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Natasha’s heart pounded. Her ears rung. She spat dirt and blood out of her mouth and staggered to her feet.
Bodies scrambled and urgent voices rung out to her right as Clint pulled the remaining agents from the cliff-side.
“Stay behind me!” Natasha yelled, her voice slightly hoarse. Her left arm drew back to keep the engineer behind her, and her right arm extended with her gun aimed at the assailant who stood a few feet away.
Her finger tugged the trigger, and she felt the engineer behind her jump at the bang.
Her form faltered, shoulders dropping ever-so-slightly as the bullet ricocheted off his left arm. The whole arm was made of durable silver metal, with a red star plastered on the side of the shoulder.
Natasha’s eyes darted to his right hand, where he aimed his gun.
Her arm straightened, ready to shoot again. Her finger hit the trigger.
BANG.
The engineer behind her screamed.
She dropped her gun. Dropped to her knees.
Get up, get up, get up, Romanoff! She cursed herself as she keeled over sideways. Why was she…?
She struggled on the ground for a moment before crying out. Pain burst from the left side of her stomach, shooting its way through her body.
Her hand flew to cover the wound. She lifted her head enough to see the metal-armed assassin step forwards and finish off the engineer.
He peered down at her, and she froze beneath his gaze. His gray-blue eyes seemed to scream.
Then he was gone.
“Natasha!”
Blood seeped through her fingers and she clutched her stomach tighter, letting out a whimper despite herself.
“Natasha!”
Clint scrambled over to her, hands hovering uselessly above her stomach for a moment before his training kicked in.
“We need medical!” Clint radioed. “Romanoff is down. Shot in the stomach.”
No, no, no, Clint, run! Natasha stared up at him, trying to scream at him with her eyes. What if the assassin came back? What if he wouldn’t stop at the engineer? Oh god, was she about to watch her best friend die?
She lifted her free hand to swat him away, but he payed no attention. Her hand fell back to the ground.
Clint moved the hand covering her stomach and pushed his fingers inside the wound to plug it.
Natasha shuddered and groaned.
“I’m sorry,” Clint hissed. Then he called over his shoulder, “We need help!”
She couldn’t move. It hurt to breathe. Her heart was hammering, and that hurt, too.
She swallowed, and forced words out of her dry mouth. “Clint, run. Go.”
He shook his head. “He’s gone, it’s okay. And I wouldn’t leave you anyway.”
Natasha blinked, trying to focus on his face instead of her pain.
Two more agents knelt beside her, one of them carrying a backpack.
“I pulled this out of the truck,” he said.
The zipper whirred as he opened the backpack, and Natasha could hear things shuffling around. She couldn’t bring herself to look. It was too hard. She stared up to where Clint’s eyes never left hers.
He was scared. He hid it, but she could always tell. The tension in his forehead. The set of his jaw. His lips pursed into a thin line. Most of all, it was the way his eyes bore into hers, like he was seeing her for the last time.
Am I going to die? Natasha wondered. Maria’s face flashed before her eyes. Blue eyes sparkling, looking down at her with a small but irritatingly smug smile.
Clint reached out with his clean hand to brush away the tears which had apparently escaped her eyes.
“You’re gonna make it,” he said. His voice was hollow and unconvincing. “You’re gonna make it,” he repeated, mostly to reassure himself.
“Clint,” she choked out. She reached for him, and he took her bloody hand in his. Tell Maria I love her, she thought.
Natasha whimpered as the agents stuffed gauze in the wound. She could feel them pushing it right through her.
So the bullet went all the way through… Oh, god. I am going to die.
She choked on her words. Tell Maria I love her. Clint, please. I love you. Fuck, why can’t I talk-
“Tell-“ she choked again.
“Natasha, breathe,” Clint squeezed her hand.
‘Breathe’ was easy for him to say. Breathing hurt. But her heart was racing too fast to let her breathe slowly. It came in quick, shallow bursts, and then she’d try to hold her breath until holding it hurt more than breathing.
She swallowed. Her eyes fluttered.
“No, no, Natasha-!” Clint grabbed his radio. “We need evac! Now!”
Natasha let her eyelids drop.
Clint smacked her cheek lightly, making her eyes open again. “Don’t do that. Stay awake. Stay with me.”
She swallowed, and spoke in a quiet whisper. “Tell Maria I love her.”
Clint’s breath hitched. The color drained from his face. “Tell her yourself.”
“Clint,” she begged.
He took a deep breath and nodded, lip quivering.
“It hurts,” she whispered.
“I know,” Clint cupped her cheek.
Tears slid down her face, and she didn’t have the energy to stop them.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out.
“It’s not your fault,” Clint said.
“The engineer’s dead, isn’t he?” She asked.
Clint nodded.
“It’s my fault,” she whispered.
Her breathing was so quick and shallow it was making her dizzy.
Her grip on Clint’s hand loosened.
“Natasha!” He cried. He bit his lip and leaned in to press his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of his hands and his forehead instead of the wound in her stomach, or her own blood covering her hand.
“Natasha, if you survive this I promise I’ll let you have the last of the chips every time,” Clint promised.
He laid down next to her and rested his head on her shoulder. His arm reached over her chest to grip her other shoulder, but his arm hovered so that she could breathe easy.
Natasha could hear him trying not to cry, and that hurt her more than any bullet wound. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and assure him everything was okay, and that she would be fine, and he didn’t have to worry. But she couldn’t. The pain was so bad she couldn’t move. She couldn’t talk. She didn’t want to breathe.
The pain faded. It was replaced by intense nausea, twisting in her stomach and flooding her head. She began to shiver.
Clint pulled away to look at her, and his face was blurry.
“Clint?” She stuttered. “I feel really bad.”
“Shit, she’s going into shock,” Clint called. “Is there a blanket in that bag?”
A moment later one of the agents was draping a blanket over her.
“Maria?” Natasha reached up, but her hand fell back almost immediately.
Natasha’s eyes darted around, blinking rapidly.
“Hey, hey,” Clint grabbed her hand. “Natasha, it’s okay. Deep breaths. Nat. Come on, breathe.”
One of the agents said something about blood loss.
Clint didn’t say anything back. He just stared down at her.
Natasha’s vision blurred further before going totally blank.