/2014/10/28/civil-war-and-ragnarok-to-rattle-marvel-phase-three/
If any of you want to read where Marvel mentioned Clint's farm, here is a link :) Lucky you, all six followers, you get two chapters in one day! yay!
It was stil pouring down rain when Natasha woke up. When she really woke up- like, was actually aware of her surroundings, instead of knowing through a haze of pain that Barton was pulling bullets from her gut or that the car was still moving. She fully awoke, and took in her surroundings. Her mind was grasping for a foothold, trying to put together the events that had brought her here- wherever here was. Suddenly something clicked, and she could remember.
The stupid "easy" mission going so wrong. Getting shot after thinking the mark was dead, like some pathetic kind of stupid rookie. When had her field work gotten so damn sloppy? She hated herself for not making sure the Doctor had been dead, honestly it was like she'd been asking to get shot. But what had happened next? Sitting up sharp pain shot though Natasha's stomach, she gasped and decided it might be better to lay down a bit more. Oh, Barton. He'd carried her out to the car, and after driving for a it dug the bullets from her flesh. She definitely remembered that. Biting down hard on the collar of coat, trying to distract herself from the pain, trying not to scream. She was stronger than that. Then what had happened? She tried to remember, but guessed she must have blacked out from the pain. Where the hell was Clint? Where was she?
The room she was in was pretty small, with faded light green walls and little furniture. Just the bed, a nightstand, and a lamp that looked as if it was going to die any minute. There was a window too, but a faded lace curtain was blocking any view it might offer. Suddenly the creaking of a footstep sounded outside of the closed door, and instantly Natasha was on the alert. She instinctively grabbed under her pillow for the gun she always kept there, but of course came up empty handed.
Not that it mattered, because Clint was the one to open the door. He was balancing a plate of something in one hand, and looked pleased to see her. "Hey, you're awake! Good. I need to check on your injuries, and honestly was a bit scared at the prospect of having to wake you up…. Didn't know if you would try and kill me or not… So I brought you breakfast. Thought that might help. Are you hungry?"
Natasha looked warily at the plate in his hand, filled with apple slices, toast, and some kind of creamy cheese. "Where are we?" She asked, ignoring the growling of her stomach at the sight of food. Clint placed the plate down on a nightstand, and seemed hesitant to answer her question. "Um, still in Idaho. We drove for a couple hours last night, we should be safe here." The Black Widow rolled her eyes, she hated when people avoided answering a direct question by offering an indirect answer. "Ok, but where exactly is here?"
The archer sat down on her bed, and reached for the quilt covering her. "Do you mind?" He asked. "I need to see if the wounds are becoming infected, plus changing the bandage wouldn't hurt." Natasha nodded her assent, and asked again. "Barton, where are we? Why did you bring me here?" The archer gently pulled the quilt away, and gingerly began rolling Natasha's shirt up over her stomach until her bandaged wounds were exposed. He sighed heavily as he started peeling away the bloody gauze. "I brought you here so we wouldn't get caught, and you wouldn't die. Duh. And "here" is a farm. It's just place that has proven itself to be safe. I've been here before. It's a nice place."
Natasha wanted to ask more questions, but was distracted as the final layers of the gauze were peeled wetly from her stomach, and she looked down to see the damage. Three bullet holes, just barely starting to scab over. Just by looking at them Natasha knew she was probably going to be here a while- or at the very least be forced to stay in this bed for a couple of days. "How do you feel?" Clint asked, as he began dabbing at the wounds with doe antiseptic wipes." Ignoring the burning sting of the cool wipes, Natasha rolled her eyes. "I feel like I've been shot. I've had worse, I'll live. If anything severe was bleeding internally we'd have known by now, as long as infection doesn't set in I'll be fine."
The next ten or so minutes consisted of Natasha biting back sounds of pain, or weakness, as Clint cleaned and bandaged her wounds, gave her some medicine he said would help prevent infection. Finally when they were done, Clint tucked the quilt back around her, and instead of making a snarky joke, Natasha let him take care of her. She was still curious about why they were on a farm of all places, but right now she just wanted to sleep. So at first she was more than a little annoyed when he didn't leave right away. Then he spoke.
"The farm…. Don't worry, it's safe. Over the years I have made sure it is very well protected. It's been in my family for generations. It was the only place I could think to take you until we can contact Shield."
Natasha wasn't sure how to react or what to say, so she chose to remain silent, processing this information. She finally mumbled into her pillow, "Thanks. For bringing me. I appreciate, I'm sure it wasn't an easy choice to bring me here….." Clint just shrugged, "No problem. I did what I had to. Can I get you anything before I head back down?" Falling asleep now, Natasha shook her head. Then jerked back awake as Clint was closing the door.
"Barton wait! Just one thing!" He opened the door, poked his head back in. She smiled. "Can you bring me my gun? It feels wrong to sleep without having it close by." Clint smirked, "Fine, whatever the patient wants." And went downstairs to retrieve every one of Natasha's weapons, before carrying them up to the guest room she was staying in.
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