Favouring her with one of his intense iron-grey stares, Barton causes her racing thoughts to still and eases a tightness in her chest that she hadn't even known was there. Somehow just knowing that he is there at her side makes things better. Just knowing that he is close by makes it easier to focus through the near blinding pain that assaults her temples and makes her wish for unconsciousness.
"Shouldn't be here," she manages to grind out, pressing her fingers into her temples and screwing her eyes shut at the soft, yet inexplicably blinding, light that spills into the room through the partially closed bathroom door. She knows that if she is injured SHIELD's medical personnel will be on their way and that if they find him here their relationship will become common knowledge and the subject of water cooler gossip – something they have been actively trying to avoid.
He tuts softly under his breath and adjusts the pillow beneath her head to help her settle more comfortably. "Did you really think that I was just going to leave you alone after that head injury?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Although she is growing used to waking up beneath his gaze, she feels little comfort in the way he looks at her now, a curious blend of sympathy and concern that makes her feel weightless and curiously disconnected from her body. She knows this look, knows all of his looks, this is the one that tells her that she was hurt worse than she realises and that she scared him.
Turning her face into the pillow and trying to focus on her breathing, Natasha gets the distinct impression that she is missing something significant. "My head really hurts," she whimpers, closing her eyes again. He was instantly there, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead and murmuring something soothing. Although she can barely make out the words over the rushing of blood in her ears, the tone is lovely and she appreciates the effort.
"I was starting to worry that you weren't going to wake up," he admits when he has finished recounting the events of the previous day. Strangely, she finds that she doesn't mind being unable to recall the hand to hand combat on a mezzanine walkway that ended in a concussion. The memories of insisting that they return to the hotel rather than staying in the hospital are rather blurry too but she is glad that he did what she asked.
"You stayed with me this whole time?" she asks quietly, afraid that even the sound of her own voice might start a riot in her skull.
He takes her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "Of course I did," he replies simply. There is so much more meaning in those simple words than she can decipher in her current condition, all that matters is that he is there, has always been there.
A sudden, powerful, wave of nausea rocks her, sending her rolling onto her side where supported by his arms she retches violently into a basin that he has already positioned by the bed. The room swirls around her as he holds her, whispering sweet words. They've both had a few concussions over the years so they know the drill, unfortunately vomiting is part of the process. It doesn't bother her that he sees her in such a vulnerable state, she makes herself vulnerable to him every time they sleep in the same room, every time she lets him treat her injuries after a mission. It doesn't bother him because he's man enough to deal with almost anything she can throw at him and God knows he's seen worse from her over the years.
Gently, Clint eases her back onto the pillows, wiping her face and mouth with the damp cloth he had earlier used to wipe her brow. "Lie back," he soothes, "you need to sleep it off, stop fighting it and let the meds work Tasha."
Natasha closes her eyes, tries to follow his instructions. She hears him clearing away the basin, hears water running in the bathroom and then she is aware of him placing the now clean bowl back by the bed. She knows that he should go, knows that she doesn't ever want him to leave her side. Here, back in her mother country, back where her life as an assassin began, she never sleeps easy, rarely feels safe in her bed, always worries that the ghosts of her past will catch up with her. Only he makes her feel safe here, only he can stop her fears from reaching her when she is unable to protect herself. Exhaustion and pain and the tiniest hint of vulnerability loosen her tongue. "Don't leave me," she whispers, glancing at him where he crouches at her side.
Barton nods once, rises from his knees and moves to the chair that he has positioned so that he can watch over her and gives her a slight smile. "I'm not going anywhere," he says softly.
As lies there with her eyes closed, Natasha hears his chair move and feels his fingers slip into hers. As his thumb strokes gently over the back of her bruised knuckles, she stops fighting. Clint will watch over her, he will protect her. With that knowledge she can sleep.