I do not own Marvel or Hawkeye or Black Widow. If I did, there would already be a Hawkeye movie and a partnership in existence. Seriously, I want my Black Widow movie.
Anyway, enjoy. And please review.
It was two in the morning, the sky in a state of torrential downpour, as it tended to be in Paterson, New Jersey.
The taxi driver kept glancing in his rearview mirror, more concerned with the paperwork he'd have to fill out if the man in his backseat bled to death than he was with the man himself and his state of wellbeing. His black jacket was slashed to strips of blood soaked fabric, leaking thick red fluid over the man's lap and the back seat of the taxi. The man couldn't see, that much was clear in the way he'd blindly held out the roll of cash for the driver to take instead of handing it to him.
The taxi rolled to a stop in front of the building that matched the address the bleeding man had given to him, and he turned so he was speaking at the passenger, clearing his throat to draw his attention.
"We're here," he said gruffly. His customer kicked the door open with a grunt and stumbled out onto the sidewalk, narrowly dodging a pair of men haggling over what looked to be a gun. The rain pelted the roof, deafening the driver to just about everything as he watched the man who'd paid him more than double what he owed stumble through the double doors of the crumbling apartment building.
Lucky perked up suddenly, head flinching in the direction of the front door of his owner's apartment. His tail started wagging and he jumped up, placing his paws on the edge of the bed that his owner usually slept in but was right now occupied by another human. The redhead's eyes flashed open, hand tightening infinitesimally around the knife she kept under her pillow. As much as she disliked animals in general, she appreciated the dog's sense of hearing that worked better than just about any security system she knew her partner couldn't afford. She nodded at the dog and he bounded out of the bedroom, into the living room, nudging the man who was asleep on the couch with his nose. He was up in mere moments, blankets falling away to reveal his low slung sweat pants, bare chest and the Desert Eagle clenched in his fist.
She held up a hand to the man and dog, both of whom remained where they were, waiting while the more awake of the two people neared the door in her sports bra and shorts, knife held down by her side.
"Nat," the man on the other side of the door called. Her shoulders fell slightly, relaxing the nearly painful offensive position she had fallen into. The knife however, remained held at the ready as a precautionary measure while she opened the door.
"Murdock." Natasha stated. It wasn't a question, she knew it was him, and a quick observatory glance at his body told her exactly why he was here. The only person with medical training who was in the know regarding his nocturnal activities had since removed herself from his life and he looked to be in a worse enough condition to need the help of the only people left in the world he could call friends.
"Matty!" Clint chirped, a little too loudly since when Natasha was there he slept without his hearing aids. He walked up behind Natasha, Lucky remaining where he had last been told to stay. Just as Clint shifted to toss an arm around Natasha's shoulders, he looked Matt Murdock up and down. The man in the hallway brought his hand up to his forehead in the sloppily carried out sign for hello. His hand fisted next, thumb protruding from the top as he signed help at his deaf friend. It looked a little odd, right hand shaking, left gripping onto the door frame. Whatever support it was giving the vigilante ceased its effectiveness a moment later and Clint lunged forward, stepping around and in front of Natasha and catching Matt as his chest collided with Barton's bicep.
"Tash, clear the couch." Barton called, nearly whispering in way of accommodating Murdock's sensitivity to sound.
Matt could hear the rustling of papers, the sound of a blanket's fabric fluttering, and Natasha's quickening heart beat get further away until it neared again and was followed by the loud thud of the pair's oversized med kit hitting the ground. Clint lowered his friend onto the couch and pulled away the remaining strips of fabric that were one a sweatshirt and his black underarmour. The man's torso very closely resembled a cutting board. A Jackson Pollock of slices covered his skin, some shallow, some not so much, and some deep enough to warrant a sick sort of concern; they were all in worrying places. The attacker knew what he was doing. There was one, though, that made him more nervous than any of the others. One that left a glint of metal visible just between where Barton knew there was a gap between two of the blind man's ribs.
He opened the med kit and pulled out the things he'd need to put Matt Murdock back together. It wasn't until he had laid nearly all of the medical supplies on the thrift store grade coffee table that he realized he hadn't heard anything from Murdock in a few minutes.
"Matty," Clint called, tapping his shoulder and quickly drawing his hand back before Matt could catch it in a move of self-defense. "Vit rep?" he requested. The three of them fell silent while Matt listened to his organs, monitoring his own vitals.
"Nothing important," Matt responded through gritted teeth.
"Alright. Tasha?" Natasha moved towards the men. "Matt, Nat's going to come sit with you." He informed the man so he would be less startled when things happened that he couldn't see coming given how lethally silent Natasha could be. Though Clint noted she seemed to be making her movements purposefully louder. She lifted the Daredevil's head up and slid underneath him, settling his head in her lap. She laid her hands on his shoulders, not yet exercising any weight to hold him down. Clint was pulling gloves on and Matt stiffened when he heard the quiet snap of the latex glove and the metallic sound of him pulling the tweezers out of their sheath.
"How'd this happen anyway?" Natasha asked, chuckling a little. Matt's mouth twitched. He knew what she was trying to do but honestly couldn't bring himself to feel condescended.
"Son of one the members of The Hand, grew up to not appreciate me being involved in the Punisher killing his dad. Jumped me in my apartment." He summarized.
"Zakhvatyvayushche," Natasha said drily, glancing upwards and tightening her grip on Matt's shoulders just as Clint approached his chest with tweezers. "1, 2, 3…" she counted softly in Matt's ears. He yelled as Clint pushed the metal tool into the deepest cut, fishing around for the bit of metal still stuck between his ribs. Natasha tilted her forehead against his, humming softly while she used most of her bodyweight to hold him still. "You wanted to know what I look like." Natasha recalled. Matt didn't give any indication that he had heard her. "Matthew,"
"I do," he breathed out, sucking in air sharply just after that as Clint prodded his ribs.
"She's very pretty," Clint spoke up, smirking at Natasha.
"No- No kidding Barton." Matt groaned. Natasha scoffed and shifted her hands around so that her right arm was laying across his chest, keeping him from arcing up every time pain spiked through his body. Her left hand grasped his and guided it to rest against her face. His fingers started moving then, feeling the contours of her face. His nails would press into her skin every few moments but for the most part, he remained distracted from much of the pain Barton was inflicting.
"Her eyes are green." Clint called out after a few minutes, glancing up from his work.
"What kind of green?" Matt's voice was broken and raspy. Clint paused for a second, squinting at his friend's lips at the dark. Then realization dawned and he focused hard again, like he'd never really thought of that.
"They look kind of fake almost, I guess." He said thoughtfully, glancing at her face. "They're like light green but they have like hazel and neon green in them too. It's really… they're beautiful."
Natasha's lips parted slightly as she stared at Clint. Matt's fingers were still making their way up her face. Clint brought her focus back to what was important when he gave her a nearly unnoticeable glance that she knew meant he had found the weapon remnants. She pulled his hand away from her face, muttering to Matt that Clint was going to take it out now. He breathed out shakily and braced himself, Natasha murmuring things he didn't listen to once his own breathing and groans drowned it out.
Matt remained almost completely out of it while Clint finished stitching up the deepest cuts, patching up the shallow ones. He writhed and groaned under Natasha's hands, ignoring the words she murmured in a vain attempt to distract him.
By the end of it, he was left sweaty, gasping for oxygen, trembling slightly. Clint returned the clean first aid supplies to their box, placing the rest in a dish to be washed.
'You want to stay?' He looked at her, signing quickly and sloppily, blood dried to his glove covered hands, and his shirt. Natasha nodded shortly, hand tracking absentmindedly through Murdock's hair.
'I'll come to bed in a bit'
He nodded and climbed out of his odd position on the couch, kissing the top of her head on his way out of the room.
Please review, and I'll love you forever.