Work Text:
"This is the fifth time in the last thirteen months that you have jumped off a building and claimed it was a decent exfil," Natasha said brusquely. Her hands were even more brusque as she pulled out slivers of glass with the tweezers from hell.
Clint struggled not to wince (did that once, hurt worse than going through the window) and pointed out, "It was that or be roasted by Chitauri."
"And last time?" she demanded archly. "When you jumped off a skyscraper onto a moving helicopter?"
"There wasn't room for both it and me on top of the building. Ouch! J—, Tasha, have a heart."
Her hands pulled back a moment, long enough for him to shake out some of the worst of the tension. He should probably be in SHIELD's medical getting his injuries taken care of, but long habit and limited trust meant they usually stitched each other up and took care of anything less than surgery, neck injury, or head trauma.
"Next time you get tempted to jump off a building," Natasha said abruptly, going back to work on his back, "take the stairs."