Bruises

There were not a lot of certainties in life. You're born, you live, you die. They were the major ones. Add to that trinity the certainty that Clint Barton will try his damndest to keep up with super humans no matter what the challenge is, because that's always certain.

Natasha hated it sometimes. She knew her limits, she knew when not to push something just because others could do what she couldn't. She knew not to try out run Steve, or take on a multitude of battles like Thor. She knew not to go against the big guns like Stark, or the big guys like Hulk.

She had her skill sets, skill sets she knew they didn't have, and that's what she worked with.

Clint knew that too, she was sure of that. But he was also way too confident in his abilities, and way too caring to refuse helping out a member of the team even if they didn't require it.

Coming back to the tower one night after a call out she knew that something was up with him. His walk was a little laboured, and his smile though genuine was pained to her trained eyes.

The team were laughing and joking all the way home, and he kept up with them all no problem at all. She knew that they would have noticed nothing in the difference. It was a large fight they got in. Not glamorous, or dangerous, but long and had multiple marks to take out.

They did the usual - showered, changed, had drinks and take out, retired to bed. Clint had pretty much fallen into their bed by the very end of the night, and within moments he was conked out, dead to the world for the evening. She watched him by the foot of the double bed for a moment. He was sprawled out on his stomach, a position he never usually slept in, arms under his pillow and his face turned towards the side so he could breath.

Natasha frowned just the slightest. She couldn't do anything about it now, so she climbed in next to him and fell asleep moments after her head sank into her pillow.

Clint wasn't an early riser. In all of the years she's known him she was always awake before he was, except when he had early missions or she really needed to rest. This was neither of those times.

Yet when she opened her eyes early the next morning the space beside her was empty - she could faintly make out his humming from their bathroom mixing with the sound of a tap running.

"Clint?" She called out, stifling a yawn that threatened to come out after wards. Even if she was an early riser it didn't mean she wasn't still tired for a while after waking.

"'Uhhing 'eet'" Clint's muffled reply came just before she heard him spit in the sink. She smiled to herself.

Natasha pulled the blanket from over her and stood, pulling a robe over her shoulders before making her way to the bathroom.

"Couldn't have spit before speaking to me?" She laughed softly as she entered the bathroom.

"I know it annoys you. Best way to start my morning." He laughed quietly. He had his back to the door, facing the mirror. He had nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist - freshly showered - and was currently shaving the bit of stubble build up he had.

She didn't care about any of that though. Her eyes were more drawn towards his back.

Deep angry looking purple bruises crossed across his back - stretching from his shoulder blades down to below the towel. It looked like a mixture of getting hit hard there and falling hard there.

"Clint..." She whispered, shocked. His hand paused in it's shaving and he raised an eyebrow at her in the mirror. He looked confused until he spotted where her attention was, a sigh came from him a moment later.

"Looks worse than it is." He mumbled, tapping the loose hairs off on the side of the sink before setting about his shaving once more.

There were always bruises littering his skin when they worked for SHIELD, sparring each day would ensure that before missions would. But never this bad, never so angry that it looked like his chest was shaking with every inhale. Whatever happened yesterday to caused this was extreme and she really needed to get him checked out. It was bad enough that he didn't think to hide the pain from her entirely, or it was just too much to even think about it.

Before any of that though, before even thinking of trying to force him to see someone, she went up and wrapped her arms around his waist, her forehead resting gently against his neck.

He paused once more, stock still, the only sound in the room being the running water and their shared breathing.

"You're an idiot." She whispered, giving the back of his neck a soft kiss. "You're a complete idiot, what were you thinking?"

"We have a job to do." He whispered back, the razor dropping in the sink so he could place his hands over hers. "A few bruises are nothing, Nat. We have a job and there's no compromising it."

A few bruises are nothing, but this was not nothing.

She didn't argue though. She knew he was right.

Natasha simply gave the large bruise in the centre of his back a gentle kiss and hoped beyond hope he would learn someday to stop acting like a super human.

Otherwise it would be a lot worse than just bruises next time.