This is not a promptathon fic so I hope that it is okay to post here.

Title: Like Staring Up At Infinity
Author: lil_1337
Fandom: Avengers (movie)
Pairing/Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and mention of Phil Coulson
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1568
Warnings/Kinks: Discussion of violence and injury. Angst with resolution.
Summary: What really happened in Budapest and why do they remember it so differently?
Disclaimer: I don't own them nor would I claim to.



Natasha woke slowly, crawling her way up through the drug haze that filled her mind. Her head ached, pressure pushing on the back of her eyes to the steady beat of her pulse. The medication kept it separate so she was aware of the pain, but not really feeling it, not yet anyway. That would change if she remained conscious for more than a short period of time. Even without moving she could feel the tension and stiffness in her muscles. Everything was going to hurt for a while, but she was used to that.
This was not her first injury or even the first time to she'd woken up in hospital bed.

In the chair next to her bed Clint was asleep. His head drooped to the side resting as much on his shoulder as the padded cushion that supported him. The skin under his eyes was dark from lack of sleep but he was clean and wearing civilian clothes that were only slightly wrinkled. Looking past him she could see wrappers that indicated either he had eaten at least two meals or two people had eaten a single meal. She preferred the second option as it would mean less time had passed. No matter which it was she had been out for at least ten hours for the transport from Budapest to the helicarrier. Though judging from the way her body felt it had been considerably longer.

A slight shift of her body brought Clint to full awake, a small smile curving his lips while his eyes took inventory. His eyes flicked back and forth between her and the water glass. At her almost imperceptible nod he picked it up and offered it to her, bending the straw so she could drink without raising her head. The water was warm and somewhat stale tasting, but it soothed her throat, hydrating the irritated tissues. There was a level of mixed pleasure and pain that came with swallowing since both were strong reminders that she was alive. Hurt and hospitalized, but she'd been there before and it would pass as long as she kept breathing.

When she had taken several small sips leading up to a long drink Clint set the glass back down. He moved from his chair to sit crossed legged on the bed so she could see him without having to move her head. Natasha could feel the pressure of his knee resting against her leg through the sheet and thin blanket, close enough to offer comfort and ground her without aggravating her injuries and causing more pain. Waking up from being unconscious and drugged was always disorienting and people with their skill sets that could be a dangerous thing for themselves as well as anyone else who might be nearby.

“Eighty one hours. SHIELD medical. The target was eliminated.” Clint's voice was clipped and professional as if he was giving a status report over the comm. He would give her the rest when she was ready; grounded and in a place where she could process it.

Her eyes flicked up and down him, taking in the bruise that bloomed high on his right cheek bone. There was a butterfly bandage on his forehead that held together a slight gash that was already beginning to heal. She raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at his torso. From the way he was sitting, favoring his left side there was more damage than what she could see. But then there usually was. For someone who was supposed to be up and away from the action Clint managed to end in the middle of it more often than not. He rolled his eyes, but let her see his amusement as well as his appreciation for her concern. “A bunch of cuts and bruises, none that needed stitches. Two cracked ribs and some burns. Nothing major.”

She looked him over again, eyes narrowing. “All of it.” Her voice was raw and rough as if she had been smoking or crying, but it carried an undertone of authority he wouldn't think of ignoring.

Clint ducked his head, carefully avoiding her eyes and the look of accusation that would be there. “A minor concussion, strained back muscles and temporary hearing loss in my right ear. That's almost gone.” He caught and held her gaze letting her see the honesty in his face so she wouldn't worry. “It was just the first few hours I swear. The doc says everything should be back to normal in a week or so.”

Another slow and careful nod let him off the hook at least for the moment. Leaning forward he snagged the water cup and offered her more, patiently waiting as she paused between drinks. When it was empty he refilled it and set it back on the bedside table. Gratitude replaced annoyance and displeasure on her face and smiled offering a wordless apology. It was not the first nor would it be the last, but for the moment it was enough.

“What happened?” Her voice was smoother though it still held an edge of roughness that spoke of disuse or damage.

“What do you remember?”

She frowned, ignoring the diamond splinter of pain that entered her skull at the bridge of her nose before exploding outward. “The warehouse.”

That was where things started going to hell. The supposedly empty warehouse hadn't been and because the goons were so far inside Clint hadn't been able to get a good angle. The rooftop he had been positioned on was too high and too far away. He'd ended up grounded, shooting it out side by side with Natasha like a couple of movie star action heroes. If it hadn't been so embarrassingly cliché he would have been amused by the whole thing. They'd secured the warehouse and the store of radioactive materials inside, but the man behind the thefts had been no where to be found.

That had also been almost six hours before the explosion that had come very close to ending Natasha's life.

Granted it was not a life changing span of time, most of it had been getting patched up, eating, napping and being briefed for the next part of the mission. Still, it was concerning that her memory was gone. “We secured the warehouse and returned to the safe house so Coulson could get new intel. At fifteen hundred hours we were sent to do recon on an office building on Bródy Sándor utca to determine how best to infiltrate it and take out the target. You were chatting up the doorman for information and I was on the roof across the way.” He paused, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb back and forth across the top of her wrist to avoid the IV tubing that was tapped to it.

“And?” She frowned watching the flow of emotions across his face. Hawkeye was capable of being as closed and methodical as she was, but Clint was an open book. One of her favorites with dog eared pages and treasured passages that she had read so many times they were now part of her as well.

“The building exploded. The asshole found out we were coming. He blew himself and about thirty other people up.”

She swore softly in Russian then louder in German with some Czechoslovakian thrown in for good measure. Her eyes closed and when they reopened tiredness had been replaced with a hotly burning flame of anger.

“Medical treated you on site then air evaced you here.”

He glossed over the middle, choosing not to elaborate on the details such as how he had zip lined off a five story building and hit the ground running despite cracking his ribs in the process. Or that he had run into the building, now in flames, and pulled her out just seconds before it collapsed in on itself. Nor did he mention how he'd had to cut her hair to release her from the beam that pinned her in place. She would realize that soon enough on her own. Most of all he kept to himself the way he had screamed her name, repeatedly, choking on fear as he fought through the greasy black smoke to find her. That would be his own private hell and he would remember it for both of them.

She blinked acknowledging his words and what she knew had been left unsaid before entwining her fingers with his. Tugging softly she signaled for him to lay down next to her. Clint stretched out next to her biting back a moan as his strained muscles screamed at him for sleeping in a chair then sitting in a position that gave his back no support. He ignored them and shifted into a slightly more comfortable space. Careful of both his injuries and her own she curled up next to him her head resting half on his chest so the steady beat of his heart filled her ears. A metronome of safety and well being to sing her to sleep. One of Clint's hands tangled in her now short curls and the other rested lightly on her hip above the bandage that covered a nasty burn.

Safe for the moment with the knowledge that they were both going to be okay they let the quiet sounds of SHIELD medical lull them to sleep.