No. 7. Support/Carrying/Enemy to Caretaker

I've Got You

"You have got to be kidding me!" Clint muttered as he dodged another bullet, running as fast as he could down the alleyway, the woman hot on his tail.

"You won't escape!" she shouted in Russian, as she sprinted behind him.

"Oh really?" Clint snapped, fumbling for a smoke arrow as he ran. He shot it behind him and a veil of smoke shrouded him from view. He leapt onto a nearby fire escape as the woman coughed behind him, fanning smoke from her face.

Clint climbed up to the roof and nocked a regular arrow, shooting through the smoke and striking her in the arm. The woman grunted, and yanked the arrow from her arm. Clint nocked another arrow and loosed it, landing it in her leg. She snarled and ripped it out, looking up. The smoke had dissipated enough for the woman to see Clint through the thin haze, and she loosed a round of pistol shots back. Clint crouched a little too late, and took a bullet to the thigh.

He went down hard, gasping. She took that chance to spring up on the fire escape and scramble up behind him. Clint fired another smoke arrow, and then loosed 4 regular arrows into the haze. Judging from the sounds of pain, at least one arrow had met its mark. Clint backed away. He was supposed to kill her, but he really just wanted to get away.

Suddenly, the woman flung herself on top of him, and they tussled on the roof of the building, a bloody, dirty tangle of limbs and weapons. Clint, being bigger than she, managed to get on top and pin her to the ground.

"Stop...strugg..ling," he ground out, pressing her wrists to the cement, and sitting on her torso.

"Let...me...go...," she ground out back, kicking her legs, but Clint held firm. Letting go for one moment, he fumbled in his belt for a shot of sedative, while dodging her flailing hand. Clint managed to jam the sedative into her arm, into a small sliver of skin peeking from a tear in her suit.

Clint held her pinned until the sedative put her into a delirious state, and she relaxed in his hold.

"Who are you?" she asked in English, blinking blearily at him.

"Agent Clint Barton, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Logistics Division, at your service."

"That's a mouthful," she muttered, banging her head into the cement. "Go on. Kill me. Quit dragging this out."

"No, I don't think I will. I'm going back to SHIELD," he paused, "and you're coming with me."

"What?" The woman snapped, her head shooting up.

"You heard me."

"No."

"Yes," Clint said, watching as the sedative took more effect. Her eyes drooped, and her limbs went slack. Clint got off of her then, and pulled the medkit from his belt. He sat her up, supporting her back with his knee, then wrapped up the multiple arrow punctures in her skin, staunching the flow of the blood, before pulling a knife out and digging it into his leg, extracting the bullet from his thigh, screaming in pain. He wrapped it up quickly, then scooped up the woman in his arms.

"Coulson, ready for evac. Sending coordinates now," he said into his earpiece, then glanced down at the woman in his arms. "Don't worry. I've got you."