This is my first fic after quite awhile. :) I've been writing quite a bit, but never got around to publishing. Sorry for that, faithful followers! ._.
This began as fluff, but it's more action-y now...I'll call it fleece. Have some ClinTasha fleece. XD

Back to work.

Natasha smirked at herself as the door in front of her fell from her kick. She took a few steps back to balance herself. Three back, one to the side. One more than usual.

After a time with S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha had noticed how numerical everything was. Numbers became a noticeable component in everything. Kicks per guard. Missions per month. Everything flowed through the numerical drops and turns.

She sniffed after finding her footing following the fall of six men. Being sick didn't assist the situation at all. Numbers never responded well to scribbles thrown into the mix.

"Agent Barton, we're ready." The crimson-haired agent lifted a gloved hand to her ear to radio her comrade.

"Ten-four. Get ready to shoot," Clint responded.

Natasha smirked. "Same could be said to you."

There was a rumble of chuckling on the other end, lifting the corners of her mouth. She removed her hand and prepared to fire at the doors in front of her. They had gone in through a back tunnel lit by long, naked bulbs and strung with wires along the metal walls. Two doors disrupted the silver in front of her; the one on the left to Barton and his team, the one on the right the expected exit that the violators would take.

Bangs and shouts filled the air for mere moments as both doors flew open and shots were exchanged. Suited agents from both sides collided, kicks and a few shots fired. Bullets were risky here; a false shot could take one from their team. Natasha took down several within seconds, bodies falling too fast to count, almost of their own accord. After a minute of seeing agents fall, she saw the black shafts protruding from some. Barton was protecting her.

A patch of men surrounded Romanoff, some with awkwardly twisted limbs, others with arrows springing from their necks. She began to walk on, but tripped and took more time than necessary to regain her balance. She was losing it, but couldn't stop now. She heard a voice from above her back shout her name, but she forgot to respond. "Clint, you have to...have to go and cut them...off..." Natasha's words faltered and stumbled as her legs did the same. She couldn't manage to move her feet the way she wanted to. She grabbed for the overhead rail, but her hand quickly slipped and she fell backwards.

In a clatter of steps, Clint was behind her, his hands firm under her arms for support. "I got you, Tasha, I've got you." Clint's words hummed close to her, his chest gently pressing into her back. The words were the last remnants of the mission before she submitted to darkness.

.:.

Natasha's mouth was open.

She snapped it shut as her eyes did the opposite. Her throat felt like sand and her air-dried mouth did nothing to assist the situation. Not only that, but her nose felt congested and she found that she couldn't breathe through it properly.

She tried to pull herself up but was hit with a wave of fatigue and ceased her attempts immediately.

"Are you alright?"

A voice made her twitch, but not jump. She had been trained out of the habit, but not entirely. "I'm not sure if this qualifies as 'alright'." she said, turning to her left, still in a half-upright pose. Her voice sounded too raspy and felt choked. Clint strode over wordlessly and lifted her up to sit. "I can't believe I missed the mission," she hissed.

"You just missed a prosecution, not much," he replied. "S.H.I.E.L.D. thought we were taking too long and sent more men."

Her gaze fell to the assortment of metal and plastic shards on the floor. "And I missed something else, then?"

Clint's lip twitched into a smirk. "Tony took pictures of you while you were sleeping. Can't blame him, you were knocked out. Your mouth was open and a bit of drool was-"

"You smashed his phone?" Natasha said, her eyes furrowing and her mouth curling up in disbelief.

Clint returned the grin. He'd kill to see that smile more often. "My bow was in the other room."

"He keeps everything on there."

"He backs it up. He's probably built a better one by now, anyway."

Natasha smirked. She was still flattered by the gesture, in a different, pathetic sort of way.

She tried wetting her mouth between pants of breath. "Thanks for bringing me up," she said, moving her feet to stand.

He made a disapproving noise in his throat. "I wouldn't, not with your cold," he said.

She paused, giving a wet, unattractive snort, before continuing to swing her legs off the opposite side of the bed. Clint watched soundlessly as she coughed and stood, wobbling and struggling to remain vertical. Natasha's vision clouded into grey and she fell back onto the bed.

"Dehydration and a bad cold. Not a good mix," her companion's voice rumbled.

Natasha had to squeeze the sheets to keep herself together. Trapped in her own body. How annoying. And inefficient.

"So now what? Sit and wait like a stupid duck?"

Hawkeye made a mental note that peoples' colds made them aggressive. "A very stealthy duck. Just with a cold."

Natasha hacked again and sank into the bed. "So now I'm just going to sit here by myself?"

"Well, no," Clint responded. "I'll be here."

"And do what?" she snapped. Clint fell silent and looked down. Natasha felt a surge of guilt and self-hatred for bursting out like that.

Clint looked back up. "Stay with you."

"You're going to get sick." A wet snort echoed through the room.

Clint chuckled, but as he did, his laugh became faster and louder until it was an unmistakable cough. He cleared his throat to stop, trying to cover himself. Natasha stared. "I've had worse," he said.

She closed her eyes and sank into the bed. "You're such a lovesick dork."

He smiled. "Takes one to know one, Tash."

Please review if you have time. It gives me good feedback as to what I did well or what I can focus on. :) ~GoggleBox