Author's Note:
Hello there! I received an amazing response on my last chapter! I think 5 or 6 reviews! I read them on my email and would like to thank you all. Unfortunately, FF is being annoying, so I can't individually reply like I am used to or see your names/reviews on FF. But know that I do really appreciate it.
Here is a nice and long chapter for you all, over 3000 words!
Shout out to my beta and co-writer: ThisVioletofMine!
Wide-eyed with shock and disbelief, Clint quickly made his way to the quinjet with a sobbing little girl in tow. His bike spluttered and died again halfway there, however- damned goons must have sabotaged it while he was inside- and in his haste he ended up leaving it behind and determinedly hiking the rest of the way with the child riding on his back.
When they reached the quinjet, Clint was faced with a dilemma- he was so desperate to rush back to the rubble and dig his friend out no matter how long it took, but he couldn't leave the girl on the quinjet by herself, and he certainly wasn't taking her back to the hazardous heap of debris the building now was.
He finally decided that his best choice would be to call in the others. He laid the child down on a bunk in the wall and ran to the cockpit, picking up his wide-range communicator. He rang up Avengers HQ and waited anxiously for someone to pick up. "Dammit, pick up, pick up, pick u-"
He paused and looked behind him at the sound of an engine- did he need to fly out? The motorbike rode up and he aimed his bow and arrow at the person for a split second before a flash of red confirmed it was Natasha. She skidded the bike to a stop, her face wrinkled in pain. "The kid okay?"
"Hello?" Somebody answered the phone.
Clint stared at Natasha, not answering her or Steve, who had answered the call. He immediately noticed the crimson coloured blood all over Natasha's arms and back; and unfortunately, it looked like it was hers this time.
"Dear God, Nat- how-?" He sputtered, rushing towards her and dropping the communicator. He paled considerably at the swathes of red coating most of her body as he got a better view.
Natasha looked at him, her eyes flying to the girl. "I'm fine- there was a second bomb. Let's get the kid out of here." She moved to sit on the floor.
"Are you- are you sure you don't need medical attention, Nat? That's a lot of blood…" He argued, grabbing her upper arm to get her attention.
Natasha winced. "Clint. The kid." She spoke firmly, glaring weakly at him. "She comes first."
He was hesitant to leave her side, but begrudgingly agreed- it was true, the girl came first. Still, that didn't stop him from gently escorting her to the remaining bunk and forcing her to lie down on it despite her protests. "You need medical attention. Rest; I'll get us moving." He made sure she was lying comfortably before pouring water over her burns to clean them quickly.
Upon an examination of her injuries, the burns were mainly first degrees, which was good. Unfortunately, there were definitely some areas with second degree burns; however, most of the bleeding seemed to come from two knife-like wounds on her shoulder and upper back.
He rushed over to the cockpit and started the quinjet, entering in their destination and lifting off smoothly.
"I think I'm delusional… I think I can hear Steve," Natasha replied in utter confusion, closing her eyes. "Tell him I'm sleeping or taking a bath..."
"Oh, shit-" He cut off, eyeing the sleeping child warily, "I forgot about Steve!" He scooped up the communicator and pressed it to his ear. "Hello? Steve?"
Steve's worried voice filtered through. "Clint? What's wrong? Is Natasha alright?"
Clint looked over at Natasha. "Uhm… yes… We're on our way back now."
"You had us all worried, Clint! Half the team was preparing to go on a rescue mission!"
Clint winced guiltily. "That was my fault- dropped the phone and forgot about it. Gotta go now, Steve, the plane doesn't fly itself." The plane did, in fact, fly itself- that was what it was doing that very moment- but he needed an excuse to cut the conversation short. He hung up before Steve could object.
"If I did go out with Steve… you don't think he'd make me wear a dress, do you?" Natasha randomly questioned.
Clint eyed her suspiciously. "Man, you really are delusional, aren't you?"
"What? It's an honest question-"
"That's your concern about dating him? Dressing differently?" Clint shook his head in dismay- that was not what he was expecting. He heard her moving to sit up. "Lay back down."
"I'm down," Natasha replied, annoyed. "Maybe I could set Steve up with somebody else- that'll keep him going in a different direction. Is Maria dating anybody?"
"How the hell would I know that? I'm not the Avengers gossip!" He snarked, turning his attentions to the computer and pressing several buttons, hoping to look busy enough that she'd lay off.
"What about your ex, Bobbi? Didn't she and her husband divorce a few years back? She's a good height for him," Natasha continued talking. "Is there any burn cream around here?"
" I think so… Ah, here!" He grabbed it and tossed it to her, immediately regretting it afterwards as she surely wouldn't catch it in her state.
Natasha did catch it and then sat up, pulling a face of pain. "You do know that this plane does fly itself, right?" She questioned sarcastically. "I'm bleeding to death here- get off your arse, Clint."
He sighed and trudged over, taking the bottle from her. "Sorry. And no, Bobbi is not going to like Steve. Now stop suddenly obsessing over this before I get a headache."
Natasha sat up, obviously more mobile than he had originally predicted. "You're the one who wanted to talk about Steve's love-life."
"Yeah, but that was before you got yourself beaten and burned half to death, Nat! His love-life is the last thing to think about right now as you're literally bleeding to death!" He cried, gesticulating wildly. After all that had happened in such a short time period, it was quite clear that he was very frazzled and a bit overwhelmed at this point.
"Stop shouting like a teenager, you'll wake the kid," Natasha scolded as she dropped the bottle into his hands. "Just put the cream on, stick the wounds and cover any serious burns in bandages." She ordered.
He nodded and did as told, shooting a furtive glance at the little girl every few minutes. "Are you feeling any better?" He asked after a while, as her shoulders appeared to have loosened from their tenseness.
"I'm fine. You good?" Natasha responded as she turned and faced him.
Clint took a deep breath and finished tying off a bandage. "Yeah… Yeah, I'm good. Worried, a bit in shock, but I'm good." He said, nodding to add emphasis.
"Do you need a hug?" Natasha asked rhetorically, before adding, "I'm sure the kid will give you one."
Clint laughed sarcastically. "Very funny, Nat. Anyway, who's kid is this?" He asked, gesturing towards the sleeping child.
A smirk made its way onto Natasha's face. "I thought you already knew."
"Uh, no. I know she's an agent's kid, but I don't know which agent's."
Her smirk somehow grew. "I can't tell you."
"What? Come on, Nat."
She shook her head. "I can't reveal somebody else's secrets, just like I wouldn't tell anybody about your children." He pouted, but she did have a point- he trusted her completely with his secrets, and even though it was annoying when she didn't tell him things, he appreciated it. "I would hurry up and get her back to the base, like Fury told us."
He mock-saluted. "Sir, yessir!" And then he was back in the cockpit, taking over steering the quinjet and pouring every ounce of speed into it. He wanted to get the little girl dropped off quickly and safely to whomever her parents are. And the sooner the kid was gone, the sooner he could get Natasha medical treatment.
Natasha was sitting cross-legged on the bed, glaring at the door. She had been told to lie down multiple times, but was pissed that the 'wonder machine', used to heal Clint's back when his side was practically shot off while getting the scepter back, didn't work on burns. Something about it not affecting the tissue, just the skin. Her back, arms, and shoulders were bandaged up. Her legs were fine, which made her more annoyed when she was told to stay; she was fine. Idiot doctors.
But, she listened to them and stayed; for now, anyway.
She was still glaring at the door when Steve happened to walk through it, seemingly catching him by surprise when he was immediately under her scrutiny. "How are you?" He asked, making his way to sit in the chair by her side.
"Stop," Natasha said, watching him halt; she pointed to the flowers in his hand. "Bin them, I'm not sick. And I don't need nor want flowers."
"Oh." He said, seeming crestfallen. He threw the offending plants in the trash before looking awkwardly to her. "How are you?" He asked again.
"Fine. Why do people keep asking me that? It was just a small explosion- barely grazed me," Natasha replied, irritated. She had told herself that she'd stab the next person who asked her with the knife in her hand, but didn't want to stab Steve. "Fine, give me the flowers." She decided, holding out her knife-less hand.
Steve brightened and handed them to her, smiling fondly. "People keep asking because people care. Also, it's one of the few appropriate things to say in this situation."
Natasha smelt the flowers. "Well, it's annoying." She replied, placing them gently onto the bed beside her. "How are you?" She asked him.
"Me? I'm fine; I wasn't the one involved in a 'small explosion.'" He said cheekily.
She turned, her mostly bare legs slipping out of the covers and over the side of the bed. "Mind escorting me to my bedroom?"
He blushed a little before shaking his head. "Sorry, no can do. You're under specific instructions to stay here."
"If you don't help me break out, I'll just leave on my own… and who knows what could happen to me, all by myself," Natasha said with an innocent pout in his direction before slipping off the bed, onto her feet and picking up the flowers. "Your choice, Steve."
Steve looked indecisive for a few moments, his natural desire to follow orders probably clashing with his desire to help the woman he cared about. Eventually he nodded and came to her side, helping her to stand fully upright. "Fine, but if we get in trouble, you're taking the blame." He said childishly.
"Like anybody would believe you've done something against the rules; they'd much rather believe I drugged you to cooperate," She replied easily, slipping her least injured arm around his shoulders- even though she didn't need his help to walk. "Can we get out of the door discreetly?" She questioned, glancing at the window as a possible exit strategy. With her free hand, she picked up the flowers.
"Well, considering everyone's fussing over a training incident a few doors down, I assure you that Sam is the only person they'd notice leaving right now." Steve replied confidently, slipping through the door and making a show of searching the empty hallway for any stragglers.
"What happened?" Natasha inquired; she couldn't help but wonder if it involved Wanda in any way. She would never admit that she had grown fond of the young girl.
Steve winced. "Well, let's just say that Sam won't be walking in straight lines for a while, and both Rhodey's pride and shins may be damaged for quite some time."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Males are such idiots." She commented as she started walking, giving him a tug.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "What is it?"
"You're walking like an old man, pick up the pace," Natasha replied impatiently.
"Ugh, fine." He conceded, walking faster until they reached her room.
Natasha let go of him and unlocked her door before stepping inside and looking at him. "Did you want to come in, too?" She offered, leaving the door open as she walked over to her wardrobe, wanting to change out of the gown she was in; she had been forced into it after being bandaged up.
"Oh, um, sure." He accepted, closing her door behind him. "Nice place."
Natasha glanced around the room; it was mainly as it came, but with thicker red sheets, random cushions that Clint kept randomly sending her and weapons neatly scattered on the side. "Thanks." She replied before pulling out pyjamas; no point in actually dressing. "I'm going to change." She spoke, giving him less than a second's warning before letting the gown drop to the floor.
"Whoa-!" He exclaimed, bringing up his hands to cover his eyes. "Natasha-!"
Natasha stared at him for a few seconds. "What? I warned you." She pointed out before slipping into the loose fitting clothes. "I'm decent," She informed him.
He hesitantly dropped his hands. "You most certainly did not! You don't say you're going to change and then strip two seconds later!"
She looked at him, confused, for a few moments. "Steve, I don't care if you see anything. It doesn't bother me."
"But it bothers me! I don't want to invade your privacy like that!" He insisted.
"It's not an invasion of privacy if you have permission," Natasha informed him as she rolled her eyes and walked over to her private fridge, pulling out two bottles of water, throwing one over to him before walking over to the bed to sit down.
He sighed but didn't comment further. "Did you irritate any of your burns on the way here?" He asked worriedly. "Walking can rub the bandages against them if you're not careful."
"No, it's mainly confined to my back, so most movements are fine," Natasha answered honestly. "Stop being so… concerned; just act as if I wasn't nearly blown up."
Steve blinked. "That might just be the most outlandish request you've made of me all week. You ask me not to be concerned… and then you talk about getting blown up!" He was frowning in disapproval. "Being concerned isn't something I can control; it's a feeling. It's hard not to be concerned, Natasha- you're obviously not okay, and you were in an explosion; it's frustrating that you ask me to pretend that everything is okay!"
"If this is what a relationship with you is going to be like, I think I'll pass," Natasha commented with a roll of her eyes; he was so damn annoying. She took a few gulps of water, her eyes discreetly watching Steve.
His eyes had widened slightly before he sighed in frustration. "There's no need to bring that into this. It has nothing to do with this situation, and saying something like that so casually as some sort of comeback is low, Natasha. You have no right to use that as a weapon." On this he was firm.
Natasha gulped, "That's not what I meant. You're just blowing this all out of proportion. You're worse than Clint." She added in another roll of her eyes and a sigh. "It's not like I was shot or anything- it's a few minor burns, and you are treating me as if I had just nearly died; which I did not."
Steve shook his head. "You could have, for all I know!" He said, a little louder than he should have. "You downplay everything, so how am I supposed to know what really happened? I care, and I was so worried, and suddenly you're insisting that everything is normal! You got blown up! Your back is covered in burns! That's not normal! So excuse me for caring about you!" He was clearly frustrated and at his wit's end.
"That doesn't mean you have to be so annoying," Natasha commented, dismissing what he said, ignoring everything she was feeling; she maintained the cool expression of uncaring.
He took a deep breath to keep control of himself and lowered his head, looking decidedly sad. "I was scared, Natasha. For a moment, when they wheeled you in, covered in burns, I was scared. I had no idea what happened to you, how you got so hurt. You're still hurting, despite how well you hide it, and you still won't tell me what happened. Do you realize how frustrating and unnerving that can be? I just wanted to know." His voice was pitifully quiet.
Great- how did he manage to make her feel bad at not showing her emotions? "I made sure Clint had gotten out with the hostage we rescued. Disabled the bomb. Collected the bike and had just left the building when a second bomb went off on the top floor. I was thrown forward, but it wasn't much of a direct hit. I was hit by rocks and bricks. I got back onto the bike and rode to the extraction point. That's what happened, and I'd rather not have to relive every damn injury I receive or talk about it, because it's not a nice thing. Pretending everything is normal is what keeps me sane. Okay?" She didn't care that her voice had turned slightly patronising towards the end.
He sat on the couch and rested his head in his hands for a few moments before taking a deep breath and looking back to her. "Alright, I'm sorry, Natasha. I was being a little too pushy, so I'm sorry." He placated.
"It's fine," Natasha replied, dismissing his apology.
"And Natasha?" He asked. "Thank you for telling me about what happened. It really means a lot to me." His smile was small but genuine.
"Okay, no getting sappy on me, or I'll ask you to leave," Natasha told him firmly.
"Okay, sorry." Steve amended. He stood up and approached. "Did you need anything? I could make some soup, if you're hungry." He offered.
She shook her head. "Actually, I think I might just get some rest."
Steve nodded. "Right, yes. Of course. You're injured, so you need your rest. I'll just… I'll just leave you to it, then." He said rather awkwardly. He started towards the door. "Sleep well!"
"Steve," Natasha called, halting him. "I think we should set some time aside to talk about… us."
He looked surprised, but offered a big smile. "You're right. Will you be available tomorrow?" He asked, looking hopeful.
"I doubt I'll be allowed to leave; Clint is probably listening right now, making sure I'm not planning on disappearing- Yes, I'll be free tomorrow."
"Great! Hey, I can bring a movie if you'd like, considering there's not much else to do in here."
"Sure; anything but Star Wars."
He grinned. "Alright, alright, I'll find something else. I'll see you tomorrow, Natasha." He started towards the door again.
"Bye, Steve." Natasha waited until he left before sliding out of bed and putting the flowers into a vase, turning out the lights, getting back into bed and falling into a much-welcomed sleep.
Thank you for reading! Next chapter up probably Friday with a surprise :D
