bakerstreet | that awkward meme;

that awkward meme;

THAT AWKWARD MEME WHEN
Congratulations, your character's shame is now a spectator sport.

RULES:
o1. Post your character ( name | series | any preferences ).
o2. Characters tagging in: ~~Pick~~ roll for a prompt.
o3. The character setting up the scene can be either the cause, or the unfortunate witness to the awkward situation. Have fun!

That awkward moment when...

o1. You're trying to slink away with your partner’s valuables after a one night stand only to wake them up in the process.
o2. You send a message with your confession, raaage, embarrassing questions or compromising pictures to the wrong person.
o3. You forgot about a birthday or anniversary and now have to pitch a cheap gift bought in five minutes off the nearest 7/11 as a symbolic expression of your feelings.
o4. You lost your wallet and have to charm a perfect stranger into paying your tab.
o5. You spill your wine on the event special guest half an hour before they're due giving their speech.
o6. You need to get rid of your date/groupie/coworker to assume your superhero identity and go save the day in the nearby building.
o7. You can’t stop hiccuping during someone's heartfelt confession of undying affection.
o8. You kidnapped the wrong person.
o9. You have to get your very drunk friend out of a public place fast, and they're not exactly cooperating.
10. You blame grave illness to cancel on meeting someone, only to run into them an hour later.
11. You slip ~~on a banana peel~~ in the middle of your amazing performance or even more amazing shounen attack.
12. You get matched on a blind date with someone who dumped you. Twice.
13. You call out the wrong name when things get hot and heavy.
14. You have to prod this person whether they like-like your friend without outright saying it, because said friend is apparently ~~five~~ too shy to ask on their own.
15. You run into someone after choosing your clothing or doing your make up during a blackout.
16. You have to ask a favour of someone you publicly lambasted twenty minutes ago.
17. You wake up to find someone's been watching you sleep.
18. You answer the door in your lingerie to surprise your special other, only to find it’s not them calling.
19. You try the polite greeting your friends taught you in a different language, only to find out it’s actually a grave insult or a hilarious proposal.
20. You accidentally walk into someone showering, singing aloud, enjoying their personal time or anything else you feel like putting together.

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Stevenson would pay for that. Later, when Clint could afford to think about anything but the fact that Natasha was hurt. He moved forward quickly, his heart pounding in his chest as he scooped Natasha up in his arms and held her there.

"Nat," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Look at me, you're going to be all right. You hear me?" The words caught in his throat as he moved with one hand to apply pressure to the wound and tried to support her neck with his other hand.

"Agent down," he called into the comm. "North entrance."

Stevenson kneeled beside him, opened his mouth and Clint grabbed him by the tie and slammed his head down into a railing. Stevenson slumped sideways against it.

He looked back down at Natasha, his face falling with worry. "Nat, stay with me." He held her a little closer, feeling her blood trickle through his fingers. "It's going to be all right."

Natasha winced when Clint moved her, the press of his hand against her wound making her whimper. She tried to focus on him, on his face, his touch, his voice, but it was a chore even keeping her eyes open... hell, it was a feat just trying to breathe. She was no doctor but she suspected one of her lungs had been pierced. Coughing up blood certainly wasn’t a good sign.

Groping weakly at Clint’s arm when he knocked Stevenson out, she shook her head minutely, the movement barely perceptible.

“Don’t... kill him,” she choked out, wheezing. Her entire chest ached, inside and out. “If anyone does... should be... me.” She tried to smile, but another wave of pain washed over her and she grimaced instead, closing her eyes tightly.

"Hey, save your breath," he said when she choked out the first couple of words. He wasn't really going to kill him, as satisfying as it might be. Then she went on and he let out a small breathless laugh, his throat catching as she grimaced.

"You got it," he said, his voice gruff. He bent over her as people rushed around them, trying to save themselves from the SHIELD raid that was currently taking place. He pressed his forehead to hers lightly.

"Hey, this ain't got nothin' on Budapest," he whispered. "You remember?"

Edited 2013-02-27 04:22 (UTC)

Natasha barely heard the chaos and commotion that was still going on around them, didn’t even notice as SHIELD burst onto the scene. She tried to focus on Clint’s touch, an anchor keeping her grounded.

“Tell me,” she murmured, but even that seemed too much. Turning her head to the side she coughed again, blood spattering the floor. Of course she remembered, but she wanted him to keep talking so she could focus on his voice until the medics arrived. She couldn’t say much herself but she could still listen and his voice was familiar, a comfort, and the one she always wanted to hear when things went bad.

"Two days," he said, his voice rough. "Two days of being holed up in a flooded mine because some Judas sold us out. We shot up half of Friedrich's men before they cornered us in there."

His thumb stroked her cheek softly. "And I got hit and pretty much thought I was going to bleed out before anyone got to us and what'd you say?" A smile appeared on his lips. "We had nothing to lose. It was in Russian. We die alone, we fight together."

Natasha listened to the story, forcing herself to focus on his voice and shut out everything else. She tried to shut out the pain, tried not to think about how difficult it was to breath, tried to think of nothing but him and the memory they shared. Perhaps it wasn’t the best memory, anyone else listening might have been horrified, but a small smile curved her lips when he repeated her words from years ago.

She tried to speak, tried to say that that must mean she wasn’t going to die because he was with her, but coughing wracked her body again only this time she couldn’t stop so easily. Clutching at her chest, at any part of Clint that she could grab, she tried to roll to her side, tried to curl up in a ball. All she could taste was blood, all she could see was red, red that was steadily getting darker.

She heard the medics approaching, heard voices talking around her but she couldn’t understand any of them, couldn’t pick out Clint’s voice among them, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see anything but red, red getting darker...

...darker...

...darker...

...black.

Things had been bad before, but never like this. Clint could see it as she grew more and more pale, as the blood bubbled from her lips. He could feel her fading and knew there was nothing he could do about it but beg her to hold on.

She coughed and turned towards him and he held her until fingers were trying to pry him back so that they could get a her. He looked around wildly, not really seeing anything or anyone in the crowd of people around them, until he caught a familiar face. He froze as Phil Coulson smiled back at him. Phil gave him a small nod and somehow Clint knew it was okay to let go. He loosened his grip on Natasha and before he knew what had happened, Hill was pulling him to his feet and the medics were moving Natasha out.

The next twelve hours were hell. Maria ordered him to stay away from the medical bay and even further away from the detention cell that housed Stevenson. He was taken to a conference room for debriefing, Natasha's blood drying on and stiffening his shirt as he explained his foolish mistake and how things had escalated from there. Ordinarily he might have tried some tact, or at least tried not to paint himself in such a bad light, but he couldn't be bothered to now.

An hour in, Steve showed up and didn't leave. Though the super soldier was obviously concerned and asked him to retell the events, Clint knew he was there to make sure the Clint obeyed his orders. Clint spent the next four hours in the room with Steve. Most of it spent pacing and telling Steve about past missions. Past missions when one or both of them had gotten hurt and how they'd taken care of one another.

Six hours in, Clint was exhausted and reaching the end of his rope. He wasn't entirely convinced that Steve would really stop him if he tried to get to Natasha. In fact, he was almost convinced he would help him, but his plans of escape were cut short when Maria entered the room and told him that Natasha was in recovery. They'd lost her once, but she'd come back. Clint didn't wait for permission before he was tearing down the hallway.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen her in a hospital bed and he doubted it would be the last, but it still shook him to his core. Her vibrant red hair stood out against the pillow as he sank into a chair beside her.

He didn't move for another six hours. He slept, he kept watch and he waited.

Natasha passed those same twelve hours in oblivion. She woke once, confused and incoherent, unable to process the sounds and voices around her and feeling nothing but pain. She was given anesthetic on her way to surgery and everything was darkness again.

When she finally awoke again the first thing she noticed was the constant beeping noise of the heart monitor; secondly was the tube in her nose that was assisting her breathing; and third was the warm pressure in her right hand. She didn’t panic, this had not been the first time after all, but it had certainly been the worst. Her memory was fuzzy yet but she knew where she was, recognized the sounds of the hospital equipment; she could fill in the rest later.

Her eyes felt heavy, the lids weighed down, but she slowly cracked them open and peered out through her lashes. Clint sat in a chair beside her bed, slumped forward with his head resting on the mattress and her hand in his, and he appeared to be asleep. Natasha said nothing and did very little; she just gave his hand a firm squeeze.

Edited 2013-03-16 20:02 (UTC)

Clint stirred slowly, his own fingers returning the movement vaguely before his brain actually caught up with the sensation of her fingers on his. He blinked his eyes open and lifted his head to look at her.

His fingers squeezed hers back this time, firm but gentle as he straightened up, feeling the beginnings of a crick in his neck. Still, in order to rub at it, he'd have to let go of her hand and that wasn't happening.

"About time," he said, his voice rough with sleep. His eyes moved over her face, trying to gauge how much pain she was in. She still looked ghostly pale, but he could tell that there was a little more color there than there had been before.

Watching him through barely opened eyes, Natasha’s lips curled up into the faintest smile when he raised his head and blinked at her, bleary eyed. She had no idea how long she had been out or how long he had been here with her, but if she had to hazard a guess she would say that he had been here as long as she had.

“You... look like hell,” she croaked out, her voice a scratchy whisper. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and winced, her eyes going shut again. She’d been through some bad scrapes but this was definitely among the worst ones. “The mission... we salvage... anything?” Their original mission had been blown the second Clint took the wrong mark, but in doing so they had stumbled upon something much bigger. Then, of course, it had all gone to hell but maybe some good had still come out of it.

"You're one to talk,' he said, his fingers squeezing hers gently. He watched her as she winced, his eyes sharp.

"You want some water?" He moved to pour her some. He paused at the mention of the mission. Leave it to Tasha to have one thing on her mind. "We got Stevenson," he said, his tone darkening. 'Not to mention a couple of Interpol's most wanted. Not bad, all things considering.'

He stuck a straw in the cup and moved it close enough so that she could take a sip. "Looks like we're both going to be sitting out on missions for a little while."

Natasha nodded only slightly at the offer. Following Clint’s movements with just her eyes she could see the tension in his body, hear it in his voice. She knew what he was doing, how he was taking all of this on his shoulders. She knew not because she was really alert enough to see it but because she knew him.

“Good,” she said, taking a sip of the water when he held the straw near her lips. She didn’t try to take it for herself, just let him help her; he was one of the few she would let do so.

She was pleased the entire ordeal hadn’t been for nothing though she knew there would be reprimands waiting. Still, as Clint said, all things considered it hadn’t turned out bad.

“What they give you?” she asked, laying her head back on the pillow after taking a drink. Clearly her reasons for being out of commission for a while were obvious.

He watches her as she takes a sip of water, relieved at least that she's not fighting him on helping her. It's not that he doesn't think she trusts him as much as he's afraid she'll try to play off her injuries as less than they are.

The fact that she isn't seems to put the whole situation in a sharper light. It is what it is. If she's being honest with him, the least he can do is be honest in return.

"Not sure yet," he says, meeting her eyes. "I've already given my debriefing and I think Hill said something about a review for discipline." He gave a small shrug. It wasn't good, but it could've been worse. "Doesn't take a mind reader to know they're not happy."

Now it's her turn. He nods towards her. "How's your pain? You need more meds?"

Discipline reviews, she hated those, and considering what Clint had to go through after the Loki incident she was surprised he was so casual about this. It was a bit of a relief, though; like it was evidence that he truly had recovered from what had happened to him, or at least as well as could be expected.

“The tag could have been clearer,” she said. She didn’t elaborate; she didn’t need to. It was enough to make it clear that she wouldn’t hang him out to dry, that part of the blame for the botched mission was on her.

“I’m okay,” Natasha replied. She took short breaths as anything too deep hurt, and she was sure there had been more bullets but she couldn’t quite tell without looking. The must have been superficial compared to the one that had caught her lung. “What did the doctors say?”

He presses his lips together when she mentions the tag. This was his screw up and his alone. He's not about to let her throw herself under the bus on his account. He's pretty sure the only reason he's still here at all is because of her.

"I got it wrong," he says firmly, leveling a serious look at her. "I'll take full responsibility."

He leaned closer to the bed, his hand brushing over her blanketed knee and resting there.

"They said you were lucky. It... was bad for a while there." For a second, the appearance of having everything together slips and he tightens his hand on her knee. "Don't do that to me again."

“It could have been clearer,” Natasha shot back without hesitation, her voice surprisingly strong despite her condition. Even though she was lying in a hospital bed with a breathing tube in her nose, when she leveled a look at Clint it was a formidable one. He could take all the responsibility he wanted, but as soon as she was able she was going to do the exact same thing and claim part of this disaster as her own fault, no argument.

Raising her head from the pillow she weakly lifted her arm and pulled at the neck of the hospital shirt she wore, trying to peer down the front at the bandages beneath. She stopped when she felt Clint squeeze her knee and heard the emotion in his voice. “No promises,” she said, because there never could be in their line of work, but she offered him a small, almost teasing smile to accompany the words. Dropping her shirt she held her hand out to him, beckoning him closer. “They say how long I’ll be stuck in here?”

Lucky. She could feel that that was true and in some ways it was frightening, that she had come so close to death without even realising it, but not for the reasons one would expect. She had been prepared to fight for life at all costs from a young age, but she had also grown to accept death as well, and when Clint had first come after her, when he had been sent to kill her, she almost welcomed the release. Not anymore, though. She wasn’t afraid of death, but she wanted to live, not because of some survival instinct, but because she wanted to live and finally had something worth living for.

He wasn't going to argue with her when she was like this, but he if he could help it, he wouldn't let her take any of the blame either. Her words might have seemed harsh to anyone else, but Clint took a small comfort in them. If he could trust anyone, to be honest with him - even brutally so - it was Natasha. He moved closer to the bed, exhaustion taking over as he moved his hand up from her knee to take her hand.

"It might be a while," he said. "Once they get you stable, you're supposed to get some rest." His mouth turned up the tiniest bit. "If that's even possible for you."

Clint knew better than to argue with her, but Natasha was relieved all the same when he relented. Although she was certain he hadn’t truly given in, she didn’t have it in her right not to fight with him. The true fighting would be done in front of Fury when they both pleaded their cases to the Director, Natasha to shoulder some of the blame and Clint to take it all.

Squeezing his hand in hers, she could see the exhaustion written all over him. It was in his voice, his expression, his very stance. He probably hadn’t left her side since she went unconscious.

“Anything is possible,” she said, one corner of her lips curling up slightly. “Probable, though...”

Maybe now he could rest, not just his body but his mind; now that he saw her awake, heard that she sounded like herself, that she could still berate him or tease him, whatever was required. She wished she could take all of his guilt away but she hoped that this at least would be enough to alleviate it somewhat.

“Well, if I’m going to be here a while why don’t you go get some rest? You really do look like hell.”

He gave her a faint smile. "Hey, you're not really in a position to judge, you're not looking too hot right now yourself."

Still he squeezed her hand lightly. "Besides, I plan to. I'm pretty sure I could sleep for a week after this." He paused, letting go of her hand and leaning back into the chair. He crossed his arms. "And I will. Just right here."

He met her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

“You know you’re never supposed to tell a woman that, right?” she teased, though she stopped short of saying that it was no wonder that none of his relationships lasted. Even as a joke she wasn’t sure she should go there. “Besides, if I still looked good after surgery then all the female agents would hate me.” She had a feeling many of them already did, though it was probably more fear than hate.

At least Clint didi claim that he planned to sleep and Natasha assumed he was just waiting for her to do so first. Silly assumption. Her brows lowered as he continued, claiming he planned to stay and just sleep in the chair, even crossing his arms in a stubborn manner as if daring her to argue. She searched his eyes and knew that protesting would be a waste of much needed energy. For what felt like a long while she held his gaze but he didn’t budge, and eventually she sighed and closed her eyes.

“Well if you’re going to sleep there you might as well sleep here,” she said, patting the small bit of mattress beside her as she opened her eyes to meet his again. They took care of each other, that’s what they did, and just because she was the injured one didn’t mean he didn’t need a little care as well.

"You mean they don't already?" It was a joke, but he knew better than anyone the way that the other agents had reacted to Natasha's integration into SHIELD. Agents had been slow to trust the Black Widow, especially ones that had come up against her in the field before. Though she had earned her place as one of Fury's favorites, it hadn't been without garnering resentment.

She gave him that unwavering look, the one that seemed like it should have the ability to turn a man to stone, but he was standing firm on this one. He wasn't leaving her side. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.

His brow furrowed slightly as he looked back at her, studying her face to make sure that was what she really wanted. Natasha was many things, but placating wasn't one of them. After a moment he pushed himself to his feet and moved towards the bed. He was careful not to shift things too much as he eased in beside her, his head pillowed on his arm as he laid on his side.

"This better not be any pity sleep," he said, his voice a little gruffer than normal, though there was the ghost of a smile on his lips.

It was meant as a joke but Natasha knew the truth behind it and took no offense either way. It had taken her years to earn the trust of many of her fellow agents, and there were many that still disliked and resented her, many because Fury had taken to her so well. At one time she had been the enemy, though, and there are many who never forget something like that. She understood this completely and held no grudges.

He didn’t seem to believe her offer first, seemed to be looking for another motive behind it before he finally gave in, knowing just as well as she had that there was no point in arguing; he wasn’t going to leave her alone and she wasn’t going to leave him to sleep in the chair. Fair is fair.

She didn’t try to move over to give him more room, knowing it would hurt and he would only stop her. Rolling her head to the side so she could look at him she smiled faintly at his words. “More like a mercy sleep,” she said. “I know how you get when you’re overtired so I thought I’d do a public service and save everyone else from having to put up with that.”

"Considerate of you," he said, his gaze lingering on her lips and the faint smile there for a moment. For the first time since she'd been hit he let himself let go of some of the tenseness melt away from his shoulders and relaxed the tiniest bit.

The tightness had been all that had been holding him together as he'd answered questions and waited for news. They'd been through this before. It wasn't the first time or the last that one of them would be wounded on the job, but he'd been directly responsible this time. It was something he wasn't going to be letting himself off the hook for any time soon.

"That code box better be worth it," Clint murmured, sighing softly. "That's all I've got to say."

Although the outward effect was minimal, Natasha knew Clint well enough to see him relax, even if only a little. She knew he needed to be here, needed to see that she was okay with his own eyes, and she also knew it was better to keep him here. Even if he left he was more likely to try to get to Stevenson or harass those working on the code box than to actually get any rest himself. So not only did staying him let him observe her and reassure himself further that she was going to recover, but it gave her comfort that he would actually get some sleep and not get himself into further trouble.

“Even if it’s not, what other option did we have? We couldn’t have just let it got,” she said evenly. Clasping his hand she threaded her fingers through his. “We did what we could on short notice and with minimal planning.”

He'd shut his eyes momentarily, but he cracked one open to look at her as her fingers weaved with his. For a moment his expression softened as he looked back at her.

The thing about Natasha was that she didn't hold any punches. If she thought he was to blame for this, she would say so, even if she tried to let him down easy while she did it.

But there's no trace of that as she looks back at him. He squeezes her fingers lightly.

"Yeah, I guess we did."

that awkward meme;

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