Understudy

Natasha Romanoff watched through the glass as her friend lay there in the single hospital suite. A white hospital gown replaced his protective vest, but he still had on his black snug-fit cargo pants. He was clearly distressed, based on how he glared at Bruce as he kicked the blankets off his legs and pushed them against the foot of the bed. The voices were muffled by the glass sliding door separating the suite from the rest of the lab, but the Russian assassin could tell Bruce had made the mistake of telling Clint he would be going under the knife as soon as sunrise hit. She watched as he protectively brought his wounded arm, now stuck in a temporary wrap and sling, up against his chest and hold it there. The doctor tried to move forward to take his vitals for a base rate before the procedure, but Clint was not having it.
He spat at Bruce. The scientist stepped back before his saliva could touch him, then held his hands in front of himself in a surrendering move.
"I know you're mad, but we need to get that arm of yours set before any permanent damage can be done to it. You're only hurting yourself, Barton. Since the wound had just been cleaned, they had about a three-day window before any permanent damage can be made, but since it was Clint, a highly trained assassin who has also fallen off a kitchen counter as he has tried to reach for a bag of chips at the back of a cabinet, they could not waste much time.
Clint just glared. Bruce could not tell if he was just upset with everyone or in a lot of pain. He refused an IV; Dr. Helen Cho had tried to start one, but the archer ripped it out of his wrist before she could tape it in place. Bruce figured he would stick one in once he was asleep, and then bind his forearm in some kind of guard to keep the tube in place.
"Since you're being a brat, tell me when the last time you had a health check."
"When I had my last ear infection."
"And when was that?"
Clint tilted his head to the side, scrunching his eyebrows. "Seriously? You were the one who treated me for it! You put those damn drainage tubes in my ears and they annoy the shit outta me!" It was quite common for Clint to contract ear infections at least twice a year, due to the fact that he allowed water to enter his ear and get trapped behind the hearing aids.
"You can't feel them, Clint! And they'll fall out by themselves in about...how many weeks has it been? Three? Give them three more weeks. We've talked about you getting permanent ones placed..."
"Which I said 'hell, no' to."
"Do you not give a shit about yourself, Barton? Do you think no one cares about you? Natasha's freaked out because you're about to have surgery. Hell, your brother's here and he's scared. We're all worried about you, Clint! Stop pushing everyone away!"
Clint fell silent for a moment, looking at the open door to the suite. "Why did Tony bring in his personal surgeons? How bad is my arm, Bruce?" The scientist could tell he was terrified. Clint had been trained by SHIELD to hide his emotions, but he was seriously concerned about his arm.
"Because Fury would kill me if you could never pick up a bow again, Katniss," Tony replied, pushing Clint's right hand off his left. "How much pain are you in right now?"
"He won't tell, Tony. SHIELD trains their agents that way." Bruce was glad Tony was there, even though he seemed to just be there to aggravate the archer. He turned and pulled a thermometer out of the bedside table's drawer before sealing the cap with a protective plastic cover and moving to take out one of Clint's hearing aids to get a temperature reading. Clint never minded a mouth/underarm thermometer or the kind that swipes across the forehead, but he absolutely despised the ear devices. In fact, he never willingly allow any doctor to examine his ears. He had been that way since he was made nearly 80% deaf and temporarily blind during a mission. SHIELD paramedics rushed him into the Playground's lab, where Jemma Simmons and several other top SHIELD specialists gathered around him and tried to treat him. It was always the Playground with him; of course, it was the base with the best medical team, laboratory, and living quarters. He could not see or hear, but he could feel the pain and pressure of the staff holding him down and poking him with tools. The only person to know he once had eye surgery was Natasha. Of course, the hastened surgery and ear treatment were done without anesthesia. He pushed the thermometer away in frustration, glaring at the two scientists in front of him. He absolutely hated getting his ears checked or simply poked at. Did anyone at Avengers Tower wonder why he has had multiple primary ENT doctors? The longest he had kept one was four months.
"I won't say how much pain I'm in until Bruce tells me how bad my arm is!" The blonde snapped.
Bruce hesitated, his attention drifting to the spiking numbers indicating Hawkeye's rising blood pressure on the monitor. Clint caught him staring at the numbers instead of answering his question, so he pulled apart the velcro holding the cuff on his arm, then threw it as far as the attachment could travel.
Bruce's attention went back to his teammate, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "That's for your own good. You need to leave that on," He scolded, walking over and kneeling down to pick up the discarded cuff.
"How bad is the damage?" Clint growled. He did not plan on giving up.
Bruce hesitated again as he pulled apart the cuff to strap it around Clint's bicep again. He never made eye contact. "It's bad. We had two doctors from New York General here earlier while you were getting X-rays. They didn't think you would ever gain full advantage of your left arm ever again. Tony threw them out and called the surgeons who removed his arc reactor and the remaining shrapnel in his body. He trusts them. He even called the doctor who preformed most of your procedures at SHIELD. You'll be in good hands, Barton."
"Yeah, while you're asleep, we'll use the time to install those hearing aid implants Bruce and I have been fidgeting with in the lab."
Clint glared. "I told you I didn't want those."
"You don't have a choice." Tony's voice was sharp as he focused his attention on the archer. "I pay for every suit and weapon upgrade my R&D team designs for you. And on every mission, it seems to be your goal to destroy all that hard work. So...you don't have a choice. Of course, we'll have to shave your entire head because two patches behind your ears won't look right. But don't worry! They'll do that part once your unconscious. Oh..." Tony snapped his fingers as he remembered the final statement he wanted to tell him, "I need to call that Doctor Strange guy. He can do some work on your brain...maybe give you a much-needed intelligence boost."
"Tony..." Bruce's voice lowered in a scolding tone. When he caught his attention, he shook his head. Don't start with him.
"What? Just call Romanoff in here. He seems to find her cold-heartedness comforting." He huffed and turned to leave. "Get him prepped, Bruce!" Tony turned around and pressed his hand against the doorframe before he left. His attention turned to Clint as he snapped his fingers and pointed at him. "Be back to help them cut you up later." With that, he turned and left.
Clint ignored Stark's remark and turned back to Bruce. "Did you find the bastard who shot me? I'll kill him."
I'll be analyzing yours and Natasha's bodycam footage shortly. Frame by frame. Whatever I can't identify, Jarvis will. We'll probably have him captured before you get out of surgery."
"I'm not going to surgery. I'm gonna find that guy myself. Even with one arm, I can still kick his ass." Clint was firm. He pulled the rest of the stickers off his body before standing up. Hawkeye grabbed the bed rail for support as a quick wave of dizziness washed over him. They had injected him with a small sedative during the flight back to the Tower. Clint thought it had worn off by now, but he could still feel its effects. Bruce moved ahead to help him sit back down on the bed, but Clint pushed him away. He responded with a slightly higher-pitched "leave me alone."
Bruce stepped back. "Alright, fine. You want to get up and walk? That's totally fine. It's the best thing for you right now." He was being sarcastic, but Clint could care less. The archer strolled past him and out of the hospital suite.

**********

He passed by the lab as he exited the medical bay, stopping by the doorway when he caught Natasha, Tony, and Barney staring at unsteady video footage projections. One projection showed Clint's bodycam footage, while the other showed Natasha's. Natasha clearly had tears in her eyes as she bit her bottom lip. The elder Barton brother's hand was on the back of her shoulder.
"It's not your fault, Natasha. You shoot like my brother. You're always on target." He tried to offer a small smile.
"But they were SHIELD issued bullets. They're specifically marked on the side with a red line. One of those bullets hit him. I shot him, Barney. I'm the reason he has a chance of never shooting his bow again. There's enough evidence that points the crime toward me."
"What are you all talking about?" All eyes were now on Clint. Barney's eyes widened at the sight of his brother out of bed.
"What the hell are you doing up?" His brother stepped away from the others and walked over to him. "I know you don't like doctors, but you need to go back to the med bay." He shot an apologetic look at the other Avengers, grabbing Clint's right forearm like he was his responsibility.
Clint looked up at his brother, a blank expression on his face. What does a person say to their sibling they had not seen in years? "I...um...Bruce said Nat was upset...and I just wanted to make sure she was okay." He looked over at Natasha and Tony. "Any news on the culprit yet?"
Tony swiped off the footage before Clint could be curious and go through the footage himself. "We're running scans on every man who is a part of the Watchdog organization. I'll track their phones and see who was in your exact location. Go back to the med bay, Barton. Once the doctors have a game plan, they're dragging you into our little OR whether you like it or not."
Natasha watched as her friend pulled his arm away from his brother and take a few steps back. It was like he was preparing himself to bolt if he needed to.
"Clint..." Barney chided. The younger Barton just glared. His attention fell on everyone in the room before turning and storming off to his apartment.

************
They could not force Clint to come out of his apartment, could they? Once he entered his apartment and shut the door, he did not bother locking it before he stumbled into his bedroom and into the attached bathroom. He was in desperate need of a shower after that mission. He was covered in mud, blood, and sweat, and his black tactical pants clung to him in the most uncomfortable way. Clint had a habit of uncleanliness. If he did not have to be at an event set up by Stark or SHIELD, he wouldn't bother showering until the second or third day after a mission, or until Natasha locked him in the bathroom. Of course, Clint did not really care about keeping his apartment clean either. He could not even remember the last time he did laundry.
He pulled the strings on the back of his gown, then chucked it on the floor before unzipping his boots and kicking them out of the way. He carelessly switched on the shower, not caring about the water temperature. Clint moved on to the struggle of pulling off his pants, but pulling off tight pants that clung to him with sweat and grime with one hand was not easy. The frustration made a wave of heat rush through his body. "Dammit!" Clint cursed, messing with his jammed zipper. As he messed with the zipper, he stepped back and tripped over his discarded boots. His tailbone hit the tiled floor, causing the archer to yelp.
Steam from the hot water started filling up the bathroom, making Clint even more uncomfortable. He looked down at the sling his temporarily bandaged arm was in, wondering if it would be alright if it got wet.
He did not care. He got in the shower and slid down to the floor, still clothed in his pants and sling. The water soaked through the material, weighing it down. His arm throbbed a little.
"I don't want the surgery." Clint's voice bounced off the walls. He brought his knees to his chest and let the water wash some of the encrusted dirt and blood off him. "My arm will heal..." The water soaking through his bandages only made the throbbing worse. The pain brought tears to his eyes.
"Clint?" Clint pulled back the grey shower curtain to inspect his surroundings. The door was shut, but his hearing aids, which he should have taken out before getting under the spray, picked up a female voice.
It couldn't be Cho coming to get him for the procedure, could it?
There was a knock on the bathroom door, then Natasha stepped in. Her expression softened as she knelt down outside the shower and eyed her best friend. "What the hell are you doing?" A smirk crept up on the edge of her lips. She found her current appearance a little amusing, but her smile fell when she saw the pain in Clint's eyes. "Clint..." She stood up and turned the water off before climbing into the shower with him. Her partner whined in response, but she rolled her eyes.
"Relax. I'm not getting undressed...and this wouldn't be the first time."
"I-I don't need help. And turn the water back on..." He tried not to make any more eye contact as he reached up and tried to grab his bottles of shampoo and soap.
Natasha grabbed the bottles and set them down on the shower floor. When Clint tried to reach for the shampoo bottle, she waved his hand away. "I'll help you. As I said, it wouldn't be the first time."
"I can take care of myself..." He whined pathetically.
"You'll be here all day if I let you handle this yourself."
"Yeah, that's the plan."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Shut up and let me help you with this. Hair or body first?"
"Nat..."
"Clint."
"Don't let it get in my eyes."
"Baby." Her comment earned a glare from her best friend. Natasha smirked and squirted some product in her palm. She set the bottle down, then rubbed her hands together. "Let me know if anything hurts, okay?" Clint nodded in response but wasn't prepared when she attacked his scalp.
"Nat!" It was a sharp whine. He squirmed under her touch, turning his head to either side as her fingers entangled themselves in his blood-encrusted hair.
She brought one hand off his head and grabbed his chin. His blue eyes met her green ones. "Не двигаться." Hold still.
One hand remained on his scalp, carefully brushing away the foam from above his ears so nothing would trickle behind his hearing aids. The foam had turned from white to pink rather quickly from the dried blood matting his hair. Natasha wasn't sure why Clint insisted on wearing them in the shower, but she decided not to question it. After all, it was Clint.
He sat still for her for roughly thirty seconds before he jerked away in discomfort. "ow, это больно, Nat." Ow, it hurts, Nat.
She found a small cut on the back of his head that seemed to be the source of pain, but she wouldn't let him go. He could breathe through it. "You're fine. I think I'm almost done. It's not my fault your hair's matted with blood and...I don't even want to know what the hell this is." Clint winced as her nails dug into his scalp, but he did not dare to backtalk. She stopped for a moment to apply more shampoo to where the worst of the dirt and blood were, then went back to scrubbing. "This would've been a lot easier if you had let them put a tub in your apartment instead of just a shower. It would've made this process a lot faster."
Clint rolled his eyes. "Tubs are for losers."
"Your SHIELD apartment has one. It certainly came in handy when you had that 104-degree fever and wouldn't go to medical for treatment. You passed out because of it and you're lucky I found you. I filled your tub full of cold water and filled it with all the ice in your freezer before I held you down in there for ten minutes. Or what about that time you broke your leg? It came in handy then too. And when you could barely move after a mission because every muscle in your body was screaming. Besides, you told me once before that you liked baths."
"Shut up..." Clint whined. "Now let me go before I put all your widow bites in a blender." He struggled to stand up and get out of the shower, but Natasha pushed him back down. "что я должен сделать, чтобы заставить тебя сидеть на месте?" What do I have to do to make you sit still?
He just shot another glare at her.
"You're so intimidating when your hair's covered in shampoo," She playfully mocked as she rinsed her hands and picked up the other bottle. The Russian was surprisingly quick with helping him scrub off the dirt, blood, and grime that stained his skin. Natasha stepped outside the shower and turned the water on, so Clint could rinse his body off. As he ran his hand through his hair to help rinse out the residue, he glanced up at her.
"Thanks..."
"Let me see your arm." She seemed nervous. Clint pulled his arm close to his chest, suddenly acting the way he did in the medical suite with Bruce.
"It'll be fine..." He mumbled, looking down at the soaked sling and bandages.
Natasha sighed and shut the water off again. "Okay, if you think that, get up and dressed. If you can prove to me that you'd be fine without surgery, I'll let them know you don't need it. Deal?"
"Deal."

***********

Natasha knew he could not do it. She knew he would have to submit to having the surgery. It took Clint twenty minutes to come out of the bathroom in just a pair of black sweatpants and a towel draped around his neck. He looked exhausted and sick to his stomach. She knew his arm had to be killing him. "Feel better?" She knew he didn't.
" 'm fine..." Clint mumbled, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a half-full bag of bread from the pantry.
"Want me to make you something?" Natasha offered, throwing away a bunch of trash that had littered the kitchen counter. Clint had a trashcan and perfect sight, but she couldn't figure out why he couldn't see the trashcan. She looked up to see him shake his head.
He laid two pieces of white bread on a napkin, then put the bread away and got out the peanut butter and a dull knife. He placed the peanut butter jar on the counter and gripped its red lid, struggling to figure out how he would open it with one hand. Natasha was watching him. He couldn't look like he was having problems in front of her.
"Need help?" She offered again.
"No!" Clint snapped, noticing Natasha flinch. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked at the counter. "No...I'm sorry, Nat. I'm sorry." Tears stung his eyes. He shakily brought the jar close to his chest, then tried to tuck it against his wounded arm so he could open it, but as soon as the jar pressed against the bandages surrounding his upper forearm, he hissed in pain and let the plastic jar hit the floor. The archer dropped to his knees as a shooting pain ran from his arm to the rest of his body.
"Clint!" Natasha stopped cleaning the kitchen and rushed over to help him. "Hey..." She tried to calm her voice. "Hey, you're okay. You're okay. Why don't you go lay down and I'll bring you a sandwich, okay?"
"I said I've got it..." Clint got to his feet with Natasha's help. His face was flushed with embarrassment.
"I know, I know," The red-head eased, placing her hand on his bareback. "Just go lay down. I'll bring you some pain pills and your sandwich in a couple of minutes."
"Cut it in half...o-one's for you..." When he made eye contact with her, the watery blue killed her. She froze for a second before offering a small smile. "Thanks, Barton..." She held on to him for a second before he pulled away and walked back into his bedroom.
The Black Widow picked the peanut butter jar up off the floor, opened the lid, then slathered plenty of peanut butter on one piece of bread. She stacked the pieces, got Clint a cold water bottle out of the refrigerator, then got into his medicine cabinet and pulled out two pain pills. She gathered everything, prepared to walk back into his bedroom. A knock at the door caught her attention. Clint would have to wait.
She set the snack and pills down on the counter before walking over and answering the door.
Bruce stood there with a tiny syringe gripped in his hand. She recognized the syringe right away. It was one of the sedatives she carried in her med-pack on missions.
"Bruce, I'm just trying to get him to relax a little. This isn't a good time."
"They're ready for him in the OR. The big guns are scrubbing up and we can't waste any more time." He looked down at the syringe in the palm of his hand and sighed. "This is just in case of an emergency."
"And that emergency would be if he acts up out of fear?" Natasha raised an eyebrow. She stepped to the side, allowing the doctor to come into the apartment. "He's waiting on his sandwich and painkillers. Just follow me."
She led the scientist to the kitchen to grab the archer's snack, then led him back into his bedroom. She found Clint lying on his right side. He perked up and sat up when he saw her, but when he saw Bruce behind her, he sunk back.
"Clint, Banner's just here to check on you. He wants to make sure you're not running a fever or showing any signs of infection." Natasha thought she sounded like she was offering an explanation to a small child.
Clint didn't fall for it. "He's here to drag me back to the med bay..."
Natasha shook her head. "You're not leaving this room."
Clint watched Bruce step toward him. He sat cross-legged on the bed and reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his half of the sandwich. He tore through one corner with his teeth as he watched Bruce set a small bag down on the bed.
"Does your arm hurt?" Bruce attempted to make small talk.
"I'm trying to eat my sandwich here..." Clint answered, rather annoyed. He swallowed a bite of sandwich and cleared his throat. "Is my brother still here?"
"Tony's currently showing your brother around the tower. He offered Barney a place to stay for a few days so he can help keep an eye on you." Clint frowned as he took another bite of his sandwich.
"I'm not four." His voice was muffled because he was chewing the bite of the sandwich.
Natasha sat next to Clint and thumbed the side of his head. He ducked his head away, not enjoying being coddled.
Bruce hesitated with the next words out of his mouth. "I'm done with this game. Clint, you're going to surgery." He reached out to grab the archer's right wrist, but he was quick to dodge him. He dropped the remaining part of his sandwich and rolled backward off the other side of his bed. Bruce came around to the foot end of his bed, determined to grab him if he tried to bolt out the door. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" He then directed his voice to Natasha. "Nat, grab him." Bruce took a slow step toward the archer. Clint was quick to jump to the side run at Bruce. He slammed his good shoulder into Bruce's side, which knocked the scientist into the wall, and bolted out the door. Natasha had remained frozen in place; she did not want to be responsible for his capture.
"Dammit, Barton!" Bruce's eyes flashed Hulk green as he quickly recovered and ran after his target. Natasha's heart pounded in her ears as she watched her friend chase after her partner. She cursed her partner under her breath before she rushed after them.
Clint led them on a wild goose chase throughout the tower. he had a lot of energy for someone who was struggling to recover from a terrible gunshot wound.
Bruce had shouted for Jarvis to lock the doors and elevator so they could corner him, but Clint rushed for the staircase. Hawkeye looked up, releasing short and uneven breaths; sweat trickled down his forehead. He snapped his head to his left, seeing Bruce, then to his right, seeing Natasha. He turned and ran as fast as his feet could carry him, which did not work well with keeping his balance on the stairs. Bruce and Natasha were forced to watch him trip over his feet and tumble down the rock-hard stairs. Clint screamed out in pain when he hit the floor, now lying on his bandaged arm. He curled up in a ball and did not notice the Avengers and his brother surround him in less than a second. Bruce pushed past the others and knelt next to him; he pulled the cap off the small syringe with his teeth, then pushed the side of Clint's head against the floor as he injected the sedative into his neck.
Clint winced at the sudden prick of the needle, then heard the muffled voices around him. Tony called for medical to meet them in the Common Lounge area with a stretcher. He saw Natasha kneeling next to him and felt her squeezing his hand before he blacked out.

***********

Clint Barton woke up in his worst nightmare. His ankles and right wrist were strapped down to a stretcher outside the small operating theater in the tower. A strap was fixed across his legs and chest for precaution. They knew how Clint handled himself in these situations, and it wasn't pretty. He would attack a doctor or nurse if given the chance. Clint squirmed, struggling to kick the blanket off his body, but it proved to be impossible. He whimpered and arched his head back as he tried to see if anyone was behind him.
He felt a hand gently grab his right hand, and his attention immediately went to the person it belonged to. Natasha rubbed her thumb over his hand as she held it, knowing there was not much else she could do. Clint even felt her sign 'OKAY' into his open palm a few times. "Hey...take it easy, Clint. You're safe...restrained, but safe. You weren't out for long...just long enough for them to bring you here and strap you down. it's just me and you in here. The anesthesiologist will be in here shortly to put you asleep for the surgery, and then when you wake up, I'll be right there next to you."
"Don't want it..." His voice was slurred and his eyes were suddenly very sensitive to the bright lights above him. Clint may have been tired, but he still had the energy to struggle against the patient safety belts holding him to the surface.
"Clint..." Natasha ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. "Calm down. You'll be fine."
When the door opened and the doctor walked in, Clint's heart started to race. His grip on Natasha's hand tightened.
The anesthesiologist, already dressed in blue surgical scrubs and a white mask, looked up from his clipboard and eyed the wounded agent. "I see your awake." His voice was kind, but that didn't help comfort Clint at all. "Ready for the good stuff?"
"I'm ready to get the hell out of here..." Clint admitted, breaking out into a cold sweat. He yanked against the restraints holding his ankles and wrist again with every ounce of energy left in his body, but it was no use. He whined, waiting out a sharp throbbing sensation running through his wounded arm again.
The doctor chuckled. "Mr. Stark said you might say that. I know you're nervous, and you seemed pissed at everyone in medical right now, and that's totally fine. This isn't a good day for you, I get it. We'll get that arm of yours fixed and have you ready for fieldwork in no time. Look, Mr. Stark told us to not be the gentlest with you, but I just want to keep you as comfortable as possible. I won't start an IV until you're asleep. You have the best doctors in the world waiting for you in the room next door. I'm just going to put the gas mask over your mouth and nose, then wait for you to drift off. I've worked with SHIELD agents before; I've found that most of you have a fear of doctors."
"I don't have a fear of doctors...I just don't like them..." He allowed his eyes to close as Natasha carded her hand through his hair again.
"Right," the doctor dragged on. "What if I let your girlfriend hold the mask over your face? Will that help with your anxiety?" He was already getting the supplies out and ready.
"S-she's not my girlfriend! She's just my...friend...girl...partner...my partner! We're close..." Clint hiccupped and froze when he saw the mask coming close to his face. Natasha took it from the doctor and held it firmly against her partner.
"Breathe, Clint...just breathe. Soon enough, we'll be back on the range and taking down Hydra agents." Natasha tried to comfort him. It wasn't helping. The archer attempted to hold his breath and turn his head to either side as he tried to knock off the mask. The doctor was there in a second trying to help hold him still.
"Let go!" Clint snapped, squirming some more. His screaming turned to pleading. "Please let me go. Nat...please...please! Please, Nat!" The sedative was already beginning to work. Clint's heart rate was slowing down and his world was spinning. The chain attached to the padded cuff restraining his right wrist clanked against the metal rail of the stretcher as he tried to reach for the mask. His limbs felt ridiculously heavy.
"Nat..." Clint stopped moving. Tears streamed out of his eyes as he focused his attention on her.
Natasha couldn't speak without her voice breaking. She let the doctor take over holding the mask as she moved to her best friend's side. She grabbed his hand and bent two of his fingers inward to form a single phrase.
Her three fingers pressed against his.
'I love you.'