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Warning: Will contain talk of abuse and brainwashing, etc.
Clint is exhausted.
He doesn't even know how long he's been up at this point - doesn't even know what time it is considering his watch was broken at some point during one of the dozen fights he's been in today and he turned off his phone before they got to the safe house, not wanting his bosses to be able to track them.
Fury's voice is still ringing in his head, and he's pretty sure he might get thrown into a jet engine if the other occupant of the safe house doesn't kill him first - but she's his larger concern, right now.
The girl is on the bed, still unconscious, still dressed in the dirty, bloodied clothes she'd been wearing when he brought her here. He had dressed as many of her cuts as he could without taking off her clothes, because hell if he was doing that while she was out. She isn't bleeding anywhere, at least, and he's set more gauze and band-aids and ointment at the end of the bed where she can reach it. There's some of his clothing there, too, which will be huge on her, but it's all he has in the safe house, and he doesn't dare leave to find something else.
He eyes the handcuff around her wrist again, speculatively. He knows it's not too tight, but he's worried, anyway, and it's mostly how tired he is that keeps him from getting up and going to check it again.
"It's fine," a voice says from over his shoulder, and Clint startles - and then looks up at Shani where she's perched on the edge of the dresser he's leaning against.
"I hit her hard," he returns quietly, and the hawk ruffles and settles her feathers.
"She hit you harder. Are you sure you're not bleeding? Can you see out of that eye?" She hops down, landing in his lap and peering up at him.
Clint reaches up to touch his eye, tentatively. There's a spectacular knot over his left eye that's making the rest of it swell. He should be icing it. "Sort of."
"You should be icing it," Shani returns, because it's entirely likely she is actually narrating his thoughts, and he nods.
"I'll get up in a second. There should be ice in the freezer by now. And I'm fine." He's not exactly fine: there's a gash in his side that's just shy of needing stitches, his nose and the left side of his eye are a mess of scrapes and cuts and bruises of various severity, and he's still wearing his bracer for the support it provides his wrist, which he's relatively certain is sprained. Only his face can be blamed on his guest, actually, and he doesn't blame her for it, considering she was scared.
Shani trills at him, hopping up his leg carefully so she can rest against his uninjured side, and he sighs, shifting so he can run a finger over her head. "I'll be fine. I don't want her to wake up on her own, and considering what they give those kids, who knows when she will wake up."
The hawk repeats the noise, meaning to sigh at him, and he just nods and settles back in the chair, to wait.
Clint is exhausted.
He doesn't even know how long he's been up at this point - doesn't even know what time it is considering his watch was broken at some point during one of the dozen fights he's been in today and he turned off his phone before they got to the safe house, not wanting his bosses to be able to track them.
Fury's voice is still ringing in his head, and he's pretty sure he might get thrown into a jet engine if the other occupant of the safe house doesn't kill him first - but she's his larger concern, right now.
The girl is on the bed, still unconscious, still dressed in the dirty, bloodied clothes she'd been wearing when he brought her here. He had dressed as many of her cuts as he could without taking off her clothes, because hell if he was doing that while she was out. She isn't bleeding anywhere, at least, and he's set more gauze and band-aids and ointment at the end of the bed where she can reach it. There's some of his clothing there, too, which will be huge on her, but it's all he has in the safe house, and he doesn't dare leave to find something else.
He eyes the handcuff around her wrist again, speculatively. He knows it's not too tight, but he's worried, anyway, and it's mostly how tired he is that keeps him from getting up and going to check it again.
"It's fine," a voice says from over his shoulder, and Clint startles - and then looks up at Shani where she's perched on the edge of the dresser he's leaning against.
"I hit her hard," he returns quietly, and the hawk ruffles and settles her feathers.
"She hit you harder. Are you sure you're not bleeding? Can you see out of that eye?" She hops down, landing in his lap and peering up at him.
Clint reaches up to touch his eye, tentatively. There's a spectacular knot over his left eye that's making the rest of it swell. He should be icing it. "Sort of."
"You should be icing it," Shani returns, because it's entirely likely she is actually narrating his thoughts, and he nods.
"I'll get up in a second. There should be ice in the freezer by now. And I'm fine." He's not exactly fine: there's a gash in his side that's just shy of needing stitches, his nose and the left side of his eye are a mess of scrapes and cuts and bruises of various severity, and he's still wearing his bracer for the support it provides his wrist, which he's relatively certain is sprained. Only his face can be blamed on his guest, actually, and he doesn't blame her for it, considering she was scared.
Shani trills at him, hopping up his leg carefully so she can rest against his uninjured side, and he sighs, shifting so he can run a finger over her head. "I'll be fine. I don't want her to wake up on her own, and considering what they give those kids, who knows when she will wake up."
The hawk repeats the noise, meaning to sigh at him, and he just nods and settles back in the chair, to wait.
