The Los Angeles Operation

Twelve

With a great effort, Natasha pushed the wooziness and pain to the side. She looked at Clint and said, "They got away."

Clint didn't say anything. He knew it was smarter not to.

"If you hadn't shown up, I would have killed them."

Clint took a deep breath and said evenly, "If I hadn't shown up they would have killed you."

"You don't know that. I had everything completely under control!"

"I was trying to help you."

"Yeah? Well the next time you want to help, don't!"

She took a step and sharp pain spread through her side. The agony showed on her face for just long enough for Clint to catch it.

"Tasha... are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright!" she snapped. "I always am."

Clint walked over to her. "It's your side, isn't it?"

She didn't reply. She didn't have enough energy to fight him any longer.

"I knew it. Natasha, I told you you shouldn't fight with a wound like that!"

"Well, you weren't doing anything."

"What happened?"

Natasha told him the story in as few words as possible. He frowned.

"I knew I should have followed you," he said.

She dropped her gaze to the ground. Her body started to sway as it began to weaken. Clint grabbed her arm to support her. She walked over to her bed and sat down. The room spun and colors blurred together.

No, she was not going to pass out. That was not happening. She grabbed the side table. She took deep, even breaths, trying to stop herself from losing consciousness.

Clint hesitated. Kneeling down in front of her, he cautiously reached out to help. He placed one hand on her shoulder and one on her waist, just below the cut.

"Tasha," he whispered. "Just take it easy."

She leaned forward. She felt her stomach churn and squeeze the bile back up her esophagus. Natasha shut her eyes tight and clutched Clint's arms, concentrating on keeping her breakfast down. Clint put a hand on her cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to pour from her eyes. She had no control over her tears and was losing control of her stomach.

Clint could see that she was losing it. He put both hands on her cheeks and said, "Come on, Nat, keep it together."

With one final heave, her stomach emptied itself. Clint was covered in bile. He pinched his mouth shut and swallowed hard, trying to keep his own bile down. The putrid smell burned his nose.

After throwing up, she felt slightly better. Her side still hurt horribly, but her stomach quieted. Natasha tried to take deep breaths, but every inhale hurt her. She clutched her side.

"Shhhhh," Clint said, trying to forget about the stuff covering him. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm here."

The pain slowly receded. She exhaled deeply and slowly let go of her side. Natasha looked at Clint and saw the vomit covering him.

"I'm sorry..." she said.

Clint didn't smile. "Don't worry about me. What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know." She didn't bother lying this time.

"Natasha... Never mind. Why don't you lay down?"

“I’m-“

“No, you’re not OK. Look at me. Do I look like you’re OK?”