apart, adv.

definition: separated by a distance from each other in time or space.

rating: K

A/N: I was inspired by the Civil War Superbowl tv spot to write this. I'm so looking forward to May 6th! Enjoy! Also, today is my sister's birthday (her username is Klyntaliah) so please go check out her stories and leave some reviews! It will make her day :)

Boom.

The first explosion drove sharp shrapnel of dread into Natasha's heart. The explosions that followed reminded her of the finale at a fireworks show, only more deadly. Much more deadly. The seeds of dread grew into worry.

Her heart pounding, Natasha climbed onto the ledge of the airport terminal's roof and watched as truck after truck exploded into fire and smoke.

Where is he?

Her quick eyes searched the ground below until she finally located him, and her breath caught in her throat.

Clint lay crumpled on the ground, much too close to a burning truck. Even from a distance, Natasha could clearly see blood staining his motionless face. Wanda Maximoff was a few feet from him, but she was also unconscious. Natasha weighed the risks and decided they didn't matter, not when it came to her partner.

Natasha broke into a run along the ledge of the roof until she came to a fire escape. She swung down the unstable iron ladder quickly and easily, and was running again as soon as her feet touched the ground.

Heat seared her skin when she reached Clint. She ignored it and drew closer until she was near enough to grab hold of him. Then she crouched down next to him, pulled one of his arms around her shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged him over to a wall of the airport terminal. Clint opened his eyes as Natasha lowered him to the ground.

"Nat?" He sounded dazed, and he watched her like he wasn't sure if she was really there. He coughed weakly, and Natasha's stomach constricted when blood came up.

"Hey," she answered softly. Clint reached for her hand and she took it. His hand was familiar – warm and strong.

"We need to get you a medic," Natasha told him, reaching up to her comm to contact Tony. Her insides quaked with unfamiliar fear, and she struggled to control her trembling hands.

"Wait—don't—" Clint's voice broke into coughs again as he fought to sit up, and succeeded in grasping her other hand.

"But you're hurt," Natasha argued, her heartbeat quickening with anxiety. Not wanting him to lay his head back on the hard asphalt, she helped him slouch against the wall in a half-sitting position. Clint's breathing grew shallow and raspy as he strained to speak.

"We can't—let them know."

Natasha scoffed, relief washing over her. She had been worried he was going to say something much worse: that it was too late for a medic.

"Clint, I don't care about that. You're more important. You know that."

"We have to keep your cover intact," Clint disagreed. "Tony can't know you're working as a double agent. We have to stick to the plan."

"Screw the plan," Natasha bit back hotly. "Barton, you're hacking up blood. Last I checked, that's not a good thing and I am not—" Natasha clenched her teeth, wanting to punch something; "—going to exchange your life for spying on Tony and gathering intel, understand? It's not worth it." Her vision blurred and she stared intently at the wall, not trusting herself to look anywhere else.

"Tasha." Clint released one of her hands, and a moment later, she felt it brush lightly against her cheek. "Trust me."

Natasha met his blue-gray eyes. They were staring steadily into her own, and her chest ached suddenly.

"I've missed you," she murmured. Clint started to answer, then looked past her, growing serious.

"Sam's coming," he said tensely. "You need to leave, Natasha. He can't find out." He dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, looking exhausted.

Natasha hesitated. She hated to leave him like this, but it was easier knowing that help was on its way in the form of Sam Wilson. So she stood regretfully, her hands slipping from his. She turned to leave, but Clint's voice stopped her.

"Hey, Tash?" She turned to see a teasing smirk on his face. "By the way, last week? Turns out you hit me just hard enough."

Natasha knew what he didn't say: they were still friends.

He missed her.

Natasha's face relaxed into a half-smile for a second. Then, she left.