Chapter 1
Natasha turns to see the boxes on the table.
Fatigue pulls at her as she walks to open them, knowing that if she sits down, she won’t be getting back up.
She hasn’t felt like this in ages, not this bad, or tired.
Her head hurts, her body aches, but she puts it down to the fight in Amsterdam with the security guard.
Solo missions were fine, it was a snatch and grab that should have been easy. Her own fault, she supposes, as she grabs a knife from her pocket and stabs the box.
The package is from Tony.
Russian candy.
She fingers it lightly as she swallows a lump in her throat at the amount that sits in the box. She would have killed for this as a child; did kill for this. It should hold dark memories but instead, she salivates at the promise of sweetness.
Unwrapping a piece carefully, she holds it in her mouth and closes her eyes, it’s just as she remembered.
Liho mews softly as she jumps up next to the box, watching carefully, as she pushes her way into Natasha’s hand, forcefully requesting a pat.
“I see you.”
Natasha’s voice carries in the quiet apartment, just as Liho’s meow did.
“I know,” she continues, “I’m hungry too.”
Maybe that’s why her head hurts, the turn to a migraine imminent as she puts dried food into Liho’s bowl and sticks a frozen meal in the microwave.
Mac and Cheese will have to do for now, she doesn’t have the energy for anything else.
Giving up and sitting down, Natasha rests her head in her hands groaning at the pain that seems to have increased tenfold in the last five minutes.
She doesn’t think she’s pushed herself too hard, but maybe she has.
The headache feels different as a wave of dizziness passes over her, the feel of lightheadedness not unlike being concuss. Sinking to the floor, wanting to feel ground underneath her, Natasha takes a breath.
Fog washes over her.
She’s going to pass out looking directly into the face of her concerned cat.
“I’m…”
She wants to tell Liho that she’s okay, but instead she loses consciousness and the world blacks out around her.
.
Natasha feels a heaviness on her. It’s warm and soft, unlike where she’s laying. The cold hard floor tile does nothing to alleviate the muscle cramps that seem to plague her body as she wakes.
Concerned green eyes stare at her, as Liho grumbles at her movement. The sitting position seems better than laying on the floor as the reason she is there floods back.
Her head still hurts.
Her body still aches.
But now, there’s more.
It’s felt like a slow burn to get here but now that she is, Natasha can admit to herself that she feels horrible.
The smell of macaroni and cheese permeates and it seems that the microwave may have beeped long ago.
That means she was out for at least ten minutes, maybe longer. She knows she needs to eat, but nauseousness invades instead and she gives up on it quickly.
Deciding on bed, Natasha holds onto the counter and leads herself into the bedroom, stripping, then dumping Clint’s hoodie over her head and pulling his shorts on.
A shiver runs through her and she feels as though she wants a shower but has no energy for it.
She doesn’t care, everything can wait til morning.
.
The sharp ring of Natasha’s cell phone wakes her up.
She feels like she’s in a dream, or pushing her limbs through mud. Everything feels heavy; she’s just so tired.
The message tone sounds again and she glances at it, wondering who would message at this time of the day.
It’s Clint.
“Where are you???”
He should know she’s here. She told him. Didn’t she? Opening the message, she looks to the top left corner and almost swears.
It can’t be right.
9.47
She was supposed to be at work two hours ago.
She’s never been late in all her years at Shield, even now as they’ve integrated into the Avengers.
Rushing to find her clothes, she changes quickly, sticks her hair into a bun and almost trips on a disgruntled Liho.
“Shit, okay, hang on Cat.”
Natasha dumps a can of cat food into her bowl, and and grabs the last iced coffee as if it’s going to save her. Her bag sits where she dumped it.
Sighing, Natasha ignores the headache that sits over her eyes, seemingly worse in the sunlight.
Stiff neck, sore muscles don’t help as she crams herself into the car and drives to the offices downtown.
.
Clint glances at her with a frown as she knocks on the door and enters the board room.
“Sorry I’m late,” she announces.
“Romanoff,” Fury nods.
She puts down her bag and tries to concentrate on what’s being said. It doesn’t make sense.
It feels as though she needs subtitles. Sometimes, she loves that she speaks so many languages, but today; she wishes everyone, anyone spoke hers.
The meeting ends at midday, and Natasha’s head is pounding so hard that she thinks Clint can hear it too.
She just about makes it to the bathroom to splash water on her face before waves of nauseousness hit her.
Unable to hold it in, she vomits in the sink.
“Ugh.”
It’s mostly bile and coffee, but the acidic taste makes her cringe. Natasha washes her face and looks at the message that has appeared.
“Gym? Now?”
Clint’s next meeting is at 3 she thinks, trying to remember what he’d said on the phone yesterday.
The phone goes off again, Tony this time. There’s just emojis and a question.
“Candy arrive?”
She doesn’t have the brain space to reply even though she wants him to know how much it means to her to have it.
Instead, she responds to Clint with a thumbs up and stares at herself in the mirror. She looks out of it, tired, pale; but maybe that’s just her own judgement.
Hoping that exercise helps her headache and body ache, she washes her face and goes to find Clint.
.
The first punch misses him, the second off too. His kick misses her head but he pushes her off him to back up and then trips her.
A laugh escapes him as she falls to the ground.
“Nat, what is up with you?”
She’s quick to stand, but the feeling of lightheadedness is back. The same as last night.
“Headache,” she admits, hands up and ready to fight.
“No, wait,” he tries, “you’re feeling sick?”
She doesn’t care for pity.
Natasha hits him, pulling back as she always does, but somehow she misjudged the distance and the punch hits hard. He rolls with it, sweeping her legs and falling to the ground with her.
Her head bounces as she can’t catch herself in time, she knows how to break fall; has known it since she was five, but this day, she can’t make her body cooperate.
She lays flat on her back, unable to move herself without feeling nauseous.
Clint sits next to her, body over hers.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, helping her into sitting.
“Headache,” she repeats, not elaborating, unsure what this is.
“What hurts?”
Even in sitting, the aura that surrounded her last night, is back. So does the feeling of blacking out.
“M’sorry,” she mutters, and the world goes dark again.
.
Clint catches her as she drops. Fear pulsates through him.
The seizure makes her body start to shake and he clears the space around her. He pulls his phone out and curses as he can’t get the timer open.
It hurts to watch and he wants to press the emergency button, but he knows that’s would make everyone come to the gym, he knows Natasha wouldn’t want that, would be mortified if anyone saw her like this.
Three minutes, he thinks, if it goes longer than that, he’s pressing it.
He likes the shield gym, it’s private rooms for working out and for that he’s thankful.
He likes the Avengers tower better but the constant monitoring by the AI makes him feel uncomfortable. In situations like this, though, he wonders if it would be easier.
He rests his hand on her, her body hot and sweaty as it works through whatever this is.
Two minutes fifteen.
It starts to slow.
He breathes, unaware that he was holding his breath.
There’s blood on her bottom lip where her teeth have bitten down, mixed with saliva makes it looks worse than what it is.
“Natasha.”
The words come out in pity and awe, but most of all he’s just concerned.
Clint can see when awareness comes, and she rolls onto her back.
There’s silence as she orients herself to the world again.
“Wh’appened?” she slurs, hand to mouth as she pulls it away to find blood.
“You had a seizure,” he tells her, bluntly.
“Oh.”
There’s a whirl of anger that stirs in him. He doesn’t know if this has happened before? recently? The reason why she was late to work?
He knows without a doubt that she wouldn’t tell him; even if it had.
“Headache huh?” he opts for.
Natasha pushes herself up.
“Yeah.”
To his surprise, she continues.
“Since yesterday.”
“Have you had any other seizures?”
There’s a pause.
“I don’t know,” she admits.
Clint moves to get some water, turning his back on her but watching her through the mirror. He sees her body curl in on herself, and then change as he heads back.
He wonders if it’s a conscious decision to mask everything, something borne out of self preservation.
It makes his heart hurt when he approaches her again, she completely changes her body language, and smiles as she takes the water from him.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Nat,” he assures.
Anger shoots across her face, a frown accompanying it.
“What do you think I’m pretending about?”
There’s a lilt in her voice; breakthrough of a Russian accent.
“How bad you feel,” he pushes.
There’s silence in the room as she holds his words.
“I don’t feel well, but I have too much to do. I need to do the write up for Amsterdam, debrief Williams on the Cohen debacle and then head to the tower for the review on weapons with Tony. There’s not enough time to be sick.”
Her eyes glaze and he frowns with her.
“It can wait.”
She cocks her head, and then shakes it.
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not.”
The challenge is clear, and continuing to confront her doesn’t help. It’s clear she doesn’t want to stick around for more.
“I can’t do this right now,” Natasha huffs, stalking to the door.
“Wait,” he asks, standing up and moving with her.
“I’ll come with you.”
She shrugs and heads to the woman’s shower block, leaving him alone, unsure what to do next.
.
Natasha feels her temperature spike.
She downs two painkillers and growls softly at herself.
She just needs to make it through the day. Just like she told Clint. She’s got three things to do, and then she can rest.
Bed feels like heaven.
The meeting with Williams is easy, he’s not a bad operative, just too rigid in the ways he responds. Determining he’s not a threat, she sends him to Maria for his next mission.
Clint stays close by her, and she ignores him as he suggests again to go home.
She omits the fight in her report, feeling it unnecessary to go into and finally she leaves the Shield offices, heading to the Avengers tower as Clint goes to his meeting.
Driving, she feels the headache come on, despite the pain killers she took hours ago.
Natasha knows her body churns through medications fast, but even this feels too quick or too much of a break through of pain.
The seizure had worried her. She wonders if last night it had happened as well. If it happens again, she think, she’ll ask Clint what to do.
Natasha feels sweat on her back, her stomach hurting and bowels twisting. The nauseousness returning too.
Swearing, she turns off the on ramp and heads home. Quicker there than to the Tower in this traffic.
She should message Clint, but not really sure what to say, she doesn’t.
Everything hurts.
Her vision blurs and she pulls over. There’s no way she’s making it home.
“Fuck,” she whispers to herself.
She can feel herself pull away from her body, and with a last burst of energy she calls Clint and puts him on speakerphone.
And then, feels nothing and knows no more.
.
Clint’s phone rings, and he apologizes to the Maria, ducking out when he realizes it’s Natasha.
“Nat?”
There’s no answer. He thinks he can hear cars on the road, but it may be his imagination.
“Natasha?” he says again, but still there’s nothing.
Panic builds in him as he rushes to his car; something is wrong. He knows it.
He puts on tracker he’s put onto Natasha’s phone, sticks the password in, and sees she’s parked on a side street near her apartment.
Something is wrong.
He speeds. He doesn’t care.
Memories of the morning seizure are the only thing on his mind. If she’s seizing in the car, if she’s seizing at all; he bites down on his lip, concern at her well-being. What if she’s really sick?
“Nat? Can you hear me?”
There’s still no answer.
Two minutes to get there. He pushes his car to go faster, stress making his hands sweat.
Does he call an ambulance?
Arriving, and parking next to her, he finds her passed out in her car. It’s locked as he tries to open the door, smashing the window on the passenger side he opens the door and climbs across the front seat.
Only to be met with a gun to his head.
.