hi everyone, sadly no one correctly guessed my favorite color! a few people said purple, and a few said green, but alas! my favorite color is yellow my fair readers! (sorry, just had a thor moment.)

*smashes tea mug on floor* this drink is delicious! I shall have another!

anyways, good try you guys! enjoy this chapter!

and no, i still don't own the avengers...

~Chapter 4

Irena was not expecting to see what she saw on her morning walk, and is surprised.

She had been told to expect the man known as Hawkeye, but she hadn't thought he would be so literal with the nickname.

She sees the young man sitting up in the tree as if he really is a Hawk, shivering violently in the cold and his breathing coming in quick gasps.

"Hello," She greets in Russian, standing in front of the tree, right in his view.

The Hawk jumps awake at the sound, hand reaching for his bow. He winces, and lets his hand drop, rubbing his shoulder blearily. "Who… are you?" He asks, his voice sounding rough and tired.

"A friend," She assures him, recognizing his use of English and changing to match it. He tenses as he stares at her, but seems to sense she is telling the truth and relaxes slightly.

"Good," He mumbles, eyes drifting shut. "Think you can…help me down?" He asks, still breathing as if he'd just run a marathon.

The older lady nods, and steps closer offering a wrinkled hand.

The Hawk throws down his bow to the snow first along with his bag and takes the offered hand, jumping down.

The movement makes Clint dizzy and he concentrates on an image of Natasha to try and keep from throwing up.

"You're wounded…" Irena says, her brow furrowing.

"Yeah," Clint says weakly, the world in front of him spinning. "Shit happens..."

For the second times that day, Clint falls to the darkness and leaves the world behind to fall into fevered dreams.

*(*)*

"Miss Aristov, I'd like you to meet my son, Pavel."

Natasha can feel her lips start to ache from her increasingly fake smile. "Good to meet you, Pavel," She says politely to the tall man in his twenties the older man named Andrei gestured to.

Of all the people she had run into at this little formal gathering, she was glad to have meet Andrei Chekhov. He was one of the better people in Russia—one that did not traffic guns, drugs, or any other kind of harmful thing. Of what she heard, he seemed to be an honest man, something she couldn't she had comes across before on any previous ops.

"And to meet you, Miss…?"

"Sonya," She supplies quickly. "Sonya Aristov."

Pavel takes her hand and kisses an act that would get even Clint punched in the face on the best of days.

"So, Miss Aristov, I hear you've been trying to find a link to the Black Widow program." Pavel says as if it were a normal conversation.

Natasha freezes for half a second, and then her training kicks in. "I'd heard of the program, yes," She says simply. "But I have little a clue what it involves."

Pavel smiles wryly. "You lie, Natasha Romanoff, but I admit you lie well."

Shit. Natasha swears desperately in every language she knows. She knows she's compromised. Hell, beyond compromised. Clint would personally throttle her if she managed to get out of this one alive.

"The worry is plain on your face, but do not worry." Andrei says. "The Chekhov family has been aiding SHIELD's with it's intelligence for years. That is not going to change, my dear." Andrei seems trustworthy enough, and she had done extensive research on their family background. Though nothing stuck out as odd, Natasha knew she shouldn't trust them.

"Prove it." She says in English.

*(*)*

Irena is not familiar with wounds like his, but it did not seem to be complicated either.

It was a small hole in his shoulder about a centimeter or less in diameter, that still bled lightly. She knew it probably was infected, so she cleaned it out as best she could with a bit of vodka. However, she was familiar with the way the wound had become a nasty yellow/green and was swollen as if infected.

It is an uncommon poison used by those who could not get their hands on something more effective and for that, Irena is glad. If the Hawk had pulled the projectile out before too much of the poison had entered his blood stream, he had a good chance at surviving, as the poison was only effective in large amounts.

But he still isn't out of the woods yet.

Irena worried that the fever will get him before anything else. His temperature sat above 103 for far too long, and he became delirious, mumbling in French and other various languages about someone named Natasha.

Only after five hours does his temperature start to fall, and he slowly comes back to the world of the living.

Clint opens his eyes slowly, the constant ache in his shoulder having torn him from his hazy dreams.

He sees a small room around him, a little coffee table with an abandoned mug, a burning woodstove opposite of him.

He couldn't honestly remember for a moment what had transpired after he had passed out the first time, and he struggles to recall the person he had met for a brief moment prior to loosing conscience again.

"Good to see you are awake."

The voice caught him off guard, and he nearly jumps out of his own skin. "Umm…hi." He mumbles back, watching as the gray haired lady reclaims her mug of tea and sits in the rocking chair next to the wood stove.

"I'm Irena Tolstoy." She says with a small smile. "I'm glad the Hawk has finally arrived."

Clint's eyes go wide as his mind reels. Irena Tolstoy…?

He manages a lopsided grin. "SHIELDs told you I was coming?"

Irena nods. "I've got something important that they want, and they told me they'd be sending an archer." She smiles. "They never told me he would be a handsome archer, hwoever."

Clint chuckles and swings his legs around the side of the couch, really wanting to move around. He hates be being bed-ridden.

"I'd advise you don't try to stand." Irena warns him. "They poisoned whatever they shot you with-."

"It was a crossbow," Clint tells her, still moving as if to stand. He gets up, but his legs feel like jelly, and his crumples on the spot

She continues as if he hadn't fallen."—And the poison acts as a bit of a nuero-toxin until it's completely out of your system.

Clint allows himself a tiny 'ow,' and manages to drag himself back onto the couch while Irena watches, seeming somewhat amused.

He can feel sleep dragging his eyelids down once again, and he has just enough time to mutter, "'s not funny…"

*(*)*

"My ex-wife is a big supporter of the Avengers intiative. Ask her if I am trustworthy, and she will answer you truthfully." Andrei had said, handing her a small slip of paper with directions.

Natasha bites her lip as she arrives at the small home. It didn't look very threatening, or unsafe. She couldn't see any guards or people who might be there to kill her when she showed up, so she takes it as a good sign.

She knocks on the door quietly, quite aware it's probably close to one in the morning.

The door swings open, and Natasha's eyes go wide.

Clint stands there shakily with a gun held high, pointed right at her. He drops the gun to his side when he recognizes her.

"Tasha…?" He says slowly, doubtfully, as if he thinks he might be hallucinating.

Natasha takes in his weary form slowly.

He looks like he might collapse any second.

She steps forward and he sort of falls into her embrace like a weak kitten.

"Hi…" He mumbles.

Natasha notes how warm he feels and looks about the house for a sign of the woman she had been sent to talk to.

"Are you okay?" She asks Clint warily.

"Mmmmm… you smell pretty," He purrs into her hair.

Okay…I'm guessing that's a no…

because delusional, wounded Hawkeye is about as fun as they come :D no doubt she'll beat the crap out of him when he's actually in his right mind :3

it's okay Hawky. she won't kill you...much.

soooo yeah :)

name the show where the names Pavel and Andrei Chekov came from, and you get a sneak peek! (hint: think 60's scifi)

love you all, and another big thanks to everyone who's reviewed, added, or alerted!

lots of luv,

gilraenstar :)