The Budapest Objective

Eighteen

Natasha very rarely left Clint's side the next few days. The doctors kept telling her that Clint had less and less chance of ever waking up, but Natasha refused to believe that. He had to. He just had to. She owed him too much for him to die. Too many debts were unpaid.

She was so used to death; it was a part of her everyday life. But here she faced losing someone that she thought she may, in time, love. The one person who had ever loved her was dying, and she knew it.

On the second day of Clint's coma, they were forced to put him on life support. It was torture for Natasha, worse than she had ever experienced in Red Room. She spent countless hours pleading with an unconscious body to wake up, to tell her that he was fine, to say that he wanted to go back to work... to say that he was, and always would be, there for her.

Five days after they returned from Budapest, Coulson suggested Natasha go and work out in the training room. Natasha didn't want to leave Clint, but she knew that what she really needed was a rigorous training session.

Coulson promised he'd stay with Clint while she was gone and that he'd let her know if he woke up. She sighed, and agreed. She stopped by her room and wrapped tape around her hands. She walked down to the training room, which was thankfully deserted. She couldn't help but think that Coulson had told everyone to get out while she was training.

She walked to the nearest punching bag and hit it as hard as she could repeatedly. The raw emotions in her bubbled up like lava in a volcano, threatening to break free.

She hit and kicked the punching bag, pouring her worry and dread and sorrow into every blow. She was being reckless and stupid with where she was placing her punches and kicks, and her hands and ankles cried out in pain with every new blow.

But she only increased the force with which she hit. At last, the emotions she'd been fighting for control of broke free in an ugly, burning, painful mess. She fought to keep everything down, but the wave of raw emotion brought her to her knees. The pain broke from her body in the form of tears.

She didn't care anymore, but at the same time, she cared far too much. She was scared and lonely and worried and she couldn't do anything to stop the pain boiling inside of her. That mission had broken her far more than she had thought it would have when she'd left for Budapest.

A voice spoke in her ear spoke quite suddenly. "Natasha, get back here now!" Phil demanded.

Natasha struggled to get herself together. But the monster inside of her did not want to be tamed once again. Natasha screamed in agony.

"Natasha, you need to get here right now," Phil spoke again. "It's Clint. He's..." Natasha could hear him give a little laugh of disbelief and relief. "He's waking up."

The horror inside Natasha froze. Everything seemed frozen in time as she took in that sentence. He was OK? But, how could be OK? He was... he was...

Natasha scrambled to get up and ran as fast as she could to the infirmary. She threw the door of Clint's room open and dashed inside.

Phil looked at her with a smile on his face, the first smile she'd seen in five days. She walked over to Clint's bed and took his pulse. For the first time in what seemed like forever, it was normal. And his breathing was normal.

Natasha laughed in relief. The truth washed over her: He was going to be fine. He was going to live.

Natasha felt tears of relief stream from her eyes. She turned to Phil and they embraced each other tightly, both crying and laughing.

Natasha pulled away from Phil and looked back at Clint, half-falling-half-sitting down on the chair. She took Clint's hand.

"Clint, can you hear me?" Coulson asked.

"Clint, please, wake up," Natasha begged.

After several seconds, Clint's eyelids fluttered and opened. He groaned. "OK, spare none of the details: what happened?"

Natasha smiled. Without stopping to think about what on Earth she was doing, she leaned down and kissed him.

She was never able to explain the feeling that coursed through her when she kissed him, only that it drove away all the worry and fear and anger and guilt and left behind complete and utter joy.

She pulled away. The feeling left her as she realized exactly what she'd done. "I... I'm so sorry," she said to an utterly shocked Clint.

"OK, not that I didn't enjoy it, but what was that for?" Clint asked.

Natasha noticed that Phil had left the room. He was probably standing right outside the door.

"Nothing, I just... nothing. Look, I'm sorry; I don't know what came over me."

"No, you've got nothing to be sorry about." Clint smiled, then winced. "I just want to know what happened to make you kiss me."

"Nothing, I just... The mission, I... Oh, I don't know. I was... scared."

"So you kissed me?"

"No, I..." She decided to just tell him. "I was afraid that you were going to die. The past five days you've been in a coma and the doctors said..." She swallowed. "They said you wouldn't make it. And I... Oh, God, I was so afraid."

Clint couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was she really saying what he thought she was saying? "What happened?"

"You were shot. By one of the Death T.H.R.O.W.S. we thought we'd killed."

"One of the what?" Clint asked, with a confused tone.

"Death T.H.R.O.W.S.. Don't you remember them?"

Clint shook his head, then winced again. "So that's what landed me here? Tell it thanks for me."

Natasha noticed that he wasn't entirely joking. "Why?"

"If it hadn't shot me, you wouldn't have kissed me."

Natasha made a face at him. He smiled, taking in the beautiful girl that was his partner. He felt horrible; his whole body hurt terribly. But nothing could make him wish he was anywhere else. That kiss meant more to him than anything else in the world at the moment.

"So, the mission was pretty bad, huh?"

Natasha looked at him seriously. "I wish I could just forget the whole thing. It was horrible. One incident after the other. Don't you remember any of it?"

He looked at her, completely serious. "Natasha, I don't even remember where we went."

She blinked. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. The last thing I remember is getting back from my solo mission. So you can imagine it's a bit of a surprise to be here looking up at you instead of vice-versa."

She stared at him in disbelief. Does he really not remember any of it? Not the food fight before the mission, not the dance, not my being captured, not the mountain of dead bodies, not, she though suddenly, discovering he loved me?

"But... how could you forget all of that?"

"Just lucky, I guess," he answered.

"You don't remember my headache or that building exploding or the mountain of dead humans?"

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Wow, that must have been a bad mission. Sorry, but I don't. It'll probably come back to me in a few days, though. It's normal for part of your memory to be gone after a coma."

Natasha sighed. "I guess so."

"I've got something important to tell you, Natasha."

Natasha smiled. "What?"

"You are so beautiful."

Natasha smiled even wider. "So you've told me."

"Good, just making sure knew."

Clint took Natasha's hand in his. And for that one moment, that one, shining moment, everything was perfect. And no matter what would happen in the near future, they both knew, even without the other one saying anything, that they would always be there for each other, no matter what. And no random accidents organized by a mad man would ever change that.