Simple Movements (PG)
Title: Simple Movements
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1540
Summary: Luckily, Clint is ambidextrous. Waiting is gonna be an aggravation, though. ( this prompt at avengerkink)
Clint drew back his bow to half its draw weight and grit his teeth as the pain in his shoulder intensified. He dropped the arrow from the arrow rest and let the bowstring slip from his fingers with a muttered curse. This probably meant a trip back to medical, the place he had been trying to ignore for the past two hours since he'd been unceremoniously told to leave the entire floor.
He put his bow back on the weapons rack but left the two dozen arrows in the paper target at the other end of the shooting range. Clint experimentally rolled his shoulder as he walked out of the room and cursed again at the flare of pain.
A nurse didn't quite run over to him when he stepped off the elevator, a frown already forming. “I do believe that we told you we didn't want to see your face for at least another five hours, twelve if you could manage to pass out from exhaustion like a normal human, Agent Barton.” Clint grinned down at the woman.
“You know how much I love following orders,” he began, winking at the nurse, whose nametag read Claire. “but I've done something to my shoulder. I may not have been completely honest when you did the post-mission exam. Is there any news on Agent Romanov?”
Claire shook her head, eyes darting to her left to look at the double doors that led to the operating rooms. “No change as far as I know.” She put a sympathetic hand on his forearm and steered Clint in the opposite direction. “Now what pain are you experiencing?”
The nurse led him to an exam room and gingerly probed his shoulder after he'd sat. Claire's fingers paused over the worst of the pain and pressed lightly; Clint bit back a groan of pain.
“Let me get the attending who's on call tonight, Agent Barton.”
She turned to leave and Clint called after her. “Just give me an ice pack like you usually do, Claire. I can work through this. I have a mission in three days!”
“You aren't going anywhere for a few weeks, Agent.” Coulson's normally placid tone was sharp. Clint looked up, panicked. Claire left the room.
“How's-”
“Black Widow is still in surgery.” The tone was softer as it delivered the news and Clint closed his eyes. There had been so much blood by the time he had reached her. He opened his eyes to the bright lights of the medical exam room, feeling Phil's hand settle on his leg.
“How did you even know I was here?” Clint inquired. The agent had gotten here awfully quickly.
“I have an email alert set up any time your name is entered into the system.” Phil replied.
“Seems a bit overkill since you're usually the one dragging me in, kicking and screaming.” Clint joked.
Phil's lips quirked. “Be that as it may, there are times it comes in useful. What have you done this time?”
Doctor Hasell stepped into the room and answered Coulson's question as she handed Clint a medical gown. “Agent Barton is most likely suffering a separation of the shoulder. We'll need x-rays to be certain and to assess the amount of damage.” She motioned to the gown. “Put that on and follow me.”
Clint unbuttoned his pants with his left hand, thanking whatever deity that he'd figured out how to be ambidextrous early in life. Taking off his shirt was harder, since lifting his arm above his shoulder caused him pain. Phil stepped closer, hands carefully twisting the cotton over Clint's head and then over the injured arm. He held the t-shirt in his hands loosely, walking behind Clint to the radiology wing.
The x-ray machine hummed over him, lead cover heavy on his torso. Clint grit his teeth when Doctor Hasell ran the machine over his uninjured shoulder, sweat breaking out as he stayed still on the table and the machine hummed a second time. Coulson entered the small chamber when Doctor Hasell gave the signal, helping the marksman lift the lead weight off him. He draped it over an arm as Clint sat up, panting.
“Go back to the exam room, Agent Barton,” the doctor instructed. “I'll send Claire in with some ice and meet you there soon.” Phil smiled at her, putting a hand on Clint's forearm. Clint sighed, because he knew the time in between would be his debriefing.
Doctor Hasell returned with two x-rays that she hung on the small light board in the exam room less than a half hour later. Clint was grateful because reliving the mission wasn't high on his list of things to do, even though he knew it was a necessity. At least the ice helped with the physical pain.
“You've partially torn your acromioclavicular ligament, Agent Barton.” He and Coulson looked at her with blank expressions and the woman smiled as she pointed to the x-ray. “You've strained the muscle that connects your collarbone to your shoulder blade, to put it simply.”
“Let me guess,” Clint directed his question to Coulson, “I have reduced time at the range until it heals?” Both the agent and the doctor nodded. He groaned, throwing the uninjured arm over his eyes theatrically.
“Thankfully you didn't fracture the bone or completely tear the coracoclavicular ligament as well. You would be looking at physical therapy and perhaps surgery as well. Did you fall on your right arm during your mission?” She asked and Clint didn't miss how Phil's pen was poised above his paperwork.
The archer shook his head. “Yeah, I might have clipped my shoulder on an enemy subject or four in trying to reach the Black Widow.” Doctor Hasell nodded and turned to a drawer.
“Yes, blunt force has been known to cause this injury. I hope you can use your left hand as well as your right,” she turned around to face the two men, a bundle of blue fabric in her hands. “since you'll be wearing this for at least four weeks while your muscle knits itself together.” She helped Clint put the sling on, adjusting the ties around his neck before stepping back.
“If the pain worsens, take whatever over the counter painkillers you prefer. Don't lift anything with that arm for a minimum of two weeks if you can help it. ” Her dry tone let him know that she didn't believe Clint would actually listen. He grinned in response. “He's all yours, Agent Coulson.” The doctor gave a short nod to the older man who had stood from his seat and made to walk out of the room.
“Wait,” Clint requested. “Have you heard anything about my partner? You haven't told me shit and it's been hours now. You gotta give me something.”
Doctor Hasell held up a hand and Clint fell silent. Coulson's hand slipped around his left wrist, anchoring him as they both watched the woman walk through the double doors. She returned long moments later, a smile on her face.
“Your partner has been moved to the recovery ward, Agent Barton. You may see her tomorrow.” Her smile grew wider at Clint's sigh of relief. “Keep that sling on.”
“I'll do my best, just for you,” he promised with a smirk. Clint didn't need to look over to know that Coulson was rolling his eyes.
It was at the end of three weeks that Coulson called Clint into his office. Clint arrived almost on time, glum expression on his normally cheerful features.
“Do you know how much it sucks to not be able to use your right arm?” Clint asked rhetorically as he walked in, sinking into the chair at the side of Coulson's desk. The agent put his pen down on top of the file and leaned over, covering Clint's knee with his hand.
“Seven more days and then you might be able to get the all clear from Doctor Hasell.”
Clint huffed, frustration evident. “That's fine, but I still can't draw my bow for at least another two weeks!” He complained. Clint stared suspiciously as Coulson's lips twisted.
“That's why I called you here, actually.” Coulson pointed to the couch in the corner of the room and Clint turned to see a package on the cushions. He crossed the room, picking it up with the arm not in the sling. Phil stayed seated, watching as Clint unwrapped the new recurve bow that had been designed for left hand use.
“Oh, wow. You spoil me, Phil.” He looked up, wide grin on his face as he ran careful fingers over the bow tip.
“It was rather nice ordering Stark to design something that I knew what it did.” Phil admitted. Clint laughed as he recrossed the office, coming to a stop next to the seated agent.
“Thank you.” Clint leaned in to press a kiss against Phil's lips, new bow banging against the chair when he deepened it, tongue sliding over lips and teeth.
“Sling for another seven days and I will be watching the security footage,” Phil ordered, leaning against his seat after they broke apart.
Clint gave him a shit-eating grin, thumb running over the curve of the pivot point. “Sir, yes sir.”
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1540
Summary: Luckily, Clint is ambidextrous. Waiting is gonna be an aggravation, though. ( this prompt at avengerkink)
Clint drew back his bow to half its draw weight and grit his teeth as the pain in his shoulder intensified. He dropped the arrow from the arrow rest and let the bowstring slip from his fingers with a muttered curse. This probably meant a trip back to medical, the place he had been trying to ignore for the past two hours since he'd been unceremoniously told to leave the entire floor.
He put his bow back on the weapons rack but left the two dozen arrows in the paper target at the other end of the shooting range. Clint experimentally rolled his shoulder as he walked out of the room and cursed again at the flare of pain.
A nurse didn't quite run over to him when he stepped off the elevator, a frown already forming. “I do believe that we told you we didn't want to see your face for at least another five hours, twelve if you could manage to pass out from exhaustion like a normal human, Agent Barton.” Clint grinned down at the woman.
“You know how much I love following orders,” he began, winking at the nurse, whose nametag read Claire. “but I've done something to my shoulder. I may not have been completely honest when you did the post-mission exam. Is there any news on Agent Romanov?”
Claire shook her head, eyes darting to her left to look at the double doors that led to the operating rooms. “No change as far as I know.” She put a sympathetic hand on his forearm and steered Clint in the opposite direction. “Now what pain are you experiencing?”
The nurse led him to an exam room and gingerly probed his shoulder after he'd sat. Claire's fingers paused over the worst of the pain and pressed lightly; Clint bit back a groan of pain.
“Let me get the attending who's on call tonight, Agent Barton.”
She turned to leave and Clint called after her. “Just give me an ice pack like you usually do, Claire. I can work through this. I have a mission in three days!”
“You aren't going anywhere for a few weeks, Agent.” Coulson's normally placid tone was sharp. Clint looked up, panicked. Claire left the room.
“How's-”
“Black Widow is still in surgery.” The tone was softer as it delivered the news and Clint closed his eyes. There had been so much blood by the time he had reached her. He opened his eyes to the bright lights of the medical exam room, feeling Phil's hand settle on his leg.
“How did you even know I was here?” Clint inquired. The agent had gotten here awfully quickly.
“I have an email alert set up any time your name is entered into the system.” Phil replied.
“Seems a bit overkill since you're usually the one dragging me in, kicking and screaming.” Clint joked.
Phil's lips quirked. “Be that as it may, there are times it comes in useful. What have you done this time?”
Doctor Hasell stepped into the room and answered Coulson's question as she handed Clint a medical gown. “Agent Barton is most likely suffering a separation of the shoulder. We'll need x-rays to be certain and to assess the amount of damage.” She motioned to the gown. “Put that on and follow me.”
Clint unbuttoned his pants with his left hand, thanking whatever deity that he'd figured out how to be ambidextrous early in life. Taking off his shirt was harder, since lifting his arm above his shoulder caused him pain. Phil stepped closer, hands carefully twisting the cotton over Clint's head and then over the injured arm. He held the t-shirt in his hands loosely, walking behind Clint to the radiology wing.
The x-ray machine hummed over him, lead cover heavy on his torso. Clint grit his teeth when Doctor Hasell ran the machine over his uninjured shoulder, sweat breaking out as he stayed still on the table and the machine hummed a second time. Coulson entered the small chamber when Doctor Hasell gave the signal, helping the marksman lift the lead weight off him. He draped it over an arm as Clint sat up, panting.
“Go back to the exam room, Agent Barton,” the doctor instructed. “I'll send Claire in with some ice and meet you there soon.” Phil smiled at her, putting a hand on Clint's forearm. Clint sighed, because he knew the time in between would be his debriefing.
Doctor Hasell returned with two x-rays that she hung on the small light board in the exam room less than a half hour later. Clint was grateful because reliving the mission wasn't high on his list of things to do, even though he knew it was a necessity. At least the ice helped with the physical pain.
“You've partially torn your acromioclavicular ligament, Agent Barton.” He and Coulson looked at her with blank expressions and the woman smiled as she pointed to the x-ray. “You've strained the muscle that connects your collarbone to your shoulder blade, to put it simply.”
“Let me guess,” Clint directed his question to Coulson, “I have reduced time at the range until it heals?” Both the agent and the doctor nodded. He groaned, throwing the uninjured arm over his eyes theatrically.
“Thankfully you didn't fracture the bone or completely tear the coracoclavicular ligament as well. You would be looking at physical therapy and perhaps surgery as well. Did you fall on your right arm during your mission?” She asked and Clint didn't miss how Phil's pen was poised above his paperwork.
The archer shook his head. “Yeah, I might have clipped my shoulder on an enemy subject or four in trying to reach the Black Widow.” Doctor Hasell nodded and turned to a drawer.
“Yes, blunt force has been known to cause this injury. I hope you can use your left hand as well as your right,” she turned around to face the two men, a bundle of blue fabric in her hands. “since you'll be wearing this for at least four weeks while your muscle knits itself together.” She helped Clint put the sling on, adjusting the ties around his neck before stepping back.
“If the pain worsens, take whatever over the counter painkillers you prefer. Don't lift anything with that arm for a minimum of two weeks if you can help it. ” Her dry tone let him know that she didn't believe Clint would actually listen. He grinned in response. “He's all yours, Agent Coulson.” The doctor gave a short nod to the older man who had stood from his seat and made to walk out of the room.
“Wait,” Clint requested. “Have you heard anything about my partner? You haven't told me shit and it's been hours now. You gotta give me something.”
Doctor Hasell held up a hand and Clint fell silent. Coulson's hand slipped around his left wrist, anchoring him as they both watched the woman walk through the double doors. She returned long moments later, a smile on her face.
“Your partner has been moved to the recovery ward, Agent Barton. You may see her tomorrow.” Her smile grew wider at Clint's sigh of relief. “Keep that sling on.”
“I'll do my best, just for you,” he promised with a smirk. Clint didn't need to look over to know that Coulson was rolling his eyes.
It was at the end of three weeks that Coulson called Clint into his office. Clint arrived almost on time, glum expression on his normally cheerful features.
“Do you know how much it sucks to not be able to use your right arm?” Clint asked rhetorically as he walked in, sinking into the chair at the side of Coulson's desk. The agent put his pen down on top of the file and leaned over, covering Clint's knee with his hand.
“Seven more days and then you might be able to get the all clear from Doctor Hasell.”
Clint huffed, frustration evident. “That's fine, but I still can't draw my bow for at least another two weeks!” He complained. Clint stared suspiciously as Coulson's lips twisted.
“That's why I called you here, actually.” Coulson pointed to the couch in the corner of the room and Clint turned to see a package on the cushions. He crossed the room, picking it up with the arm not in the sling. Phil stayed seated, watching as Clint unwrapped the new recurve bow that had been designed for left hand use.
“Oh, wow. You spoil me, Phil.” He looked up, wide grin on his face as he ran careful fingers over the bow tip.
“It was rather nice ordering Stark to design something that I knew what it did.” Phil admitted. Clint laughed as he recrossed the office, coming to a stop next to the seated agent.
“Thank you.” Clint leaned in to press a kiss against Phil's lips, new bow banging against the chair when he deepened it, tongue sliding over lips and teeth.
“Sling for another seven days and I will be watching the security footage,” Phil ordered, leaning against his seat after they broke apart.
Clint gave him a shit-eating grin, thumb running over the curve of the pivot point. “Sir, yes sir.”