adorable, adj.

definition: inspiring great affection; delightful; charming.

rating: K

A/N: This isn't my favorite story; actually, I wasn't even planning on posting it, but obviously, that didn't end up happening, because I figured that maybe some of you might like it. So please leave a review if you do because my sense of self-appreciation needs some encouragement haha. (Wow, that sounded sad.) And while we're on the subject of reviews, thank you to The Gothic Geek and thewonderpen who left reviews on Dance and Twilight, respectively! You guys made my day. x)

~weeping angel

Natasha had decided long ago that she would never, ever fall in love. It just wasn't an option – she wasn't going to compromise herself like that. Besides, being in love seemed horrible. It opened up the chest and it opened up the heart and it meant that someone could get inside and to a lot of damage.

And yet, here she was. No, she hadn't fallen in love. A more accurate description would be that, as a result of not looking where she was going, she had epically face-planted into love.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself. "Stupid, stupid…" she finished the sentence in her head.

Continuing her hostile train of thought, Natasha glared at the machine which beeped softly every few seconds, reminding her that the person she was in love with was currently on life support. Then her eyes wandered to his placid face, crisscrossed with all kinds of wires, and she felt some of her frustration melt away.

Clint's chest rose and fell methodically, a result of the ventilator. He seemed to be asleep, as his even breathing disguised the fact that he had been shot in the chest.

That's what being in love felt like, Natasha mused. A bullet wound to the chest. To be in love with someone, not knowing whether that feeling was reciprocated, was one of the worst forms of torture. It was only when you knew that the love was returned, that being in love was ever enjoyable. Natasha found herself wishing she could just tell him how she felt, without having to wonder what he thought about it or worrying about their future. She tilted her head, studying Clint's comatose form. Well… she could do that, couldn't she?

"I love you." She tried it out. It made her insides warm, yet achy, because she didn't know if he would ever be able to hear her say it. "I love you, Clint." She said it again, softer this time, almost a whisper, and scooted her chair closed to the bed, gazing down into his peaceful face. "That's why you have to get better, okay? Because I love you, and I know it's stupid but I can't help it. So, just get better—"

The shrill beeping of the ventilator interrupted Natasha as Clint's back arched, an expression of pain seizing his features. Natasha started from her chair, feeling panicky and helpless as multiple doctors and nurses swarmed into the room. She ended up in a corner, trying desperately to see what was going on, but only catching glimpses of Clint's pale, ghost-like face, scrunched in pain.

At last, the machines quieted and Clint stilled, resuming his former peaceful posture. The doctors and nurses slowly trickled from the room, ignoring Natasha, who was still anxious.

"Excuse me," Natasha spoke up, stopping the last nurse from leaving the room. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"Yes, of course," the nurse assured. "He was actually trying to breathe on his own, but the ventilator was prohibiting that."

"So, you sedated him?" Natasha asked, her eyes roving to where Clint lay. It was then that she noticed that one of the tubes was gone, the one that had been sticking out of his mouth. He wasn't intubated any more.

"No," the nurse continued, smiling. "The doctor took that as a positive indication of his condition, so we removed his endotracheal tube, which facilitates the ventilator. He's breathing on his own now – we took him off life support."

Natasha's breath caught in her throat as the information sunk in. He was breathing on his own. He was going to be alright.

"So why isn't he awake?" she asked, tearing her gaze from Clint back to the nurse.

"The sedatives still need time to wear off," the nurse explained. "That will take a few hours."

#

Natasha tried to stay awake, but she was exhausted and the hours seemed to stretch on for days. So she was sleeping when Clint woke up, but a single word from him woke her instantaneously.

"Tasha."

Natasha's eyes flew open. Clint smiled at her weakly.

"Clint." Natasha stared at him, almost uncomprehendingly, until happiness and relief washed over her. "It's about time, you idiot," she told him, unable to keep the smile from her face. "It's been almost three weeks." Suddenly, all of her unspoken fears came tumbling out unchecked. "I was worried you were never going to wake up," she admitted. "I thought I was never going to be able to talk to you again. I thought—"

"You know what I think?" Clint interrupted. "I think the way you say I love you is friggin' adorable."