ED SHEERAN ~ YELLOW PAGES
The first thing Clint realized was that he felt like shit. Every heartbeat seemed to pass through his head like a hammer and his throat felt raw, not to mention the bruises all over his sore, battered body. Smacking his tongue and groaning as his stomach rumbled queasily, he shifted on the bed, stretching. He could feel a light breeze on his face and realized that he must've left the balcony doors open. He opened his eyes and then immediately closed them again, hissing as blinding pain shot through his retinas into his brain.
"Yeah, I know," said a craggy voice on his other side.
Clint might've jumped if he hadn't already felt her pressure on the bed behind him.
He rolled over, keeping his eyes carefully squeezed shut, and buried his head in the pillows she'd obviously been hogging in the night. The pillows smelled like her hair... No, he should not be noticing things like that...
"Come on, it's time to get up, Barton," Natasha poked him mercilessly in his bruised side.
And Clint angrily gave her the birdy.
Natasha snorted, "Charming." She slid off the end of the bed and walked several feet away to pick something up, "And here I was, ready to share some painkillers."
Clint lifted his arm and peeked carefully out at her.
Her brilliant, red hair was messy, but had been tamed somewhat into a ponytail just under her left ear. She was pale almost to the point of sickliness, the shadows under her eyes darkening the green of her irises. Her shirt was crumpled and her jeans were unfastened, presumably to make sleeping more comfortable. She smiled crookedly at him, holding up a little white bottle with a blue label.
Clint hurriedly flopped the pillow back down over his face, and held out a hand demandingly.
"Have at them, then," Natasha said, perching far too delicately on the rumpled blanket, and dropping the bottleful of capsules by Clint's head, ignoring his hand. "I've already had my fix. Had to take half the bottle though, the strength is so shitty."
Clint grunted and pushed himself onto his elbows, taking the bottle, then sat up and popped the lid off the bottle, pouring a couple capsules into his hand.
Natasha watched as he dry-swallowed the painkillers, then said matter-of-factly, "We should get some water, too. Help flush out the alcohol."
Clint only grimaced and grumbled and laid down, burying his head once again. He could feel her rolling her eyes even though he couldn't see her, and knew that she was growing impatient by the way she was shifting around on the bed next to him.
But he really couldn't care less about how bored she was, because she'd fucking given him the worst hang-over of his fucking life.