When Natasha came to, it was slowly, and to a rush of pain. Her head, her ribs, her side and her arm were all throbbing. So she pushed herself up carefully, and looked around. She was in a tent, lying on a pile of blankets. All good signs, but still - she wasn't going to trust anyone just yet. She pushed herself to her feet, stumbling a bit. Shit. If anyone were to come at her, she'd be lucky to stay standing long enough for the attack. Come on Natasha, damn it, just put one foot ahead of the other. There - now, at least, she was out of the tent.

"Natasha!" She turned at her name, instantly on edge. She dropped into as much of a defensive position as she could, but the movement set her off balance and her right knee buckled under her.

"Hey - hey, be careful." It was Barton, coming up behind her and looping her arm around his shoulders and helping her hobble back to the tent.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you." Natasha breathed, as he set her back down on the mass of blankets she'd been sleeping on before.

"Yeah, ditto." Barton replied, lifting her shirt up to check her bandages. "Although you could've come a bit sooner."

"Sooner?" Natasha laughed, then stopped when it broke off into a coughing that only brought back the pain in her ribs. "I had to come from the nearest HQ by horseback."

"And that took you eight months?" Barton asked, and Natasha stared at him. He glanced up at her. "What?" He asked, sounding a little irritated.

"You've been here for eight months?" Natasha asked. He nodded. "I came to find you less than a day after you disappeared - I guess time travel isn't the most exact art."

"Apparently." Barton said, lowering her shirt back over her side once he was certain that the wound hadn't reopened. "So do we have a way to get back, or did you just miss me so much that you had to come get stuck in the 15th century with me?" He asked with a smirk.

"We have a possible extraction."

"Possible?"

"It may or may not work."

"Fantastic." Barton responded with a snort, moving to his feet and going to grab a bowl in the back corner that Natasha hadn't noticed. "You've been out for nearly forty-eight hours, so you're probably starving." He said, sitting down next to her and holding out the bowl of what looked like thin soup. Natasha shook her head.

"I'm not hungry." A look of something - worry? Fear? - passed over Barton's features.

"Nat, how long has it been since you've eaten anything?" He asked slowly. Natasha was too tired to tell him to call her Romanoff. She thought back - if she'd been unconscious for the past two days...

"Two and a half weeks."

"And water?" There was something closed up about his features, now.

"I had a few mouthfuls a day."

"Okay, Natasha - you really need to eat this soup. It tastes disgusting, but it's your best chance of not falling into a coma from blood loss and lack of food, got it?"

Natasha reluctantly took the bowl from him. The first sip was scalding, but nearly as soon as she swallowed she felt it coming back up. She turned so it would land on the grass instead of the blankets, and when she pulled herself back up she felt Barton's gaze on her.

"I'm fine." She said immediately, then panic gripped her as she suddenly realized that the pen wasn't strapped to her leg like it usually was. "The pen -"

"Here." Barton pulled it from his boot and handed it to her. "I didn't want anyone to find it."

"Good." Natasha said, relieved. "Because that's our extraction plan." Understanding lit Barton's features.

"It's Asgardian."

"And let's hope it's strong enough to work through time streams as well as across long distances." Natasha replied grimly, breathing out slowly as a streak of pain from her side lashed against her. "So what did you do in 15th century germany for eight months?" She asked tightly, looking for something to distract her.

"Oh, you know - fought a couple duels, won a few lordships." Barton smirked.

"Of course you did." Natasha muttered. "How long did it take you to adjust to using a sword?" Barton shrugged.

"'Bout a week. Coulson and I used to practice with them occasionally, as a way to let off steam, so it wasn't completely new. Also, they love archery here in the medieval ages."

"Seems like you've found your place, Barton." Natasha said with a grin. "Sure you want to come back to the 21st century?"

"Well, we do have running water in the 21st century, so I'm gonna have to say yes." Natasha closed her eyes for a brief moment when the pain in her ribs flared up again. "And call me Clint." Her eyes flew open. He was giving her an appraising stare, like he wasn't sure if she would accept the offer of friendship that this obviously was. And if this had been any other time, or any other person, she probably wouldn't have.

"Alright, Clint." She said finally, leaning back into the blankets. "Any chance that you're going to let me get up and look around town?"

"Nope." He settled down beside the makeshift bed, stretching out his legs. "Not until you can eat that bowl of soup."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but obligingly took a miniscule sip, this time keeping it down. She set the bowl aside. Best not to push her luck for now.

"So how'd you get rid of the angels?" Clint - it was surprisingly easy to think of him as that - asked.

"How do you know I got rid of them?" Natasha asked. Clint shot her a glance, and she smirked. "Fine. I loaded the church with C-4 and blew it sky high."

Clint laughed. "Bet the council can't wait to get you back so they can send you on months of recon missions."

"Don't bring it up." Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. "But it was that, or letting them loose on the world."

Clint nodded. "You made the right call." He said, and Natasha shot him a grateful look, just before a yawn escaped her lips. "'Kay, time for you to go back to that wonderfully unconscious state you were in not too long ago."

"Jesus, Clint." Natasha snapped, but it didn't come out as harsh as she'd intended. "You're like a mother hen." But he was already slipping out of the tent.

"Eat the soup!" He called over his shoulder, making her roll her eyes before she closed them and drifted off into sleep.

When she woke up it was dark outside, but there was no way she was staying in this goddamned tent for another minute. So she slipped on her boots, took a few small sips of the now-cold soup, and hobbled outside.

The streets were mostly silent, but there was a dull roar coming from a street over, so she made her way through the shadows to see what it was. When she rounded the corner, she saw the flickering lights of a bonfire, and what seemed to be half the town crowded around it. She walked closer, standing just far enough behind the crowd so she could see the festivities without being jostled around by the clusters of people. They were singing - loud, raucous singing that had more shouting than actual music to it. She stood and watched for a while, at the companionship that these people seemed to share simply by living in the same city. It was remarkable. When she was finished with watching, she turned down the nearest alley, not really sure where she was going.

"Natasha!" She turned to see Clint jogging to catch up with her. There was something off about the way he moved, but she couldn't put a finger to what it was. He caught up, and stopped beside her. "Why don't you come join in the fun?" He asked, leaning against the side of a building.

"Not my idea of fun." Natasha responded nonchalantly.

"They're good people." Clint remarked offhandly.

"I'm sure they are."

There was a long pause.

"Eight months is a long time."

Something caught in her throat. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" He looked over at her, surprised. "You didn't have to come back for me - you shouldn't have. It wasn't the smartest move, tactically. But you did."

"I owe you." Natasha responded, trying to guide the conversation back to familiar waters. "You saved my life, gave me a second chance." She cleared her throat and smirked. "Besides, Coulson was getting on my nerves. I needed you there to neutralize him."

"Natasha."

There was something in the way he said her name, the way he was looking at her now.

And then he took a step towards her, brought his hands up to cup her face. And he was kissing her, and it was different from the other times she'd kissed someone because this time it wasn't for a cover, it wasn't to distract someone from seeing the monster she was underneath. It was real, so real it hurt.

But now, of course, she knew why his balance had been off and why his voice had sounded soft and blurred. Natasha pulled herself back, kneeing him in the groin, and as he bent over muttering expletives she made a break for it, running as fast as her injuries would let her.

Maybe if she ran fast enough, she could escape that fleeting feeling of happiness she'd felt, before she'd smelled the alcohol on his breath.

She hoped he wouldn't remember it in the morning.