Breathe - Chapter 2
Mar. 6th, 2013 11:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shenshen77Title: “Breathe” (2/4)
Fandom: The Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff
Rating: Mature (cautiously)
Warnings: language, blood, injuries
Prompt: by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crazy4orcas - Clint and Natasha. Valentine's Day. Rockie Mountains. Blizzard conditions. Plane crash. SHIELD is forced to call off the search and rescue.
Summary: Natasha and Clint have been partners for less than a year, yet something is building between them neither wants to acknowledge. Then a plane crash forces them to face their fears. Will help arrive in time?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story, though I would appreciate a Clint of my own, thank you :)
Author's notes: All the cookies in the world to my wonderful betasalphaflyer and anuna_81! Ladies, you are wonderful and your insightful comments helped me tremendously in stretching my writing muscles, I can’t thank you enough! And a shout-out goes to hufflepuffsneak, who's an awesome cheerleader and supplier of thinky thoughts :D
Feedback is love, and this bar is all about spreading the love, so please share your thoughts with me <3
Also on AO3 and FFN
Read Chapter 1 here
Breathe - Chapter 2
Clint was in a world of pain. Fine tremors shook his muscles, leaving him feeling feverish and exhausted. Every nerve seemed to thrum with overstimulation, bursts of red and white blossomed behind his closed eyes with each pounding beat of his heart. The muscle spasms from throwing up had knocked the breath right out of him and he curled up, trying to relieve some of the tension.
It was part of his training as an archer, controlling his breathing, his heart rate, to help him focus. But it was hard to do it this time; he couldn’t concentrate and it became more and more difficult to catch his breath. He felt panic rising in him – but suddenly there was a smooth hand at the nape of his neck, cool fingers scratching gently through his short hair. Goosebumps rose on his clammy skin.
Next thing he knew, his partner’s arms cautiously wrapped around his shoulders. She eased him on his back before lifting his shoulders and propping his back against her soft chest, his head resting on her collarbone. He gasped at the change of position and although she’d been very gentle, his side exploded in a new wave of pain, cold sweat once more breaking out all over his body. He clawed at the arm resting lightly across his chest until she took his hand in hers and held on tight. Her other hand was cool on his brow, stroking his hair, her breath warm against his neck.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but you have to breathe. Breathe, Clint.”
Her thighs firm alongside his own, steadying him, she gently rocked back and forth in time with the rising and falling of her own chest. She took elaborately deep breaths and kept up a litany of deep breaths, just breathe until he could feel his cramped chest muscles relax and blessed air flowing back into his lungs. But fuck, breathing deeply hurt like hell.
The rocking behind him ceased as the haze around his brain dissipated slowly, and his heart rate and breathing normalized somewhat. She breathed steadily and he breathed along, the fabric of her shirt smooth against his skin. She ceaselessly whispered reassurances, his hand held tightly in hers, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on his palm, her other stroking his cheek.
He’d always wondered how a gentle touch of her hands would feel. The scenario in his fantasy had been quite… different though. Certainly, it hadn’t involved a plane crash nor a near-death experience. He groaned; every new breath hurt.
“Shhh, shallow breaths now. It’ll be easier. That’s it,” her concerned voice was low and gentle.
A shiver ran down his spine, progressing into full-on shaking. He was cold and tired; fighting for breath had sapped his energy. The earlier tremors became more pronounced and his teeth started chattering. Natasha draped the blankets that had fallen down to his thighs when she had lifted him to her carefully around him again.
“I need to see to that gash on your head and bandage your hand. There’s some morphine in the Field Aid kit. Do you want me to give you some? It should take the edge off the pain.”
He thought about it for a second. The fact that he could think a bit more clearly made the decision easier. He was no fan of narcotics; they dulled his senses and he couldn’t afford to be even more vulnerable than he already was. It would also make breathing harder than it already was; he knew that from past experiences. He shook his head minutely.
“Jus’ need you,” he rasped out.
Her breath faltered for a second; he could feel her go slightly rigid behind him. Had he just said that out loud? What if – but then her hand took up its soothing motion again and he could feel her cheek coming to rest on his head.
“Get some rest, okay? I’ll keep watch.”
He was wrapped up in the steady feel of her around him, her chest soft but supportive against his back, her palm against his face and he let go, blinking out like a light in a matter of seconds. He didn’t even feel the sting of the alcohol wipe she used to clean the blood off his face.
<><><><><><><>
A faint clanging roused him from his sleep, beating in time with the headache that had taken hold of him. He was lying on his right side, fuzzy fabric under his head. His right hip hurt and his arm was numb, a bandage was wrapped around his wrist. The left side of his face was throbbing and he made to stretch and turn on his back, like he always did after waking, when a stabbing pain in his left side made him groan out loudly, driving the air from his lungs.
The clanging stopped and he could hear light steps approaching. Her steps - he recognized them even through the haze of pain. What was going on?
“Shhh, it’s okay,” she said, and her body was suddenly warm against his back, her hand in his hair again.
“Slowly, shallow breaths, okay?” she whispered. “You know how to do this.”
Always the soldier, he did as he was told and the fog lifted a bit. The jet, the blizzard, the crash - it all came back to him in an instant.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, looking at her through half-lidded eyes.
“I tried to fix the radio, but I haven’t managed it yet. I hope our transponder’s still working, but there’s no way to check. It would be nice if SHIELD knew where to search for us.”
He nodded and swallowed hard against the dread coiling up in his stomach. He had to move, he couldn’t stay in this position any longer. But he remembered how much it’d hurt the last time and the pain in his side had only gotten worse since then.
“Nat, need to move… on my back, side hurts.”
“Let me help you.”
Her left hand on his hip, her right on his shoulder, she gently supported him as he rolled onto his back. It wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated, but he couldn’t suppress a whimper.
“Slowly, there you go. Breathe through it.”
It was easier said than done, and every breath brought new pain. He couldn’t figure out how to make himself more comfortable; hell, he would settle for bearable at this point. He tried to find something to hold on to. He’d always been good at focusing on a target and centering all his thoughts on that one point.
His eyes found hers, and the red of pain cleared away against the vibrant green of her eyes. She looked at him with concern, cupped his cheek and wiped at the tears he hadn’t been aware he’d been shedding. He tried very hard to breathe normally again, but the pain was getting to be too much.
He heard a hum, soft and low; it turned into a melody. He couldn’t make out any words, just managed to make out the language. She was singing to him in Russian, stroking his cheek, running her hand through his hair. He felt himself drift off, giving in to the abyss.
<><><><><><>
The next time he woke, it was more gradual. It was harder, as well. He’d thought they’d been someplace else and then realized that he’d dreamed of her. They’d been tangled together in a sea of grass and it felt like home. The grass was soft like her hair under his cheek, the sun above them warming him like one of her rare smiles.
He found himself staring at the dull grey ceiling of the downed quinjet instead. This time he knew immediately where he was. His side was throbbing and his every nerve seemed to tingle and thrum with pain. He felt like his head was filled with cotton. There was a small weight on his chest and he carefully looked around, trying to clear his blurry vision.
Natasha’s hand rested on his chest and he followed the curve of her arm with his eyes. She was leaning on the hold, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and his head was propped up on her thigh. His slight movement roused her and her eyes found his.
“You’re awake,” she said, her hand gently stroking along his shoulder as she stretched and yawned.
He thought he could see her face scrunch up in discomfort at the movement, but the grimace was gone too quickly and his vision was so blurry, he couldn’t be sure.
“Y’ okay?” he asked, the words almost caught in his dry throat.
“I’m fine,” she said and he knew she was lying when she used the tone she always reserved for marks.
“Liar,” he called her bluff, swallowing hard to wet his throat.
“I’ll be fine. Bruises, mainly.” This sounded more genuine, but he was still concerned.
It wasn’t the whole truth, he was sure of it, but he lacked the energy to call her out on it again. He blinked. He was so tired, everything hurt, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She looked towards the craft’s front, her face becoming pensive.
“I think the storm’s abating.”
“Good.”
He took a deep breath and the cool air suddenly hit his lungs and he coughed. His chest and abdomen erupted in agony; he couldn’t catch his breath, his vision narrowing.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “Breathe, Clint.”
He tried, he really did, but the pain was overwhelming him fast and he looked at her pleadingly, asking for help the only way he could.
“What do you want me to do?” Her voice was alarmed, “Morphine, do you want me to give you the morphine now?”
He could only nod weakly as he tried to breathe. He almost didn’t feel the prick of the hypodermic as Natasha injected him with the strong painkiller. What he did feel was the blessed relief it brought a few moments later, dulling the pain to bearable levels. Her hands were gently combing through his hair now, helping him to focus on taking shallow breaths again.
“I’m so sorry, I should have insisted earlier. I knew you needed it...”
He wasn’t sure but there seemed to be a hitch in her voice.
He opened his heavy eyes, trying and failing to really bring her into focus. The morphine was taking full effect now. He felt warmth spread through him, blackness encroaching, the promise of oblivion. He had to let her know, just in case…
“’S okay, did good, was what I wanted. Love you.”
Her hands stilling in his hair were the last thing he felt before darkness took him.
Fandom: The Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff
Rating: Mature (cautiously)
Warnings: language, blood, injuries
Prompt: by
crazy4orcas - Clint and Natasha. Valentine's Day. Rockie Mountains. Blizzard conditions. Plane crash. SHIELD is forced to call off the search and rescue.Summary: Natasha and Clint have been partners for less than a year, yet something is building between them neither wants to acknowledge. Then a plane crash forces them to face their fears. Will help arrive in time?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story, though I would appreciate a Clint of my own, thank you :)
Author's notes: All the cookies in the world to my wonderful betas
alphaflyer and anuna_81! Ladies, you are wonderful and your insightful comments helped me tremendously in stretching my writing muscles, I can’t thank you enough! And a shout-out goes to hufflepuffsneak, who's an awesome cheerleader and supplier of thinky thoughts :DFeedback is love, and this bar is all about spreading the love, so please share your thoughts with me <3
Also on AO3 and FFN
Read Chapter 1 here
Breathe - Chapter 2
Clint was in a world of pain. Fine tremors shook his muscles, leaving him feeling feverish and exhausted. Every nerve seemed to thrum with overstimulation, bursts of red and white blossomed behind his closed eyes with each pounding beat of his heart. The muscle spasms from throwing up had knocked the breath right out of him and he curled up, trying to relieve some of the tension.
It was part of his training as an archer, controlling his breathing, his heart rate, to help him focus. But it was hard to do it this time; he couldn’t concentrate and it became more and more difficult to catch his breath. He felt panic rising in him – but suddenly there was a smooth hand at the nape of his neck, cool fingers scratching gently through his short hair. Goosebumps rose on his clammy skin.
Next thing he knew, his partner’s arms cautiously wrapped around his shoulders. She eased him on his back before lifting his shoulders and propping his back against her soft chest, his head resting on her collarbone. He gasped at the change of position and although she’d been very gentle, his side exploded in a new wave of pain, cold sweat once more breaking out all over his body. He clawed at the arm resting lightly across his chest until she took his hand in hers and held on tight. Her other hand was cool on his brow, stroking his hair, her breath warm against his neck.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but you have to breathe. Breathe, Clint.”
Her thighs firm alongside his own, steadying him, she gently rocked back and forth in time with the rising and falling of her own chest. She took elaborately deep breaths and kept up a litany of deep breaths, just breathe until he could feel his cramped chest muscles relax and blessed air flowing back into his lungs. But fuck, breathing deeply hurt like hell.
The rocking behind him ceased as the haze around his brain dissipated slowly, and his heart rate and breathing normalized somewhat. She breathed steadily and he breathed along, the fabric of her shirt smooth against his skin. She ceaselessly whispered reassurances, his hand held tightly in hers, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on his palm, her other stroking his cheek.
He’d always wondered how a gentle touch of her hands would feel. The scenario in his fantasy had been quite… different though. Certainly, it hadn’t involved a plane crash nor a near-death experience. He groaned; every new breath hurt.
“Shhh, shallow breaths now. It’ll be easier. That’s it,” her concerned voice was low and gentle.
A shiver ran down his spine, progressing into full-on shaking. He was cold and tired; fighting for breath had sapped his energy. The earlier tremors became more pronounced and his teeth started chattering. Natasha draped the blankets that had fallen down to his thighs when she had lifted him to her carefully around him again.
“I need to see to that gash on your head and bandage your hand. There’s some morphine in the Field Aid kit. Do you want me to give you some? It should take the edge off the pain.”
He thought about it for a second. The fact that he could think a bit more clearly made the decision easier. He was no fan of narcotics; they dulled his senses and he couldn’t afford to be even more vulnerable than he already was. It would also make breathing harder than it already was; he knew that from past experiences. He shook his head minutely.
“Jus’ need you,” he rasped out.
Her breath faltered for a second; he could feel her go slightly rigid behind him. Had he just said that out loud? What if – but then her hand took up its soothing motion again and he could feel her cheek coming to rest on his head.
“Get some rest, okay? I’ll keep watch.”
He was wrapped up in the steady feel of her around him, her chest soft but supportive against his back, her palm against his face and he let go, blinking out like a light in a matter of seconds. He didn’t even feel the sting of the alcohol wipe she used to clean the blood off his face.
<><><><><><><>
A faint clanging roused him from his sleep, beating in time with the headache that had taken hold of him. He was lying on his right side, fuzzy fabric under his head. His right hip hurt and his arm was numb, a bandage was wrapped around his wrist. The left side of his face was throbbing and he made to stretch and turn on his back, like he always did after waking, when a stabbing pain in his left side made him groan out loudly, driving the air from his lungs.
The clanging stopped and he could hear light steps approaching. Her steps - he recognized them even through the haze of pain. What was going on?
“Shhh, it’s okay,” she said, and her body was suddenly warm against his back, her hand in his hair again.
“Slowly, shallow breaths, okay?” she whispered. “You know how to do this.”
Always the soldier, he did as he was told and the fog lifted a bit. The jet, the blizzard, the crash - it all came back to him in an instant.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, looking at her through half-lidded eyes.
“I tried to fix the radio, but I haven’t managed it yet. I hope our transponder’s still working, but there’s no way to check. It would be nice if SHIELD knew where to search for us.”
He nodded and swallowed hard against the dread coiling up in his stomach. He had to move, he couldn’t stay in this position any longer. But he remembered how much it’d hurt the last time and the pain in his side had only gotten worse since then.
“Nat, need to move… on my back, side hurts.”
“Let me help you.”
Her left hand on his hip, her right on his shoulder, she gently supported him as he rolled onto his back. It wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated, but he couldn’t suppress a whimper.
“Slowly, there you go. Breathe through it.”
It was easier said than done, and every breath brought new pain. He couldn’t figure out how to make himself more comfortable; hell, he would settle for bearable at this point. He tried to find something to hold on to. He’d always been good at focusing on a target and centering all his thoughts on that one point.
His eyes found hers, and the red of pain cleared away against the vibrant green of her eyes. She looked at him with concern, cupped his cheek and wiped at the tears he hadn’t been aware he’d been shedding. He tried very hard to breathe normally again, but the pain was getting to be too much.
He heard a hum, soft and low; it turned into a melody. He couldn’t make out any words, just managed to make out the language. She was singing to him in Russian, stroking his cheek, running her hand through his hair. He felt himself drift off, giving in to the abyss.
<><><><><><>
The next time he woke, it was more gradual. It was harder, as well. He’d thought they’d been someplace else and then realized that he’d dreamed of her. They’d been tangled together in a sea of grass and it felt like home. The grass was soft like her hair under his cheek, the sun above them warming him like one of her rare smiles.
He found himself staring at the dull grey ceiling of the downed quinjet instead. This time he knew immediately where he was. His side was throbbing and his every nerve seemed to tingle and thrum with pain. He felt like his head was filled with cotton. There was a small weight on his chest and he carefully looked around, trying to clear his blurry vision.
Natasha’s hand rested on his chest and he followed the curve of her arm with his eyes. She was leaning on the hold, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and his head was propped up on her thigh. His slight movement roused her and her eyes found his.
“You’re awake,” she said, her hand gently stroking along his shoulder as she stretched and yawned.
He thought he could see her face scrunch up in discomfort at the movement, but the grimace was gone too quickly and his vision was so blurry, he couldn’t be sure.
“Y’ okay?” he asked, the words almost caught in his dry throat.
“I’m fine,” she said and he knew she was lying when she used the tone she always reserved for marks.
“Liar,” he called her bluff, swallowing hard to wet his throat.
“I’ll be fine. Bruises, mainly.” This sounded more genuine, but he was still concerned.
It wasn’t the whole truth, he was sure of it, but he lacked the energy to call her out on it again. He blinked. He was so tired, everything hurt, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She looked towards the craft’s front, her face becoming pensive.
“I think the storm’s abating.”
“Good.”
He took a deep breath and the cool air suddenly hit his lungs and he coughed. His chest and abdomen erupted in agony; he couldn’t catch his breath, his vision narrowing.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “Breathe, Clint.”
He tried, he really did, but the pain was overwhelming him fast and he looked at her pleadingly, asking for help the only way he could.
“What do you want me to do?” Her voice was alarmed, “Morphine, do you want me to give you the morphine now?”
He could only nod weakly as he tried to breathe. He almost didn’t feel the prick of the hypodermic as Natasha injected him with the strong painkiller. What he did feel was the blessed relief it brought a few moments later, dulling the pain to bearable levels. Her hands were gently combing through his hair now, helping him to focus on taking shallow breaths again.
“I’m so sorry, I should have insisted earlier. I knew you needed it...”
He wasn’t sure but there seemed to be a hitch in her voice.
He opened his heavy eyes, trying and failing to really bring her into focus. The morphine was taking full effect now. He felt warmth spread through him, blackness encroaching, the promise of oblivion. He had to let her know, just in case…
“’S okay, did good, was what I wanted. Love you.”
Her hands stilling in his hair were the last thing he felt before darkness took him.
