Clint awoke in a cold sweat. Until about three months ago he would have been alarmed by this, but since his somewhat unpleasant run in with Thor's maniacal brother Loki he had grown somewhat used to the residual feeling of terror as he awoke from a nightmare.

This was different. It wasn't his usual cloudy memory of killing SHIELD agents, this was more solid. It was almost like it was happening all over again. The same lump grew in his through and the same coldness tore at his heart. He was a killer…a stone cold killer…of people he had shared meals with in the mess hall. True, they were hardly his friends, but still…He could call most of them by name.

Barton tried to slow his racing heart and to calm his breathing, but he was having more trouble than usual getting a grip. He was thankful for the dim medi-bay lighting; at least that kept him from panicking in total darkness. His eyes darted around the room and fell on the bed beside him. For a moment his muscles contracted, preparing him for a confrontation, but then the person rolled over in their sleep and he could see their face. It was Kyla…just Kyla. He let out a long rattling breath and gasped, wrapping his arms around his stomach as a sickening throb ran through his abdomen.

Oh yeah, I got shot.

He leaned back slowly, painfully letting go of his gut and laying flat on his back. He hated sleeping on his back. He groaned and looked over at Kyla, trying to ignore the stiffness in his broken leg and resisting the urge to move it.

Kyla was out, like, out. She wasn't snoring thank God, but she didn't look like she would wake up for anything less than a minor explosion in the medi-bay waiting room. Clint was glad she wouldn't wake up though. He didn't want her to see him like this. It was bad enough, him being drugged up and injured beyond movement, but nightmares were for kids.

Kyla looked less lethal in sleep. Her facial muscles were relaxed and her eyes were closed loosely. He was much too young for him…hell; he was probably old enough to be her father, but he had to admit that she was really quite attractive. Her hair was still pulled back in a ponytail but strands had come loose and were draped over her face. Clint dragged his eyes away. She was reminding him too much of Natasha.

Where was she anyway? He had a vague memory of her coming in while he was being prepped for surgery but didn't know what had happened after that. He guessed that Fury had her working on something but still, she would normally have broken down doors if necessary to see him. He shook that thought out of his head. It was just the dream…the dream had made him nervous and a little freaked…that was all. He tried closing his eyes but knew at once that sleeping without the aid of some serious anesthesia was impossible. He just lay there in the dark, listening to his body's numerous complaints, and waiting or the night to be over.

At about one in the morning he heard a noise from the bed beside him. He cracked open his right eye and looked over. Kyla was sitting bolt upright in bed, her head held in her hands and her face contorted in terror. She was gasping like she was in tears, but it was too dark to clearly see her face. She tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, curling into a ball. Clint decided to pretend to be asleep rather than intervene. Had she had a nightmare too?

Kyla stayed curled up for a long time, and Clint could clearly hear her crying. It hurt him worse than his broken leg to see Kyla, one of the strongest people he had ever met, broken down like this. Twice he nearly spoke up, but both times he couldn't muster the courage to let her know that he had seen her like this. If she was anything like him she wouldn't want anyone to see her cry.

Clint actually fell asleep an hour or so later, but Kyla was up almost the whole night, too afraid to return to her dreams. She was better off exhausted than terrified. She had suffered from flashbacks before, but this was so real. Too real.