“Clint stop, your wound will start bleeding again.” Natasha chided the archer, pushing back gently on his shoulder.
“I can’t just fucking sit here. God Nat you can hear people screaming in the street… I could at least take out a few of those bastards with the flamethrowers from in here.” The marksman insisted, but just staying upright was taking it’s toll. He could feel his body shutting down, refusing to follow the orders his mind was giving it. But how could he do nothing with the thunder of artillery and the wailing of innocent souls ringing in his ears?
“You came here to assassinate a warlord, not win a war single-handedly. We won’t survive if our position is made. Please, just be still.” Natasha’s heart bled for her partner, seeing the blatant misery on his face that he was helpless to act. She didn’t like it any more than he did. It was times like these she wished her heart was still cold and numb. But this damn fool bleeding and shivering in front of her had changed all that.
“Tasha…” Clint murmured, she could see he was barely hanging on to consciousness by a thread. She shushed him and gently eased his body down onto the thin ratty mattress, carding her fingertips through his sweaty hair until he fell asleep again. Once he drifted off the redhead slipped to the window and peered through the cracked dirty glass, keeping her silent vigil until their backup arrived.