~Cabin~

Clint's fists were clenched as Natasha finished recounting the pain she endured. "They literally poured salt in your wounds," Barton sulked and drooped his head at the thought. Romanoff nodded from her seat on the floor, just feet from Clint.

"At least I didn't get pistol whipped like a bitch," she mocked. Natasha broke into laughter. It was a full belly laugh that hurt like hell, but worth it to lighten their spirits.

"Alright, alright," Clint laughed too for a few moments, "You got me there. But you know what I gotta do, Tash." He paused for a brief moment, and his smile slowly faded as he took in the reality of how much this was about to hurt his partner. She silently acknowledged this by turning her back to him as he explained, "It'll be fastest if you take your shirt off. You're cut up like a piece of paper back here. I'm gonna have to rinse all the salt out and then peroxide."

"Yeah... did you find any-" Natasha paused as Clint handed her a half glass of whiskey. "You know me so well already," she said, accepting the glass gratefully.

"I figured I would need some hard liquor if it were me," Barton assured. She unzipped the top part of her suit and drank the amber liquid down in just a couple gulps.

"Hey, I'm Russian. This isn't hard liquor," she half-heartedly teased in her Russian accent. Trying to reach behind her to undo the clasp on her bra sent waves of anguish through her. She side eyed Clint, and he picked up on what she needed him to do. He carefully undid the clasp that was hanging by a thread. Different layers of her flesh were clearly visible, like a cross section of the integumentary system out of a biology book. Gulping down his hesitation, he cracked open a fresh water bottle and got ready to pour.

Barton counted down as Romanoff braced herself. Squeezing the duvet, she felt the cold water hit her skin. Her face reddened, tears welled, and her teeth ground together. The involuntary groan of pain that she expelled disheartened him.

"That part is over, Tash. Disinfectant time, okay? You can do this," Barton said encouragingly. He had used peroxide on deep knife wounds on his leg before and remembered the searing pain it brought; it was better than an infection, but horribly unpleasant.

He dabbed a cotton ball into the bubbly liquid and began patting her gashes from top to bottom. It sizzled, hopefully killing anything that didn't belong there. She choked back grunts, and about halfway through, Natasha desperately needed a break. It felt like tiny, hot needles piercing the damaged tissue.

"Okay, okay, shit," she rambled through tears, "just give me a second." Pulling away from Barton, she spun to face him. She inhaled deeply, concentrating on regaining her composure, and forcefully suggested, "Wouldn't it be easier to just pour it all over in one go? This sucks."

"If I pour it, the clots will break up and you'll lose a lot more blood," Clint countered empathetically.

Now in agreement, she held her bra in place with one hand and scooted toward Barton as she rubbed her left eye. Clint held open his arms, sensing that she needed some physical reassurance. Glancing at him confusedly for a moment, she questioned whether it was okay to cuddle with a coworker.

"I don't bite," Clint said with a small, inviting smile. Natasha settled into his chest, smelling gunpowder and pine on his clothing. Barton brushed her fiery hair to the side as he allowed his partner to get comfortable. A thought crossed Romanoff's mind about how strange this would have been prior to this moment. Affection was still foreign to her, when it wasn't used as a tool of manipulation anyway. It was a nice feeling, she decided.

"We're almost done... I'll make it as quick as possible," he muttered, as he reached around her with a fresh cotton ball.

"Okay... Do it," she gulped. She squeezed his shoulder in pain as Clint picked up where he left off. Romanoff buried her face in his shirt. Another minute passed with her groaning and breathing hard. He laid the cut up shirt over her back and secured it with the gauze. Clint helped her zip up her suit over top of the bandages.

"I just need a hug," Romanoff admitted, embarrassed at the clinginess she felt.

"It's alright, Tash. We can stay like this if you want to," he comforted, feeling a tenderness for the woman in his arms.

And so they stayed. Leveling her breathing and taking in what a long day it had been, Romanoff finally spoke up, "If anyone asks, I was attacked by a pack of wolves and single handedly escaped."

Clint smiled and replied, "I don't doubt you could do that for even a second."

For more comfort, they moved to the couch and each drank a glass of whiskey. To say Clint Barton was a light weight would be an understatement. Now she understood why he thought of watered down whiskey as hard liquor. He was buzzed after half a glass.

Natasha was now sitting with her legs on Barton's lap, and they had turned on a 007 James Bond movie they found in the house. "Tash, I'm telling you, we're better agents than him. I mean, he doesn't even have that good of an aim. And he didn't single handedly take down a pack of wolves," he chortled as he looked at Natasha. She laughed at his rambling about how he had completed harder missions and how he would win in a fight against Bond. She finished fully splinting her ankle as he was visibly getting sleepy watching the movie.

"Clint, are you getting tired," she questioned, a yawn escaping them both.

"Yeah, I should probably go to sleep." He stood, fumbled his shirt off and looked out the windows, steadying himself on the closest pieces of furniture. He explained, "I put arrows up around the perimeter earlier and they'll sound an alarm if anything bigger than a rabbit goes by." Natasha looked at him puzzled.

"Hey, it's snowing outside, why are you taking your shirt off," she chuckled lightly, assuming he was too buzzed to understand the correlation.

"I feel like I'm choking if I sleep with it on. I was throat punched and dragged by my shirt once while I was asleep a few years ago. Some Colombian spy that was sent to kill me," he revealed, waving his hand to convey it was a minor detail. Natasha was amazed. She was pretty sure that was the most sincere thing he had ever divulged to her about his past. There had been vague discussion about how he had gone down a dark path before SHIELD and that he wanted to make it right. For two highly skilled agents who had been consistently working together for 6 months, they still didn't know much about each other.

Clint continued, "I'm sorry, I ramble a lot when I drink."

"No, don't apologize, I'm glad you're finally opening up. Is that why you've always offered to keep watch at night? You can't sleep," Natasha asked, limping over to put a couple more logs on the fire. Clint unsteadily walked over to help her.

"Well, I can sleep, I just wake up repeatedly and kinda sleep with one eye open. Its not favorable. I mean, if you're not comfortable with it, I can go in the other room. I figured since we just cuddled for the past couple hours, its fine, right" he stammered rubbing the back of his head.

"Its fine, you should be comfortable. Clint, why don't you ever open up like this more often," Natasha wondered. He took a moment to think about it, sitting on the couch again. Romanoff sat too, her injured leg drawn up onto the couch cushion, so she could face her partner.

Clint stared at his lap as he spoke. "I mean, being a secret agent will do that to you," he chuckled to himself. Then, with a more serious tone, he stated, "And I haven't found someone I can confidently be honest with. Until now." He looked her in the eyes for the last two words.

Now Natasha knew why they worked so well together. The solidarity she felt when Barton chose not to kill her was not one sided, it was mutual. It just took some extra time and booze to peel back the spy layer Clint and Natasha had become accustomed to.

The two agents swapped stories about their scars, past experiences, and laughed together late into the night. They fell asleep on the couch together, her legs still draped over Barton. She was glad they had been stranded together. Now they just had to get home.