A Different Call

Changing Relations

Natasha's P.O.V.

I woke up in a hospital room, with wires and tubes and attached to me. I crane my head to take a full scope of my surroundings, it didn't look like the medical wing at either the Triskelion or the Hub. When I had almost completed my scan, I noticed Coulson sitting in some stiff hospital chair. I shook my head, these pain medications were a lot stronger than a thought it was.

"How are you feeling?" Coulson asked, moving to the chair next to my bed.

I raise my eyebrow, "Take a guess?"

He shrugged, "Fair enough."

"So, what's the damage?" I asked, trying to sit up.

"Well, we found out that the bullet that shot you was a soviet slug with no rifling."

"And the person who shot me?"

"No sign of him. Now as for the actual would, I can tell you that it won't look pretty once it's completely healed. They had to cauterize the wound just in order to stop the blood loss, even then you still looked like we were going to lose you on the flight over here."

"Where is here exactly?"

"A SHIELD hospital in Kiev."

"Is the rest of the team okay, no other attacks?" Not that I would mind if Ward got smacked around a little, cocky son of a bitch.

"Yes, and you have a guest waiting for you?"

"Guest?" I ask slowly, there shouldn't have been anyone waiting for me.

"Barton. He got on a flight the moment that he heard about what happened. He's pretty worried, but it's your choice if you want to see him. I'm sure he'll understand that you need your rest, you got pretty tore up. PT is going to be a bitch; your left oblique resembles shredded pork."

"I'm sure I've been through worse. Now, why don't you get Barton. No reason for the knucklehead to worry himself any more than he already is."

While Coulson went to get Barton, I upped the dosage of morphine in my line. That's the great thing about wounds, you realize how often the muscles that got injured get used in your normal life.

After a few minutes Coulson and Clint back in.

"You look like shit," Clint says, a smirk on his face.

"You don't look much better," I committed. It wasn't far from the truth, he had bags under his eyes that looked they could have been checked by an airline, I also noticed that for the first time since I had met Clint, he had stubble.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, taking a seat next to me.

"Everyone keeps asking me that. You guys really need to find some new conversation starters." I crack a small smile and out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Coulson had left the room, I figure it's to organize my transfer back to the states.

"Did Coulson tell you how long you had been out?"

"Not anything specific, but I figure a few hours given that you were able to get here from Washington."

"Wasn't in Washington, but you were out for almost twenty-four hours."

"What?" I can't believe I was out for that long, I can't believe that Barton had been waiting for me for that long.

"You had lost a lot of blood. You required almost three transfusions. Coulson said you looked like a ghost when you first got in. I was scared...didn't want to lose my best partner." I noticed that he added in that second part as almost an afterthought.

"I'm the only partner that you've had," I said, grabbing his left hand and rubbing the back of it. I allowed my native accent to return to my voice, "Besides, in Mother Russia bullet wounds don't kill you, you kill bullet wounds." I usually wouldn't make jokes like that, but I knew that Clint needed something to calm him down.

"Given what I've seen you do, I don't doubt that, but I'd rather not have that theory be proven wrong," he ended the sentence with a yawn.

I shuffled away from him, wincing every time my core contracts. "What are you doing Natasha?" Clint asked concern etched into his face.

"I'm not the only one that needs to rest, and I am sure that these hospital chairs aren't helping you any." I pat the spot on the bed next to me. I'm sure that later, I'll blame this the drug on this situation, though I won't lie that something in me just wanted someone next to me right now.

"Are you sure? I don't want to accidentally hurt you."

"Clint, I'm sure it'll be okay. You've slept with your bow next to you before on missions, right?" He nodded in response, I knew that I would be right, hell I'd seen him do it before. "And you've never hurt it while you were sleeping, it'll be okay."

"You're not like my bow," Clint said, climbing into the bed and making sure that there was plenty of distance between us.

"Obviously, I'm not going to let you polish and string me." I see Clint rolled his eyes at me. "Calm down Agent, I've been shot, not broken."

"You know to most people those things are pretty much one and the same?"

"Good thing we're not like most people."

Clint subtly, but not so subtly, grabbed my hand, "Do you have any idea where your recovery period?"

"Not really, I figure I'll be sent back to the Hub until I'm cleared for field duty again."

"Yeah, you're not doing that."

I raised my left eyebrow in a sort of challenging look, "Really, is that so?"

"Yep, because I know that if you are anywhere near some form of a gym, you'll try to go back there as soon as you can, and you'll injure yourself, even though you'll act like it's all alright. Instead, how about you spend some time at this safe house I have. There's also a physical therapist not that far away that can help you until you get back on your feet."

"You have your own safe house, what are you going to tell me next, that Coulson is secretly HYDRA."

"You know I heard that," Coulson said, stepping back into the room, "and I have to admit I know that place that Barton is talking about and I think it would be a good idea."

"How about we talk about this later," I said, laying down and pulling my blanket closer to me. Hopefully, after some sleep, my meds will be worn off a little more, or at least I'll be used to them and my brain will start functioning in a manner that is close to normal. I will admit that the thought of seeing what Clint's safehouse was extremely tantalizing.