It Only Takes a Second

natasha

(A/N: Hi everyone! Before we begin Natasha's epilogue, I just wanted to say that we're pretty much ignoring the plot of Black Widow for this chapter, because I couldn't figure out how to make it work with the direction that I was sending this epilogue in. So, just like with Infinity War and Endgame, we're picking and choosing which parts we want to forget and which parts we want to acknowledge. Additionally, I just wanted to mention that this epilogue is happening at the same time as the other epilogues (so in this fic, Clint and Laura have not gotten engaged at this point and Steve and Bucky have not yet gotten married). I hope this does not cause confusion-- I realized while writing this that I got myself into a continuity nightmare, but we're dealing with it! With all of that aside, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!)

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(November)

"Clint, are you even trying?" Natasha teased, reaching for another knife to throw at the target.

Usually Clint was a solid competitor when it came to any sort of weapon-throwing, but today his skills were lacking.

A lot.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, I suck," he murmured, lining up to throw another knife. Once again, it hit one of the outside rings of the target.

Natasha placed the knife back down, turning to look at him.

"No witty comeback? What's wrong with you today?" She folded her arms across her body and leaned against the table, indicating that she wasn't going to continue until he confessed.

"I'm just tired, I guess. I don't know, I just don't feel right," Clint shrugged.

"Come here," she waved her hand, and he took a step closer. Gently, she felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

"You feel warm," she commented with a frown.

"Or maybe it's just that your hands are freezing, jeez," Clint flinched away from the cold contact and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Okay, well obviously you're not dying since you're still capable of being a pain in my ass."

"Bold of you to assume that I wouldn't be a pain in the ass even as I'm dying," Clint quipped.

"Touché. Either way, I think we should call it quits for the day," Natasha replied.

She began packing up the equipment that they had been using. Clint began to help, but stopped a few minutes later.

"What's wrong?" Natasha asked, turning to where he was standing. He was sweating, but goosebumps covered his arms. In just a few short minutes, his face had drained of all color.

"I'm fine. Just got a little woozy for a second," he replied, voice strained.

"Clint," Natasha's tone was uncharacteristically gentle, a voice saved for loved ones. "Let's get you upstairs to bed. Friday?"

"Yes Ms. Romanoff?" The AI's voice replied.

"What is Clint's temperature?"

"Mr. Barton is currently running a fever of 103.1 degrees Fahrenheit. Would you like me to call Dr. Cho?"

Natasha winced, knowing that she probably should drag Clint to the Tower's medical center and call the doctor. But she also knew that he was going to go kicking and screaming if she did. She decided to just have Friday monitor the fever and let her know if it got any higher.

"Not right now, Friday. Just continue to monitor his temperature and if it reaches 103.5 or higher, go ahead and get Helen here."

"'Don't need the doctor," Clint mumbled, swaying slightly as Natasha linked their arms together and began pulling him towards the elevator.