Save a Horse

A Word: It occurs to me that bucket lists wouldn't remain unfulfilled for very long in SHIELD.

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Natasha had once seen Clint leap onto an enraged bull's back and shoot a fleeing target as he rode it.

It'd been a slow mission for both of them. Far too much waiting in a humid climate that set both of their tempers on edge. One last mission after a long series of absolute disasters that had the two of them traveling through most of Europe on foot, and the enforced inaction in a one bedroom hovel was almost more than even they could take. The call to eliminate the small smuggling ring had literally come in five seconds before they started taking it out on each other's skin.

Four of the guards around the ranch they'd been watching were dead within the first minute of the call being made, and they were both flat out sprinting across the grazed clear land to the main house. A truck idled between it and a shed where most of the ring was loading a shipment of highly volatile chemical weapons. The rest were beside the shed. Clustered around a ring as they watched a good sized bull buck against and charge two men trying to herd it into a corner.

Natasha took the scene in a matter of seconds before she was past two unarmed men and snapping the neck of a third holding a shotgun. Clint was a blur beside her as the two men she'd passed fell with arrows sticking out of them. It was over in less than a minute. The unprepared men were nowhere near their caliber, and Natasha allowed herself to feel a little disappointed in how easy it'd been.

Movement drew Natasha's attention away from her last strike. The bull ran wild in the arena and she caught the feet of the last man clearing the fence. Hi frightened face looked back once and she spat out a curse as she recognized it. The head of the ring. The one that Coulson and SHIELD had so desperately wanted alive was on the other side of the pen and running.

The bull slammed into the fence as she reached it, and Natasha sprang back. It's horns screeching against the metal as it bucked away. Hooves stomping the ground flat in an unpredictable stampede. They were going to lose him. Natasha knew it even as she started running around the fence.

More concerned with the target than anything else, Natasha had missed the usual signs of a bad plan being hatched from Clint. She'd seen it of course, out of the corner of her eye as she turned. Clint's eyes had gleamed and his lips had pulled back into what Natasha liked to think insanity would look like if made into a mask. Minute signs that most SHIELD agents learned very early to never trust. By the time they registered in her mind it was too late.

Clint vaulted over the fence and sprinted full tilt towards the bull. Avoiding it's very sharp horns with a showy jump that landed him square on it's back. Legs locked around the bull's barrel chest, and bow drawn and aimed. The bull went insane and Natasha swore she heard a very cowboyish whoop from her partner as an arrow somehow escaped the blur of black leather and horns as the animal bucked hard and wildly enough that it barely seemed to be touching the ground.

Natasha slowed her full out sprint into a run. Not worried as she rounded a corner and kicked the crawling target unconscious without breaking stride. Clint's arrow stuck out at a painful angle from the man's knee. She knew from past experience that Clint would be truly insufferable for a month over this shot.

The only thing that'd kept Natasha from firing a few potshots at Clint were the screamed -yes, they were screams no matter what Clint would protest later- words as the bull continued to buck, "Holy fuck! How do I get off!?"

Years later Natasha remembers that bull with a sense of nostalgia that must be old age sneaking up on her as she enters the one room in medical that they've figured out Clint can't escape on his own.

"But-" Bruce looks far smaller than he actually is in the folds of a labcoat that must have belonged to a giant. Combined with his bare feet and the way his forehead wrinkles grow deeper the more baffled he gets, Natasha has to up her glare to keep some of the younger nurses away from him. Their hands keep twitching, and she's heard more than enough cooing noises from them to last her a life-time already. "Why?"

"'Why' is not the question!" Tony is red-faced and gasping for air in between somewhat hysterical giggles. Has been since the battle ended. Natasha has already forwarded a two minute video to Pepper and been informed how little sleep the man was operating on by Jarvis. "The question should be; why the hell didn't I think of that before?"

Clint grumbles and shakes off one of the nurses carefully stitching a nasty looking gash in his arm long enough to punch Tony in the head. He has to stretch to do it so it's weak and does little more than encourage the man to laugh harder. Clint turns to her with a mask of exasperation that does nothing to hide the manic gleam in his eyes that lets her know he'd still be grinning that maniac smile if there weren't witnesses around. "How much paperwork would I have to do for kicking him off the ship?"

"Less than you'd think if you film it for Fury," Natasha nods to Bruce and waves out the door. "The Captain was looking for you and Stark."

Bruce gives Clint one last aggrieved look before gently tugging a grinning Tony out the door. They listen to Tony's laughter fade as the nurse finished the stitches and disappears in a flutter of medical charts. Clint's lips start edging up into a full on grin the second they're alone.

"You're an idiot," Natasha says and Clint's grin gets wider which has to tug painfully at the swollen flesh of his jaw and right eye. They'll be a truly spectacular shade of purple in the morning.

"Why," Phil enters the room looking remarkably unruffled for a man Natasha had last seen doing combat rolls over a hot dog stand to avoid a flying bus, "is there a video on Youtube of Hawkeye jumping onto the Hulk's back set to Yakety Saxs?"

"Tony," Clint's immediate answer was gleeful. Clint and Tony's obsession with creating viral videos was starting to get out of hand. "What'd he title it?"

"Save a horse, ride a Hulk," Phil replied in that dry tone of voice he saved just for Tony Stark's antics. He set a folder and pen down on the exam table. The familiar form letter paper clipped onto it and ready for distribution. "You know the drill. Statements disavowing any endorsement or knowledge of the t-shirts or other accessories being sold online. Sign them and turn them into PR before you leave."

Clint flexes his left hand and eyes the pen, his grin fading just a bit as he reaches for it. Natasha slaps his hand away. Lightly enough not to pull the stitches, and scratches his signature on the blank lines. Crooked and wavering lines that looked like a child's scrawl.

"What'd Stark make this time?" Clint asked as Phil took back his pen and tucked it away turning to leave.

"A purple shirt," Phil's lips quirked slightly, and Natasha knew that at least three of the things would end up in the agent's closet for future blackmail purposes. "With green silhouettes and a cowboy hat photoshopped over the bow."

Clint laughed, wincing as he wrapped his uninjured arm around his middle. Failing to protect what were obviously some cracked ribs. Natasha folded the statements into the folder and snorted at his pain as Clint listed sideways. The painkiller his chart showed was administered finally starting to take effect. "If you can't make it to the helicopter I'm leaving without you," she followed Phil out the door. Pausing for a second toss one last word at the man still snickering and wincing, "Idiot."

Clint's whooping cackle followed her down the hall.

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