Even though I am LONGING to have these rights, the characters belong to Marvel. *sigh*
A/N: I am so, so, SO sorry for being gone for so long. I've been hit with brick after brick (it's a metaphor, so don't call the police), and I'm slowly gaining story ideas back... Even though I am LONGING to have the rights, the characters belong to Marvel. *sigh*
She was on a luxuriously soft bed, her hair was down, and she could smell strawberries. Not the kind that were in the shampoo that Clint had accidentally washed with, but the fresh kind. The kind that could be dipped in chocolate or put in cereal (Clint did that, while she thought cereal was utterly disgusting) or even eaten off of... She was letting her mind wander, and the shower in the bathroom had stopped.
This wasn't vacation, this was a mission. A mission with an alarmingly low amount of assassination. It was the drug lord- no, wait, the bank robbery that- no, that wasn't it either. Oh, yes! The drone- no, they had finished that mission. Was it the poison gas in the cars? No, that was an episode of a science fiction show that she had caught Fury watching on his handheld computer. She shook her head quickly, trying to get her brain to focus again. Why couldn't she remember the mission? She heard the door open, and looked up, her eyes widening in ill-concealed horror. Clint looked like he just walked out of an explosion. His S.H.E.I.L.D. uniform was ragged and singed, his bow was hanging off of his shoulder, his quiver half gone. He had numerous cuts on his face, and pieces of rubble and shrapnel on his face, neck, and arms.
After the whole second she took to catalogue everything wrong with him, she hissed in pain as she felt each one of her injured ribs move. She tried to stand up, but she fell back on the bed, which wasn't as soft as before. Her head was splitting in pain, and an unnecessarily loud rapid beeping built up all around her. It got so fast that she couldn't distinguish between the beeps, as if it was one long, consistent beep, like a flatline in a hosp- she looked at Clint, who was still standing. She looked down her body, seeing her own uniform there, just as singed and dirty as Clint's.
She fell back further onto the bed, lying on her back. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but she couldn't. The ringing was getting louder and a lot closer. She fought and fought and fought, but just went further into unconsciousness, unable to move, breathe or think.
Clint turned his head to his right, seeing a pale (even paler than before) Natasha on the bed a few feet away, not moving. Doctors and nurses started flooding the room, and blocking his view. He tried to get up, but felt two hands push him back down. He turned his head to the owner of the hands, throwing a murderous look. He saw that it was Coulson, who looked almost relieved. Clint turned to see Maria Hill leaning by the door, looking like she was going to throw up. Director Fury rushed into the room, his eye moving quickly as he took in everything. Clint fought against Coulson again.
Coulson knew that Clint should easily push him aside on any other day, but right now he was thanking whatever gods were real that the agent had been dosed with a ton of morphine. Even with all of the morphine, he needed Hill and Fury to come and help.
It was killing Clint to be held down and not helping Nat. The doctors were fumbling about, not helping at all. Then he remembered the emergency adrenaline shot in her belt. He looked at Hill.
"Where's her belt?" The agent looked at him in confusion, but then remembered the adrenaline shot that Natasha had swiped from a lab in the Helicarrier. Hill had kept her mouth shut because Natasha had certain information on Maria's love life. She scanned the room, looking for the bag of Natasha's clothes. She tore through the back until she found the singed uniform and pulled the small syringe out. Rough hands took it out of hers, and she looked up to see Clint toss the doctors aside. He placed the tip of it over her heart, said something inaudible, raised his arm, and plunged the syringe into his partner's chest.
A/N: Yeah, I added that bit about the nifty belt adrenaline. I'm already writing the next one, but I want to know if anyone's still reading this... Let me know how you are, what you want to see, and your favorite milkshake flavor. 3