FALL OUT BOY ~ ALONE TOGETHER
The concrete, windowless room held a group of agents, training and exercising and chatting under the bright lights. On one side, a half-grown, red-headed girl was dragging a crash pad behind her, with a pessimistic, bow-and-arrow-less archer grumbling beside her, stepping carefully.
"We don't need to do this..." Barton said for the millionth time.
"Just shut up," Natasha replied for the millionth time.
Natasha was very aware of the staring agents on all sides, and she was used to it, being the infamous ex-Russian she was. However, these looks were different. Word of Barton's condition had spread around the base so that he couldn't go anywhere without being followed by their pitying, curious eyes. And Natasha wasn't spared any ounce of this, since she wouldn't leave Barton's side. At least Barton couldn't see the people staring from across the room, what with his half-healed eyes.
Finally finding an empty spot of floor, Natasha dropped the crash pad and stepped onto it, turning to face her partner.
Barton folded his arms, planting his feet stubbornly. His eyes were unfocused, staring in the general direction of her bright hair. His expression was relaxed, if only a little perturbed or exasperated, but Natasha was learning fast that his expressions could quite easily mean nothing.
Natasha gestured him forward with her head, knowing it was easier for him to see than her hand, saying, "Come on."
"This is completely unnecessary," Barton stated stoically.
Natasha rolled her eyes, carefully keeping her head still so he wouldn't see.
"I'm scheduled for surgery in two days," Barton said, never taking his eyes off her hair.
Natasha's patience was wearing thin at his disguised immaturity. "Quit your bitching and get over here."
Barton's jaw clenched, the muscles in his forearms rippling, but after a moment, he stepped onto the crash pad, grumbling under his breath. "So goddamn pushy all of the sudden..."
Natasha breathed out heavily through her nose, wondering how she'd suddenly become mother to the most annoying asshole in the spy industry. Sure, his eyes weren't working even a twelfth as good as they used to. It shouldn't give him free leave to behave however he liked around her... especially not in public. Yet somehow, she couldn't bring herself to punch him the way she wanted to.
Reaching into her pocket, Natasha pulled out a strip of cloth and proceeded to fold it against her thigh so that it was long and thick.
Meanwhile, Barton continued to mumble as if Natasha couldn't hear him, "...already worse than my third grade teacher... bitch hated me like I was devils' spawn... tripping me on purpose... no one'd believe me..."
Natasha cleverly hid a smirk that she knew he'd never see and wordlessly raised the blindfold in front of his eyes.
As the black threatened to take over his vision, Clint flinched away and ducked like she'd burned him. When he realized what he had done, he took several steps back, hands on his hips, staring down at his blurry feet in shame. He was so embarrassed that he could puke, irritation crawling up inside his chest.
It was irrational fear; he couldn't control it, no matter how much he hated it, no matter how much he understood it... fuck he just wanted to... hit something... bite into his mind... tear at his own throat... He needed to stop whatever it was from taking control...
"You know this is why we need to do this, right?" Natasha said, quiet and stern, almost commanding. That was good. He wouldn't have been able to take pity. Or sympathy.
Clint knew her idea was a good one. But every single inch of him cringed and thrashed at the thought of losing his sight again. Even sleeping was difficult for him.
Sighing, he nodded in reply to Natasha's question, swallowing. "Just... warn me." He could've winced at his own childishness, but he hid it as he stepped to face Natasha, keeping his chin held high.
He saw the bright blur of Natasha's hair coming closer. "3..." she said softly and he felt the cloth hovering under his nose. "2..." Black entered the lower half of his vision and his heart began to thump erratically. He exhaled stubbornly. "1..." The blindfold covered his eyes, suffocating all the light.
Immediately, his fingers stretched out, but he caught himself and allowed Natasha to tie the blindfold on. His instinct was to rip the cloth away and throw it as far as he could, but Hawkeye was still there, telling him to sit and wait, like he always did. Opportunity was invisible and impossible to see to an impatient watcher. And Clint couldn't afford to be impatient. Not now, when his very definition was compromised.
"Quiet," Natasha said suddenly, somewhere out in the blackness.
Clint's neck cricked irritably, "Did I say something?"
"Be quiet," Natasha repeated, ignoring him. "Listen when you can't watch. Your training should've already covered this." Her voice was impassive, uncaring.
She was right. His training had covered his eyes once before. But it was different now. Now he knew exactly what being blind entailed; it derailed his mind, and blew out the engine as well. It killed his very identity. It was hell on earth, and he wasn't ready for the afterlife just yet.
Clint slowly breathed in and out, slowly his heartbeat, and called on Hawkeye to take over.
Something abruptly brushed his face.
He flinched, ducking out of instinct, then breathed out heavily in embarrassment as someone snickered behind him.
Suddenly shots were being fired directly above him. After his initial shock, Clint hunkered down with an arm over his head, wondering how the hell Natasha had smuggled a gun in here in her tight exercise clothes.
Natasha wasn't aiming for them, but she was a good shot. The bullets only just missed the assholes as they scurried away and didn't come back, not even to peek. She waited anyway, her slightly smoking pistol aimed at the doors.
A slight movement below caught her attention and she looked down to see Barton staring up at her sardonically, one finger pulling the cloth down off one of his eyes.
She tucked the gun into the waistband of her pants, the need for secrecy seriously undermined. "Up you get, soldier," she said when Barton didn't make any other movements. "And put the blindfold back on."
Barton's insufferable smirk only grew, but he stood, saying, "Ma'am, yes, ma'am," as he put the cloth back over his eyes.
Natasha swallowed the immature urge to sigh in exasperation, refusing to wonder why he'd seemed to suddenly loose all of his discomfort with the blindfold.