Different Call (Clintasha)

Chpt. 11 - Afterthough

Clint

The black widow flailed her arms around under me as I tried desperately to prevent her movement. A shot fired. Two. Three. The third nearly grazed my shoulder, only managing to tear the fabric of my uniform. I had to do something soon or one of us was about to face death earlier than I would prefer. With one arm still pinning her down, I struggled to get the chloroform from out of the compartment at the base of my quiver. I managed to unscrew the cap and the liquid poured over my glove. It was messy but convenient. The moment I could feel the wetness on the inside of my glove I pressed the saturated fabric to her nose and mouth. She fought for extraordinarily long after exposure to the narcotic, but eventually it was as if she was only remembering she was human, she started to slow. Her attacks came with less vigour until her body fell limp in my arms. I released my glove from her face and her head lulled forwards slightly, red hair hanging limply in her face.

In her state of unconsciousness, she looked peaceful, almost unoffensive. Rather than feel success for overcoming her (however temporarily), I was instead still caught up in her actions of before. She couldn't be 100% responsible for her missions. She couldn't have been naturally bred with a lack of emotions, empathy, remorse. What had whoever trained her done to so thoroughly break someone that they begged for death? She had cried. Pleaded. Tried so desperately to make me do my mission. She tried to seek revenge when I rejected. She tried to end the task herself. Yet when I came to the room she had fought with vitality that couldn't be simulated. It was then that I resolved that I couldn't bring her to SHIELD. They would try to end what I started and I wasn't willing to allow them to do that. Every one of her actions, movements, and words served like a cry in the dark for help. She truly didn't understand herself and I couldn't allow myself to put an end to a life that was so unsure of the purpose of its existence. She was young. Afraid. She hated herself but obviously feared her superiors more. I didn't know what I was going to do but for now my mission was not in one of the categories. I had no way of contacting SHIELD and they were arranged to transport me via jet back to America in three days. I had three days to figure out what I was going to do with her.

I untangled myself from beneath her limp limbs and walked back to the bed to retrieve my bow. I grabbed what she had here too and threw the two items over my shoulders. Now she was the last load I had to carry. I walked back to where she lay and began to reposition her to allow myself more space to lift her from the floor. I felt offensive touching her while she was unconscious. Fighting was something different, we were both aware of what we were doing but even with the knowledge that she had remorselessly claimed and soiled people's lives I still felt as if I were the violator when I lifted her body. I checked her pulse, pressing my fingers to the side of her neck and the reassuring pressure of her steady heartbeat was present. I tried supporting her head with one hand while the other hand supported her back, her legs hanging over my forearm.

I carried her back to my room, placing her down on the floor next to the bed. Her body lulled to one side and I tried to keep her upright before surrendering to gravity and allowing her body to lie on its side. I doubled back on my bag, retrieving a pair of handcuffs. She was unpredictable and I was willing to take precautions at the expense of chivalry. After securing the metal rings around her hands I left her.

The bathroom sat just off the main room, finished sink and mirrors shining unlike the rest of the furnishing. Walking into the bathroom I headed towards the shower and turned the ornate knob, a flow of freezing water immediately following. "Ah," I hissed, expecting the water to be warm relative to the positioning of the dial. I decided to let it take a moment to heat up. The mirror sat opposite the tub and I walked towards it. My sandy blond hair was sticking up all over the place and I looked like a mess. My cheek was beginning to develop a bruise and the skin over the bridge of my nose had been cracked open. I gingerly tended to the open wound with my finger, repetitively flinching and "ow"-ing at each point of contact. Maybe I'd just let it be.

The room began to gain some humidity so I stripped off my clothing and got into the shower. The water felt good raining down and pounding against my aching muscles. I washed off the blood, both mine and her's, from my body before finishing up and turning off the water. I dried myself off and already I could see that I looked better. I wrapped the towel around my waist and left the washroom feeling extremely awkward walking half naked through a hotel room with a drugged and unconscious female in handcuffs lying on the ground. I decided that I would rather not challenge the potency of the chloroform and so I threw my clothing over my shoulder and changed in the bathroom instead. She was still unconscious upon my leave from the restroom. With nothing else to tend to, I rolled into bed.

"God I hope I made the right call."

A/N Okay so I'm thinking I might start doing dedications so anyone who'd like a chapter with a dedication, just ask! Also I've just realized I've been putting out chapters pretty quickly lately, even after the original 8 that appeared on the same day, so I just wanted to make everyone knows that that's not always going to be happening like that (not meaning that the inflation won't continue for a while) but school's coming for me in a couple weeks so assuming I don't finish this before then, the frequency will probably one chapter a week.