Started a new account because I took a 30 day writing challenge. Accepting any suggestions for quick one-shots or short pieces! Day 1/30. Quick Clintasha piece set after a job in Tijuana. Thanks for dropping by :)

Clint sat slouched at the bar with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. The chaos of the night before was still strewn about the bar top; a mess of bloody rags, bandages, spilled iodine, and antibiotics. A bloodied piece of shirt clung to the edge of the bar and hung there like a rebel flag, although Clint couldn't tell whose shirt the scrap had once belong too. He nudged a bottle of peroxide and it fell over, empty.

'What a night.' He thought to himself, using his good arm to lift the coffee mug to his lips. The other arm rested across his stomach, his bicep still throbbing from the gaping hole an arrow had left. He winced as he remembered the pain of yanking it out and at the fountain of blood that had followed. He slowly straightened his arm out and swore as the muscle painfully jerked.

"Regeneration has never been one of your super powers, you know?" Natasha chided as she walked out of the dingy bedroom and into the even dingier kitchen, if the filthy room could be called that.

"Neither has patience." He chuckled and rested his arm across his body once more. "You look like shit, Nat." She wore a sports bra and a pair of boxers that she had scavenged from Clint's bag. Her ribs were wrapped in what was once a bed sheet and she had a nasty cut above her eye.

"And you look like a million bucks." She retorted. She moved to stand beside him at the bar. She cleared a spot for her elbows and leaned there, eyeing him. "And how are you feeling?" Her eyes roamed over his various bruises and cuts. "And how can you sit on that stool in your boxers? I feel like you are going to catch a disease."

"Like an asshole stabbed me with me own arrow. Oh, wait, she did."

"I said I was sorry!" Natasha sighed and reached over to touch his arm. He flinched as she checked the bandages, frowning at the dried blood that had seeped through. "I wasn't exactly aiming for you. As a matter of fact, I would have gouged old Juantez in the eye if you hadn't jumped in the way."

"And you'd be the one sitting here with a knife wound in your neck if I hadn't shoved you out of the way. Well, maybe not sitting- vegitating?"

"So we are even then?" She raised a brow. "And that isn't even a word."

"Sure," he chuckled and shook his head. "Come here." He twisted around on the bar stool and tugged the hem of the boxers, pulling her to him. "How are the ribs?" His fingers probed the bruised skin across her left side.

"Hurting." She smacked his hand away. "Who knew that drug lords wore steel toed boots to the strip club?" She leaned into Clint's embrace and yawned. "This place gives me the creeps."

"You're telling me. I don't think I slept at all last night. I was worried the roaches would carry me away."

"Ugh." Natasha shuddered. "You're smuggling drugs, arms, and women, but you can't afford to do a little house keeping? Speaking of, how is our guest?"

"Is he really a guest if we are in his apartment?" Clint chuckled. "Your, uh, contact came and picked him up already. He is on his way to a nice cozy jail cell, which I honestly envy him of at the moment. It has to be cleaner than this place."

"You aren't lying." Natasha grabbed his coffee from him and took a drink. "Let's get your bandage changed and get out of here. I'll feel better when we can get back to base and get that arm cleaned up properly."

"I've had worse." Clint shrugged. "I am more worried about starving."

"Let's see what crime lords enjoy for breakfast then, shall we?" Natasha pulled herself from Clint's arms and crossed to the pantry. She opened it up and pursed her lips, scanning the scantily clad shelves. Most everything was canned meat or an opened package crawling with bugs. She made a sound and snatched an unopened box of foreign cereal.

"Bon appetite." Natasha plopped it down in front of Clint.

"Don't suppose he would have any milk that isn't expired?" He opened the package and popped a handful of the misshaped "O's" into his mouth. He chewed experimentally before nodding slowly. "Ah, the breakfast of champions."

"Is that what we are?" Natasha was leaning on the bar again, staring out the window. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, casting an orange glow across the run down apartment buildings and decaying houses. Despite the sad state of the town they were in, there was a certain beauty to it. A sad beauty.

"Something like that." Clint made himself get up from the bar stool and moved into the bedroom. He grabbed his tattered jeans from the floor and held them, trying to find the motivation to actually get moving for the day. All they had to do was make it to the next town over to extraction, a task that sounded simple enough. But, Juantez's men were going to be swarming the town looking for the party responsible for their leader's capture.

"Hey," Natasha grabbed his from behind, careful of his arm. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back.

"When we get out of Tijuana..."

"Yeah?"

"I owe you dinner. For stabbing you."

"Oh really?" He chuckled. "Alright. It is a date." He felt her smile and he pulled away, tugging his jeans on, careful not to use his arm too much. He slipped on last night's battered button down and grabbed his quiver, securing it to his shoulder. He sighed and slung his bow across his back, wondering if he'd be able to shoot.

"What are you wearing out of here by the way?" He asked as he turned and eyed the tattered remains of the black dress she had wore the night before.

"I suppose I could walk out of here like this." She smiled wryly before moving to the closet. Her nose wrinkled as she opened the door and eyed the dirty laundry on the floor. She pushed that idea from her head and moved to Clint's backpack. "What's left in your bag?"

"Why do you even bother asking?" He chuckled as she started rummaging before he could answer. She pulled out a black shirt and pulled it over her head, then grabbed a pair of too big cargo shorts from the dresser. She sniffed them and groaned before pulling them on.

"We never speak of this."

"You look like you're about to go golfing, but you need to gain a hundred pounds first." Natasha just stuck her tongue out at him before grabbing her holster from the ruins of her dress. She lifted up the right leg of her shorts and secured it to her thigh before pulling the pistol out. She cocked it back with a grin and turned to Clint.

"We look like we belong on an episode of what now to wear."

"Ha, the secret agent addition? Let's get out of Tijuana."