Rodeo Man
Rodeo Man
She sat in the plastic chair by the window, skimming absentmindedly through some lifestyle magazine while she waited for him to wake up.
By the time he did, she knew everything there was to know about how to make the perfect cup of coffee and all about the latest fashion trends for the season.
He stirred and opened his eyes, squinting in the bright fluorescent light. She thought that served him right; this time she felt much less pity than usual.
Pushing away her reading material, she drug the seat across the room to where he lay and took considerable pleasure in seeing him cringe as the chair legs screeched loudly across tile.
Was her anger justified? Maybe not, but it surely didn't come close to making up for his idiocy.
"Good morning, cowboy," she said cheerfully as she sat back down where he could see her.
"Ugh," Clint mumbled in response, not at his most articulate. He tried to move a little, but the wave of pain that came along with it made him give up and revert to moaning. Natasha waited.
"I... where... you?" he asked weakly.
She gave him a stern look. "Are you coherent enough for me to lecture you, or do you need me to tie off your morphine drip first?"
Clint managed a cross between a laugh and another groan. "What are you even doing here?"
"Well, I was in bed when they told me what you were doing. Now that I’m here, I’m thinking that maybe I should have stayed there."
"I should have," Clint conceded. "That was a really bad idea."
"At least we agree on something. What on earth made you do it?"
There was a short pause, and Natasha couldn't tell if it was due to his concussion or just straight-out embarrassment. "Sitwell dared me."
"Ah," she said sarcastically. No news to her; the video had spread through HQ like wildfire.
"You seriously thought you could pull it off?"
Clint rolled his eyes. "Obviously."
"Have you ever even ridden a horse before?" she asked, her voice laced with a mix of humor and frustration. Mostly the latter.
"I've tamed wilder beasts," came his confident reply.
Natasha gave him an incredulous look. "If you weren't drugged to the gills right now, I'd take major offense at that statement." She picked up the patient file from where it was clipped to his bed and glanced over his medical chart. "Well, this wild beast did quite a number on you. Broke some ribs, sprained your ankle, and gave you a hell of a concussion. Congratulations."
"How did it look?"
"What?"
"My ride. Did I make the 8 seconds?"
At this, Natasha sighed and tenderly took Clint's bruised hand in hers, patting it gently.
"That bronc threw you off faster than a jackrabbit on a hot tin roof, Clint," she said affectionately. "But you know what? You looked pretty damn good getting your ass kicked. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a natural."
Clint smiled and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Nat. You always know how to make me feel better."