[ Бог дал, Бог и взял ]

[nailsthetarget]

WHO: deadlieststing and nailsthetarget. Part 2.
WHAT: The second stop on Clint's Seattle tour
WHERE: outside of a bar in Seattle
WHEN: Shortly after this log.
WARNINGS: Attempted murder, breaking of things, cursing, shit being flipped
SUMMARY: With Clint, good luck and bad luck look almost the same. He finds the other woman that he's looking for, but he bites off more than

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[deadlieststing]

"You're bleeding," was the first thing she said, hands still in the pockets of her trenchcoat. It didn't matter, but she stood just out of arm's reach. Natasha had always hated being grabbed, and now was no exception. She could slap anything he threw at her out of the air, but she'd prefer not to have to break out of his grip.

He'd gotten into a fight, and Natasha was willing to be good money on it being with her counterpart. It would be a pity if he'd killed her, but if he had, then the woman was much less competant than Natasha had intially thought. She looked down at him, every muscle tensed, waiting.

[nailsthetarget]

His lips pulled back from his teeth in the semblance of a grin. It was more like a snarl.

"Just a little."

Clint debated with himself internally. With his thigh stabbed, he wouldn't be able to sustain any long-distance running---and if this Natasha was anything like his, she was faster than he was. Ducking out of this encounter was not only not his style, it wasn't even an option. Unfortunately, his wounds meant that throwing down with her would be dicey. She'd seemed confident in herself and in the fact that she could take him out on his best day. He didn't totally believe that, because as far as he'd gathered the Clint Barton of her world was a soft, sorry sap. He knew that he was better than that Hawkweye, but was she better than his Black Widow?

The tug of war was quick and silent. His end decision was simple: fuck it.

He wrapped his fingers around the knife in his boot and lunged in one smooth motion.

[deadlieststing]

Knives. He really was a completely different man, wasn't he? She dismissed the thought as quickly as it registered; there would be time to think about that later. Now, however, there was work to be done.

She missed her wristlets. The Bite would have ended this, no matter how stubborn he was. But she'd been brought here in nothing but a men's jacket. She was at a disadvantage, weaponry-wise. She had a gun, something bulkier than she would have picked, and two knives in her pockets, but she wasn't looking to kill him. Just make him be still and listen to her.

"That was stupid, Clint," She hissed, one hand wrapping around his wrist, stopping the knife, and the other fist swinging for his head. He was bigger than her, but he was injured. She would make the best of that.

[nailsthetarget]

He ducked the fist coming from his face, but the hand around his wrist made panic crawl up his spine.

There were very few things that bothered him. He could endure most anything---and had, over the years---but hands on his wrists or fingers made his heart stutter in his chest.

It took five pounds of pressure to break a wrist. Seven pounds to break a thumb. They were weak, small bones. But for Clint, they were everything. Without his wrists and fingers, he was useless as an archer. The fear of losing them was overwhelming. Without the use of his hands, he was useless.

He hit her arm, grabbing for her coat to throw her.