The Proposition

Open eyes(13)

Agent Romanoff and her team surrounded the office building they suspected Hawkeye was in. It wasn't hard to take down the guards the gang had in place.

Her hand gripped the gun tight, her knuckles white and her mind set, eyes unblinking as she moved into position.

Carter counted down;

'5, 4, 3, 2,'

Natasha held her breath

'1.'

She kicked the door in, Hunt to her right, Hill to her left, Brandt and Carter taking the back entrance, Bruce was still outside to catch any escapees and to stay out of harms way.

Put it this way, they just shot at anything that moved. One bullet to the head, dead.

The team circled in onto the room in the centre of the building, where they suspected Barton was.

Carter rounded the corner, her army boots tapping the floor silently. Her handgun her at her head height, ready for anything as Natasha took the other side if the door they were about to kick down.

Hill came up cautiously, gun held firmly in her hands. Then with one smooth kick, the door was down.

The next thing Natasha knew, after a series of shots, everyone in the room was dead.

Except for two; Clint and the gang leader. A gun pressed to Clint's left temple and a knife to his throat.

Natasha looked at Clint. Trying to take in what she was seeing. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Anger coursing through her. She stared up at the leader and said the first thing that came to mind;

'Put the gun down before I shoot you you fucker.'  

Her voice surprisingly calm for the amount of hate running through her. Her hands shaking slightly as she resist the urge to look at Clint again.

The leader then made a mistake. He cocked the gun.

In one swift movement there was a bang and she shot the leader right between the eyes. A shocked expression crossed the leaders face before he fell to the floor with a heavy thud

Natasha finally brought herself to look at Clint properly. He was pretty much covered in blood; he had bruises, burns and cuts nearly everywhere imaginable in his body. His skin was deathly pale when it wasn't covered in blood and he was tied to a chair with bonds so tight blood barely flew to his hands and feet. He was sweating and there was a noticeable tremor about him. The sight of this, Clint, Her Clint like this. She held up her gun and shot the gang leader's dead body once more, for Clint.

'Clint!!' She called out desperately. Needing an answer, needing to see that cocky smile and him telling her she'd was letting her guard down like this. Needing him to do or say anything.

She ran up to him, his head was lying on the back of the chair, limp and to its side slightly. His eyes were bloodshot and his forehead gleamed with a mixture of sweat and the blood from his head injuries. 

His eyes were dropping, something that she recognised, something that happened only when he was really tired, or about to lose consciousness from the sleeping pill she would make him have when they're at home and he refused to sleep again.

'Clint.' She said again weakly.  

Bruce had ran up beside her by now, having run from the saftey of outside. Clints eyes kept going, he kept opening them though, trying to stay conscious.  

Natasha put her hands up to his cheek to lift it up a bit, he just flinched away in a warning way; stay away. His head then fell onto the other side of the chair, his breathing deepened and became a bit more rapid, his eyes dropping again.