Taylor's POV

"Beta, how's your area looking?"

"Pretty good, Cap. Although I must say, these things are resilient." I grunt as I fire at one of the metallic canines we were currently fighting. "They just don't stay down, do they?"

"Focus, Beta." Steve reminds me gently. "How's the progress coming on Dr. Doom?"

"I'm about a block away." Natasha reports with a background of metal hitting metal. "I have eyes on Thor too."

"Good." I can almost hear Steve's nod through the comm. "Widow, keep eyes on him. Work your way towards Doom, sure and steady."

"Got it. Widow out."

I dive sharply to avoid a set of gleaming steel teeth before flipping onto my back and firing up at the owner of the teeth, hitting the huge metal Fido square in the jaw and jarring its head, taking the chance to zip away before it regains its senses. "Hulk!"

I smirk as a roar resounds off the surrounding skyscrapers, followed by a sickening crunch and the sound of squealing metal.

One down. And two more on my tail.

"Hawkeye, where are you?"

"At the corner of Park and Emerson, Beta. Why?"

"I'm swinging your way, got two on my tail."

"Ready and waiting."

I swing into a wide, turning dive as I round a building and just barely hear the whisper of two arrows.

Two impacts, two sizzles, and two robotic yelps and then two crashes make me grin as I look back onto the piles of sparking, smoldering metal.

"These new electric arrows are amazing."

"You're welcome." my dad and I chorus cheekily.

"You guys…"

My ears perk up at her worried tone. "What is it, Widow?"

"Heads up," she rushes, and I can hear the tension in her voice, "Doom has an EMP bomb."

I can hear the whoosh of air as everyone suck in a breath. "Iron Man, how our EMP shields look?"

"Mediocre at best." my dad admits. "We better hope Doom does not have his hands on any serious power right now."

"Guys, comms will go out." Steve reminds us morosely. "I need our aerial fighters to get a visual on as many of us as you can."

"On it." I nod, my words mirrored by Iron Man and Thor, as I zoom upwards and peak above the skyscrapers.

There's a red metallic glint to my northwest and a splash of red and silver to my direct right. Looking down, I can see a figure in red, white and blue as well as an archer almost directly below me. "I have eyes on Cap and Hawkeye." I report, scanning the area for Doom.

"I have visual on Hulk." my dad reports.

"I can see the Widow of Black!" Thor shouts, almost deafening us all.

"Good, now, I need Iron Man and Iron Beta to-" a loud, static crackle followed by an even louder pop cuts Steve off, and then I can't hear anyone anymore.

But I do have more pressing problems at the moment. Like the fact that I'm now encased in a falling metal box and I can barely see a thing.

"Jarvis?" I call. "Emergency power!"

No sound besides the wind whistling past me.

"Jarvis?"

Still nothing.

"Okay, he's not online yet. Time for plan B then." My voice echoes slightly inside my helmet.

Plan B, by the way, is to curl into the tightest ball possible, protect my back and head, and brace for impact.

And it's a good thing, too, because I hit the ground hard. Like, Hulk smash hard.

I slam into the ground with my back in the air, my curled arms and legs taking the full force of the hit. I instantly wince at the pain jarring through a few of my ribs and my left arm, and I have never been so thankful for my cyborg right arm.

I slowly uncurl, crying out as I move my left arm – probably broken – and my ribs, but I eventually trigger the manual release switches and roll out of the suit.

I dig through the pockets in my pants for a while before I find my emergency, Jarvis-only earpiece, tossing my normal comm aside as I push it in. "Jarvis?"

"I'm online, ma'am, at your service."

"Good." I sigh pitifully. "Can you read my vitals?"

"Yes ma'am. Your heart and blood pressure rates are quicker than average, your breathing is quick and slightly shallow, and your temperature has dropped just slightly. May I suggest medical attention?"

"Yeah, yeah." I brush him off, "I will. Once I find the others and get out of here. Are the comms working?"

"Negative."

"Fine," I huff, "stupid EMP. Can you detect the others?"

"I have found six other Avengers, Miss Stark, and they all seem to be converging on 37th street."

I thank him as I begin jogging slowly towards the apparent rendezvous point, cradling my left arm with my right.

About half an hour later, I make round a final corner that takes me onto 37th, and I'm greeted by six other walking but wounded Avengers.

"You okay?" Steve calls over to me as soon as he sees me.

"Pretty much," I assure him, "nothing worse than what I've had before."

Everyone seems to relax slightly at my report, everyone except-

-everyone except Clint.

Now that I actually get a good look at my boyfriend, I realize that he has his back to the rest of us, his head bowed, and his shoulders hunched and tense.

"Clint?"

"He's not responding." Steve whispers sullenly from behind me. "He hasn't been."

I spin to face the Captain. "What do you mean, 'not responding'? Is it a code-"

"No." Steve shakes his head. "His breathing is steady and he doesn't look panicked. He does, however, look nervous and slightly tense."

I hum absently, turning back to the archer. "You said he hasn't been responding…how long?"

Steve shrugs. "Since he got here. I was first on scene, then Hulk, and then Clint. He's barely moved since."

"And he was on the comms before we all went down…" I trail off, letting theories run through my head.

So the EMP must've done something, but what could make Clint seemingly not hear us-

Oh.

I quickly turn to Natasha to share my idea, but Natasha's currently curled unconscious on the ground, Bruce seeing to whatever wounds she may have.

I sigh as I gingerly step forward and towards Clint. I walk around him so I'm in his field of vision before waving a hand in front of his face.

He blinks at me, surprised, before tilting his head much like a puppy would.

I raise a concerned eyebrow, and he blinks again slowly before tapping his ear.

I sigh again as I raise my hands. What happened? I sign at him.

Hearing aids went during E-M-P, he signs slowly.

I blink at him. How bad?

Can't hear a thing, he tells me, deaf as an old man.

I sigh. Spares?

S-H-I-E-L-D. Never got them back.

Why? I glare sternly at him.

Sorry, he shrugs, and I huff again.

Before I can respond, Steve steps in. "What's going on?"

I turn back to Clint. You never told them?

No, he signs slowly.

Turning back to Steve, I reply "I'll tell you in the tower. How're we getting home?"

"The jet should be here in about five minutes." Steve tells me, still confused, and I nod gratefully at him before turning back to Clint again.

Jet will be here in five, I sign, stick close till then.

He nods before looking me up and down. You okay?

Yes, nothing bad.

He sends me a pointed glare. You're favoring your arm.

Nothing bad. I repeat as we hear jet engines overhead.

He sighs as the jet lands, and I grab his elbow and drag him towards the jet before he can push it any further.

Once on the jet, I seat myself close to Clint, always keeping some kind of physical contact.

"Who's flying?" Steve inquires as we all get our gear and weapons stored away.

"Right now?" I ask. "Jarvis. Nat, can you fly?"

"Concussion," she moans quietly, "bad, bad concussion."

"Right, so she's going nowhere near the pilot's seat. Clint…can't fly right now, and I need to stick with him. Steve?"

"I can fly, but I need a copilot."

I glance towards the cockpit, then back at Steve. "Would an AI work?"

He nods and disappears into the cockpit.

I lean slightly into Clint as the jet takes off. My dad raises an eyebrow at me, then flicks a hand towards Clint in a silent question.

Tell you later, I mouth at him, please.

He nods, and I prop my head on my boyfriend's shoulder as we get closer to home.

A~A~A

I'm still next to Clint after we've been checked out by the med staff, my left arm confirmed as broken and in a cast, covered by a sling for my dislocated shoulder. I also have a few ribs bandaged under my t-shirt.

I was now sitting on a hospital bed next to Clint; who, thankfully, has nothing more than cuts and scrapes for me to explain to the doctors.

Natasha was next to us, sleeping off an extreme concussion, and my dad was next to her with a sprained knee and ankle – on the same leg. Steve, Bruce, and Thor were all uninjured and are lounging in hospital chairs spread across the room.

"Hey Taylor," Steve grabs my attention, "what was that thing back there? With Clint?"

I bite my lip and glance at Clint, who sends me a pleading look and squeezes my right hand.

Why don't you want to tell them? I sigh clumsily with just one hand.

Would you want someone to know your disability?

My disabilities are obvious, I point out, tapping my reactor and hand.

But if they weren't? Clint signs quickly.

Then I would trust my team enough to have my back, I wave a hand around the room.

Taylor, I can't, not with S-H-I-E-L-D and news and press and Hawkeye needs to be strong-

His hand movements are getting ever more frantic, so I quickly grab one of his wrists and lower it into his lap.

Yes, I tell him, Hawkeye needs to be strong, but does Clint Barton?

"Uh, guys?"

Clint slumps as I turn to face Steve, who's looking at us like we're speaking a foreign language.

Technically, sign language is another language.

I sigh and send a pleading glance at Clint, who hesitates slightly before giving a small nod.

Can I see one of your hearing aids? I ask him, and he nods again, so I gently grab one of the small devices in his ear.

"When the EMP struck," I sigh, "it didn't only take out the comms and the suits. It also rendered Clint unable to respond to any of us."

"What? How?"

"This." I uncurl my hand, showing the useless hearing aid.

"Is that…" Bruce starts.

"Yes," I nod, "a hearing aid. The EMP completely trashed them, and Clint literally hasn't been able to hear a word said since."

"Unable to respond to any of us…" Bruce blinks. "Except you. That was sign language, wasn't it?"

I nod silently, never letting go of Clint's hand.

"So that's why you couldn't fly," my dad concludes, "You were too busy translating for Birdbrain."

"Still here, y'know." Clint reminds us, his words slightly slurred. "What?" he protests at Steve's incredulous look. "I'm deaf, not mute. I can read lips just fine, s'long as you don't talk as fast as normal."

"I do not talk fast!" my dad cries indignantly.

"You do."

"Do not."

"You do."

"Shut your pie hole, feather head."

Clint aggressively signs something at me, and I gently smack his shoulder. "I am not translating that."

"Who else knows this mysterious language of signs?" Thor booms before he's shushed by Bruce, mainly for Natasha's benefit.

"Natasha does, of course," I nod at the redhead, "Along with Fury, Coulson, Hill, Stillwell did…"

"So, in this group, you and Natasha are the only ones?" Steve surmises.

"Yeah." Clint and I nod.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. "Remind me to keep one of you close to Clint at all times."

"Shouldn't be too hard," I smirk, "seeing as I'm his girlfriend and she's his best friend and mine."

"When did you find out?" Bruce squints at me.

"I found out right after I got my arm and reactor." I shrug, "He showed me while I was in the hospital. I learned sign language right after we started dating, in Asgard and that one safe house."

"Has this happened before?" Bruce tilts his head, "Them failing, I mean?"

Clint signs quickly at me.

"He says it's only happened once before, on an early mission. He got tossed in a lake, almost electrocuted himself."

Electricity and water don't mix, I sign at him, dummy.

Wasn't my fault, he insists, I didn't have much choice.

I roll my eyes and curl into him, both of us relaxing as we slowly nod off to the snores filling the room.

I tap him on the shoulder just before we are asleep completely. Hey, I sign, you okay?

Yes, he signs, you were right. About trusting my team.

I grin and softly kiss him. I knew I was.

Show off.

Told you so, bird boy.

His breathing eventually evens out, followed by mine, and I fall asleep with a smile on my face, Clint's head on my shoulder, and his hand linked with mine.