Natasha gently lifted Clint's injured leg onto her chair, moving forward so that she wouldn't put any harmful pressure on it. Although, as she scanned her eyes over him, taking in the glass imbedded in his skin, the multiple cuts and bruises, dilated pupils, suggesting a concussion, and the steady swelling of his right wrist, she doubted that a slight bump would make it all that much worse.

Clint watched her take inventory of his visible injuries, worry growing quickly in her eyes. He caught her attention, looking at her with a convincing expression that she translated to mean, 'I'm ok.' The slight twitch of her mouth indicated that in no way did she believe him. He sighed shakily, his body tensing in effort of hiding the wince that threatened to make an appearance. Natasha could feel his leg tense behind her back, giving him away despite his attempts.

"We'll have one of…" Stark looked at each of his teammates. "Everything." He said, bringing Hawkeye and the Black Widow out of their silent conversation. The dirty, yet miraculously unscathed, waitress nodded tiredly and made her way across the restaurant, carefully stepping over the piles of debris.

Steve's head was propped up on his hand, barely managing to keep his eyes open. Bruce's eye lids were dropping quickly. Tony slouched in his chair, exhaustion quickly catching up with him. Thor stared ahead blankly, too drained to focus. Natasha leaned against the table, maintaining eye contact with her hawk. He was acutely aware of every pain in his body, the adrenaline having worn off.

Another younger waitress made her way around the table refilling everyone's water glasses. Steve thanked her, downed the entire cup and went back to focusing on staying awake. Natasha leaned forward, grimacing as her entire body protested to the action, grabbed Clint's glass and handed it to him, doubting he could move painlessly, and not wanting to find out. He raised an eyebrow in thanks as he took it from her.

When their meal arrived, everyone ate their Shawarma quietly, slowly. Natasha placed the basket of unknown food on Clint's lap, watching slightly amused as he inhaled the entire sandwich-like wrap. Her faint smile faded instantly as she realized that Loki had probably never fed him. He definitely hadn't let him sleep, that much was clear by the dark circles under his blue eyes.

Tony threw a french fry at the Captain when his cheek finally slipped off his fist and into his sandwich.

"Right, I think we're done here." Bruce mumbled pushing to his feet. Tony slapped a crinkled one-hundred dollar bill down onto the table as he stood, walking over to the Captain. "Thor?" Bruce called, nodding toward Steve. The god nodded once and stood behind Tony as he tried unsuccessfully to wake their teammate.

"Plug your ears." Natasha instructed everybody. They did as instructed, watching in confusion as she pulled a gun of the holster on her thigh. She fired it into the nonexistent ceiling, sliding the gun back in its holster as the Captain flinched awake.

"It's just us, Captain. You ready to get out of here?" Bruce asked. The man nodded drowsily as he got up from his chair. His knees buckled and his hands came crashing down onto the table to steady himself. Tony stepped up under the Captain's right arm, and Thor came up on his left. Between the two of them, they managed to keep the super soldier upright until they reached the tower, where he collapsed in a heap of exhaustion, blood and bruises.

Natasha glanced warily at Clint before getting off her chair and carefully lowering his left leg to the ground. She helped him to his feet and got under his left arm.

Once the assassins stepped off the elevator, Tony quickly waved them towards a pair of bedrooms down at the end of the hallway. Ignoring the second bedroom, they made their way to the closest one. She leaned him up against the wall while she dragged the desk chair into the oversized bathroom.

"Easy." She warned, helping him lower himself into the expensive looking chair. Clint let his head fall back and his eyes close as he fought to keep his breathing even through the pain. "List 'em." She ordered as she pulled the first aid kit out from under the sink.

"A couple of seriously bruised ribs, concussion, not sure with my right wrist, crashed through a window, and I think my knee's fractured." He listed immediately. Natasha sucked in a breath as she rose to her feet. "How bout you?" ignoring him, she dropped down, pulling the zipper down on his vest. He flinched as she eased it off his battered body. She undid the Velcro on his Kevlar vest next, eyes widening as she took in his black and blue torso. "I got rammed by a couple Chitauri. I'm fine, Natasha." He promised, tilting her head up so that she had to look at him.

"Take these. Now." She demanded, emptying a few painkillers into his hand.

"They aren't gonna make a dent in any of this Tasha." He argued even as he dry swallowed them. Deciding to deal with the imbedded glass first, she fished around in the first aid kit for a pair of tweezers.

There was only one particularly deep laceration on his shoulder that required a few butterfly stitches, but other than that, she was finished relatively quickly. Then she moved onto his wrist. Upon further speculation, she decided he had only severely sprained it. Gingerly lifting his large tan hand into her small pale one, she began wrapping it tight enough to keep the swelling down. Once she had finished, she lowered his hand back down to rest beside him. Then she steeled herself enough to deal with his chest. Crouching down in front of him, she reached to press on the darkest areas. He gasped in pain, his hand flying out instinctively to grab her wrist.

"Clint…" she chastised, pulling her hand out of his grip. She offered her non dominant hand and he took it without hesitating. Their entwined hands dropped to the side, pulling painfully at Natasha's injured shoulder. She probed his ribs for another minute. "Cracked one. The others are only bruised." She muttered. "I'll get you ice when I'm finished." She promised, dropping his hand. He nodded. She undid his black belt and helped slide his cargo pants over his swollen knee. She hissed out a curse. "How'd you walk on this?" she whispered.

"You know as well as I do that you can walk on a fracture, Tasha." He sighed. She shook her head and wrapped it tightly, forcing herself to ignore his flinching.

"My turn." Clint fixed her with an insistent look that she knew meant that she would lose the argument in the end. That didn't mean wasn't going to argue anyway.

"No, Clint, I'm fine. Get in bed before you do more damage to yourself." She scowled. He saw something flicker in his eyes that he rarely saw, but he had seen it enough, every time he pulled out of a coma, to recognize it; fear.

"I'm sorry I scared you, Natasha. But now you need to let me patch you up. That's how we do this remember? You patch me up, I patch you up. So please sit down, and cooperate." He ranted softly. She grumbled something unintelligible and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "List 'em." He repeated, looking her over.

"Dislocated shoulder, sprained ankle, energy burn on my right side…." She trailed off. "Think that's it."

He motioned for her to get out of her cat suit. She slid out of it, wincing when the fabric ripped away from the bloody burn on her side. Clint's jaw clenched when he saw the painful looking abrasion. He dragged his eyes away from it to meet her eyes. "Shoulder first?" he checked.

"Shoulder first." She agreed. He gripped the forearm of her injured arm, positioning his injured hand firmly against her bare waist. He looked at her in asking if she was ready. She nodded once, holding his gaze as he pulled her arm back into place. She bit down on her bottom lip as relentless pain shot up and down her arm. He lowered her arm down to her lap before helping her lift her leg onto his lap so that he could wrap her ankle. Clint took a strip of gauze and folded it into a square, wiping at the energy burn in attempt to get as much blood and dirt away from the injury as he could. As he massaged burn cream into the wound, he tried to ignore her fingers digging into his good shoulder; she needed a pain outlet just as much as he had. He sprayed antiseptic over another piece of gauze, pressing it firmly against her side before taping it down. She glanced at him thankfully, before standing and helping him to his feet.

They climbed into the bed, facing each other. Clint watched her curiously as she stared blankly at his eyes. He had a feeling he knew why she was doing what she was doing, but he chose to ignore the part of his brain claiming that she was hoping his eyes would turn bright blue again. Suddenly, the memory of a deep purple bruise on her stomach that he had noticed but hadn't paid much attention to resurfaced. He pushed up on his good arm, ignoring the pain that came from his ribs with the action. Flipping her over on her back, he ran a hand over the bruise.

"Natasha…" he breathed. She tensed, praying that he wouldn't ask, because she couldn't lie to him. "I… I did this, didn't I?" he traced over it with a feather light touch.

"No. Loki did." She answered fiercely.

"But it was my fist." He prompted.

"Yes." She answered quietly. He fell over on his back, running a frustrated hand through his hair and over his face. "Clint…" she called, getting on her knees. "Clint Barton, look at me." She demanded, waiting until she could see his blue-grey eyes. "Loki did this, to me, to you. He used magic to take over your brain." Clint flinched. "So tell me how this is your fault. What you could've done to prevent any of this."

"If I'd been stronger…" he started. Natasha's eyes flashed precariously.

"Stronger? Clint, if you were any stronger you'd might as well be a super soldier. So stop feeling sorry for yourself, and come back to me. I've come close enough to losing you enough for one week." She ordered angrily, desperately trying to keep the pleading tone out of her voice. Clint nodded hesitantly. She knew he hadn't stopped blaming himself, but he had for now. She'd deal with the next breakdown when it came. She settled into the mattress beside him, the sound of her partner's beating heart lulling her to sleep.

Their wake-up call didn't come until 4:30 the next afternoon. Jarvis informed them that Director Fury demanded their audience, in the living room. Natasha could imagine Tony's anger at the realization that the man was in his tower without his explicit permission. Clint's still tired blue eyes met her green ones and they smiled ironically; they knew better than most that this job never ended. Both were even sorer than they had been the night before.

All of Clint's weight was suddenly distributed on Natasha when his knee buckled after helping him off the bed. They stumbled back into the window, causing the glass to quiver.

"Sorry." He apologized, shifting his weight back onto his own two feet. "You ok?" he asked quickly. She looked at him disbelievingly, to say 'Seriously?'

"Yes, I'm fine, Clint." She assured him, even as she rolled her hurt shoulder. "Really." She promised, noticing his guilty look. They dressed and headed out into the communal living room to see a shirtless Steve Rogers sitting at the bar, hands pressed to the heavy bandaging around his bare stomach.

"Chitauri got a few hits in with those energy rifles." He explained. Natasha smiled sympathetically.

"Know how it feels." Her hand came to touch her own bandaging subconsciously. Bruce stood completely unharmed against the wall. A slightly bruised Tony sat on the couch, glaring at Nick Fury who stood by the door. Pepper sat quietly by Stark, playing with his hand. "Ms. Potts," Natasha greeted.

"Call me Pepper, Natasha." The strawberry blonde insisted. Natasha nodded respectively.

"Where's…" Clint started.

"Thor is with Loki." Fury answered the oncoming question. "You are all required to attend Loki's send off at 1700." Clint tensed. "Excluding Ms. Potts, of course." He added.

"Director," Natasha was prepared to argue for Clint's sake.

"I understand that this will be difficult for some of you," he said, sending a fleeting suggestive glance at Hawkeye. "But it's not open for discussion. After this, you're all on one-week leave." He said informatively.

"Yes sir." Natasha responded. Fury turned on his heel and left.

Clint sat on the bed, staring distractedly at the floor. Natasha stood by her duffel bag, pulled out a pair of black skinny jeans, a red tank top, and a black tee shirt, and changed into her selected outfit. She hissed in frustration when she tweaked her shoulder painfully. Walking over to where Clint's bag had been deposited on the floor, she leaned over it and picked a pair of black jeans and a red tee shirt before throwing them at her lost in thought partner. Clint looked up as two articles of clothing flew at him.

"Thanks." He called after her as she made her way to the bathroom. Clint pulled his black jeans over his wrapped knee, and what may as well have a muscle shirt over his head. "Hey Tasha…" he called. Before he could finish the request, his belt she had removed yesterday landed on the bed. He smirked as he reached over to pick it up, ignoring the protest from his ribs. He pushed himself off the bed, walking toward his open duffle bag. He searched through it for his watch, fastening it on the wrist Natasha hadn't wrapped. Flexing his wrist, and judging the amount of pain he was willing to tolerate versus giving Loki the satisfaction of seeing him hurt, he quickly unwrapped it, tossing the dressings in the trashcan. Leaning against the wall, Clint pulled his well worn combat boots on, tucking the laces into the top of the shoe. Natasha frowned at his wrist, but she could guess why he'd done it so she kept quiet. "Oh, two inch heels and a sprained ankle. That's sure to end well." Clint said sarcastically. Natasha shrugged her left shoulder.

"Worn taller with worse." She argued, shutting him up. "Sun glasses," she tossed his dark aviator glasses to him.

"Jacket," he replied, tossing her tan leather coat in the air. "I say," he said stepping closer. "That we go to Paris for our week off." He suggested.

"Rome." She purred in his ear. By the way his heartbeat quickened beneath her palm, she knew she'd just won the argument.

"Ok." He agreed easily, smiling a smile she hadn't seen in while.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yeah." He lied, while his eyes screamed 'No.' She took his hand in response. 'I'm not going anywhere.' He seemed to relax more after that.