Clint x Natasha FanFic's

Nothing Else Matters by TashaBlackWidow

WARNING: Emotional!! One of my Favourites.

Nothing Else Matters 

TashaBlackWidow

Summary:

Natasha Romanoff, the master assassin who could easily best him in power and strength, though he'd put up a fair fight if he had to. He'd watched her in action through a lens scope so many times, admiring what he considered to be the strongest woman alive with not only her indestrucible training behind her, but also her past turning her into a hardened adult long before rites of passage had even seen her through to her adolescence. She was a fierce fighting, an emotionless killer when she had to be, master of many dialects, a dedicated agent and unspeakably beautiful.

Oh, she was also bleeding out right before his eyes. 

Work Text:

It was like watching a building collapse around him. It didn't matter that their target, that bastard they were supposed to kill, had just made a convenient escape, and it was of no importance to him that bystanders not too far away were screaming, ushering family out of view of the scene taking place. He didn't care to acknowledge the calls coming through the comms unit in his ear, asking why he was calling for a medical unit so urgently, asking about the target, asking who was hurt, asking damnit Barton, what the Hell's going on?! He didn't register his bow falling from his hand, the heart pounding in his chest, or even an older man asking if he needed any help, assuring him that he had called an ambulance, as if an ambulance could possibly get to them fast enough. None of that mattered. Not to him, not any more.

What mattered was Natasha.

Natasha Romanoff, the master assassin who could easily best him in power and strength, though he'd put up a fair fight if he had to. He'd watched her in action through a lens scope so many times, admiring what he considered to be the strongest woman alive with not only her indestrucible training behind her, but also her past turning her into a hardened adult long before rites of passage had even seen her through to her adolescence. She was a fierce fighting, an emotionless killer when she had to be, master of many dialects, a dedicated agent and unspeakably beautiful.

Oh, she was also bleeding out right before his eyes.

He'd watched, completely imobilised with a fearful anticipation as the weapon, not her own, had exploded with a single gunshot, the movement so fluid and quick that neither of them had a chance to react to it, but things had slown down immediately after. He knew what was happening the moment he was no longer staring down the barrel of their targets gun. He wasn't going to be hit by the bullet. He wasn't going to be hurt. But Natasha was, and she didn't even flunch as the bullet embedded itself in her field suit. Her own weapon didn't drop from her hand until she looked down at her side and noticed the damage with her own eyes. The blood didn't even immediately spread through the fabric of her suit, but he could see an almost pristine hole in the material and she looked more shocked that she had taken a bullet than pain at the injury.

"Nat..." he found himself whispering, his voice touching heights of pain that he'd never reached before.

She looked up at him, eyes locking with his. They were alone now, and even in the midst of the terrified residents escaping down the stairwell of the apartment block they were unable to concentrate on anything but each other. Clint's whisper had been immediately distinguishable from the faraway cries of the civilians, as his was filled with nothing more than a heartbreaking devestation that was painful for anyone to hear. As she realised that the bullet was still lodged in her torso, the blood began to seep through the grey-blue field suit, a bright angry red that stained her front; an icy pain spreading through her too quick for her to comprehend.