Natasha is in the parking lot when he finds her, hand clapped to her arm and face grim. There’s a slow ooze of red through her fingers, staining her nails and making her wince intermittently… He grimaces for only the briefest moment, settles down besides her and peels her hand away as she manages the weakest smile.

“Clint will be here soon,” she tells him calmly, back straight even as he gently probes the wound, “I texted you both the same thing. It was quicker, you see.”

“Charming,” he tuts, withdraws his hand and reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief, “do you honestly think that Barton has much experience with a needle and thread?”

“Do you?”

“…Point taken.”

She smiles again, doesn’t even hiss as he carefully ties the handkerchief just above the wound and rocks back on his heels, “the target still had a knife on him, I should’ve been more careful.”

“Is he dealt with?”

“Now who’s charming?” Natasha only snorts, allows him to carefully slide one arm under her legs and one arm behind her back, “he’s neutralized. I thought that it was best to deal with him myself before you or Barton – are we waiting for Barton? - could get your hands on him.”

“He can find us in medical,” he sighs, lifting her and heading for the door as slowly as possible, “and you’re the Black Widow, not known for kindness or mercy or-“

“Who said I was kind?” Natasha snorts again. He smiles smugly to himself (it’s always nice when he’s proved right) and keeps walking, “I was just kinder than you two. I know how you both get when I’m involved – it’s almost sweet, really.”

“I’m not sweet-“

“You’re wearing your best tie,” she points out smoothly, reaches out to tap that same tie with her good arm, “and your best suit, and your nicest aftershave. I can only deduce that you actually ran out on a meeting with Fury himself just to get to me.”

…He grunts softly, shrugs as best he can with a fully grown woman in his arms.

“And I also know that you’re not just happy to see me,” a fully grown woman smirking up at him, in that curving way which is Natasha’s version of cackling laughter, “sweet.”

…He keeps carrying her in dignified silence. Through the door and down to medical and beyond with her laughing only the slightest bit.

It seems the most sensible option.
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