Natasha woke early from where she'd been curled up outside the city, sheltered by a cluster of trees. She hadn't wanted to go back to the tent and wake up to see him sitting there, trying to repair what had been broken in that one, drunken mistake. But she had to face him eventually, so she made her way back into the town. Clint was sitting in the tent, head pressed to his knees.

"Hangover?" Natasha asked, sitting down and bringing the bowl of soup to her lips. Clint looked up at her, and his expression closed off immediately. Damn it. Apparently he hadn't been so drunk that he wouldn't remember what had happened.

"You have no idea." He muttered, groaning as he shifted around into a different sitting position. "Remind me never to drink when there aren't any aspirin available for the next morning."

"Will do -" Natasha was cut off when the bit of soup she'd swallowed came back up. She hung over the edge of the blankets for a moment, retching, before she pulled herself back into a sitting position, wiping her mouth against the back of her hand. The night of wandering around hadn't done her any good, either - she had to focus to stop herself from passing out again.

"What a pair we make." Clint said with a self-deprecating laugh. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agents, stuck in the medieval ages, barely able to walk."

Natasha was about to respond when she felt something growing hot against her foot. She pulled out the pen, nearly dropping it when her hand brushed against the burning hot metal. "Hold onto me." She said shortly, and Clint grabbed her forearms without question.

"You really think this is going to work?" He asked.

"I hope so." Was all that Natasha was able to say, before the world started spinning and a bolt of lightning shot through her.

"We need medics here, ASAP! Somebody get Coulson, tell him his boy's back." Shouting surrounded them, and it took Natasha a second to orient herself. They were back in HQ, on the white tiled floors with LED lights glaring at them. Agents were rushing back and forth, shouting commands.

"See? I told you it would work." She mumbled, before her legs gave out and the world started to go fuzzy.

"Natasha? Nat! Hey, I need a medic over here!" A small part of her brain recognized Clint's voice, but it was too distracted by the black dots clouding her vision to care. We made it. Was her last thought. We made it.

When she regained consciousness the first thing that she heard was a small, insistent beeping and the smell of antiseptic. She was in the hospital ward. With a reluctant sigh, she opened her eyes. She was sitting in a hospital bed, hooked up to numerous IVs and moniters. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, and noticed with a shock that Clint was sprawled out in the chair across from her bed, soundly asleep. He stirred slightly, and his eyes flickered open. When he saw that she was awake, he pulled himself up, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm not an expert at these things," Natasha said, "but I'm fairly certain that only immediate family and SOs are allowed into a patient's room when they're unconscious."

Clint shrugged. "I snuck past the nurses." He said nonchalantly, stifling a yawn. "Figured you wouldn't mind some real food after a week of being fed through a tube." He tossed her a bag of oreos, which Natasha opened gratefully.

"A week?"

"Yeah, you had the doctors pretty worried. Blood loss, fractured ribs, dehydration, malnourishment, minor concussion - you pulled all the shots, Nat."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Natasha muttered, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. "Any chance you can pull off a rescue mission? I hate hospitals."

A glint entered his eyes. "Well, I might be able to sneak you out in one of the janitor's carts -"

"Agent Barton." They both froze and looked over at the door, where Fury was standing. "I need to speak with you and Romanoff in my office. Clear her with one of the doctors first. I expect you there within the hour."

"Yes, sir." Clint replied automatically. Fury turned and stalked out of the room. "Well, this is gonna be fun." Clint muttered. "Ready to get out of here?"

"You have no idea." Natasha responded, slowly taking out her many IVs. Clint came over to stand beside the bed, ready to assist her if she needed help getting up. But whatever the doctors had been pumping her full of was working, and she was able to walk out of the room with a minimal amount of pain.

After getting cleared, they made their way up to Fury's office with some trepidation. Natasha had only had minimal contact with the director since coming to S.H.I.E.L.D., and most of it had been during him telling Coulson that bringing her in had been Clint's worst move yet. They stopped outside his office.

"Ready?" Clint asked, glancing over at her. Natasha smirked.

"As ever." She replied, and pushed open the door.

"Both of you made some grave errors on this mission, mistakes that could have cost your lives, and the lives of other agents." Fury said, turning to face them. Clint opened his mouth to respond, but the director cut him off. "But despite those errors, you pulled off what could be the greatest rescue mission to ever go down at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Thank you, sir." Natasha responded, because Clint looked too astonished to say anything.

"As soon as you're fully recovered, Romanoff, you two have a mission already lined up in Iran. It's all in here." Fury handed them each a file, which they opened immediately.

"Strike Team Delta, sir?" Natasha asked.

"You two are going to be working as partners from now on." Fury responded. "That's what you'll be called. A little showy, I know, but the council wants everything sounding official." He looked up at them, and although he wasn't smiling, he looked slightly less antagonistic than every other time Natasha had seen him. It vanished almost instantly. "Alright, I've seen enough of you two. Get back to training." Natasha covered a smile as she turned to follow Clint out the door.

"So, Strike Team Delta." Clint said as soon as they were out of earshot of the office. "Looks like you won't be getting rid of me anytime soon."

"Damn." Natasha said with a smirk. "Here I was, thinking I'd be able to move onto some other partner as soon as we got back."

"Apparently your luck's run out." Clint's voice was teasing, but when he glanced over at her his expression said all that needed to be said. He looked away, suddenly. "I'm sorry about the other night." He said in a low voice. Natasha shook her head.

"Don't be. You were drunk, it was a mistake."

"I didn't think it was that much of a mistake." Clint muttered. Natasha wasn't sure she'd heard him right.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing, I - nothing." But then he looked over at her, and his expression spoke volumes. Natasha took in a short breath.

And then she took a step towards him and suddenly they were kissing, in the bend of a hallway where anyone could see, but she didn't care because his hands were running up and down her back and her fingers were in his hair and there was something loosening in her chest, and for the first time in a long time what she was feeling could be described as happy.

When they pulled apart, there was something different in his expression - and, Natasha was sure, in hers as well. And it took a moment to gather her thoughts, because she didn't want to gather them. She wanted to stay here, in this oblivious mess, with him.

"I'm glad you're my partner, Clint." Natasha breathed out.

"And I'm glad you're mine."

That was really all that needed to be said.