#ap.fic

Clint had this streak of consecutive medical visits post-mission going — he was currently weighing in at 62, and that's not counting the various clumsy accidents he gets into in the tower.

But the only problem he truly faced was getting past his mother-hen of a boyfriend. Bucky meant well, truly. He just can't help it when he gets his Sargent voice going and telling Clint to "be more careful".

"He was like this with me when we were kids", Steve had laughed, "glad to see that hasn't changed."

The only difference is Steve Rogers was the most sickly kid in all of Brooklyn, hell, all of New York and Clint was just a huge, self-sacrificing klutz.

Missions with just himself and Natasha were rare nowadays. They hung out all the time in the tower regardless, but there was nothing quite as special when they got to team up against HYDRA or former members of the Red Room.

Half the time that they were out in the field they were back to back watching each other's six. Clint's bow always drawn tight with an arrow and Natasha's batons buzzing in her hands. No one worked quite as in sync as the two of them, well, unless you look at Steve and Sam Wilson.

Their mission this time was tracking down a rogue HYDRA agent who escaped their grasp during their last roll in the mud with the whole team. Seemed simple enough. In, out, get the guy, interrogate, and have time to catch a new episode of The Blacklist.

As most injuries to the Avengers happen, one minute Clint was in a Mexican stand off with the HYDRA agent, Natasha coming up from behind, and the next his face was slammed down onto the asphalt.

His ears were ringing, head throbbing. There's another one, he must've called backup. Clint slowly pushed himself up to his knee, blood trickling down his temple. He flung his head around, seeing his attacker coming back for another blow.

Clint ducked under his leg that was out to kick him and snatched a knife from his boot, swiping at the back of the man's knee. A hiss sounds above him as the agent joins Clint on his knees, slamming his knee hard into his stomach.

All of the air that was in his lungs rushes out, and he's sitting hunched over, suffocating, and trying to regain his breath. "I'm supposed to be watching Nat's six", he thinks.

He finally returns to his feet, wheezing but breathing better than he was. His and Nat's grunts are heard as they continue to fight the HYDRA agents. In due time, Clint knocks out the agent by kneeing him in the head and Nat had apprehended the other.

"Alright Squad Four come in for clean up." Nat says briskly into comms.

Two quinjets land, and suddenly the steps Clint needs to take to get to them seem so impossible. Thankfully, Natasha comes up next to him and helps him to bear his own weight. Bless her and her red head.

A few SHIELD agents rush out of the first quinjet armed and with handcuffs to apprehend the HYDRA agents. The second one that Nat leads him towards has a pilot and a few medical techs to give them a basic once over before Bruce and Dr. Cho can get to them at the tower.

The flight from their mission site to the tower pass by in a total blur. Clint is fading in and out of consciousness, his head is throbbing, and everything hurts.

"Mr. Barton, sorry to interrupt," one of the med techs signs, "your hearing aids were damaged during the fight, Mr. Stark is going to have to make some new ones for you."

"Aw hearing aids, no." Clint says slurred and he knows he's a bit loud due to not being able to hear himself.

Landing at the tower winds up being more of an affair than usual. With Clint's lack of hearing, he had no clue what was happening. Lips were impossible to read as hurried conversations occurred around him.

Of course, Bruce and Dr. Cho tried to gang up on him and force him onto a gurney, hell, at least a wheelchair to wheel him to an exam room. As the sharpshooter does, he makes a big stink with slurred words and glassy eyes.

Natasha had pushed him into a wheelchair anyway.

Clint really just wanted to crawl into a vent and hide until he felt better — and maybe pop a few ibuprofen tablets too. But there he was, post-checkup with Bruce, sitting on the counter in the communal kitchen.

As with most of Clint's now 63 consecutive medical visits, bandaids were on multiple parts of his face. He was also sporting some nice bruises on his stomach and temple where his head had been slammed into the ground.

He looked and felt like he was hit by a truck filled with 17 elephants, and then ran over by a train. Ok, maybe he was getting a bit dramatic now.

Nonetheless, he was sitting with Natasha, Tony, and Peter — this new spider-child that he swears Tony picked up off the street and he has to stop calling him 'Mr. Hawkeye, sir'. His injuries were on full display, only because after having to cut Clint's shirt off to give him that once over Bruce didn't even want to try and get a shirt back on the poor man.

"You know, I know I'm an asshole, but you look like shit, Legolas." Tony snarks as his hands move quickly.

"Thanks, Tony. You are so sweet to get me a glass of water." Clint pulled this master guilt-tripping look that always got to Tony and like their game always goes, the short man retrieved what Clint wanted.

And that sure put a large grin on his face. Ow, it hurt... damn bruises. It also helped when he saw Peter laughing and the shaking of Nat's head as she sipped from a wine glass.

Everything was finally settling down, and as he got sucked into a tough game of Angry Birds on his phone, he was stunned at the sudden movements in his periphery.

Looking up — and completely missing his shot with the bird that was simultaneously a bomb — he saw Bucky rushing at him, pressing into his space between his legs. Words were tumbling out of his mouth but Clint couldn't begin to comprehend them. Too much, too fast.

"Buck, no aids, they broke." Clint signs quickly.

He watches Bucky's face change from concerned and kicked puppy to an angry scowl and back in two seconds. His metal hand reaches to cup Clint's cheek, the archer immediately pressing into his hold.

"Who did this to you?" Bucky signs with his other hand, face serious.

"HYDRA agent. Thought there was one, turns out it was two." Clint sighs in exhaustion.

Clint watches as his boyfriend looks him over, grimacing at the bruising and the bandages covering him. He knows Bucky worries when he goes on missions without having him as a backup, and this just further proved that.

He watches as Bucky turns to Tony and say something, but Clint doesn't bother to try and follow along to the conversation. He looks to Steve and Sam, both dressed in their running gear, the sweat on their brows, and they share a knowing look.

Clint was about to be put on bed arrest by one Bucky Barnes. So much to his plan of hiding out in the vents.

He watches Sam mouth 'Buck, overreacting again', and shakes his head with a fond smile. As much of a pain he was when Clint was hurt, he found it very endearing. At times when Clint had been injured way worse, Bucky had helped him into a warm bath to soothe his aches and pains, massaging his scalp, and rambling to him about his day.

Bucky taps Clint's knee twice, their signal to pay attention so they can see each other signing, he looks up into his steely blue eyes and catches a small smile on his face.

"How many now?" Bucky signs with a smirk.

"63, and counting!"

"Stop that Clint Frances."

"You did not just middle name me."

"Hm, whatcha gon' do about it doll?" Bucky smirks, signing something vaguely inappropriate as their friends had cleared out the room to give them privacy.

"Nothing. Although, I could use some good ole Bucky-bear cuddles." Clint smiled softly, looking at his boyfriend lovingly.

"Of course, I'm always going to take care of you. No matter what."