Clintasha Shorts

Teenage Love

Central Park – Budapest, Hungary

"You're planning on killing me with a bow?" the red-haired Russian asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Why shame the best weapon in the world." The brown blonde-haired American says a smirk on his face.

This causes the girl to smile at his comment. Slowly she steps closer to him, him doing the same. They were both now in the light and they were able to see each other much clearer. The Russian had long red hair that fell flawlessly over her shoulder. She was slim and her skill was pale. Her legs and arms were well-toned and looked like she danced. The American had blonde brown hair. He was scrubby and his arms were well toned.

"So, are you gonna kill me or just stare at me?" the girls say, a small giggle in her voice.

"Well, sweetheart depends," he replies.

"Depends on what? And don't call me sweetheart."

"I don't know why my employer wants you dead. I also don't know what you might have done to piss him off. I don't know your name either."

Out of the blue, there were gunshots and the two teenagers ran behind a bush, hoping that would hide them until they figured out what they were gonna do.

"Got any plans sweetheart because I don't think they are after me." The boy said turning to the girl who looked like she was scared half to death.

"My name is Natasha. I have no idea why they are after me. I don't even know who they are."

"Ok, great. My hotel room isn't that far from here. We can hide out there. My name is Clint by the way."

Natasha nods and the two carefully slip away, making sure they aren't spotted. They were nearly out of the park when there was a grunt in pain. Clint falls to the ground, clutching his side. Natasha fell next to him and looked where he was holding. She carefully pried his hand from his side, dark crimson blood covering the side of the shirt and his hand. She couldn't' believe she was helping the boy that was sent to kill him, but he didn't kill her. Now it was her time to help him. She takes the sash from her coat and presses it against his wound.

"Can you stand? Because I can't carry you," she asks.

He stands up and groans in pain. She sticks his arm around her, allowing him to use her as a crutch. He directed them to his hotel. Thankfully there was no one in the front of the hotel and they managed to get up to his room, without drawing any unnecessary attention or stares. Once inside, Natasha guides him to the couch and him to lay down. She runs to the boy's bag and finds the small first aid kit that he told her about. She rushes back to him. Emptying the contents, she grabs the things she needs.

"This will hurt," she tells them before she sets to work.

"Trust me, sweetheart I had worse," he replies a small smile on his face.

Natasha rolls her eyes and sets to work. She helps him take his shirt off. This revealed how toned he was. Natasha placed the shirt under the wound so no blood would get on the couch. She carefully took the bullet out. She cleaned the wound and around it. She then placed took the needle and thread from the upended first aid kit and began stitching up the wound. She then took a gauze placing it over his stitches. She wrapped a bandage around his side.

"Ok, finished," she says, cleaning up the floor, and putting everything back in the container.

"I was sent to kill you...why are you helping me?" Clint asks, still laying there.

"It was my fault that you were shot in the first place. Besides you didn't kill me," she replies. She gives him a warm smile.

As Natasha put the first aid back into his bag and grabbed him a clean shirt, she had this weird feeling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling she had never had before. She didn't know what it was. Then a word came into her mind. A word that she had been told never to think about. The feeling she had was a feeling she was told was a weakness. But she didn't feel weak. She still felt strong. She lost her thoughts as she gave Clint the shirt.