Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.

Enjoy!


5 days later, SHIELD Headquarters, New York, 08:38am


Clint entered the gymnasium, left arm hanging in a navy sling. He was wearing a grey training t-shirt and a pair of black training pants. Natasha was working up a sweat, striking a punching bag with gloved hands. Clint studied her as she moved swiftly, landing her belts with deadly force and flawless precision.

She stopped her workout as soon as she felt Clint's gaze fall upon her. "How's the shoulder today?" she asked, cocking her head towards the sling. She started removing the boxing gloves, her teeth pulling on the strap around her right wrist.

"Fine." His was tone short, brushing off her concern.

"Fine?" she parroted, taking in the dark circles that had appeared around his eyes. "Look at you trying to be all stoic," she joked. Clint gave her a heated glare in response.

She had noticed Clint's foul mood over the past few days, but with the injury he sustained she couldn't hold it against him. Dislocations were a bitch to get over and Clint's injury had been particularly tricky to amend.

"I didn't spot you at breakfast this morning," she inquired curiously, taking the hint and changing the subject quickly.

"Wasn't hungry," he replied with a one shouldered shrug.

Alarms bells began to ring in Natasha mind. It wasn't like Clint to miss out on a meal. He had managed a few mouthfuls here and there at dinner the past few evenings but as time went on he resorted to pushing his food around his plate, clearly uninterested in the cuisine SHIELD had to offer.

A long moment lingered and Natasha folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "What's up?" she asked, her tone sharp, "You still in pain?"

Clint's face remained blank, his eyes unmoving, neither a yes or no answer evident. "I'll be fine..it's just taking a little longer to heal that's all," he responded, eyes darting away to stare at the other agents in the gym sparring together.

Natasha had caught on pretty quickly after their first job together that Clint was notorious for concealing pain or injuries. It was like pulling teeth to coax him to admit any discomfort or aches he had. Getting the job done was his main goal while he was steeped in an assignment.

"You sleeping at all?" she asked, moving to stand beside him to get a look at the match up his eyes were fixed on.

"Few hours.." he lied, eyes still fixed on the agents.

Natasha moved in front of the archer, blocking his line of vision. "You're lying to me," she finally revealed, putting together Clint's subtle hints that divulged his dishonesty.

"Nat-" he began, moving his eyes to meet her own.

She interrupted him before he could finish. "Come here." She grabbed his free hand and led him to one of the empty dressing rooms. "Sit," she instructed, guiding him down to the bench. She stood in front of him and examined the shoulder. She spotted the bandages peaking out from the grey material of his t-shirt. They were wrapped tightly around the injury to immobilize the joint. "Let me have a look."

He offered her his shoulder, moving his right hand to remove the sling. Natasha helped him as he did so. With his arm now free, he kept it hugged closely to his chest, willing the uncomfortable ache in his shoulder to dissipate.

Natasha skimmed her eyes over the joint, examining the swollen flesh peaking out from the bandages. It was red and angry looking. She hovered a hand over the area, feeling the heat emitting from the joint. She flashed concerned eyes to his, "Go to medical this afternoon and tell them you're having problems with it."

Clint huffed in response, clearly reluctant to go. "It's just a dislocation," he reasoned, moving to replace the arm in the sling. "You know I've had worse injuries than this."

"Yeah, I know, but it can't hurt, right?" She helped him as he fit his arm back into the sling. Clint gave her a childish scowl.

"I know you hate it but they're here to help.." she paused, one eyebrow arching slightly, "and don't even try to say that you're not in pain because I know damn well that you are."

Clint nodded, chuckling slightly at her words. Natasha had an innate ability to persuade, an ability that he almost always fell victim to. His mind flew back to their initial meeting almost three years ago. "All right..I'll head up later," he surrendered, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

Natasha smiled widely at him, satisfied that he obliged to seek help.


SHIELD Medical, 12:19pm


"Pain and localised swelling are to be expected, Agent Barton," Dr Adam Briggs commented, his tone direct and emotionless.

"I know that, but something doesn't feel right...the pain is stopping me from getting any sleep at all," Clint admitted with a frown. When something got in the way of Clint and his sleep, there would be hell to pay. Over the last few nights he had barely gotten a wink with the incessant pain.

"Okay, I'll sneak a peek at it." The doctor moved off his chair and read through the chart in his hands, eyes flitting through the numerous pages.

Clint removed the sling and the doctor examined the tightly wound bandages. He poked slightly at the visible flesh at Clint's joint, feeling the unmistakable heat emitting from it. He moved to undo the bandages so he could get a better look.

Once Clint's chest was bare, Briggs continued his examination. "Bring it towards me," he prompted, motioning Clint to move it forward towards the doctor's body. Clint moved but the shoulder protested, pained rivulets travelling down his arm. He closed his eyes in frustration, his breath quickening.

The doctor raised his eyes to meet Clint's face, taking note of the archer's discomfort. "Try and rotate it a little...just small circles," Briggs instructed. Clint tried with all the strength he possessed but the pain overpowered his senses and he lowered the arm down and hugged it tightly to his chest once again.

"Your range of motion is worrying," the doctor commented, prompting a lump to form in Clint's throat.

Briggs leaned in closer to scan his eyes over the exposed area, focusing on the reddened skin. His eyes took note of the unusual inflammation underneath the skin. He palpated the area and watched for Clint's reaction. Clint bit his lip and suppressed a low groan as best he could. Fear began to creep in the doctor's mind when he noticed the archer's grimace.

"Everything all right, doc?" Clint eyed the doctor with a concerned look.

Briggs didn't respond to Clint's question, causing him to swallow thickly. The doctor continued to probe Clint for information. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is the pain?"

Clint blinked for a moment and thought. "7," he answered quickly.

Briggs eyed the agent carefully. I'll take that as a 10 so. "I'm going to order another x-ray just to see what's going on," the doctor suggested. Clint nodded and proceeded to re-apply the sling.

"I'll up your pain meds as well," he added while scribbling some notes onto Clint's chart. He did the same on a prescription pad a moment later.

Clint nodded mutely, willing the dread that had occupied a space in his stomach to disappear. He moved off the cot, careful not to jostle his shoulder, and made his way into the radiography room down the hall.


"Sally, call theater," Briggs ordered urgently to the nurse in the adjoining room. She moved swiftly to the phone on the desk and dialled speedily. Briggs' eyes were transfixed upon Clint's x-ray, the black and white image illuminating the darkened room.

Clint was still on the x-ray table, waiting patiently, eyes focused on the ceiling above him. He was thinking about Natasha and the time that she had broken her ankle after a nasty fall and needed an x-ray to confirm the fracture. He remembered waiting for her in the waiting room until she had her cast on. He still remembers her face, unperturbed, as she hobbled through the door, her two arms supported by crutches. It was just another fracture she would add to her lengthy list in her mind. The two agents had their fair share of broken bones, concussions and dislocated joints throughout their missions. Clint was hoping that he would be out of medical and chatting to his partner in one of his improvised nests in no time.

His hopeful anticipation shattered when a nurse bustled into the room and asked Clint to change into a gown and get onto a gurney.

"What's going on?" Clint piped up, sitting up straight as she approached.

Briggs then walked through the door with an IV set and a box for discarded sharps in his hands. "Clint, we need to get you to surgery," he announced as he started prepping Clint's arm for the needle.

Clint's eyes widened in alarm, his mind adjusting to the sudden revelation. His right arm flinched away from Briggs' needle. "What?..Why?"

"The x-ray showed us that you have a fracture in your left humerus and there is some bleeding and swelling around the area."

"So?..can't you just put a few ice packs on there..." Clint suggested with little effort. He was just trying to prolong the inevitable.

"Clint, if we don't do this now..there's a chance you could lose your arm," the doctor stated urgently.

Clint blinked in disbelief, shock enveloping his senses.

He could lose his arm.

His mind repeated the doctor's words in a looming echo. No arm meant no archery, no archery meant no SHIELD. His scattered thoughts were soon interrupted by the doctor's words.

"We need to relieve the pressure around the fracture...that's why we need to get you into surgery asap," he added quickly, urgency in his delivery.

Clint nodded obligingly, moved off the bed and made his way into the adjoining bathroom. He dressed hurriedly into the gown and paused for a moment, taking in the sight staring back at him in the mirror. His skin was pale, small freckles standing out in contrast against his pallor. Dark circles shaded the area around his eyes. He closed them for a moment and let out a slow breath, mentally preparing himself for the operation. He couldn't stop the fearful thoughts and anxiety as they assaulted his muddled brain and he fought to gain control of his now accelerated breathing.

Fracture. Bleeding. You could lose your arm.

Clint calmed his thoughts and ventured back into the room and lifted himself onto the gurney. Two medics had appeared in the meantime and they wheeled him out of the room and into the pre-operative area to prep him for surgery.

"Okay, Clint, I'll administer the anaesthesia in a few moments...you want us to contact anyone in particular?"

Clint hesitated slightly before speaking, realising that his red headed partner was probably going to kill him as soon as she found out about his situation. But he wanted her here when he came out of surgery. "Agent Romanoff, if that's okay.." he replied in a low tone, almost sheepishly.

"Certainly," Briggs nodded in return and handed Clint's chart to a nurse standing close by. Briggs moved to Clint's IV and injected the anaesthesia into the line. "We're going to do everything we can, Barton..."

Clint nodded to the doctor and willed the creeping panic to evade his consciousness.

Moments later the archer's vision was swaying and his weary eyes grew tired. He got that familiar buzzing feeling as his mind and muscles relaxed in response to the drug. The last thing he thought of before everything finally disappeared was Natasha's face, her fiery curls encircling her striking features.


"Romanoff," Natasha's voice filled Coulson's ears as she answered his call. She was flat out on her belly, reading a book on the bed when her phone erupted.

"We need you in the infirmary," Coulson stated, his voice direct and unwavering.

Natasha's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "Coulson?...What's going on?" Her heart constricted painfully, sensing what was coming next.

"Barton's in surgery...there were some complications.." he paused, not feeling the need to continue.

She was already off the bed and out the door.


End of Chapter 3

Update soon!