Okay, okay, I apologize for the insanity of last chapter. I promise I will not shoot poor Clint again. At least not in this chapter...

Ch. 12

"Dammit," Clint grunted.

This would definitely slow him down; although the bullet went through and through so he didn't have to worry about any major internal damage, the blood loss was becoming an issue. He already felt dizzy, it was getting harder to focus, and he couldn't call for help-

"Oh!" It suddenly occurred to the spy that Dr. Z's mystery machine left the ship when Natasha did. Natasha- he had to focus if he wanted to save her. Using one hand to press against his wound, Clint sent up a prayer as he rebooted his com.

"Stark?"

"Hawkeye? Hey! That was fast- the Captain and I are just tying up a few loose ends... in the form of a bunch of angry Russians... then I'll head over and pick you up. Was Black Widow alright? Is she pissed?"

"Tony, they took her. I'm hit- I need you right now."

Even to his own ears, Clint sounded weak. Passing out wasn't an option. Who knew how long they'd keep him drugged to recover and by then any clues left by Natasha would be gone. He didn't get a reply from Stark, but Rogers radioed for any nearby teams to get to his coordinates.

He felt helpless. Getting shot wasn't anything new for Clint, but he needed strength to take down Dr. Z. His parting words, the implication that he could have Natasha in that way- he had to stop him. Nothing he had done in his entire life mattered more. The rage helped keep his mind clear, made it easier to stay conscious. The Russians were here before Natasha. They had to carry that machine off the ship. They had to have come in a submarine; the city was crawling with American government, there was no other way to come and go undetected. It wasn't much, but at least he had something to work with.

"Hawkeye, do you copy?" It was Rogers. Or maybe Stark. Why wouldn't he copy? The com was literally inside his ear. Sometimes military protocol was so pointless. Just say what you have to say and I'll hear it. Unless I'm dead. Either way, asking if I copy is a waste of time.

"Hawkeye! Answer me!"

Oh, right... "Roger Rogers." He thought that was pretty funny, but not even Tony laughed. Tough crowd. He'd have to work on his jokes.

"We're approaching the ship- where are you?"

I'm bleeding on the floor. Right next to where I kissed her. I shouldn't have done that. Lost the tactical advantage. Now she's gone.

"Cargo bay." The room was spinning. Another bad sign. He fought to stay awake, picturing that look Natasha gave him as she left. She would never let a little bullet wound slow her down if he was the one captured. Hell, he remembered one mission she was captured and the Italian idiot strapped a bomb to her, thinking that would make her all terrified and helpless. She kicked that guy's ass into next week, bomb still on her back, and gave him an earful for making her do all the work while he disarmed the thing.

Once Tony and Steve hit the deck they only needed a minute to find Clint laying in a pool of blood on the floor. Steve reached the archer first, assessing his vitals and blood loss. He wasn't a medic by a long shot, but he knew enough to tell that Clint would be fine if they could stop the bleeding. The man was pale, a sheen of sweat over his face, muttering under his breath.

"Stay with me, Barton. We'll get you to a hospital. Who took Agent Romanoff?"

Clint felt like he had cotton in his mouth. It took him a few tries before he could get any sound out.

"Russians. No hospital- Stark? Can you?" He couldn't get the rest out, but the look of shock on Tony's face told him the genius understood.

"Are you sure Clint? I can fly you to a hospital in 5 minutes flat. You need a blood transfusion at least, and I can tell you I don't have that in my suit."

Clint just nodded. He needed a quick patch up. Rogers looked completely lost until Tony knelt beside Clint and pulled back his vest and shirt, revealing the bleeding hole, while adjusting the laser setting on his wrist.

"No- Clint, you're seriously going to let him cauterize that wound? What if he misses?"

"Wow, Cap," Stark replied, "no pressure or anything."

"Do it. Nat's running out of time." Clint turned his head to the side and set his jaw. This wasn't going to feel good.

Rogers held his shoulders down with enough pressure that he couldn't shift accidentally while Stark began the slow process of burning the outer edge of Clint's bullet wound. Something between a scream and a groan escaped Clint's closed mouth as his body reacted to the intense burning. Luckily, Roger's superhuman strength made it impossible to get up and run or roll out of the way. When Stark was satisfied that the entrance wound was closed they turned the archer onto his side to repeat the procedure with the exit wound.

If Clint thought he would pass out before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. His body had been stressed to the max and was slowly shutting down as a recovery tactic. Black shadows were creeping into the edges of his vision and he found it impossible to lift his head. Try as he might, he wasn't going to be able to launch a rescue mission in his condition. Instead, he mustered his remaining strength to lift a hand to his ear, pressing the com and hoping that he'd get lucky.

"Fury, it's Hawkeye. I need the quinjet, Dr. Banner, and the best pilot you have. No questions. Oh, and a clean shirt. Copy?"

If Fury answered, Clint didn't hear it. Instead he slipped into emptiness as his mind went blank.

Deep beneath the surface of the water, Natasha hated how familiar the sounds of the submarine were. It was almost soothing, except that her gag reflex was in overdrive. She needed to think like Clint, formulate a strategy to convince Dr. Z she was playing along. But he knew her entire playbook; all her personas and mind games were invented by him in the first place. She needed a new approach.

When the doctor came to sit by her, she noticed a few differences in his appearance. The wrinkles where his jacket had been pulled back. The smell of gunpowder. A fleck of blood on his trousers. That twisted smile he reserved for the most heinous moments. Even before the words left his mouth, she knew.

"I shot him, Natalia. You will thank me, one day, for eliminating this temptation. Now you can focus on your work once more. Are you angry with me?"

Natasha turned her head away, knowing that her eyes would give away too much. He never told the whole truth, that she knew. The evidence that he shot Clint was right in front of her, but he didn't say killed. Being raised by the genius sociopath next to her did have its advantages. Clint was alive, but delayed. Did it make her angry? Yes. But it also gave her hope.

"Thank you for letting me say goodbye, Doctor." Natasha whispered, trying to infuse her voice with grief. So the bastard wanted to play mind games? Between Fury, Clint, and Stark she had a few new tricks up her sleeve.

"You are welcome. I have nothing but you're best interests at heart Милая моя. I suggest you rest, we have a long journey ahead of us."

Natasha nodded, walking to the bunks in the rear of the sub. A long journey- hopefully long enough that Clint could catch up to her. Bullet wound or not, she was sure he was fighting with everything he had.

See? Everyone is alive and well, not to worry! Fair warning, I'm busy this week (sadly, I have a job other than writing this story) so the next update may take longer. Your reviews do motivate me to write faster though! Except for the ones that just tell me to update sooner and hurry up. Seriously? Not helpful. But the other ones I love!