Chapter Text
It was gone half past by the time they made it to Fury’s office. Natasha's knock promoted a sharp “Enter!” from the other side. The tone, unfortunately for them, was definitely one of anger. She pushed open the door.
“Fury-”
“No, it's fine,” the man stood with his gaze fixed upon hers, “you only blew off about 14 other team members and compromised the efficiency of an entire department. We've rescheduled.”
Clint didn't speak - he was pouring his focus into keeping his balance and not ending up on the floor.
“When?”
Fury pulled a chair out from the table in the centre.
“Now.”
—•°.•—
The room almost stopped spinning when Clint sat down. Sure, he'd seen worse, but it didn't make it any less painful.
“I hope screwing things up hasn't become a new hobby for you two. It had better not become a hat trick. Understood?”
He dimly registered Nat's nod and followed suit. He needed to concentrate, he knew that. Not knowing mission details was how you got killed.
Fury’s briefing continued as they always did - objective, plan, details. Clint tried his hardest to retain it all, though his head felt fuzzy. Reassuring was Natasha; attentive, focused, answering Fury’s questions with certainty. Coffee really worked wonders on her.
—•°.•—
Natasha didn't like the way Clint leant on the chair as he stood, eyes a little glassy and breathing slightly shallow. She didn't like the limp, or his silence, or the way his fists were clenched so that his knuckles became pale. The mission would not be easy. She needed to be able to rely on him completely, no doubts.
It was a night-time mission, which she was grateful for. She could sleep a couple hours more and make sure all mission details were memorised. She drove them both back to the tower, occasionally glancing over at Clint, who was leant against the windowframe with his eyes closed. She reached over to open the glovebox, rummaging around for anything edible. She ended up pulling out a packet of crisps and a squashed protein bar that probably both dated back at least a year. They hit Clint square in the face, startling him out of his daze. Much to Natasha's relief, he thanked her and popped open the crisps.
–°•–°•–
Thank God for painkillers, Clint thought, as he unwrapped the protein bar. The nausea he'd felt earlier had faded as the drugs pushed the pain away, leaving him to realise how long it had been since his last meal. His head was a little clearer too, so he pulled the mission folder off the dash to read. It was an extraction mission, “rescuing” what seemed to be a double agent. The file was vague, as always, mostly only relaying an outline of the building’s defences and the state it was in. This enabled agents to take the correct kit, while giving very few sensitive details away; files were thieve-able, so most mission details were given in face-to-face briefings, with a brief recap on the jet. Shame he'd completely blanked on the briefing then.
The mission start time was listed as 2am, location was Arizona. They'd be expected at the hangars in full mission kit at 11pm, then. Off to the desert. Great.
If there was one thing Clint Barton hated, it was sand.
–°•–°•–
Even though she'd only been awake a few hours, Natasha could feel fatigue creeping into the edges of her mind. Her limbs felt heavier than she liked, her chest shot bolts of heat through her body. She shook herself mentally - she was going to have to compensate for Clint in this mission, she knew that. How long had it been since she last popped a pill? Probably not long enough.
She watched her partner's face carefully as they walked together back to their floor. She noticed how what little colour he'd gained recently drained slowly the further they went. By the time they got back to the kitchen, he was ashen and sweating. She tried to think back to their previous mission, to what could have happened. His symptoms aligned with blood loss, but… there were no knives or anything, only guns, and…
“Clint?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you get shot?”
“Oh, um, yeah, but only just. It's just a graze.”
She probably looked apprehensive.
“Seriously, it's fine. I've fought with worse.”
She sighed, containing the pain it caused her. Turning to the fridge-freezer, she began to search through the drawers for something edible. Seriously, did Stark just not eat?!
“I'm making us food. Then you're gonna sleep it off for a few hours. For now, sit down. Don't open it up again.”
Clint chuckled, “yes, ma’am,” and sat at the table. Natasha pulled out a pack of frozen beef and a few vegetables from the fridge-freezer, and dug some noodles out of a cupboard. Bingo.
–°•–°•–
Clint had to admit he'd missed Nat’s cooking. It was nothing special, but it was oddly comforting; simple, yet delicious. Now that he was full of food, he felt drowsiness overtake him. He felt cold and hot all at once, and weirdly alert despite his fatigue. He thanked Nat, then headed back to his room. There, he quickly checked his leg, and frowned once he noticed the slight red stain on his bandages. He probably hadn't stitched it very well, but too late now. Wrapping another bandage over the top, he collapsed onto his bed without another thought.
–°•–°•–
Clearing up could wait, she decided, piling the dishes on the counter. Sure, Stark would complain, but when did he not? Checking her watch, she figured they had maybe four hours before they had to leave. She set up five alarms on her phone at five minute intervals, and set it on max volume. As an afterthought, she asked Jarvis to get Stark to wake them both if they weren't up by 9pm. It was just a precaution. God knows she was tired enough to need it.