A/N: I couldn't resist writing this little oneshot after reading a headcannon. I couldn't. So here is some Clintasha for you .Let me know what you think in reviews- I appreciate constructive criticism! Enjoy!

He took a bullet for her.

He took a fucking bullet for her.

Clint took a bullet for her- the infamous Black Widow, the woman with the stain of innocent blood reeking on her hands. She didn't deserve to live. She deserved that bullet to slam right into her chest and snatch life from her.

But, he took the bullet.

She knew that it was a part of the job; a risk of death is always with them.

But Clint couldn't die. Natasha wouldn't allow it. She needed him. Yes, if he did die, she would get over it, but she couldn't lose the only person who saw her as more than a means of murder. He was the only person who saw her for who she really was and he respected her. He treated her right and was there for her. She wouldn't be able to live with herself knowing that he died for her.

Natasha refused to let go of his hand as they were evacuated. The medics knew better than to argue with her; they didn't want to have to deal with more injuries. She kept her eyes locked on his at all times, and as Clint dipped in and out of consciousness she would gently squeeze his hand; letting him know that she was still by his side and wasn't going anywhere.

She had to let go when they landed on the helicarrier. The pair was split up. She had to be debriefed and Clint had to go under the knife. She rushed through the debriefing and tried to see Clint, but they wouldn't let her near him. He was under intensive care. Natasha knew there was no point in arguing, she went and got medical attention for the cut on the right side of her head and then got changed out of her mission gear, which she only realised as she took it off, was covered in Clint's blood. She burnt it.

She returned to the medical ward and looked to see Clint again. She was closed to using violence to see him, but Coulson stepped in and managed to get her access to the unconscious Clint.

She walked into the small room and saw Clint lying on the bed and true to the nurse's word: completely unconscious. He had wires spring from him and connected to various machines that hummed and beeped. Natasha dragged a chair next to Clint's bed and curled up in it and looked at his chest rise and fall, reassuring her that he was alive.

She continued to watch his chest rise and fall, soothing her. She could have laughed- even when unconscious Clint was able to calm her down. She missed him already. He would have laughed at her for acting so sentimental and soppy. Would have told her to stop being a sissy (to which Natasha would have smacked him around the head in reply).

Natasha moved her hand closer to Clint's and clutched it; she needed to feel his skin against hers. She really wanted to lay in the bed with him, to have his arms curled around her waist and his warm breath tickle her ear. She wanted to feel his fingers gently draw patterns up and down her arm as they cuddled on the sofa watching some stupid television show. She wanted him to bring her coffee just the way she liked it. She wanted Clint back. Not this lump of cells that lay in a bed unconscious. She wanted Clint, Clint who could be laughing one minute and then comforting the next.

Feeling childish, she pushed all her wants to the back of her mind and concentrated on Clint; the gentle intake of air and the slow release. She found herself breathing in time with him. Natasha shifted her attention to Clint's face, his eyes were shut. She missed them the most, the pair of endless grey that could say nothing or everything. She glared at his face; maybe he'd feel her presence or some shit like that.

Natasha felt like hitting him to wake him up.

He certainly deserved to be hit, almost killing himself like this and for her of all people.

Natasha didn't know when she fell asleep, but she woke up with her hand still gripping onto Clint's. She looked back over at Clint who had less wired plugged into him than he had the night before.

Natasha didn't move from her seated position for the whole day; she could survive without going to the bathroom or food. She had to be there when he woke up. She didn't want him to wake up alone.

She drifted in and out of sleep for the next few hours. When she was awake she thought of only Clint and the little things he did. Like how he sung in the shower without giving a fuck about who could hear. Or how he liked Oreos and ate them just like in the ads. Just the little things. When she slept she dreamt the same thing over and over again: Clint's funeral. She tried not to think about it when she was awake. It scared her too much.

He woke up in the middle of the night.

Natasha was awake and was lost in thought when he did wake up. She was pulled from thoughts of him by his whimper of

"Tasha?"

She could have kissed him there and then. Nothing had sounded as amazing to her as his tired dried voice did. She leaned over towards him and looked into his grey eyes and smiled, still clutching his hand and mentally decided she'll make sure she'd never let go.

A/N: Aw. Wasn't that nice? Please review and let me know what you think.