A Superhero Of My Own
Clint Barton/Claire Temple
HawkNurse
Theme song:
Nickelback – Savin' Me
Spanish translations can be found at the end of the chapter.
"Claire," there was a frantic knocking at her door. "Claire!"
She groaned and dragged herself off the couch. It had been a long, long night in the ER, a double shift, a full moon which meant the weirdos were out in force. But the knocking and the voice at her door sounded urgent.
"Santino," she said on a sigh, leaning on the doorframe.
"¡Lo siento, pero hay otro hombre en su contenedor de basura!" Santino babbled, and she cursed under her breath.
"¿No es Matt?" she checked.
"¡No! ¡Otro hombre!"
"Shit," she said, aloud this time. Santino gave her a pathetic look. "Okay, I'm coming, I'm coming, hang on." She scrabbled for her shoes, tugged them on. Hurried down the steps after the boy.
It wasn't Matt Murdock. It was another superhero, and this one she recognised; she'd seen his face on national TV. He wasn't in costume, though, was wearing only a pair of grey trackpants and a torn purple T-shirt, his feet bare. Perhaps that was why Santino hadn't recognised him, Claire thought, glancing sideways at the teenager, seeing his incurious expression.
Well, leaving Hawkeye unconscious in the dumpster really wasn't an option. She debated calling Jessica, for a brief moment. Someone with superstrength would come in handy right about now. Hawkeye wasn't overly tall but he was solidly muscled.
However, considering the time of night, Jessica was highly likely to be drunk, in bed with Luke, or both. Claire sighed and squared her shoulders.
"All right," she climbed up and into the dumpster, wrinkling her nose at the disgusting smell as bags squished under her feet. "Let's have you out of here, buddy. Santino, you grab his legs."
Claire checked Hawkeye over quickly once they had him on the ground; he didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere but there was a spectacular lump on his temple. She felt around it nervously.
"If you've got impenetrable skin too, I'm so fucking done," she told the unconscious man.
"¿Por que?" Santino looked at her oddly.
"Never mind. Come on."
One arm over each of their shoulders, they hauled him up to Claire's apartment and dumped him on the couch. Santino hovered nervously by the door until Claire waved him out with a thank-you, and then he fled like a nervous rabbit, the door banging shut behind him.
"So," Claire said, looking down at the unconscious superhero on her couch with a sigh, "let's see what's up with you, then."
She retrieved some ice from her freezer, wrapped it in a cloth and bound it carefully to the lump on his brow before looking the rest of him over. He was barefoot, and his feet were scratched and cut, filthy too, so she fetched some water and Betadine to clean them up. Considering them, she decided at last to bandage them as well. If he was anything like Matt or Jessica, he'd be up and running for the door the second he was conscious, and he really shouldn't run on those feet.
Turning her attention to his legs once his feet were bandaged, Claire felt around all the joints through his trackpants, slid her hands over the long bones. She couldn't feel anything out of place, but she'd have to wait for him to be conscious to check if he had any pain to be sure.
Moving on up to his chest, she discovered that the purple T-shirt was badly gashed across his stomach, almost hanging off. WIth a feeling of sudden dread, she pushed it up. If he had a gut wound - but there was nothing, only some rather perfect abdominal muscles.
With some scribbled black writing across them.
Claire read the words with a sudden sense of impending doom. If you've got impenetrable skin too, I'm so fucking done.
"Oh, fuck me sideways," she said aloud.
"Language," a raspy voice murmured, and she looked up, startled, to meet a pair of blue-grey eyes peering back at her.
"What?"
"Not that I wouldn't like to take you up on the offer because hot damn, have you seen you?"
Claire blinked, having the confusing feeling that she'd just stumbled into some sort of parallel dimension, and said "What?" again.
"You're gorgeous, and considering that you've got your hands all over my abs, I think I'd better introduce myself - I'm Clint Barton."
"I know who you are!" Cheeks burning, she snatched her hands off his stomach. "You're Hawkeye."
He grimaced. "Well, technically, yes."
"Technically?" She sat back on her heels and gave him an incredulous look.
"I'm on leave."
"Avengers get to go on leave?"
He gave her a weary smile. "Sokovia was pretty rough."
"Oh…" she remembered now, seeing the footage of the young blond speedster the media had dubbed Quicksilver, dying in a hail of bullets protecting Hawkeye and a child. "I - I'm sorry."
"'S'alright. Well, it's not, but - I'm gettin' past it." He shrugged a thickly muscled shoulder, winced. Jerked back to her senses, Claire frowned.
"What just hurt?"
"Everything?" He tried to push himself up to a sitting position. Claire shoved him down firmly.
"No you don't. I'm a nurse."
He took her in with one quick glance, flicked a second around her apartment and returned his gaze to her face with one eyebrow eloquently raised.
"This is not the first time I've found an unconscious superhero in my dumpster," Claire confessed, and he barked out a short laugh before groaning and pressing against his ribs.
"The dumpster. Shit, I remember now. The Russians!"
"Please tell me they're not more Ranskahovs!"
Clint blinked, several times. "Not to my knowledge," he said slowly. "The Ranskahovs dropped off the map a few months back. How do you…?"
"It's a long story which started with that other superhero I found in my dumpster."
"Which sounds terribly interesting." He looked at her expectantly, and when she said no more, changed tack. "So what were you swearing a blue streak about when I woke up?"
That was an even more uncomfortable question, but lying to him about it really wasn't an option. Taking a deep breath, Claire stood up and tugged up the hem of her T-shirt.
Clint's eyes went very wide as he stared at the single word scrawled almost illegibly over smooth golden skin. Language.
"So," he said slowly, "that other guy in the dumpster had impenetrable skin?"
Claire winced. "No. That's another friend of mine. I… seem to be afflicted with superheroes."
Clint went very quiet before saying "You know there isn't actually anything super about me, right? I'm just pretty good with a bow." He tried to push himself to sit up again, and Claire dropped the hem of her T-shirt and leaned over, pressing on his shoulders lightly.
"Don't, Clint, you're hurt!" The ice pack slipped off his head and she grabbed it, put it back. "There's a huge lump on your head, and the way you're moving, you've got at least a couple of cracked ribs."
He grinned up at her. "You really are a nurse. Excellent assessment."
She couldn't help but smile back at him. "And you really are going to be trouble. I can just tell."
He caught at her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed her fingertips lightly. "I still don't know your name, oh sweet damsel who makes a habit of rescuing idiots with hero complexes from her dumpster."
"Claire," she said, smiling wider. "It's Claire Temple."
"That's pretty." He reached out, touched her cheek gently. "You're pretty. Too pretty for a beat-up old hack like me."
"Oh, don't you dare start with that." She rolled her eyes, but she didn't pull away from the touch of his calloused fingertips. Her own curled around his wrist, tentative at first, but then firmer. "It seems the universe has been afflicting me with superheroes in preparation for getting one of my very own."
"I told you, I'm not a superhero."
Leaning down, she kissed him lightly before telling him "Yes, Clint. You are."
xoxoxoxoxoxoxox
¡Lo siento, pero no hay otro hombre en su contenedor de basura! - I'm sorry, but there's another man in your dumpster!
¿No es Matt? – It's not Matt?
¡No! ¡Otro hombre! – No! Another man!
¿Por que? - What?
As always, I'd love to hear what you think!
