Author's notes: Sorry this took so long to post! My muse left me hanging! I swear I've rewritten this chapter like five times! Anyways, I'm not super pleased with the first half of this chapter so bear with me.

A bit of good news is that I was able to start on my next story while trying to work out the kinks on this chapter! So that should be starting to be posted sometime early this week. :)

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing from Marvel! Just borrowing them!

...

1 hour outside of Milan, Italy.

20,000 feet up in the air the mood in the helicopters was tense. The medic attending to Natasha hadn't stopped moving since arriving by her side. He reached up and replaced the depleted bag of blood with a fresh one as the precious substance was pumped back into her abused body. An oxygen mask covered her face and she was hooked up to several different machines, the sound of the heart monitor beeping irregularly was the only noise that broke the silence.

The bullet wound on her chest was still bleeding, even as another member of the extraction team held steady pressure on the wound, attempting to slow the bleeding. The medic had gently cleaned and stitched the deepest of the cuts running down her right thigh in an attempt to keep blood inside her body.

He sighed heavily as he took in her battered body. The green corset she wore was cut in several places, burnt in others, and soaked with blood and sweat. The stockings were mostly shredded and stiff with blood as well. The medic prayed she could hold on until they made it to Milan, as he busied himself by starting to clean the most severe of the burns on her torso.

...

20 minutes outside of SHIELD base in Milan.

Phil's eyes were trained on a spot right above Clint's head, staring hard but not seeing anything. His mind was far away, going over and examining the nightmarish events of the past 24 hours. How had the Red Room managed to find Natasha? And where was Vexx? There was something that niggled at him from the back of his mind, but he ignored it, chalking the weird feeling up to the remnants of adrenalin and exhaustion.

His vision focused and he ran his eyes over Clint's still form concentrating on the regular rise and fall of his chest. Phil couldn't help as his mind transported him back six or so months when he watched Clint cling to life in the aftermath of the shit show that was the Colombia assignment.

….

How could such a simple assignment have gone so wrong? On the surface the hit was straightforward, almost textbook, if there were such a thing for assassinations. Barton was to go in, do surveillance to learn the target's habits, then from a perch high above the masses take out the man, making a getaway before anyone was the wiser. In and out, no problem.

However no one was prepared for the target's nearly perfect defense against the legendary archer. Phil still wasn't sure how Clint had managed to be captured, or even the details of his imprisonment. Phil had stumbled on the archer in an alleyway when he had been out looking for any sign of him. Clint was sprawled against the rough stone wall, bleeding out from a gunshot wound to the back.

Phil carried the unconscious archer back to the safe house where he had an extraction team waiting to get them both onto the Quinjet that would take them back to the base in Miami, Florida. He sat in the back corner of the jet watching as the medic worked quickly to stabilize Clint. The had been in the air less than 20 minutes when all hell broke loose.

Clint's heart rate spiked suddenly, the shrill beeping of the heart monitor echoing through the interior of the Quinjet. Then the convulsions started. Phil looked on, his heart in his throat as Clint's broken body thrashed on the floor of the jet. Without warning everything stopped, the absence of the sound of the heart monitor more deafening than a gunshot.

"He's crashing. I need the jump kit. Now!" Phil hadn't realized he had taken several steps towards Clint until a hand landed on his shoulder, gently restraining him.

"Everyone clear!" There was a second of silence then a small whump as Clint's body flopped with the shock. The process was repeated again, as the few agents gathered waited with bated breath. But still nothing. Phil's heart was breaking, he felt he was finally getting through to the archer, breaking through his walls of deadly silence, it was a damned waste of a good life.

"Sir….? Sir…?"

…

"Sir? Agent Coulson?" The hand that gripped his shoulder nearly had him jumping in surprise, he hadn't realized his mind had wandered so far. Phil looked up into the pinched face of the copilot.

"What is it?" He asked, his eyes going immediately to Clint's form.

"It's Agent Romanoff, just got word from the other chopper that her condition has worsened." The copilot looked away before continuing quietly. "They're loosing her."

Phil was instantly on his feet, glancing at his watch. Less than 10 minutes outside of Milan. He grabbed his comm device out of his pocket, tucking it into his ear even as he was connecting to the Head of Operations of the Milan base.

"Base, this is Agent Coulson, I'm requesting immediate medical assistance to the chopper deck, you're gonna need a crash cart. I have one agent requiring immediate attention."

"Copy that Agent Coulson, we're sending men up to the deck now. Can you give us an estimated time out?"

"We're 3 clicks out, base." Phil could see the small brightly colored houses of Milan were just a blur as the helicopter sped towards the base."

"Roger that." He clicked off his transmission signal, his hands running through his hair praying Natasha could hold on just a little longer.

...

His feet hit the tarmac the second the bird touched down, already moving towards the first chopper. His eyes caught sight of a flash of brilliant red hair as Natasha was brought out from the helicopter. He could hear the sound of the defibrillator powering up from where he stood, his mind drifting back to when he lost Clint the first time 30,000 feet over the Caribbean Sea.

Phil let out a breath of relief when he heard the heart monitor start back up, picking up the shallow beat of her heart. She was wheeled inside quickly, no doubt to prep her for surgery to repair the damage done by the bullet. He turned around quickly as he heard protests starting to come from the helicopter he left Clint inside. Phil sighed, at least he knew Clint was well enough to start throwing threats at his medical staff. Some things never changed.

...

Clint ended up having to be sedated before he even left the chopper. His singleminded quest to get to Natasha, and refusal of medical care really gave Phil no choice. Clint had six stitches put in the gash on his forehead, the bullet pulled out of his right bicep, where it thankfully had done minimum damage, and had twelve more stitches to close that wound. His left leg was a mess though, a thick brace wrapped around his knee, and twenty-two more stitches in his left calf. And an x-ray revealed he had four broken, and three cracked ribs. The kid was seemingly wrapped from head to toe in bandages.

Phil sat in the chair next to Clint's bed, waiting for the sedative he had given the archer to wear off. He had just finished talking to Dr. Sebastian Del Rossi, who had performed Natasha's surgery. The doctor was confident that Natasha would make a full recovery, as the bullet had done very little damage, other than causing severe blood loss. He had told Phil if it had been a slightly higher caliber gun, she wouldn't have even made it to the helicopter, let alone the base.

He had arranged for his two agents to be placed in the same room, knowing Clint wouldn't be able to settle down until he saw Natasha for himself. Phil didn't know how the archer was going to be able to hide his feelings for the Black Widow now, but he didn't think he would have to hide them for long, he had a feeling that the fiery redhead had some feelings of her own.

His head whipped around at the sound of the door, but he just smiled as the redhead was wheeled into the room, pillows propping her up slightly. Her face was still pale but color was starting to come back, a huge difference from the deathly pallor from earlier. Phil thanked the nurse as she quietly snuck out the door, leaving the two agents in the care of their watchful handler.

...

The quiet regular sound of a heart monitor was the first thing to register as Clint struggled to open his eyes. This is why I hate sedatives, I feel so damn groggy and out of it. He thought as he squinted against the glare of the lights in the room. The smell of antiseptic washed over him next reminding him where he was. That's right, hospital. Wait, where's Natasha? The disjointed thoughts shot through his mind as he forced his eyes wide open, taking in the room around him.

Phil was sprawled in a chair to his right, mouth slightly opened as he snored softly. Clint's heart nearly stopped as his eyes caught the most beautiful sight in the world. The largest pair of deep green eyes, glazed over from the drugs running through her system, stared right back at him. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat as his gaze ran over her body cataloguing every bump and bruise he could see before meeting her eyes again.

"Hey you." Her voice was whisper light, the exhaustion evident in her tone, but her eyes never left his.

"Hey." Was all he could manage past the lump in his throat. His voice sounded like he had been gargling glass, coming out broken and raspy. He frowned slightly, not remembering how he had screamed himself hoarse when he had been at her side.

"We make quite the pair." Her eyes blinked sleepily at him. "Thank you for…." She was cut off by Phil's sharp intake of breath as he shot upright in his chair. His head swiveled first to Clint, then satisfied by what he saw moved his eyes to Natasha. His blue eyes lighting up when he saw she was conscious. He stood in the chair and walked to her bedside gently gripping her hand.

"You have no idea how good it is to see your pretty green eyes." He smiled down at her, internally delighting as she weakly squeezed his hand back.

"It's good to see you too Coulson." Phil could see she was quickly tiring so he set her hand back down and made his way over to Clint, who hadn't taken his eyes off the pair during their exchange. He stood to the side of his bed, eyeing the archer wryly.

"You gonna behave yourself so I can go grab a bite to eat? Or do I need to send a nurse in to make sure you stay in that bed?" He was glad to see Clint look somewhat sheepish before replying.

"Nah, you can run along. I'm alright." His blue-grey eyes met Phil's before darting back to Natasha's as if scared she was going to disappear. Phil sighed knowing as long as Natasha was close Clint would do anything to stay by her side. He nodded and headed towards the door.

"You should definitely bring me some grapes if they have any." Clint tossed at him as his hand rested on the door handle. Phil could only chuckle, the kid loved grapes, and really it was the least he could do after the past 36 hours they had experienced.

"Alright kid, I'll see what I can find." He said over his shoulder as he shut the door quietly. Clint looked back over at Natasha, surprised when her eyes were still open, even from here he could see how she was fighting back sleep as it tried to drag her back into unconsciousness.

"Clint?" her voice sounded almost needy. Fear flashing across her eyes, making his heart jump, he cursed himself at the wave of protectiveness he felt at her look of vulnerability. He realized he hadn't answered her so he just nodded and raised an eyebrow at her, worried his voice would give away the emotions he was having trouble concealing.

"Could you… I mean, that is if you don't mind.. I, uh…" She looked slightly horrified as she stumbled over her words, and Clint realized she looked shy, a sharp contrast from the easy confidence that she usually carried. "I don't want to be alone any longer either." She pushed out in a rush, looking exhausted from the effort that sentence caused her.

Clint's world stopped as her words shot through his heart. An image of her pale face in his bloody palm flashed into his mind. "Please Tasha. Open your eyes for me. Oh God… Please. I need you to look at me. Tasha. Don't leave me, I can't be alone any more, please." The words had tumbled from his lips, the thought of finding her only to lose her was almost too much to bear. His blue-grey eyes met hers, he let all his emotions show, wanting to pound his chest in triumph when he saw the same emotions mirrored in her emerald green gaze.

He wordlessly pulled the IV from his hand and sat up, grunting as his ribs protested the sudden movement. Swinging his legs from the bed to the ground he settled most of his weight onto his right leg, gripping Phil's abandoned chair for support as he limped to Natasha's bed. She had scooted herself over slightly as he climbed in beside her, her body heat sinking into his body. Clint settled her against his chest, his heart beating a little faster as she smiled sleepily at him before closing her eyes. Within seconds her breathing had evened out and Clint knew she was fast asleep.

"Sleep now, I've got first watch." He promised as he pressed a kiss to her head. "I'll be right here. Always."

...

How cute was that ending?! I just love them together! :)

Thanks for everyone who has read and reviewed! Let me know what you thought of this! I love reviews like Clint loves Natasha!

Here's a sneak peek at my next work, Colombia... (Chapter 1 has been posted! Go give it a look!)

...

Swish, thud. Swish, thud. Swish, thud. His hand reached back to draw another arrow, growling in irritation when he realized his quiver was empty. His footsteps echoed off the walls of the empty target range as moved from target to target pulling his arrows free, noting in the back of his mind that each arrow was buried, dead center, in every target. With his quiver full again he returned to the line, pressing a button next to him which started the targets in motion.

He nocked an arrow and drew it back, relishing in the feel of his sore muscles, released a deep breath and let the arrow fly. Before it even had a chance to hit the target he had another drawn as he sighted down the shaft at his next target. He pushed himself harder, his hands nearly a blur as the arrows rained on the targets. The last arrow buried itself halfway into the target with a dull thud, but still the archer was not satisfied.

Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye, never missed a shot. But tonight wasn't about the practice, tonight he was running from the demons that chased him.

...