Set beforeThor
For Ella12121212
Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays everyone!!! I hope you have a wonderful year in 2020 🎄
Thanks for all the support on this book, I honestly wasn't expecting it!! More notes after xx
———
Clint and Natasha always worked together. Clint had brought her in years ago and the woman had (discreetly) latched herself onto the archer's side, as though afraid to leave the man she viewed as family.
So when Coulson turned up at the crater site he was very confused as to why only Barton was there and not Romanoff.
It transpired that the infamous, undefeated, excessively lethal Black Widow was, in fact, indisposed.
There had been a bout of stomach flu going around where ever her last mission had been and the woman had managed to catch it (how Clint didn't get sick, Coulson never knew). There were rumours about Natasha, claiming that whatever she'd grown up with and whatever had rendered her infertile had also changed her genetics making her, among other things, immune to any and every disease.
And if he was being honest, Clint had truly believed them.
———
After subduing the military leaders of this awful country and positioning the rebels to take over, Clint and Natasha decided they deserved a day of rest before retiring back to SHIELD.
They had been given two rooms in a ridiculously fancy resort where their (now dead) target had been staying and Natasha had been more than disappointed that she hadn't been able to go swimming. But now that they had an extra day to relax she was determined to make it to the pool, and drag Clint with her. The former was successful, and the later was not. There had been rumours of some sort of stomach disease going around and Clint was determine not to catch it, if only so his family didn't. Children with stomach flu are nightmares. Natasha knew that she'd been changed biologically and seeing as it had been many years since she'd been sick, decided there was absolutely no risk for her.
She was very wrong.
Hours later, before the pair were supposed to enjoy a low-key dinner in the resort restaurant, Natasha began to feel... off. Her stomach was not quite settling which was annoying really, as this restaurant was supposed to be excellent. But Clint was waiting, so she fixed her hair into some curls, strapped a gun and holster to her leg (never leave home without one), and pulled on a cream-coloured dress with a thick black belt and black heels.
And when Clint knocked on her door, she opened it and got into the elevator down to the restaurant.
"You're sweating."
"Yes. We're in a country right on the middle of the equator and it's goddamn boiling, of course I'm sweating. And I'm wearing this ridiculous dress with long sleeves, I'm practically melting," Natasha laughed, managing to hide a shiver as Clint looked away.
As they sat at the table, the thought of food made Natasha queasy and she shifted uncomfortably as she looked down the menu for the blandest meal.
"You feeling alright there, Tasha?"
Yes, I feel fine, the spy wanted to snap, but instead she politely replied, "of course, Clinton, why?" Ensuring she used a name Clint hated so he'd drop the subject. He didn't.
"You look pale."
"It's just the lighting. You look like a ghost yourself," Natasha said, forcing a light laugh. All those lessons and all that time in the Red Room had, if nothing else, taught her how to act and more importantly, how to lie. She managed to order and hold a conversation with Clint until their entrees came, by which point she could see her hands shaking and almost a ghostly shade of white, contrasting very badly with her dress as she attempted to cover the chills that wracked through her body.
"We should go back to our rooms, you don't look well," Clint said and instantly realised he'd made a mistake.
"I feel fine," Natasha snapped, turning her sharp gaze onto her partner. Clint fell silent before bringing them back to small talk, feeling more sure than ever that there was something wrong with Natasha Romanoff.
Clint was watching her, and Natasha was determined to see this mission through to the end, even if it had technically finished. She picked at her entree and drank only water, leaving her wine untouched until Clint stood.
"What are you doing?" Her voice sounded fake and weak, even to her own ears.
"Going upstairs."
"Why?"
"The food doesn't agree with me and I'm tired from our mission, but please, stay and enjoy!" The archer grinned. Natasha had been so focused on maintaining conversation that she'd forgotten all Clint's earlier comments and was, in fact, quite proud as she believed she'd managed to trick him into thinking she was still fine.
"Oh no! It wasn't exactly my favourite either, I'll come with you," she said, hastily grabbing her purse as Clint moved away to pay. She was far too pleased with this excuse to escape.
Clint's face lit up with a smile as he turned away, pleased that he'd managed to trick the super-spy into falling for his trap, before he rearranged his features back into a mask, lest Natasha saw and caught on.
As the pair rode up in the elevator, Natasha could practically feel sweat droplets forming on her face as her stomach churned. The elevator finally stopped with a lurch and it pushed the spy over the edge. As the doors opened, she staggered back and began to vomit.
Clint launched himself forward, holding back her hair and holding the doors open by shoving his foot against one until the redhead paused for breath.
"I knew it. I said this mission had been too easy, I knew there had to be a catch," Clint grumbled to himself as he carried Natasha bridal style back to his room. He placed her gently in the middle of his massive bed before leaving in search of a small towel and a bin for her. He was in the process of running the cloth under cool water to wipe away some of Natasha's sweat when he heard her begin to retch.
Dashing back to his room, he handed her the bin just in time. When she stopped, he retrieved the towel, now sodden under the flow of the tap he left on, squeezed it out and moved to wipe away at the vomit on Natasha and her sweat.
"Clint, I'm fine, seriously," she said, pushing his hand away and beginning to rise, "I'm just going to go back to my room and sleep this off."
Clint was scandalised, "no way! You're absolutely incapable of looking after yourself! You'll stay right here," he said pulling her back down onto his bed before she began emptying her stomach once more.
Clint took away the bin to empty it and called back, "Christ woman, how much have you eaten?"
He received a groan in reply so when returned he held out a toothbrush with toothpaste and a glass of water. "Brush your teeth first, alright?"
She took the toothbrush and brushed her teeth, unsure about whether her legs would support a trip to the bathroom, and spat into the bin. Clint returned from who knew where a minute later, "feeling a little better?"
"Um... yes, thanks Clint. Look, if it's all the same to you, I don't want to wreck your night any further, I'll just go back-"
"Absolutely not! You'll stay her where I can look after you until morning when we'll have to get on the jet back to the Helicarrier."
"What?"
"Oh Tasha, did you forget? We've got to get out of here tomorrow or we'll be caught in the rebel's fire," Clint said, worry creasing his brow as the assassin groaned. She'd never forgotten something like this before.
"Don't worry, I'll get you there. Just you watch," Clint said with a grin and Natasha began to drift off.
———
Natasha woke too many times throughout the night, and every time she did, she'd continue hurling her stomach. As the night progressed, more and more of the vomit was watery as the clear liquid was the only thing in her stomach.
Each time she woke, Clint was right behind her (they'd shared beds before and Clint was happy to look after the redhead. They were best friends, not lovers. Clint had a wife, after all), holding her hair and whispering comfort. He brought her water and toothpaste and by the end of the night, Natasha couldn't remember how many times she'd brushed her teeth.
Clint dabbed away sweat and Natasha was feeling incredibly guilty for keeping the man up. But when she tried to mention it, he'd reply, "don't worry, Tash, I know you'd do the same for me." And in retrospect, she knew she would.
But when morning rolled around, she wasn't ready. Clint led her to her room, where she changed into flowing, airy pants (wary of how she needed to blend in, even after the mission was finished), a cropped top and a relatively warm jacket.
If anyone asked, the jacket was only because it made the outfit.
Clint had a doorman carry their bags to the lobby before finally entering Natasha's room.
"Clint?"
"Yes?"
"I thought it was you."
"Any reason you're lying down?"
"No, I'm just... dizzy. And kinda tired. Are you tired? You must be. You were up all night, how are you feeling?" The redhead began rambling, pausing to lift her head to view her partner. He had bags under his eyes, but not too dark, not too bad.
And then a wave of dizziness overcame her and she flopped backwards, tired and headachy.
"I brought you some medicine," Clint said, offering a calloused hand with two white and red pills in it.
"Oh."
"You have to swallow them. Then we'll get to the jet and I'll drop you off home before heading to Coulson," the archer said, his head swimming into Natasha's vision, blocking her gorgeous view of the bland ceiling.
"Why're you going to Coulson?" She asked, her voice a little thicker and a little less articulate than usual.
"There's some sort of crater in New Mexico. Apparently he wants to check it out and needs proper special agents to ensure its' security."
"Aren't I going?"
"With your fever? And... and this?" Clint made a motion she assumed was at her whole body, "I think not!"
"But... but I want to."
The sandy-haired man paused, "if you're well enough when we get to the helicarrier, you can come with me. If not, you'll go home."
"I'll go with you either way."
"No. This isn't up for discussion Natasha, you look absolutely awful."
"Do you tell your wife that?"
"Only when she tries to go on an extremely secret mission while suffering from stomach flu. Can you walk or should a carry you?"
"I-I'll walk."
And without further ado, the specialist agents left their luxury rooms and got into the elevator for the final time. Midway through walking through the lobby towards their hired car, Natasha stumbled.
She quickly regained her balance but not without Clint noticing. She was wearing thick black sunglasses and a wide, sweeping hat so he couldn't see her expression but he knew it would be one of determination.
"Laugh," he said, turning his face towards her. Knowing better than to question her partner (although she didn't know why he'd given her that order), she laughed and the archer hoisted her into a bridal hold. Natasha let out a squeal of panic as adrenaline rushed through her.
"Don't worry, Tasha. Nothing bad, just making sure you don't fall," Clint grinned.
Natasha growled as he placed her in her seat, reclining it so she'd be a little more comfortable. Once he closed the door, Natasha forced herself to relax, tense muscles melting into the relatively soft seat. She removed her glasses and pulled her hat over her face, embracing the warm darkness as she shivered.
Hours later, she woke as Clint finally pulled up in the private airport. Before the redhead could move, he was carrying her, catching her hat before it fell on the floor. It was one of her favourites, he knew.
As Hawkeye carried his spider up the stairs, he took in her pale appearance, the sweat beading on her temple and the lack of redness in her face, even her lips and cheeks that were always so bright.
Deathly pale his mind echoed.
Shut up, she's fine he told himself.
"Clint? What's wrong?" Natasha asked, opening her green eyes to look up at him. Clint realised he'd stopped walking.
"Nothing."
"You're worried, right? Don't worry, I'll be fine by the time we reach the Helicarrier. You said it's a ten hour flight right? I'll be fine."
Funny how she always ended up reassuring him, even when she was the one that was hurt. Maybe that was why they were friends.
———
Needless to say, when the pair arrived at the Helicarrier, Natasha was not fine. She'd retched multiple times throughout the flight, bringing up only watery spit as Clint forced her to drink a disgusting drink that he claimed would help hydrate her.
Clint was becoming progressively more worried as he left the jet on autopilot to tend to his unusually quiet partner. Normally, when Natasha was quiet, people tended to die, although this wasn't exactly normal.
Finally they pulled up near the Helicarrier and Clint attempted to make jokes about landing the plane. Natasha barely responded. Upon arriving, they were escorted into the Helicarrier where Clint quietly spoke to Maria Hill and had Natasha directed off to the med bay. Needless to say, she wasn't happy.
Natasha was kept in the med bay for two days and when she was released, Clint had already left without her.
When he returned, she suggested a sparing match and Clint ran away screaming. She caught him and let's just say the end results weren't fun for Clint.
———
Wow first request! I'm not quite pleased with it and it didn't end up going where I wanted it to (I ended up cutting it short) but I hope you enjoyed it all the same!!
Requests are coming, I've had ideas for most of them!!
In case you haven't noticed, this will be incredibly slow updates but I am absolutely not deserting this book!!
Also we're about to go camping for over two weeks and there's no reception up there so I will not be able to write or post any updates!