I Thought You Were Different: Part 3

Strange

When you opened your eyes a few hours later, feeling rested but uncomfortably groggy yet, you had expected to see Steve at your side waiting for you, or at the very least Tony and his famously worried stare. Instead, as your pupils adjusted to the lights overhead and as your mind pushed through the medicated haze that had gripped it, you saw Clint in a chair next to your bed, his head down with the sounds of gentle snores being just barely audible.

"Barton."

"Hmm?"

"How long have I been out?"

"Three and a half weeks," he groaned as he woke, leaning his head back with a grimace from the stiffness that had gripped his muscles in the awkward sleep he had just taken, "thought you were dead."

"Seriously," you warned, "how long?"

"Couple hours."

"Ugh...I feel all loopy..." you sighed, pushing yourself up on your elbow to face him, "but not a good loopy. What did Banner give me?" The room started to spin just slightly at your change in position, and rather than tempt fate and a firm face-plant on the unforgiving floor if you fell from the gurney, you rested back on the pillow to try to wait it out.

"How am I supposed to know? Starts with...a V...I think? I wasn't here when he knocked you out, but I saw the vial on the table over there," he pointed to Bruce's desk. "With your metabolism it was probably a horse tranquilizer or something."

"You're so kind," you huffed, trying again to sit up slowly. This time he was more awake and jumped to his feet to help you, taking your arm gently when you reached out for him to steady yourself. "Have you seen Steve? Or Dad?"

"I had Sam come by and grab Steve a bit ago. The guy was looking pretty down but said he didn't want to talk about it, so I brought in the big guns. If anyone can get it out of the guy, it's Wilson."

"Buck would've been the stronger play."

"I've got him working on your dad."

"Really? I nap for what, five minutes, and it all goes to shit," you hissed, pushing up onto your feet with an uncertain wobble. "Let me guess, it's all Dad's fault and Steve didn't protect me from something."

Clint let go of your arm with a loud gasp and a slight push away from you, turning his body to face you head-on with a look that didn't come close to how appalled he felt at your comment. When the rapid shift in support left your equilibrium spinning, you tried to reach out for him again but he hopped back and out of your reach; you were left to grip the rails of the gurney in a last-ditch effort to stay upright. "What the hell, Barton?"

"Since when are you such an ungrateful bitch? That had better be the drugs talking."

"And that had better be a head injury making you so damn stupid," you snapped back, the surge of adrenaline being a welcome cure to your vertigo. "I'm not ungrateful. They're just predictable even though I've told them over and over that this isn't on them."

"No, of course it's not," Clint shrugged in defeat, his gaze slowly dropping to the floor and taking another step back in anticipation of the reaction that he was about to incite, "it's on me. This is completely my fault. We both knew that this could happen again, but did we stop to really understand the risk? No, we didn't," he quickly answered his own query, "because you wanted to help us and we wanted you to so badly. How goddamn selfish am I, huh? You have your own kids and a husband, and I let my own wants become more important. I've done this to you twice now, (Y/N)."

"Twice...? What was the other..." you faded away, searching your mind, "oh, right. The unfortunate incident that we swore to never speak of again. But Clint, come on, that was a mistake. This was my choice, and I wasn't ready. If anything, I own this, and I should be the one apologizing. So please, quit making it about you, ya big drama queen."