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Clint had always been fairly capable. He could take care of himself in most situations. Natasha was the same way. They worked well not because they were bad enough to need each other, but they were good enough that they could do these missions alone. They chose to do them together because the odds of things going right were greatly increased in each other's company. They had different styles and approaches, but it worked. Clint could be very laid back. He hated radio silence. He made stupid jokes and he tried to get Coulson to read him stories over the comm from the van. He never agreed, but Clint still tried. Clint preferred a simple mission to one that was filled with bloodshed. He had seen enough of that in the war. He was here doing this stuff because no one else could. Killing was also the only thing Clint had ever been good at. He never missed. What kind of work could he get with that skill? Natasha was the one who preferred the mission going a little sideways. Getting her hands dirty kept her calm and stable. Clint got even more nervous from it.
This was totally fucking sideways.
The next fifteen minutes were a complete and total fucking blank to Clint. As soon as the darkness claimed him there was nothing there. He woke up strapped to a chair and from what he could tell he was missing his clothes. That was a weird twist. A very fucking weird twist. He was really hoping there would be no butt stuff. These guys couldn't be like that could they? This was Budapest. Maybe they just couldn't get laid. Maybe Clint was the pretties thing to come through here. That was very flattering considering Natasha was in the building, but it was also very scary. He would have preferred a note instead of a demonstration. It just made a much better impact with him.
The chair was missing the seat. His boys were danging in the wind, but his special friend was tucked safely between his thighs. Uncomfortable, but he had a funny feeling this was really for the best. His ass cheeks clenched as soon as the metal door across the room flew open. The lights were flipped on and Clint struggled to adjust to the sudden brightness. "You guys are super nice, but I think this is a mistake. I'm not very good in bed. Find someone else." He received a right hook to the cheek and groan. "Noted." He struggled to stop from seeing stars. He had to keep his head if he was going to last until Natasha found him. Wherever the fuck they had taken him. They could have just as easily rushed him off base as soon as they realized Audrey and her "driver" were not as they seemed. Separate and conquer.
Clint squinted as he eyed the tool in the man's hand. It looked like a whip, but something big a bulgy hung from the end. It looked--painful? "The hell is that?" He received an answer in the form of that thing being whipped underneath the busted chair. It caught him in the balls and he let out a howl of pain. Once he stopped seeing spots he lifted his head. "Who the fuck does that?" He got his next answer with another hit. He really hoped that Natasha had heard his safe word being pleaded from before. He didn't know if he could make it through this. This was new. This was dangerous. This was terrifying. "I think you should rethink--" They cut him off with another shot underneath.
Natasha was getting impatient. As systematically as she was taking these guys out she just couldn't get a clear break to Barton's location. She'd tortured one of the guards for exact information, getting out of him that there was a disused bomb shelter underneath the compound. Though it wouldn't be disused much longer if any of the weapons magnates got their way. The dress was soaking at this stage, Natasha looking more and more like an understudy for Carrie.
The fury in her eyes hadn't dampened and even if the men still aimed at her, she could see the fear. Could almost smell it. She was the product that Russia had made her, but she was more conscious of her actions. More aware of the damage that she inflicted. And the fact that she knew she excelled at it, knew that this was her gift no longer scared her as it should. She just hoped that somewhere the Powers That Be understood that this was for the greater good. That she took these men down in the name of the man she owed a debt to. That his one life was worth all the ones she was taking with her own hands.
She paused as she came across a guard the size of a truck cab. A quick check of her watch told her that it had been twenty minutes since Clint's safe word echoed across the comms and she braced herself for the hits she would no doubt take at the hands of this wrestler. A shot was fired and it seemed to almost bounce of his chest. Her eyes widened slightly and she rolled her shoulders before tossing the gun away. She could pick it up after.
"Okay, sure. We can do this your way." And in the next moment she charged at him and jumped just as her hand grabbed the edge of her jacket and she managed to get her legs up around his neck so that she could squeeze with her thighs. It was like riding the world's most ridiculous rodeo bull. She hung on, clawing at his face so that she could cut off his oxygen. If this was the worst the Hungarian's detail had to offer then she could take it. Would take it.
She was so close to Clint now that she wanted to be able to shout so that he could hear, but she still needed no one else to be able to get word back to the guards holding him. If they knew she was coming it would make everything so much more sideways. A seemingly impossible task, but it could happen.
He would really appreciate the mission not going anymore sideways than it already was. He didn't want them to just get bored and cut his balls off in a last ditch effort. Killing him wasn't that scary. Clint had been under fire multiple times both for Shield and the Green Berets. He was not scared of death. The idea of missing a part and having to carry on just terrified Clint. He could handle a lot of stuff, but if you tried to cut something off of him then things got a little hairy. He liked all of his pieces intact. He would look a little off balance if a part was missing. His face didn't function properly if he was missing a part of his ear or a god forbid a finger.
His new friend with the fucked up demented whip form hell was quieting down. He had eased up and was talking to another man in the room. He was whispering some to the man the best he could at this proximity. Clint was close, but not close enough to hear actual words being formed. He hunt his head instead and tried to clear his mind. He wanted to get control of his emotions. He needed to steady his breathing and not focus on the searing white hot pain coursing through his body right now. Shifting in this seat was torture. He would have preferred an old fashion torturing to this. This was just the softening up though. They knew enough not to ask questions until the torture had been inflicted. When they were at the end of their rope is when people talked. They couldn't push him off the edge until he was just right.
Clint lifted his head slowly when he her shoes scuffing the ground. He watched the second man go to the door and exit. His friend spun the whipping device slowly. Clint watched the end with what one could only assume was a fucking rock spin in the air. He swallowed the lump and looked at the wall across from him. His vision went white and he bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood. There was a stutter in his verbal response. His brain wasn't processing this just yet. "Fucking hell." It finally came out quickly. His toes scraped across the concrete flooring. Nails making a torturous sound in this bunker. "Really wish this had gone another way." He let out a heavy sigh and tried to ready himself for the next hit.
It came fast and hard. It was accompanied by another one that came moments after it. He jerked his head to the right and tried to find the right words to express his intense displeasure. "I think touching my balls--makes you gay." The words were stalled and stuttered. He was in pain, but they weren't going to break him. Not like this. He could hear blood dripping down onto the concrete. The bullet wound in his thigh was still bloody as well. At this point he wasn't entirely sure if he had balls anymore. It was very possible that they could be mush. His face didn't feel that much better either. He was sweating bullets by now.
Natasha had gotten the giant to the ground but he was still trying to break her in two. She finally ended it by stabbing him in the eye with her knife and for a moment she just lay there trying to catch her breath. For a moment she closed her eyes and felt peace wash over her. The mountain was conquered. She rolled off him with a grunt and ran through a list in her head of all the things she would do when this mission was over. The little rewards she indulged in to remind herself that she was alive.
A bath was the first thing. Bubbles. Classical music. Nothing but an orchestra to keep her company. Though at this stage that would be coming well after she knew Barton was alright. They had to be dragging it out. Had to be trying to find out who he was working for. They couldn't know they were SHIELD. Just that they worked for someone. It was ironic in a way that the heroes were in fact the enemies when seen from the other side.
Natasha broke out into a flat out sprint after picking up the gun again, bare feet now filthy at this point from running on the concrete. She skidded into the shelter, firing just enough shots to get rid of the guards in the outer room. She got up, and in a swift move snapped the neck of the man that had just left Barton's cell. She was breathing hard, but not hard enough to feel truly winded. All this was a walk in the park for people like them. Maybe they didn't enjoy it, maybe they wanted better things for themselves but this was it. This was who they were.
As she straightened and walked into the room like an angel of death she didn't even blink as first one, then two, then three men were dead. Including the one wielding the whip from hell. She didn't want to ask questions, didn't need to ask questions. The body count would be high but it would be up to her to write the report. Up to her to justify her actions to Coulson and Fury. Up to her to try and explain why Clint really was worth more than the lives of the many or even the integrity of her cover.
The gun was dropped once more and she came forward to cup his face in her hands as she looked him over, and her bloodstained fingers caressed his cheek in a gesture of intimacy. But that was the only gesture she allowed herself before she worked on getting him up and out of the chair. "I realise that you keep talking about the boys, but if you were that desperate for me to actually meet them there are better ways to go about it."
If Clint had been focusing on the sounds outside the bunker better than he might have been tipped off to the cavalry coming to his rescue. Natasha was kind of turning into his white knight. She was going to ride in there and save his ass, but until then he was this guy's new friend. It wasn't so much this guy as it was his whip device. There were times when Clint's interrogators amused him. Sometimes they tried so hard to get information out of him. They wanted him to give up names and places. They worked hard, but this guy was anything, but amusing. That whip was starting to turn him into someone that he hated. It took a lot for Clint to hate someone. He was a fairly open minded guy, but if you crossed a line with him then consider yourself royally fucked. This guy was more than royally fucked. If Natasha didn't kill him then Clint was going to.
The door pushed open with a loud bang. Clint flinched half expecting a shot to tear through his bare body and end him. When it didn't come and all that followed was silence he was relieved. He could hear bodies falling, but his head was bowed. He was too tired to look up and care. He knew who was dying. It wasn't Nat. Those guys were getting the bad side of Natasha Romanoff. Clint learned a long time ago that Natasha had multiple sides. She had multiple layers, but she only had one bad side. The rest was a murky grey. Her dark side was typically bathed in red and had a look that could kill you in your tracks. He knew enough about her to know that she was going to win. This was no contest for Natasha.
When her soft hands touched his face he flinched at the sudden contact. It wasn't that he was afraid of her, but for the last thirty to forty-five minutes he had a big man making paste of his genitals. That was hardly an event you wanted to go through. Having a soothing touch was a little startling after staying conscious for something like that. He thought about passing out, but it wouldn't do any good. He'd just bring him tumbling back into the pain the moment he hit him again. It was hard to get away mentally from pain of that caliber. It was mentally damaging as well as physically damaging. Clint wasn't even sure if his own soldier made it through that battle. It all hurt just the same.
Clint smiled lazily and let out a heavy sigh. "I was goin' for subtle." She got him to his feet and he tried to stand on his own. His legs buckled and he sagged against her smaller frame. He clutched at the fabric of her dress and her skin. He wanted to stay vertical. "Did it work?" There was a strained laugh that came from him. It was hard to see how he could possibly laugh after what just happened, but here he was. He was making jokes to the best of his abilities. "Next time Coulson better let me do the seducing." He shifted to wrap an arm around her shoulders and lean into her side. They needed to get out of here. His clothes were else where and that meant probably being pants-less until they could get to safety.
Natasha kept her touch only to that which was necessary. She couldn't blame him for flinching. The rage that had been let loose was only starting to ebb in minuscule amounts. She couldn't even imagine the pain he had to be feeling. She was glad she'd put a bullet through the skull of the man who had done it to him, but she was nowhere near finished with the Hungarian. She would make sure the man was systematically destroyed once she got Barton to safety.
Her hand tightened against his side as she held his weight, walking as fast as she could manage give the fact that he couldn't. While the two of them had their own safe word for when trouble broke out, they also shared one with Coulson. If it got too bad, and they needed even more back-up that one word was spoken over the comms and he sent in the medics and the cavalry. "Broomstick."
She looked up at Clint's face, even with them both in bare feet he was still taller than her. It was probably a small miracle she could take his weight but she didn't complain. Not once would she complain so long as he could be fixed. So long as the blood that covered her hadn't been shed without it meaning something. She would crumble if she was too late. If there was an injury she didn't know about it led him to dying before help came. She gathered up a smile and laughed with him. "Mm, I don't know if it was quite as subtle as you intended. But I am a little tempted to offer to kiss them better."
She looked forward again as she guided them towards their exit point. She hadn't heard an acknowledgement from Coulson but then she rarely did. He was the silent partner. Even when Clint was clogging the airwaves with his nonsense, Phil somehow managed to keep his calm. Keep from telling the archer off. He usually waited until they were back at HQ. The punishment nearly always resulted in further paperwork. It only made Clint grumble and Natasha found herself relenting and helping him. And then they celebrated with take-out. "You do realise it's going to make me have to out-do you when it comes to the girls, don't you? I'll have try and then of a way to beat you in the subtlety game."
Clint was really hoping she didn't get right to the life ruining while he was in the infirmary. He really wanted to be in on that. He didn't relish the thought of letting Natasha get to have all the fun. Plus he was going to have to go through some pretty heavy recovery. He could at least destroy the guy from his hospital bed. Maybe if he asked nicely Natasha would bring him into HQ in one piece. He would get a chance to pop that guy in that smug face a few times. He had called Clint "boy" one too many times when he was posing as her driver. The thought of getting a chance to destroy that guy was going to keep Clint awake and alert. He would need to be if Natasha was going to get him out of here. Nothing slowed an agent down like dead weight. He didn't particularly want to be that for her.
She said the extraction word to Coulson and he had to breathe a sigh of relief. The team was coming and that meant backup. That meant that as soon as Clint saw the team he could take a fucking nap. He had already planned to sleep for days after this mission was over. The infirmary hated getting Clint Barton was a patient because of how unruly he could be, but this would be different. He actually felt like he did need their help. Most of the time he just felt like they were wasting his time by keeping him cooped up like that. If he could recover from two broken legs under the care of a sadistic asshole than he could recover from a gunshot wound or a cracked open head in the comfort of his quarters. Half those guys didn't even know what the fuck they were doing anyways.
"Don't tell, Coulson. He'll get jealous." He could almost feel Coulson rolling his eyes at Clint over the comm line. "I'll have to take a rain check on that kissing though. I honestly think that'd hurt more than help." You knew Clint was in pain when he turned down physical affection like that. He was having a hard time walking without hurting them. The idea of someone kissing them made his insides churn from the idea of how goddamn painful that actually would be in his condition. "Come back in a month--or two. I'll be sure to get 'em ready for you." His smile was there, but it wasn't quite reaching his eyes. You could probably attribute that to the pain he was going through right now.
Clint actually pouted at the idea of Natasha beating him when it came to women. "You wish." Though he could definitely see a number of women going for Natasha's particular brand of "charm". He had seen her work a room on an op and she was good at it. She was good at getting people to pay attention and even better at winning them over. "That would be cheating. You have a clear advantage over me. You have very good legs." The moment was halted by the appearance of two agent's rounding the corner. "Guess we get to go home." One of them approached to help Natasha escort Clint out of the facility.
He was rarely dead weight for her. Even like this she still knew he'd maintain just enough strength to allow them to escape. She also didn't like retreating but getting Barton help was the first priority. At least now that she'd killed all but the big guy and that she would save for when Clint was better. The Hungarian would never know what hit him. Not with two of them out for revenge. If he didn't have a clue already what kind of trouble he was in, he was a lot denser than she'd given him credit for.
She kept her grip on him tight and tried to pick up the pace just a little so that their extraction team didn't have to run so far into the compound. It was probably both something to do with luck and the trail of bodies she'd left in their wake that meant no one was running after them, but they would. They could try. She tensed when she heard footsteps behind them but two agents broke away from the incoming distraction team and provided cover as Natasha and Clint finally met up with their lifeline.
Natasha turned her head briefly to brush a kiss to his temple instead before Clint was being pulled away from her and carried by two men. If she meant to honour the rain check she didn't say. Not yet. But she smiled when he looked back, trying to let him know she was still there. She followed behind and waited for them to load him safely onto the jet before she took her place next to him and slid her hand into his without a word. She still wanted to give him some kind of physical affection even if it wasn't kissing his balls.
She waited until the agents were busy trying giving instructions to the medical team onboard the helicarrier with what to expect when Barton arrived and Natasha ducked her head to drop her voice low enough that hopefully Barton could hear it. "You do realise I was talking about my breasts, and not women don't you? 'The girls'? At least now I know you don't even fantasise about me with other women. It's oddly sweet."
"It's hard to tell sometimes with you. Just keep the girls warm yeah?" A lazy smile spread out and he tried to fight the overwhelming desire to shut his eyes and keep them shut. He was exhausted and every single part of him ached. The only time he had ever experienced this kind of pain was when his legs were broken. There was a sort of helplessness that came with that injury as well. Barney walked out and that left Clint to take care of himself in a way. Trick Shot hardly counted as a parental figure. The man was a sadistic psychopath who only ever was pleased when Clint was in pain. When Clint was learning how to shoot his way of making sure Clint didn't mess up was through threatening with violence. Sometimes it wasn't even threats. It was actual world shattering pain that he supplied Clint with in order to get him to shoot straight. You learned how to be the best real quick.
He squeezed her hand gently before one of the medics in the helicopter injected him with something. His body got incredibly warm and everything seemed to just relax. That smile from before seemed to widen as the drugs swirled through his system. His eyelids were getting heavier by the second. He looked back up at Natasha and just nodded. "Thanks, Tasha." The words were a bit slurred from the medication, but the sentiment was still behind them. She had come for him and that meant a lot to Clint. They were partners and maybe under the influence of these meds it made him just a little bit more sentimental towards her willingness to pull his ass out of the fire like that.
He awoke on a gurney. He was no longer naked. He had a hospital gown on and his head was cloudy. He could hear doctors off to the left of him, but they were crowded around a different patient. He couldn't see through the curtain that was drawn around his bed. To his right was a single chair and planted in it was his favorite redhead. He laughed softly, but it sort of came out like an amused sigh. She had stayed with him. He wasn't even sure how long he was out, but here she was. He lifted his blankets to look down and found himself severely bandaged up down there. He was a little worried about what his boys looked like, but he didn't think he could handle seeing them in that condition. Not right now at least.
Clint dropped the blankets and cleared his throat as loudly as he could in this condition. "Sleeping Beauty, get up." It wasn't forceful or rude. It was just encouraging. "You're gonna get a crick in your neck, gorgeous." He had to admit that even right now with probably very little good sleep and comfort she looked pretty damn beautiful.
Natasha had at least gotten herself cleaned up. In the time that Clint was out and she knew that there was nothing she could do for him until he was in recovery she showered and changed and did her best not to fret. If anything happened to him there would be hell to pay on both sides.
Now with her hair still damp and her feet tucked up under herself as she dozed in the chair, she cracked her eyes open as soon as she heard Clint's voice. She offered up a sleepy smile before stretching and then leaning forward to rest her hand over his.
"I'd sleep next to you but I don't want to risk any further damage to the boys. Besides, I was keeping the girls warm just like you asked me to." She shifted the chair closer as she looked over his face.
"You look like shit," she told him with another sleepy smile. "And if I'm Sleeping Beauty, shouldn't you be waking me up with a kiss?" Instead she lifted out of her chair and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I think you're Sleeping Beauty in this scenario."
This was totally fucking sideways.
The next fifteen minutes were a complete and total fucking blank to Clint. As soon as the darkness claimed him there was nothing there. He woke up strapped to a chair and from what he could tell he was missing his clothes. That was a weird twist. A very fucking weird twist. He was really hoping there would be no butt stuff. These guys couldn't be like that could they? This was Budapest. Maybe they just couldn't get laid. Maybe Clint was the pretties thing to come through here. That was very flattering considering Natasha was in the building, but it was also very scary. He would have preferred a note instead of a demonstration. It just made a much better impact with him.
The chair was missing the seat. His boys were danging in the wind, but his special friend was tucked safely between his thighs. Uncomfortable, but he had a funny feeling this was really for the best. His ass cheeks clenched as soon as the metal door across the room flew open. The lights were flipped on and Clint struggled to adjust to the sudden brightness. "You guys are super nice, but I think this is a mistake. I'm not very good in bed. Find someone else." He received a right hook to the cheek and groan. "Noted." He struggled to stop from seeing stars. He had to keep his head if he was going to last until Natasha found him. Wherever the fuck they had taken him. They could have just as easily rushed him off base as soon as they realized Audrey and her "driver" were not as they seemed. Separate and conquer.
Clint squinted as he eyed the tool in the man's hand. It looked like a whip, but something big a bulgy hung from the end. It looked--painful? "The hell is that?" He received an answer in the form of that thing being whipped underneath the busted chair. It caught him in the balls and he let out a howl of pain. Once he stopped seeing spots he lifted his head. "Who the fuck does that?" He got his next answer with another hit. He really hoped that Natasha had heard his safe word being pleaded from before. He didn't know if he could make it through this. This was new. This was dangerous. This was terrifying. "I think you should rethink--" They cut him off with another shot underneath.
Clint Barton actually screamed in pain.
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The fury in her eyes hadn't dampened and even if the men still aimed at her, she could see the fear. Could almost smell it. She was the product that Russia had made her, but she was more conscious of her actions. More aware of the damage that she inflicted. And the fact that she knew she excelled at it, knew that this was her gift no longer scared her as it should. She just hoped that somewhere the Powers That Be understood that this was for the greater good. That she took these men down in the name of the man she owed a debt to. That his one life was worth all the ones she was taking with her own hands.
She paused as she came across a guard the size of a truck cab. A quick check of her watch told her that it had been twenty minutes since Clint's safe word echoed across the comms and she braced herself for the hits she would no doubt take at the hands of this wrestler. A shot was fired and it seemed to almost bounce of his chest. Her eyes widened slightly and she rolled her shoulders before tossing the gun away. She could pick it up after.
"Okay, sure. We can do this your way." And in the next moment she charged at him and jumped just as her hand grabbed the edge of her jacket and she managed to get her legs up around his neck so that she could squeeze with her thighs. It was like riding the world's most ridiculous rodeo bull. She hung on, clawing at his face so that she could cut off his oxygen. If this was the worst the Hungarian's detail had to offer then she could take it. Would take it.
She was so close to Clint now that she wanted to be able to shout so that he could hear, but she still needed no one else to be able to get word back to the guards holding him. If they knew she was coming it would make everything so much more sideways. A seemingly impossible task, but it could happen.
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His new friend with the fucked up demented whip form hell was quieting down. He had eased up and was talking to another man in the room. He was whispering some to the man the best he could at this proximity. Clint was close, but not close enough to hear actual words being formed. He hunt his head instead and tried to clear his mind. He wanted to get control of his emotions. He needed to steady his breathing and not focus on the searing white hot pain coursing through his body right now. Shifting in this seat was torture. He would have preferred an old fashion torturing to this. This was just the softening up though. They knew enough not to ask questions until the torture had been inflicted. When they were at the end of their rope is when people talked. They couldn't push him off the edge until he was just right.
Clint lifted his head slowly when he her shoes scuffing the ground. He watched the second man go to the door and exit. His friend spun the whipping device slowly. Clint watched the end with what one could only assume was a fucking rock spin in the air. He swallowed the lump and looked at the wall across from him. His vision went white and he bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood. There was a stutter in his verbal response. His brain wasn't processing this just yet. "Fucking hell." It finally came out quickly. His toes scraped across the concrete flooring. Nails making a torturous sound in this bunker. "Really wish this had gone another way." He let out a heavy sigh and tried to ready himself for the next hit.
It came fast and hard. It was accompanied by another one that came moments after it. He jerked his head to the right and tried to find the right words to express his intense displeasure. "I think touching my balls--makes you gay." The words were stalled and stuttered. He was in pain, but they weren't going to break him. Not like this. He could hear blood dripping down onto the concrete. The bullet wound in his thigh was still bloody as well. At this point he wasn't entirely sure if he had balls anymore. It was very possible that they could be mush. His face didn't feel that much better either. He was sweating bullets by now.
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A bath was the first thing. Bubbles. Classical music. Nothing but an orchestra to keep her company. Though at this stage that would be coming well after she knew Barton was alright. They had to be dragging it out. Had to be trying to find out who he was working for. They couldn't know they were SHIELD. Just that they worked for someone. It was ironic in a way that the heroes were in fact the enemies when seen from the other side.
Natasha broke out into a flat out sprint after picking up the gun again, bare feet now filthy at this point from running on the concrete. She skidded into the shelter, firing just enough shots to get rid of the guards in the outer room. She got up, and in a swift move snapped the neck of the man that had just left Barton's cell. She was breathing hard, but not hard enough to feel truly winded. All this was a walk in the park for people like them. Maybe they didn't enjoy it, maybe they wanted better things for themselves but this was it. This was who they were.
As she straightened and walked into the room like an angel of death she didn't even blink as first one, then two, then three men were dead. Including the one wielding the whip from hell. She didn't want to ask questions, didn't need to ask questions. The body count would be high but it would be up to her to write the report. Up to her to justify her actions to Coulson and Fury. Up to her to try and explain why Clint really was worth more than the lives of the many or even the integrity of her cover.
The gun was dropped once more and she came forward to cup his face in her hands as she looked him over, and her bloodstained fingers caressed his cheek in a gesture of intimacy. But that was the only gesture she allowed herself before she worked on getting him up and out of the chair. "I realise that you keep talking about the boys, but if you were that desperate for me to actually meet them there are better ways to go about it."
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The door pushed open with a loud bang. Clint flinched half expecting a shot to tear through his bare body and end him. When it didn't come and all that followed was silence he was relieved. He could hear bodies falling, but his head was bowed. He was too tired to look up and care. He knew who was dying. It wasn't Nat. Those guys were getting the bad side of Natasha Romanoff. Clint learned a long time ago that Natasha had multiple sides. She had multiple layers, but she only had one bad side. The rest was a murky grey. Her dark side was typically bathed in red and had a look that could kill you in your tracks. He knew enough about her to know that she was going to win. This was no contest for Natasha.
When her soft hands touched his face he flinched at the sudden contact. It wasn't that he was afraid of her, but for the last thirty to forty-five minutes he had a big man making paste of his genitals. That was hardly an event you wanted to go through. Having a soothing touch was a little startling after staying conscious for something like that. He thought about passing out, but it wouldn't do any good. He'd just bring him tumbling back into the pain the moment he hit him again. It was hard to get away mentally from pain of that caliber. It was mentally damaging as well as physically damaging. Clint wasn't even sure if his own soldier made it through that battle. It all hurt just the same.
Clint smiled lazily and let out a heavy sigh. "I was goin' for subtle." She got him to his feet and he tried to stand on his own. His legs buckled and he sagged against her smaller frame. He clutched at the fabric of her dress and her skin. He wanted to stay vertical. "Did it work?" There was a strained laugh that came from him. It was hard to see how he could possibly laugh after what just happened, but here he was. He was making jokes to the best of his abilities. "Next time Coulson better let me do the seducing." He shifted to wrap an arm around her shoulders and lean into her side. They needed to get out of here. His clothes were else where and that meant probably being pants-less until they could get to safety.
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Her hand tightened against his side as she held his weight, walking as fast as she could manage give the fact that he couldn't. While the two of them had their own safe word for when trouble broke out, they also shared one with Coulson. If it got too bad, and they needed even more back-up that one word was spoken over the comms and he sent in the medics and the cavalry. "Broomstick."
She looked up at Clint's face, even with them both in bare feet he was still taller than her. It was probably a small miracle she could take his weight but she didn't complain. Not once would she complain so long as he could be fixed. So long as the blood that covered her hadn't been shed without it meaning something. She would crumble if she was too late. If there was an injury she didn't know about it led him to dying before help came. She gathered up a smile and laughed with him. "Mm, I don't know if it was quite as subtle as you intended. But I am a little tempted to offer to kiss them better."
She looked forward again as she guided them towards their exit point. She hadn't heard an acknowledgement from Coulson but then she rarely did. He was the silent partner. Even when Clint was clogging the airwaves with his nonsense, Phil somehow managed to keep his calm. Keep from telling the archer off. He usually waited until they were back at HQ. The punishment nearly always resulted in further paperwork. It only made Clint grumble and Natasha found herself relenting and helping him. And then they celebrated with take-out. "You do realise it's going to make me have to out-do you when it comes to the girls, don't you? I'll have try and then of a way to beat you in the subtlety game."
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She said the extraction word to Coulson and he had to breathe a sigh of relief. The team was coming and that meant backup. That meant that as soon as Clint saw the team he could take a fucking nap. He had already planned to sleep for days after this mission was over. The infirmary hated getting Clint Barton was a patient because of how unruly he could be, but this would be different. He actually felt like he did need their help. Most of the time he just felt like they were wasting his time by keeping him cooped up like that. If he could recover from two broken legs under the care of a sadistic asshole than he could recover from a gunshot wound or a cracked open head in the comfort of his quarters. Half those guys didn't even know what the fuck they were doing anyways.
"Don't tell, Coulson. He'll get jealous." He could almost feel Coulson rolling his eyes at Clint over the comm line. "I'll have to take a rain check on that kissing though. I honestly think that'd hurt more than help." You knew Clint was in pain when he turned down physical affection like that. He was having a hard time walking without hurting them. The idea of someone kissing them made his insides churn from the idea of how goddamn painful that actually would be in his condition. "Come back in a month--or two. I'll be sure to get 'em ready for you." His smile was there, but it wasn't quite reaching his eyes. You could probably attribute that to the pain he was going through right now.
Clint actually pouted at the idea of Natasha beating him when it came to women. "You wish." Though he could definitely see a number of women going for Natasha's particular brand of "charm". He had seen her work a room on an op and she was good at it. She was good at getting people to pay attention and even better at winning them over. "That would be cheating. You have a clear advantage over me. You have very good legs." The moment was halted by the appearance of two agent's rounding the corner. "Guess we get to go home." One of them approached to help Natasha escort Clint out of the facility.
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She kept her grip on him tight and tried to pick up the pace just a little so that their extraction team didn't have to run so far into the compound. It was probably both something to do with luck and the trail of bodies she'd left in their wake that meant no one was running after them, but they would. They could try. She tensed when she heard footsteps behind them but two agents broke away from the incoming distraction team and provided cover as Natasha and Clint finally met up with their lifeline.
Natasha turned her head briefly to brush a kiss to his temple instead before Clint was being pulled away from her and carried by two men. If she meant to honour the rain check she didn't say. Not yet. But she smiled when he looked back, trying to let him know she was still there. She followed behind and waited for them to load him safely onto the jet before she took her place next to him and slid her hand into his without a word. She still wanted to give him some kind of physical affection even if it wasn't kissing his balls.
She waited until the agents were busy trying giving instructions to the medical team onboard the helicarrier with what to expect when Barton arrived and Natasha ducked her head to drop her voice low enough that hopefully Barton could hear it. "You do realise I was talking about my breasts, and not women don't you? 'The girls'? At least now I know you don't even fantasise about me with other women. It's oddly sweet."
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He squeezed her hand gently before one of the medics in the helicopter injected him with something. His body got incredibly warm and everything seemed to just relax. That smile from before seemed to widen as the drugs swirled through his system. His eyelids were getting heavier by the second. He looked back up at Natasha and just nodded. "Thanks, Tasha." The words were a bit slurred from the medication, but the sentiment was still behind them. She had come for him and that meant a lot to Clint. They were partners and maybe under the influence of these meds it made him just a little bit more sentimental towards her willingness to pull his ass out of the fire like that.
He awoke on a gurney. He was no longer naked. He had a hospital gown on and his head was cloudy. He could hear doctors off to the left of him, but they were crowded around a different patient. He couldn't see through the curtain that was drawn around his bed. To his right was a single chair and planted in it was his favorite redhead. He laughed softly, but it sort of came out like an amused sigh. She had stayed with him. He wasn't even sure how long he was out, but here she was. He lifted his blankets to look down and found himself severely bandaged up down there. He was a little worried about what his boys looked like, but he didn't think he could handle seeing them in that condition. Not right now at least.
Clint dropped the blankets and cleared his throat as loudly as he could in this condition. "Sleeping Beauty, get up." It wasn't forceful or rude. It was just encouraging. "You're gonna get a crick in your neck, gorgeous." He had to admit that even right now with probably very little good sleep and comfort she looked pretty damn beautiful.
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Now with her hair still damp and her feet tucked up under herself as she dozed in the chair, she cracked her eyes open as soon as she heard Clint's voice. She offered up a sleepy smile before stretching and then leaning forward to rest her hand over his.
"I'd sleep next to you but I don't want to risk any further damage to the boys. Besides, I was keeping the girls warm just like you asked me to." She shifted the chair closer as she looked over his face.
"You look like shit," she told him with another sleepy smile. "And if I'm Sleeping Beauty, shouldn't you be waking me up with a kiss?" Instead she lifted out of her chair and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I think you're Sleeping Beauty in this scenario."
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