It seems that the further along I get in the story, the more dissatisfied I become with my writing. I'd like to apologize for taking forever to update. Also, it seems that some of you got confused with the last chapter and mistook it to be in Tash's POV. It was in Clint's as is this once.
I hope that you enjoy reading this chapter.
For a person with my specific skillset, the most important trait to master is patience. And, since I can proudly say that I am one of the best (if not THE BEST) in my profession, I'm pretty sure that I have a lot of patience.
Correction, I usually have a lot of patience. However, like with the other elements that make me Hawkeye, this trait seemed to be non-existent when it came to a certain fiery ex-Russian spy.
For the first time in my life, the wait was agonizing. I had no idea that mere seconds could seem like hellish eternity. Each moment spent waiting was a moment more of her possibly bleeding out on the operating table. Those long, drawn out minutes, that were merely moments, the ones that gave me enough time to take a deep breath before releasing the arrow were now reminders that each one of those minutes could possibly be THE minute she would simply stop taking a breath.
Three hours. That's how long it's been since I had her hand torn away from mine as I was met with the OR doors swinging shut. Three torturously painful hours have passed since I shakily sank onto the floor as the realization hit me that the invulnerable Black Widow was very much vulnerable and that I might not ever get to tell her that I had fallen in love with her.
Three hours. And she was still inside the operating room, where hands that were not mine were patching her up.
It was supposed to be an easy mission. Take out the kingpin's goons, weasel the location where they were holding the innocent teenage Cuban girls out of the boss. turn him over to S.H.I.E.L.D. to receive the punishment due for his crimes as a human trafficking ringleader and free the poor girls. It was beneath them actually but they had had three consecutive rough missions and the higher ups wanted us to "take it easy for a while".
But somehow, the kingpin had gotten wind of what they were up to. We didn't suspect a thing at first. Sure, the guards were less efficient at fighting than we had expected and maybe the boss did cave earlier than we thought he would but we didn't think much of it. We realized that something was wrong after taking out the guards that were patrolling around the perimeter of the warehouse. As Tash was about to sneak in to disarm whatever security system they had inside as well as take out the rest of the goons, fifty men suddenly poured out of the place. They were huge, menacing creatures that I immediately knew were hired just to take us out. They were well trained, efficient and could somehow dodge my arrows. They knew who they were up against and were definitely prepared.
At this point in time, I'd like to point out that my mind was still reeling over the fact that just the night before, I had come to the conclusion that I was irrevocably compromised because I had fallen in love with my best friend.
I had thought, last night, that despite this revelation, I would be able to somehow squelch it down and still act normally. But, to my surprise and utter dismay, every single time she got hurt, I would get distracted and frantically worry. It was only her voice, taunting and muttering in Russian in my ear that would calm me down. When I saw her body teetering and swaying after knocking out a goon, I decided that I should go down and help her. Nevermind the fact that I knew that she was more than capable of taking them all out. My instincts were screaming at me to go down and help her, and maybe, the sight and feel of her fighting and winning (at a closer proximity) would be enough to assuage my worries.
She got mad of course. Natasha Romanoff never takes well to having guys swoop in as if she was a damsel in distress. I was too worried, too caught up in emotions that should not have been there to care. In fact, I was so busy proving that she needed my help that it wasn't until I felt the breath whoosh out of my lungs as she threw herself onto me that I realized that I had almost been shot.
It took another second for me to realize that while I had avoided the bullet, she didn't. And that's when all the panic settled in. I don't think I'd ever been that frantic or pissed for that matter. I remember screaming at her and berating her for doing something as stupid as taking a bullet for me. I remember angrily asking her what ever possessed her to do something like that.
Then she said it. Those three words that I had never expected to hear in this reality.
To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I was floored and caught off guard that I didn't have time to react before I lost sight of her emerald orbs.
The rest of that was a blur. Panic immediately replaced the euphoria that was building up inside of me. I only remember holding her hand as we were transported back to the base and then her being wheeled into the OR and me sinking onto the floor.
I check my watch for the umpteenth time. 6:05 pm. Three and a half hours since I last saw her.
Another agonizing half an hour passes and I'm about ready to burst into the room to kill all the doctors and nurses because they were taking way too long to fix her up when suddenly a man in blue scrubs comes out of the room.
"Mr. Barton? Hi, I'm Dr. Daniels. I know it took longer than expected but the bullet had nicked a couple of her major organs since it bounced around for a bit. We had to repair those before we could stitch her up. She's lost quite a lot of blood but she's had a transfusion. Her heart rate and oxygen levels were, fortunately pretty stable during the operation. All in all? I think she's going to be just fine."
I let out a breath at this and as I exhaled, I felt a heavy weight slowly ease off of my shoulders and suddenly, I get this feeling that all's right with the world again.
Reviews please? It's always nice to know how people feel about what I write down. Thanks.