"Don't Say Goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation
"Yippee, another Stark party," Clint bemoaned. He wanted to get some sleep after the last team mission, but Tony was insistent everyone needed to attend the gala. It was a fundraiser for some charity Tony was on the board of, so to make him look good, he wanted the team there.
"Stop whining, bird boy," his fiancée Mikayla said. "You'll just make an appearance, wave at people, make sure he sees you, then we can leave. Besides," she hooked her arms around his neck, "you know what you effect you have on me when you wear a tuxedo." She trailed her nails along the nape of his neck.
"Good point, but if you don't stop that, we'll never make it, and then we'll never hear the end of it from Shell Man."
She sighed. "Fine, but you owe me." She then straightened his bow tie.
"And happy to pay that debt, of course." He smirked and his eyes twinkled as he gave her a quick kiss, then took her hand. "Ready?"
"Let's head out. Everyone else has already left." They walked to the parking garage, got into Mikayla's company vehicle, and sped off.
"Have I said how much I love this car?"
"Only every time I let you drive it. You're used to driving SHIELD sedans, so you enjoy it when I let you drive my Stark Industries provided sports car. I can't say I blame you, though. It is a pretty sweet car and a great executive perk for the Assistant Director of IT."
Everything was going fine, they were going to make it to the gala on time until there was a commotion in front of them. A car had stalled in the middle of the two-lane road. Clint swerved to miss it, hit an oil slick, and the car flew off the side of the road, through the barrier, rolled a few times, and came to rest upside down at the bottom of a ravine.
"Clint?" Mikayla pulled her head out of the airbag. "What happened?" She felt something wet on her forehead. She put a hand up and pulled it away and saw bright red blood. She tried moving her other arm and her legs, found she was able to. "Clint?" She let out a terrifying scream. His head was tilted to one side, his arms were bleeding, and his legs were…where the hell were his legs? "Oh, God, Clint, no!" She was able to pull out a knife she had strapped to her thigh (thank you, Nat) and was able to cut her seat belt off while trying not to concentrate on the pain shooting through her arm. Mikayla was able to maneuver out of the vehicle but couldn't put any weight on one of her legs. She looked down and saw one foot pointing the wrong way, but the other leg appeared to be in working order. Both of her wrists were broken, but at least she was conscious. She half-crawled, half-dragged herself to the other side of the car, doing her best to avoid any wreckage strewn across the ground. She was able to pull herself up to evaluate Clint, and what she saw scared the living daylights out of her. The steering wheel appeared to be the only thing holding him upright, and she saw where his legs were. The dashboard had crashed onto his legs, pinning him in the seat, the engine block sitting on top of him. She thought she heard something and looked up to see Clint trying to say something. "Shh, don't speak, save your energy."
"How…you?" She put her ear to his mouth so she could hear him, his raspy voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm fine, Clint. I'm going to get you some help."
"Babe…my job…"
"Right now, let me do your job, okay?" She was trying to keep her voice from shaking and was failing miserably.
"Micki…stay…"
"Shhh, I'm going to go right up the hill and flag someone down. I'll be back in 5 minutes, 10 at the most." She tore off a piece of her dress and gently wiped his face. "Hold on for me, okay?"
"Good…"
"Oh, hell, no. You are not going to say goodbye. I didn't give you permission, Clinton Hawkeye Barnes. You made a promise to me. We're going to grow old together, you told me that, and you keep your word. Do you hear me? Do not die, that's an order, Hawkeye!" She was screaming at this point because she felt like he was fading. "Now, my job is to get help, your job is to stay alive. Do you understand me?"
"Yes…ma'am."
She wiped his face again. "I love you with everything I have, Clint. Hold on to that and I'll be back with help. I'll get the team and we will get you out of here, okay?"
"OK. Love you…" Clint fell unconscious again.
She leaned in, kissed his bloody cheek, then started on the long trek up the ravine. As she dragged and crawled up, she couldn't believe what she saw ahead of her. Before, she had always teased Clint about keeping a weapon in the vehicle. "You never know when you might need it," he preached. If he were next to her, she'd kiss the hell out of him right about now. She reached and grabbed the gun and was even happier when she found out which gun it was. Tony had been goofing off in the lab one day and came up with dual-use guns that would shoot either bullets or flares. He was so excited he made a color-coded one for each team member. She looked and saw it had a purple arrow etched into the side of it. Mikayla flipped the switch to flare and aimed it toward the sky. She fired it and purple fireworks exploded above her. She smiled as she passed out, trusting the team would find them.
As she was making her way to get help, Clint did his best to remain conscious. He was afraid if he didn't, he wouldn't wake up again. He was able to move his head. 'Doesn't look good,' he thought to himself. 'Steering wheel on my chest, can't feel my legs, nope, Barton, not looking good at all.' He looked around. 'Where's Mikayla? Why did she leave me? Can't she tell I'm not in any shape to save us?' Clint looked down and saw a scrap of dark material in his hand. 'Right, went to get help.' He leaned his head back and thought about the situation he found himself in; stranded in the wreckage of a vehicle, unable to move his legs or even see them. He was alone, isolated, no way to call for help. He heard a shot go off in the distance, looked up, and saw fireworks. 'She finally listened to me and put a gun in the car. Now I have to stay alive to tell her I told you so and rub it in her face.' Those were his last thoughts before giving in to the overwhelming feeling of weariness and closing his eyes.
Several days later, he opened his eyes and through the squinting could make out Mikayla. She had casts on both wrists and was sitting in a wheelchair. "Told you not to say goodbye. I'm glad you listened." She smiled and had someone roll the chair closer to him.
He tried to raise his head, but he was stopped by Steve, who placed a hand on his shoulder. "Might not want to do that right now, Clint."
"What's the damage this time? Have I officially broken every bone in my body yet?"
"I didn't realize that was a goal to shoot for," Steve muttered under his breath. He addressed Clint's question. "Not sure what the previous tally was, but this time it was a broken back, crushed legs, and a broken finger."
"Well, damn, now I can't shoot until my finger heals."
Steve turned to Mikayla. "Seriously? Of all the injuries, he's most concerned about the finger?"
"Fingers are important for shooting arrows, Steve. Do you think he's going to let anything like a broken back or temporary loss of the use of his legs stop him? Nope, but take away a finger, you can't get true aim."
"Listen to her, Cap. I trained her, so she should know."
Steve rolled his eyes. 'Well,' he thought, 'this may finally end their tradition.'
Natasha entered the hospital room. "Hey, Rogers, aren't you supposed to be making sure the lovebirds don't hurt themselves any further?"
He turned around and groaned. Clint had found the controls and moved the bed into a sitting position. Steve thought there was no way with the combination of their injuries they would be able to do anything, but he once again underestimated them. Clint had used his arm to lift her out of her wheelchair and sat her on the bed next to him. He made sure her injured ankle was propped up on the same pillow his legs were. She had one arm stretched across his chest and the other one over his head, and, yep, round 8 of tongue hockey had begun.
Nat chuckled. "Guess the finger doesn't bother him too much."