Fill in the Blank - Clintasha

4

**7th September 2008**

They entered the base together, Clint in front with his brand new rifle and Natasha behind him, covering his vulnerable back with two deadly pistols.

Clint had never fought well in a team, so it was strange how natural it all felt; her fluid movements behind him, the familiar weight of a gun in his hands, the sour smell of blood and sweat in the air. He'd missed this, the danger. The sheer exhilaration of it that set every nerve in his body on fire.

Clint had decided to leave his hearing aids in his room due to the gunfire, so Natasha was essentially acting as his ears as they fought. She was fucking great at it too. Clint caught himself more than once forgetting all about the danger and actually having fun for the first time in forever.

It was insane.

They were a scarily effective team, blasting their way through the ground floor until they came to a flight of stairs. There were only two floors in the entire building, they knew, and Clint didn't even think to hesitate. "I'll go up, you keep looking down here," he said, not bothering to keep quiet as the time for surprise had long passed. "Meet at the other side?"

She looked surprised but didn't question his decision, giving him a curt nod before running into the fray once more.

Clint appreciated that. As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to take them back. He'd wanted this to go faster but he hadn't expected her to actually agree. As he watched Natasha go Clint felt the easy adrenaline fuelled calm that had settled over him disappear along with her. He felt the loss like a physical pain in his chest.

Nerves tied Clint's stomach into knots as he limped his way up the stairs, feeling oddly naked under the harsh overhanging lights. When he reached the top he found two men stood in the hallway, blocking his path. Raising his gun he took them out with little effort. Only one bullet needed for the two of them when they lined up so perfectly like that.

On autopilot, Clint slammed the nearest door open, searching for Bucky. When he found it empty, he moved on.

While he couldn't stop glancing over his shoulder every now and again, Clint quickly realised that this wasn't as impossible as he had feared. He could still do his job. He could aim and fire just as he always could, just... quieter, like wearing sound-cancelling headphones at a gun range. 

Only nothing like that.

Not being able to hear the tell-tale steps of an incoming attacker did make things more difficult. It meant he had to look around himself more, he needed to be more alert and to pull the trigger quicker. But, he could work with it.

That is until a guard came at him from behind, swinging a crowbar like a fucking baseball bat.

Had he not seen the guy coming Clint was 90% sure that blow could've knocked his head clean from his shoulders like a grizzly, though admittedly more interesting, game of golf. As it was Clint only just managed to duck out of the way in time, the displaced air ruffling his hair a little as the hunk of metal breezed past.

Backing up a bit, Clint aimed his gun and fired, looking confused for a second when nothing happened. Fuck, no ammo.

His attacker took the distraction as the opportunity it was and lunged at Clint, swiping low with his crowbar. Clint went down hard with a shout, his older injury hurting far more than it had any right to. He rolled to the right and aimed a kick at the big fucker's kneecap, catching him right on the bone. Of course, it didn't do anything more than piss the prick off.

Though Clint was fighting the best he could, he knew there was no chance he could win this fight. All he could do was block and dance around the guy until he tired him out, and it wasn't going well. Beads of sweat trailed down Clint's face as he blocked yet another powerful strike with his gun, his arms aching with the strain of it.