Chapter 7 :) Thank you readers and reviewers :)
Others were admiring the buildings of Marrakech, he couldn't fault the beauty of the city. But after the night watch Clint's mind was in overdrive. Every stranger he passed, whether local or tourist, business man or holiday maker Clint couldn't help but consider – what if he slept with one of them? What if that well dressed, evidently wealthy man defiled a seven year girl last night and is now walking around with a smile on his face like it was okay. What must click in a man's, in anyone's mind to think – I'm going to sleep with a seven year old tonight. The whole town felt dirty and seedy and disgusting and before long Clint returned to the safe house and away from the public.
After checking in with his handler and reporting the events of last night Clint showered and ate, anything to take his mind off the work. He began cleaning his weapons, something he often found relaxing and distracting enough. This time it was a full clean, something he had failed to do for a while now.
Emptying out the quiver for his arrows, amongst the thin bladed weapons a scrap of paper fell too. Picking it up and placing his cleaning cloth on the bedside table he unfolded the parchment and looked at the drawing sketched out in detail.
Black Widow.
He had forgotten he drew the picture, back in Ecuador, but the bright eyes and scarlet hair could only have been one person. Since their encounter in London last year he hadn't seen her, and this proved to be an almighty distraction as he wondered where exactly she had gone.
Returning the paper to the quiver he continued to clean, his mind tracing back their three meetings and their conversations. He had told Fury that she was dead, both her and the S.H.I.E.L.D Agent managing to kill one another back in Ankara. This was also around the time he accidentally revealed he had been in Ankara, when overheard talking to Coulson one morning. Fury had been less than ecstatic about disobeyed orders and lying handlers and the pair of them had been given triple overtime, and all the paperwork for three months.
It wasn't something Clint planned on doing again in a hurry.
Maybe it was best he hadn't seen Widow in a while.
A restless sleep, another shower and another meal later and Clint had returned to his position outside the warehouse. This time he was fully mission kitted out and had spotted himself a way in when necessary. But for now he would lie in wait, the hope that the third brother would exit the building as he did the night before, giving Clint a clean, quick execution shot. Soon enough, around the same time again, the doors opened and the girls were sent out. Fighting the sickening sensation that returned to his stomach the minute he saw the scantily clad adolescence's Barton grabbed his bow and arrow and pulled it into position. One, swift, clean shot. Fire.
The arrow sailed through the air on a breezeless night and aimed directly for his heart. But before it could reach him, another figure stepped out the door, grabbing the arrow in a large fist and looking up at Clint's position. Yelling something in Turkish many more men abandoned the building, sights set on Clint.
"Shit." Clint swore to himself more than anyone else and quickly pressed his finger to his comm to ask for back up. Before he managed to speak however his arm was pulled away from the comm and the small earpiece tossed across the rooftop, clattering to the ground and squashed by another man's heavy footstep. Barton wasted no time in watching, adapting to the fight and swinging his punches, bringing out a pistol and shooting. He was outrageously outnumbered but managing to get a few knocks on the guards, firing with precision despite the chaos.
Things didn't take long to turn for the worse. Clint had the upper hand, managing to vitally shoot and injure the majority of his attackers. Succeeding until there was only a few more he could see Clint focussed on getting the job done when a blazing pain split through his side, throwing him to the ground. All around everything looked hazy, the pain a very familiar one as he recognised in an instant he'd been shot. It wasn't exactly the first time. Pressing a hand to his stomach it came up red and his vision was swimming around him. In the distance he heard noises and a couple of times something crashed to the ground nearby him until everything started looking weird. Pressing harder than he thought he could against his stomach his vision was a sea of deep red that moved in and out of view.
"Clint focus!" A voice yelled a couple of times, bringing him to reality. The sea of red wasn't in fact his blood, it was hair and the rogue Agent he hadn't seen in a year was the weight pressing down on his stomach.
"Nat?" He croaked, his voice sounding unlike his own as he coughed and spluttered.
"Shut up, don't talk you'll make it worse." She cursed in Russian and quickly stripped her jacket off, bundling up and pushing it against his side, awakening the pain. Clint grunted against the action as she moved his arms to push down on the jacket.
"Hold. What's your communications number?" she asked urgently.
"What?"
"Comm number, now!" She replied, a slight tone of desperation behind her commands.
"4582,6161." He relayed weakly and watched as she pressed something against her own ear.
"Listen to me, I don't have time to explain. You need to get a medical rescue team out here immediately, Barton's been shot in the stomach and he needs attention! That doesn't matter just do as I say!" She yelled quickly down the earpiece before taking her finger away and assessing the damage.
"Bastard…" Clint pointed to the edge of the roof and she quickly worked out what he was saying.
"Lying in a pool of his own blood, much like you are at the moment." She replied.
"How did-?"
"Please, I've been watching since the moment you landed here." She smirked. It was the last thing he saw before everything went fuzzy again and then black.
Tasha here to save Clint :) Hope you're all enjoying :)
