The Los Angeles Operation

One

Natasha Romanoff sighed, placing her copy of "Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea" on her nightstand. It had been a year since she had moved into her own apartment, and she was loving it. The peace and quiet, the down time, the privacy, everything about it she loved. Well, everything except the fact that she had to drive to work.

She looked at the clock on her wall: 1:00 a.m.. She turned the light off and crawled under the covers of her bed. Natasha closed her eyes and let herself relax.

The sound of the doorbell sliced through the silence. She sighed in frustration. Natasha decided to ignore it.

It rang again in seconds. She turned the light on, jumped out of bed in frustration, and threw her robe on. She marched to the door as the doorbell rang again.

"I'm coming!" she shouted. Natasha grabbed a gun from the table near the door and pulled the door open, aiming the gun at the person beyond the threshold.

Clint Barton, her partner, smiled at her tightly. "Hey, Nat."

Natasha dropped the gun upon seeing Clint. He was covered in blood. "Clint, what happened!?"

Clint stumbled into the apartment. Natasha caught him just before he fell, and helped him into the room. He leaned heavily on her as he walked into the living room and sat down on the couch.

"Clint, what happened?" Natasha repeated.

"Would you believe someone insulted redheads?"

Natasha gave him a look.

He laughed, then winced. "Okay, okay. I broke up a gang fight a few blocks from here."

Natasha looked at him like he was crazy, which he was. "You what?"

"I broke up a gang fight!"

"How many people?"

"Seven, give or take. I thought for sure I could take them... guess not."

"Let me get this straight: You walked up to a group of big guys who were making some noise without a weapon, and tried to make peace?"

"Well, when you put it that way..."

Clint winced in pain. His whole body seemed to scream in agony.

"Why'd you come here?" Natasha asked.

"Because I trust you and you were the nearest person I knew. But if you want to, I could go home or-"

"No, I'm not complaining. I was just wondering." She took a look at a deep cut on his cheek. "I'll be right back."

Natasha walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl of water and set it in the sink. She turned the water on and grabbed a washcloth from her closet. Natasha turned the water off and carried the bowl of clean water and the washcloth back to the living room.

She noticed that Clint quickly put on a smile as she entered the room, probably to hide that he was really in a lot of pain.

She set the bowl down on a table nearby and pulled it next to the couch. "You don't have to do that, Clint," she said, dipping the washcloth in the water.

"Do what?"

She rang the washcloth out. "Act like it doesn't hurt. I know how strong you are, and I'm not going to think any less of you for being in pain."

"No, it's fine. It really doesn't hurt that bad."

Natasha gently wiped some blood off of his forehead. Clint hissed in pain.

"Sorry," Natasha apologized.

"It's fine."

She gently placed the cloth over the cut on his cheek and wiped down. It was clear that it hurt him. She dipped the cloth in the water again, and rung it out.