I didn't want to wait, so here is chapter 2! The next chapter has more of the good touchy-feely stuff in it. I just have to, you know, write it...

Ch. 2

"Tell me something, Barton, do you have some sort of superhuman healing ability that you forgot to mention before this? Or maybe you're wearing a special suit of armor under your gear?" Natasha hissed, becoming increasingly irritated as they walked through the SHIELD field office where they were stationed for the night.

"Nat, I'm fine, I-"

"Shut up. You're a moron- a complete fucking suicidal moron. So shut up, you don't get to talk until after I've cleaned you up. Have to prove you're as tough at the other guys, so you let yourself bleed to death in some half destroyed food shop. Seriously? You're fine? Don't even start."

Clint wasn't about to argue- he really could use a little morphine and a couple of stitches right about now. He could only hope Natasha wasn't in such a bad mood she'd accidentally slip while stitching him... it wouldn't be the first time.

They arrived at Clint's assigned room, the second door in a hall similar to a college dorm. Each of the Avengers were given a room for the night as a safety precaution. With Loki still on Earth, they weren't about the let the team go their separate ways until Thor returned him to Asgard the next day. At the end of the hall was a common area, with a kitchen beyond that. It reminded Clint of boot camp. It reminded Natasha of a place she hated to be reminded of.

Without stopping to make themselves at home, Natasha steered Clint into the bathroom. After missions the partners always took care of each others' wounds- they had trust issues. So without hesitation, Natasha began removing Clint's gear; his bracers, holsters, and the minimal armor he wore in the fight all carefully placed to the side.

"Can you lift your arms, or are we scrapping the shirt?" It's all business with Natasha. Good thing, too, because Clint had always had a hard time keeping a line between them. He had heart, that's what Loki said, and it wasn't always a good thing. Natasha, though, really was a Black Widow. She wasn't exactly the romantic type and her lack of interest in relationships had kept their partnership strong. There had been many times over the years that Clint thought about crossing that line, but it was always Natasha that made sure it stayed in place. Even after waking from Loki's spell, after realizing what had happened, she kept it all business. That was one of the reasons Clint needed her.

"Cut it. It isn't like alien blood comes out in the wash."

Natasha worked silently, removing the shirt to reveal a few deep gashes and a good deal of bruising over his ribs. A few were definitely cracked, but nothing broken or requiring an actual doctor. Good thing, because she knew Clint wouldn't go. She went to work cleaning each wound, but didn't bother to stitch them up just yet. She could tell Clint was deep in thought; it was one of the only times his eyes weren't constantly scanning his surroundings. It was also the best time to study his face without him realizing it.

The red around his eyes, which had been so pronounced while Loki controlled his mind, had faded to a dull pink. But there was still something about his face, a little more gaunt perhaps, that still hinted his mind was not entirely returned to him. It wasn't that he was under Loki's control, more likely the echoes of what happened continued to haunt him. Natasha knew the feeling only too well; Loki's words to her during her interrogation seemed to constantly be fighting to the surface of her consciousness.

Once again, Natasha had to push those thoughts away before they brought with them images she couldn't bear to see. Instead she busied herself by turning on the shower and cleaning up the gauze and supplies she had gone through.

"Okay, I'm done for now. I'm giving you 15 minutes to get yourself as clean as you can without help, then I'm coming back in to finish up." Not that she cared about seeing him naked, but Clint was the old fashioned type. He hated to feel helpless, and she guessed he'd had enough of that in the past few days to last a lifetime.

Clint nodded that he heard her, but it was clear his mind was still elsewhere. Natasha closed the door to the bathroom, trying not to notice as her partner undressed and climbed into the shower. In the 15 minutes she gave him, Natasha went down the hall to her own room. Living on the run for a good portion of her life, she knew how to clean up quickly. Despite the battle taking a physical toll, she wasn't injured beyond the minor bumps and bruises. Stripping down and jumping into her own steaming shower, she scrubbed the grime and gore from her body as quickly as possible.

When she returned to Clint's room, Natasha decided to be courteous enough to give a quick knock before reentering the bathroom. He was standing against the sink, sweatpants replacing his cargo pants, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Of the two of them, she knew that he was the heart of their team. He took things personally, had trouble sleeping after difficult missions, and worried like a mother hen. Part of being the Hawk was keeping his distance- getting too close usually meant getting hurt. Natasha knew it would be a while before Clint recognized himself in the mirror again.

"Ready for me to stitch you up?" She asked, making an effort to sound kind.

"That depends," he replied, looking away from the mirror at last, "are you still pissed about before? Cause then I might just try and do it myself."

Good, Natasha thought, at least he's joking. Clint had his own system of dealing with trauma, just like she did. His witty comments were one of his classic survival mechanisms. If he was being a wise ass, at least she knew he was keeping his head above water.

Rather than answer, Natasha spun him around so that she could get a closer look at the gashes. She had a feeling Clint had done something foolish and got himself hurt doing one of his stunts. In fact, it almost looked like...

"Clint, you didn't happen to go through a window, did you? Because I would think you'd remember the last time you tried going through a window." An image of Clint's calf, sliced to the bone, flashed through her mind.

"Listen Nat, it wasn't like I had an abundance of choices. I had to get out of there, and only had the one arrow left. Besides, I made sure to keep my feet even this time," he replied, trying not to wince as she threaded the needle through his shoulder.

She continued in silence for a while, concentrating on stitching evenly. Only two of the cuts really needed the stitches, which for Clint really wasn't too bad. He tried to take his mind off the pain by thinking back to the battle, analyzing their tactics, and contemplating how he could have done better.

Even that line of thinking led back to Natasha. When he saw her zooming by on an alien's back, her Widow Makers lodged into the unfortunate creature. In that moment, he was compromised. His mind was on her, making sure she was safe, and he lost his advantage. Going through the window was most certainly not in the plan, but it got him out of a tight spot without too much physical damage.

By the time Natasha finished stitching him up and wrapping his aching ribs, all the adrenaline from the battle had worn off. He was exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. Mostly emotionally. The more he thought about the battle, the number of ways he could have lost her, how he nearly killed her himself... it was a dangerous path to follow. He didn't know how to stop himself from going to that place in his sleep.

Natasha, for her part, had no desire to sleep. She hated sleep, especially after a hard fight. The toll on her body made her sleep too deep and she would inevitably be plagued by nightmares. Not like Clint, whose dreams stemmed from that specific mission. Hers were always the same. Always from her past. Unless she had a sedative and a lookout, she did her best to avoid sleep.

"Listen, Nat, I need to get some rest. Do you think you could sleep here tonight?"

It wasn't the first time they'd done it. There was no one else who could understand like she could. Just having her there when he woke up made it a little bit easier. Knowing she was going through the same torture when she closed her eyes made it almost bearable.

Clint couldn't help but smile to himself when, instead of answering, Natasha went to the bed, threw him a pillow, and climbed under the covers. Apparently he got the couch whether or not his ribs were cracked.