been a hot minute since I've updated. sorry about that - real life is a bit of a writing time suck right now, but I'm trying to carve out some time here and there.

those who've read my other story 'Moments' might notice some references to a chapter in there... ;)

enjoy!

Clint eyed his partner critically. He let his gaze drift over her to catalogue the various bruises, gashes, and large swaths of bandages that covered the more dramatic injuries. Just a few hours before she had been far too pale and still bleeding as he'd been forced out of the room against his wishes. He knew she hated all things medical and wouldn't want to be left alone with doctors and nurses that she didn't know, but Coulson hadn't left any room for argument.

"Barton. Out." Coulson's words were firm and left no room for interpretation as he pointed his finger meaningfully to the door.

Clint stared him down with a hard expression. "You know that she hates medi-"

"Yes, I'm aware. But they're working to save her life, and you being in there does nothing to help them with that," Coulson returned calmly but with that same unmistakable steel in his tone. Clint prided himself on his ability to remain cool and collected during missions, but Coulson had always been on a whole other level with his ability to stay calm.

Coulson reached a hand toward him slowly, presumably to guide him toward the door. Clint shoved the hand away and took a step back. "I'm not leaving her alone with them," he replied gruffly.

"You know them, Clint," Coulson replied, tapping into what Clint had always assumed was an endless pool of patience. "It's the same team that worked on you after the Helsinki op."

Clint stared at him for a moment as the realization settled in that he did in fact know them. He wasn't a huge fan of all things medical himself, but even he had to concede they were good eggs. He knew on some level that he was being slightly irrational, and that his continued arguing was foolish, but he felt an odd need to ensure her safety. Staying in the room somehow did that.

Coulson tilted his head slightly and offered a smile. "Natasha knows you. She trusts you," he said knowingly, having sussed out the reason for his continued worry. Clint met his concerned gaze stubbornly in a battle of wills. "Sit in the hallway for all I care," Coulson added, "but you're not staying in this room. They need to work and they can't do that with you staring them down and being in the way."

Clint knew he should call Laura. She had a knack for understanding his sometimes-convoluted reasoning and knowing how to get through to him. She'd probably be able to get him to calm down and start thinking a bit straighter. He knew this, but he couldn't make himself do anything but stare at his partner who was looking too pale and very much worse for wear. She was only a few hours out of surgery and he knew there was no expectation that she should look dramatically better than she had when he'd brought her in, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the assurances from the doctor that the surgery had gone well and that she'd be fine were in error.

"You should call Laura."

Clint looked up to find Coulson entering the room with two cups of coffee. He readily accepted the one that was offered to him and nodded a silent thanks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, so even the stereotypically bad medical centre coffee tasted heavenly.

"She's gonna be out for a while yet," Coulson continued as he took a seat next to Clint. "Give Laura a call - I think it'd do you some good. I'll sit with her while you're gone."

Clint shook his head, partly in a physical manifestation of collecting his thoughts and partly in disbelief. "She came back for me."

Coulson leaned back in the chair and rested his ankle on his knee.

"Of course, she did. You're her partner."

"She had the thumb drive and was under strict orders to get it back to the extraction point asap. She disobeyed that order to come save me," he replied with another shake of his head.

Coulson eyed him for a moment, clearly trying to work out his logic in light of the fact that Clint himself went against protocols all the time. The woman lying on the bed beside them was living proof of that. "And you think Fury is going to punish her?"

Clint ran a hand through his hair roughly as he sighed heavily. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure he's been happy with her performance so far, but there's also a massive threat hanging over her head from him too. This wasn't a small act of disobedience. This was disobeying a direct order from her supervising agent."

Coulson shook his head. "Okay, now I know you're sleep deprived."

Clint frowned. "What?"

Coulson took a moment to take a sip of his own coffee before he clarified. "Let me get this straight. You think Fury is going to punish Natasha for going against orders in order to save your life? You actually think he's going to punish an agent for saving another, more senior agent's life?"

"Well, when you say it like that-"

"Look, I know people say Fury's an asshole, and a lot of the time he is." Clint's eyebrows rose at his handler's words. Phil Coulson was not the type to bad mouth colleagues. "But he's not that much of an asshole. He didn't have to allow her to defect in the first place, but he did. Despite what you might think, I know that he's rooting for her to succeed."

Clint blinked as he tried to process what he'd just been told. He knew, again, that Coulson was right. Fury was a good guy, even if his methods and execution weren't always the best, he had the best intentions at the root of it.

Coulson continued his argument when Clint didn't respond in any way. "There's been no indication from any of her missions, training, or evaluations to suggest that she is anything but a capable and motivated agent of SHIELD."

Clint let his head fall into his free hand and sighed as it sunk in that Coulson was right. There was no way Fury would take such drastic action on an agent that had been nothing but successful and loyal so far.

"Clint," Coulson said, tilting his head slightly. "Go get some sleep."

Clint looked up with a raised eyebrow. "If you want me to sleep, why'd you bring me a coffee?"

Coulson smiled, shook his head, and sighed lightly. "Because I knew you were going to ignore that order."

A smile flickered on Clint's face for a moment. "You really think she's gonna be okay?"

"The docs know what they're doing, Clint. You know Marc doesn't throw out assurances without basis. He's never been one to sugar-coat stuff."

Clint nodded as he took a sip of his coffee. He paused another moment before he replied, "I told her to go, Phil. She refused to listen."

"Of course, she didn't listen. You're her supervising officer, what did you expect?"

Clint grinned. He was quite proud that she seemed to have absorbed some of his penchant for shit disturbing, given that the environment she'd come from hadn't allowed for any sort of that behaviour.

Coulson smiled warmly. "She's come a long way in a short time, huh?"

Clint looked over at her prone form on the bed and then back to Coulson. "Sure has."

"You finish your report?" Coulson asked as he entered the room, a paper bag held in one hand and his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Clint stared at him with a confused expression. "The post-mission report…" Coulson clarified with a slight furrow of concern creasing his brow.

"Right," Clint said in recognition with a snap of his fingers once his brain finally kicked in. "Uh, no. Haven't had a chance to do that yet."

"Barton," Coulson warned.

"I know. I just-" he said, stopping abruptly as he sighed. "I didn't want her to be alone," he added.

Coulson put down the bag on a table before opening his bag to retrieve a laptop which he held out to Clint. "File the reports. You know there's going to be follow-ups on account of the severity of her injuries, so make sure to be detailed."

Clint accepted the laptop with a grateful smile. SHIELD was big on procedure and paperwork and he knew that not many handlers would be so forgiving and accommodating. "I will," he promised. Coulson arched an eyebrow meaningfully. "I swear on my bow, Phil. I'll get 'em done today."

"Good. But first, lunch," he said, reaching into the bag he'd set down and pulling out a couple containers. "The nurses told me you refused the food they offered to bring you."

"I hate hospital food," Clint muttered.

"This is not technically a hospital."

Clint glowered briefly. "Tastes like it."

"Which is why I brought you a sandwich and soup from Gregor's Deli."

Clint's expression brightened. "You went to Gregor's? Aw, you love me, Phil."

Coulson shook his head and rolled his eyes, but Clint could easily see the smile threatening to spread. "Eat, Barton. And then file your reports. That's an order."

Clint sat up and saluted lazily, prompting another roll of Coulson's eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Fuck."

Clint sat up at the quiet curse coming from the bed. "Hey," he said softly. He felt a smile begin to form and the pit of worry in his stomach begin to dissipate as he saw she was awake and staring at him.

"How bad?" she asked, voice rough but determined as her gaze drifted down her body, no doubt trying to catalogue her injuries.

Clint reached a hand over to stop her action of trying to sit up. "Hang on, you can adjust the bed so you don't have to get up," he said while looking for the remote that controlled the bed.

"How bad is it?" she repeated, undaunted by his lack of answer to her question.

He hadn't been looking forward to breaking the news of the severity of her injuries to her, but damned if a part of him didn't feel better knowing she was her normal self, worried about her mission readiness. He stopped looking for the remote and met her gaze. "You got one through the shoulder and one in the thigh, plus some cracked ribs from the fall," he supplied, unable to keep the grimace off his face. It had not been easy to watch. Being unable to do anything to stop it had brought a new level of anxiety he hadn't known he possessed. He'd become so used to her arguably ridiculous pain threshold that the expression of pain on her face when it had happened had damn near stunned him.

"Shit," she swore as her head flopped back against the bed in frustration. Whether the frustration stemmed from her inability to come out of the mission unscathed or that her injuries were severe, he wasn't sure. He was equally worried and relieved when she drifted back asleep quickly.

True to his word, Clint had begun completing the necessary reports. He sat in the chair he'd dragged next to Natasha's bed with the laptop Coulson had given him resting on his thighs as he tapped out his account of the events that had unfolded.

"You're still here."

"Hey, how ya feeling?" he asked as he looked up from his report.

"Why are you still here?"

He suppressed the frown that wanted to form and instead kept a neutral expression. It was maddening sometimes how someone so bright and well trained could understand so little.

"Nice way to say thanks, Romanoff."

"You saw I was fine earlier. Why are you still here?"

He clenched his teeth to rein in his anger that flared at another instance of running into something else the assholes at the Red Room had robbed her of. "Being laid up after an injury is awful enough as it is. No reason you have to be alone doing it."

Her brow furrowed. "But-"

"Look, I didn't have the best relationship with my parents growing up, but there were times when I was sick or hurt that all I wanted was my mom. I know you didn't have that, and you were raised to not need people, to not lean on them for support. I was raised that way too, but it's not true anymore. You can lean on me, and Coulson, and hell, even Fury."

"I-"

He held up a hand. "I'm not leaving, Natasha. Deal with it."

She blinked slowly a few times, eyes glassy from the meds she was on, and stared at him. It seemed to him that she was trying to formulate a response, but was having trouble finding the words she wanted to use. "I- Thank you," she settled on finally.

"You're welcome," he said as he looked back down at his report and hit the 'save draft' button before he closed the lid, leaned back and kicked his feet up onto the edge of her bed while using the remote to flick the tv up in the corner on. "Aw, look at that. You're in luck. Star Wars marathon starting in a couple minutes."

She managed, somewhat clumsily but with more grace than he'd expected, to shove his feet off her bed in a silent but pointed reply.

"Ow, alright, alright. No feet on the bed. Got it."

They made it through 15 minutes of the movie before she realized what he was doing. "Why are you here?" she asked pointedly.

"We covered that already, Natasha," he deflected, not looking away from the screen.

"But you're going home," she replied stubbornly, referencing his impending planned weekend home with Laura while not on call. Her words were not slurred, but there was an almost haze of confusion in her tone that was no doubt caused by the meds they'd given her for the pain.

"I'm pushing it off."

She stared at him for a moment with what he had come to identify as her incredulous 'you're not serious…' expression before she replied, "No."

"No?" he echoed in surprise.

"No," she confirmed. "Absolutely not. You're going home."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not about to leave you here alone."

"I don't need you here, Clint."

He supposed she'd been aiming for her words to be stinging. But after all the time they'd spent working together he'd finally begun to get to know the softer side of Natasha Romanoff, and so he knew her tone lacked the usual strength.

"I'm here to protect the nurses," he volleyed back with a quick grin.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "I'll behave if you go home," she bargained.

Fat chance of that. "Nat-"

"Clint, you haven't seen her in-"

"Laura will understand," he replied, cutting her off.

"This is not a nothing injury, Nat. It's serious."

"Yes, I'm aware," she remarked dryly. Despite the argument, Clint felt a bit better now that she was back to using her dry-as-the-Sahara humour. "It doesn't matter if she would understand. Go home and spend time with her."

"Nat-"

"I mean it, Clint. Go," she said firmly. Clint opened his mouth again to protest but she pre-empted him. "Coulson will check on me. You know that."

"Nat-" he tried again.

"You have a wife. She deserves to get to spend time with you."

"And I will when my partner isn't lying in a bed in medical with bullet holes in her body and cracked ribs."

"They're not going to heal faster just because you're here. Coulson can hover on your behalf."

He couldn't help the twitch of his lips at her insinuation of Coulson hovering (because he absolutely would hover - the man was like a fretting grandmother when his agents got injured), but he sobered quickly. "I-"

"This isn't the first time I've been injured, Clint."

No shit , he thought to himself miserably. The little he did know about her upbringing was more than enough to confirm her words were a serious understatement.

"First big injury at SHIELD," he countered.

Nat's expression shifted and it was then that Clint realized that she understood exactly why he was so vehemently protesting leaving her. Her tone softened a touch as she began to speak again. "I know it's different, Clint. You think I haven't thought about it? You think I didn't notice the difference between this and how it used to be? You think I didn't realize that getting actual medical care rather than being expected to patch yourself up was different?"

Clint found himself at a loss for a response and simply blinked at her words. It was uncharacteristic of her to unload like that, and truthfully it had unnerved him a bit. He wasn't used to hearing her talk about herself that much and certainly not with that much...vigor.

"The fact that you and Coulson care for me and not just what skills I bring to SHIELD...that's enough." She paused to let her words sink in. "I know it's different, Clint," she added as she held his gaze meaningfully and he felt himself begin to lose steam in his argument. "So please, go home to your wife and eat some of that homemade apple pie she makes that you love so much," she finished with a small smile.

"She's right, you know," Coulson said from the doorway.

Clint exhaled heavily as he turned to glance at Coulson briefly. "That you'll hover?" he quipped.

Coulson smiled, but Clint could tell he'd read right through his quipped words. "I don't hover," he protested. "I ensure the health and well-being of my agents."

Clint saw Natasha's smirk out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help rolling his eyes in a show of solidarity with her at the ridiculousness of his words.

"I'll make sure she behaves for the nurses," Coulson assured. "I'm told I can be persuasive," he added in reply to Clint's look of skepticism.

"I'm right here," Natasha interjected.

"This doesn't feel right," Clint said with a shake of his head, ignoring her objection.

"Go, Clint," Natasha said firmly, "or I'll get Coulson to call Laura."

Clint's gaze narrowed at her threat, assessing whether she'd really pull that card. He glanced at Coulson who just shrugged with that neutral expression that had a hint of a smile in it. Shit. He's on board with it . No way I'm winning this one.

"I'm keeping my phone on."

"You okay, babe?"

Clint looked over at Laura. "Yeah, why?"

"Well, for one you've put about twelve coats of paint on that section of the wall." He looked down at the roller in his hand and then up at the wall which was, admittedly, very well covered with the new colour.

"Everything alright? You've been pretty distracted since you got here."

"Sorry, I-"

She immediately shook her head and held up her hands in a motion for him to stop. "Don't be. It's alright, I'm just asking."

God, I love this woman , he thought, grateful for how understanding she was about everything that came along with his job.

"Are you worried about Natasha's injuries?" He blinked at his wife's ability to hone in on the topic of his concern seemingly with ease. "I thought you said the doctors said she would be fine."

"I did. She will. I just…" he trailed off and put down the roller before gesturing for them to sit on the nearby couch, safely covered by a drop cloth. "This is gonna sound ridiculous."

"Try me," she challenged with an encouraging smile as she sat next to him and put her legs over his lap. He clasped his hands on her knees and squeezed them affectionately.

"I feel bad about leaving her there. I know Coulson's keeping an eye on her, and I know that she's fully capable of handling it on her own, I just- She hasn't had a serious injury like that at SHIELD, and I'm pretty sure she's never been in a situation where people actually care about her recovery beyond her mission readiness," he explained, the words spilling out a bit quicker than he'd intended. "And I-"

Laura tilted her head and smiled knowingly. "You wanted to stay," she interrupted plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He grimaced guiltily. "Yeah," he exhaled. "I know it's been ages since you and I have had any time together, but I just- I was the one who brought her into this, you know? And she saved my life when she didn't have to. She went against my orders to do it, and got a couple bullets and some cracked ribs for her trouble."

Laura was quiet for a beat before she answered. "She's come a long way from that teenager I met in the diner." He nodded, because she absolutely had. "And that includes her understanding and building trust

with you. She doesn't make that play to save your life if she doesn't trust you, Clint."

"I know."

"Did she say she was fine before you left?"

He looked up sheepishly at having been caught out. "Yeah."

"Then honour that. You can check in and be supportive, but she needs agency of her own too."

"She's not so good at asking for help though."

"Not unlike a certain man I know," Laura replied with a knowing smile. "Phil's with her, I assume?" He nodded. "Then she'll be fine."

Clint was quiet for a moment and when he looked up at Laura she smiled again. "You want to bring her here."

His eyes widened. "You sure you don't wanna join SHIELD?" he joked. "You seem to have an uncanny ability to read minds. Could be pretty useful."

"Limited to yours on rare occasions, I'm afraid," she replied with a smile. "Just so you know, I'm fine with it. Invite her here to spend some time. She's already been here once, and it's clear that this partnership of yours is going to last. It'll be good to get to know her, and to thank her properly for saving your ass."

He held her gaze for a moment, wondering not for the first time how he'd gotten lucky enough to meet and fall in love with her. "Did I tell you that I love you today? Because I do. I absolutely do," he said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her knee.

Laura smiled and sat up, leaning forward to give him a kiss. "You did, but I don't mind hearing it again. And it just so happens that I love you too."

He grinned and kissed her again. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"I do," she replied as she laid back down and stretched her arms behind her head lazily before she met his gaze again while reaching a hand up to hold his. "I was serious about inviting Natasha."

"I know. Maybe after she recovers some more. I don't think she'd do well in an unfamiliar place while less than mission ready."

Laura nodded. "I suppose not. You know what this means, right?"

He frowned. "No, what?"

"Finishing that guest room upstairs just got pushed higher up on the priority list."

Clint chuckled. "I suppose you're right. You get your way after all."

She grinned. "We both know I'd have gotten my way anyway."

"Yes ma'am." They fell quiet for a moment before a thought occurred to him. "You sure about this, Laur?"

Laura smiled as she sighed lightly. "She's a good kid."

He pursed his lips. "I don't think she was ever really a kid."

"Probably not," she agreed. "But she took a bullet for you. Several, in fact. If that's not enough of a resume, then I'm not sure what is."

He hesitates, because there's still a lot about Nat that is unstable and uncertain. Letting her meet Laura while in his presence at a diner was one thing. Having her sleep at their home was another. "Laura," he began slowly, "you have to understand that she's not exactly-"

"What? Normal?" He sighed because it was what he meant, but it wasn't something he wanted to have meant.

"Normal's overrated."

"Babe-"

"Clint, a little trauma isn't going to scare me."

"It's not a little, Laura," he said meaningfully.

"All the more reason to bring her here. Clint, she deserves to have some of this peace. I know you want to give her that. I know you do, because you're a good man. The same good man that spared her life."

He stayed quiet as he considered it.

"Let's give her this, Clint."

"Okay," he agreed with a nod.

A couple months passed before he deemed it safe enough to broach the subject and not have her dismiss it out of hand out of fear or concern she wouldn't be fit enough.

"So, I've been thinking." Nat stared at him, head tilted ever so slightly and her expression silently requesting him to continue speaking. "I'm due to take some vacation time, and you're on medical leave for at least another month."

"Ok…"

"You should come with me."

Nat glanced around, checking for anyone who might overhear, and he respected her all the more for her discretion. "To the farm?" she clarified.

"Yeah," he said plainly with a nod, "visit for a bit."

She frowned deeply. "But that's your home."

Her response confused him and he mirrored her expression with a frown of his own. "Yeah."

"You want me to visit your home?"

"Yes."

"To...to stay?"

His heart clenched at the uncertainty in her words. It felt so out of place from her normally self-assured and no-room-for-bullshit tone. He swallowed, willing himself to keep a relaxed expression. "Yes."

"Why?"

He held her gaze for a moment and found in her eyes a genuine confusion that broke his heart. "Because you're my partner. Because you saved my life. Because you're my friend," he listed off. "But mostly because I want to bring you there."

She shakes her head. "Clint, I can't impose-"

"It's not imposing if I'm inviting you. I want you to come. Laura wants you to come."

"You don't have to do that," she argued. "I can stay here to finish off my medical leave-"

"Nat, listen," he interrupted and waited for her gaze to tip up and lock with his own. "I'm not doing this out of pity or because I feel compelled that I owe you something after you saved my life-"

Her interruption was swift and resolute. "You don't. I owe you."

Clint's eyes widened. "What?"

"I owe you. You saved my life when you went against your orders to kill me. You gave me...all of this. A brand-new life. I can't ever repay that."

Clint felt physically sick as he realized that their partnership was, in her eyes, an unequal one. "Is that why you did what you did? Is that why you took those bullets?"

"You're a good person, Clint. Better than me. Better you to live than me."

Clint felt like he was going to throw up. "Natasha," he said softly, sadly, "you don't owe me anything, okay? Everything you do from here on out is up to you. You matter too, and there's no need to do anything because you feel indebted to me. We're square, okay?"

She offered a small smile that Clint clocked immediately as fake and he scrubbed his hands over his eyes. "So, you in?"

She hesitated and he shot her a look that was half encouraging and half warning that she better knock off the ledger comparisons. "If you're sure-"

"I am. I'll pick you up on Friday. Pack warm, it can get chilly there this time of year.

She nodded seriously and he gave a quick nod of his own before waving and heading out of the room. As he made his way toward Coulson's office, he began to think of the ways he might be able to convince her that she didn't owe him a damn thing.

so...did you enjoy Clint's mother hen instincts? Coulson's ability to put up with Clint's nonsense? Laura calling Clint out on his shit?

as always - thoughts, comments, suggestions are welcomed.

despite the longer wait between updates, there's definitely more of this story to come, so bear with me!