, she glanced at the page on top, and then held it out to Clint.
"QUIVER HIT. ARROWS EXPLODED." was written on there in block print. "BIG BANG, LOUD SOUNDS." Clint narrowed his eyes, and stared at Stark. "Are you saying that I'm deaf?" Stark just nodded, looking somber. "For how long?" A shrug. Turning, Clint repeated his question to Natasha. "How long?"
She shook her head. "No way to tell until you woke up," she wrote. "Looking online, maybe bad."
"Well, fuck."
Slumping back in the bed, Clint stared at Natasha, Tony moving his feet off the bed and sitting forward in his chair. Rolling her eyes slightly, Natasha stared at the billionaire and told him something. Not being able to hear her – or Tony's reply – only contributed to the numb feeling that was slowly creeping over Clint.
As Tony stood up, Natasha focused her attention on the notepad. "Getting Doctor," Clint read. "No hiding."
"Would I do that?" Clint looked at Natasha innocently, only to jump, heart pounding, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Suppressing his initial reaction – Natasha was calm, he was in a SHIELD-secured medical facility, don't panic, he turned and saw the doctor standing over him, stethoscope in hand, eyebrow raised. Forcing an embarrassed grin onto his face, Clint handed the notepad to the doctor. "Stark's fault, for now."
"And I should know better than to sneak up on an agent, especially one who can't hear," the doctor wrote. "so…"
When the doctor couldn't find anything else immediately wrong, he wrote out instructions for Clint to take it easy for a few days, not skip the pain pills, and return in two days to meet with a specialist for more testing. Walking down the hallway towards his quarters – Clint felt like he hadn't had a shower for weeks – was less stressful. Unless there was something happening, the hallways on this level had a strange disconnect and were quiet, so nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A little hazy, thanks to the painkillers, but the lack of sound didn't disturb the marksman. Natasha walked next to him, wrapped up in her own thoughts.
That is, until Clint felt a tap on his shoulder. Instinct took over, and he found himself kneeling on Steve Roger's chest, knife to his throat. Sudden realization of what had just happened, and to who, had Clint springing backwards, holding out a hand to help the other man up.
"Sorry," Clint said, as he slid the knife back into its sheath. "Little jumpy."
Steve nodded as he straightened his clothes. He said something, a small crease forming between his eyebrows as he frowned, looking concerned. When he stopped, Natasha stepped up and the two had a short conversation. Clint had a feeling that until he could hear again that he would very quickly become tired of these situations. But, he noticed a couple other employees further down the hall, attempting to discreetly eavesdrop, and had a suspicion that his worries would become moot before too long; between Tony, Steve, and those two the new state of affairs would become well-known before too long.
With a small grin, and a small salute, Steve walked off. Natasha turned to Clint, and with a quirk of her eyebrow, the two continued on.
They ended up in Natasha's quarters, and were watching some ballet that Natasha had taped – well, Natasha was critiquing the ballerinas and their technique, Clint was just enjoying watching dancing girls – when she paused the film, heading to her door. Opening it, Tony sauntered in, tossing a tablet computer at Clint before turning around and heading back out. Looking down, Clint read to Natasha "Yours for as long as you need it."
Natasha sat back down on the bed, restarting the ballet. Clint watched the screen as she typed "he is feeling guilty. Let him. Now shut up. Can you believe how sloppy she is?"