Chapter Text
He had always known that he was going to die first.
Ever since he had known her, she hadn't aged a day, healing quickly and easily from and wound, her flesh knitting itself back together with ease.
He was getting old.
He could feel it, in the stiffness that a three hour stakeout brought to his knees, his back.
He could sense it in the way that the answer that he needed no longer came quickly to mind. Sometimes, he couldn't remember the answer at all, and had to look back at the old S.H.I.E.L.D. files for the details that he needed.
People in their profession rarely lived long, but he had hoped at least for a clean ending.
Maybe it was better this way though.
Now he had time to say goodbye.
“Clint. Stay with me.” She warned, her voice low. She looked so far away, leaning over him, pressing both hands against the hole in his stomach, holding the blood inside as well as she could.
A dull sense of pain radiated outward from his middle. Clint didn't look down. He already knew how bad it was, just by the feel of it.
“You gotta go Nat.” he mumbled, keeping watch over her shoulder for any enemies. He couldn't see much from his position laying on the ground, but it made him feel useful.
They could both hear the tramping of boots getting steadily closer.
“You know that I won’t do that.” She swore, removing one hand from against his stomach with a quiet snarl, firing a gun over his dead body at someone.
“’M not going to make it out of this one. You know that.” He grunted, trying to sit up, collapsing back to the ground with a groan as Natasha pushed against his wound, forcing him down.
“Don’t do this to me Clint. You know that I can’t…” she began, reloading the gun with one hand, the empty magazine discarded without thought, lying beside them in the dirt.
Her jaw tensed, and Clint sighed, resting his hand on top of hers, steadfastly ignoring what he felt under his fingertips.
“Come on Nat. Don’t make me kick you outta here.” He said softly, digging in his pocket for something, lifting Natasha’s hand away from him, pressing the device into her hand.
“I need you to set it up for me.” He said, speaking in that absurdly gentle way of his.
He listened patiently as a low, angry stream of Russian issued from her mouth. By the end of a few sentences, her face had crumpled – just slightly – but he knew the signs, better than anyone else.
“Of course I will. Now hurry.” He advised, holding his breath as she sat him up, collapsing against the crate with a soft exhale of air from his overworked lungs.
Now he could see the puddle of red where he had been laying, and surely there wasn't that much blood missing from his veins?
It would explain a few things though, like the way that he could feel his heart pounding away in his chest, as if it knew that they were going to need to stop soon, and wanted to put a good effort in before the end.
Clint watched through half – closed eyes as she moved around the area, shaping charges with her hands and sticking them anywhere that they would be hard to see.
She moved with grace, even now she was beautiful, though he supposed the being covered in an alarming amount of blood would be alarming to some people. It had never bothered him.
Perhaps that was a bad thing.
She returned to his side, pressing the remote into his hand without looking at it.
“It’s a dead man’s.” she said, staring straight into his eyes, never wavering.
“Don’t I know it.” Clint chuckled wryly, a crooked smile settling on his face. It was worth the pain to see a tiny, answering smile appear in her eyes.
“Будьте в безопасности.” He said, pulling her in close, pressing one last kiss against her cheek before she took hold of his face, smashing their lips together.
“С вами на моей спиной? Всегда.” She smirked, standing up and taking a few steps away before she turned back.
“И вы не должны шутить, пока вы умираете. Его несолидно.”
A harsh laugh escaped him, turning into a fit of coughing. A held up hand stopped her from coming back.
“I have never been dignified in my life. Love you Tash.” Clint grunted, readjusting his hold on the trigger, watching as she left, disappearing in that special way that only a Black Widow is capable of.
Clint let out a breath, relaxing against the crate, trying to ignore the sense of pain emanating from his gut.
It had been stupid really, a hidden sniper in the wrong place at just the wrong time that neither of them had seen. He hadn't expected to go any other way.
“Hey Nat. Remember that one that you told me about the stripper in Philly?” Clint huffed into the communicator, knowing that she heard him.
“You’ll never believe this other joke I heard . . .” he began, pausing to stick his tongue out at the men walking toward him.
They didn't see the trigger until it was too late. They didn't get far.
“Guess I’ll have to tell you another time. Love you Tasha.”
There was a click.
An explosion.
Static.