Chapter 17
“We’re almost there, Nat.”
He says the words like they have meaning.
The transfusion started on Clint’s orders, the IV lines and constant monitor of her vitals placed in.
Bruce looks nervous as he places the antidote alongside antibiotics to run through the IV like. He just wants to get this over with.
If it works, his friend is safe. If it doesn’t, he may have just killed her.
Natasha is silent.
Steve paces.
Tony and Clint stand together, and together the Avengers wait.
.
The reaction starts slow, the increase in her heart rate that she can’t hide or control.
The temperature that hurts her skin.
Then, the pain that courses through her body.
If they were trying to torture her, she’d tell them all the truths and lies she knew.
“It hurts,” she squeeze out.
Clint’s order in the shower was not forgotten. He said she had to.
She didn’t want to say anything.
The machines start to buzz, as her vision whites and the familiar approach of a headache and seizure approaches.
“Hey, stay with us.”
Tony’s face appears in her vision, as she reaches for something to hold on to.
Immediately, he grabs her hand, tells her it’s going to be okay. She wants to believe him so badly.
Pain radiates again, and it feels like her brain short circuits.
“It hurts,” she says again, but this time her brain shorts out.
.
Bruce watches perplexed, the doctor injecting medications into IV, making sure the leads are long enough as she seizes.
He watches as her body slows, hopeful that the seizure has only lasted for a minute before it’s stopped, and she comes out of it, curling into herself as Tony squats next to her.
“Are you okay?”
The question is likely redundant, because her face crumples. All of a sudden she is sobbing and holding onto his hand for dear life.
Tony looks to Clint to take over but he shakes his head slowly, letting Tony take over as Steve pulls a chair for Tony to sit closer, before he leaves the room.
It feels like such an intimate moment to be part of that Bruce isn’t sure what he wants to do.
Choosing to sit in the corner, he opens his phone, and does what he knows, stays vigilant and holds his peace.
.
Steve leaves, his anger is tumultuous, as he heads outside for fresh air. He shouldn’t have the sound of her sobs in his head, but he does.
It’s going to haunt his dreams, just like her seizures do. Sometimes it morphs into Peggy seizing, sometimes it’s Bucky‘s eyes that are rolling to the back of his head.
He’s so glad they have her back, it’s done, but a part of him wishes they’d done more whilst they were there, blown it all up, taken out more; the higher ups. Dreykov, isn’t that who Clint had said?
He doesn’t miss the war, always wanted it done, over with.
No one wins in war, but being part of the Avengers continues to allow him to continue the part of the war that he can abide by; teamwork, reaching common goals, and eliminating bad people. Sometimes, it’s that simple.
The cold air hits him and he breathes deep.
Please let her be okay, he asks any deity that’s listening.
Please.
.
Clint watches as she clutches close to Tony.
It seems fitting that it’s not him, even though he desperately wants it to be.
He’s made her do things that he never wanted to do and feels like he’s betrayed her.
Steve leaves and Bruce curls in on himself.
He hears Tony’s quiet reassurance, even though they know it’s likely she’s not taking in his words.
Clint wonders if the the sobbing is pain, either physical or mental, means what he think it does, that’s she’s aware of where she is and what’s happened.
Ducking his head, he can’t help but shed a tear with her, wiping it away as soon as it falls.
.
“Six hours until we get there, sir.”
Dreykov nods, folding the newspaper, and uncrossing his legs in the thick leather chair.
The plane is easily cleared into the United States, money being no issue, but diplomatic air travel has always benefited him.
The two soldiers on his left, guard him, as he orders the widows into stress positions. The pilot looks uncomfortable as the girls on their knees look at the floor.
He wishes his dogs could travel with him.
He has a plan once they land, Secretary Ross had better agree, otherwise he’s prepared for underhanded means to get her back.
.
The room is uncharacteristically silent as the doctor enters.
Natasha appears to be asleep, her eyes closed anyway. Her face red and blotchy, and the doctor knows she’s shed tears.
Steve is missing, as is Bruce, but Tony and Clint sit either side of the red head.
First she checks with Jarvis, the screens updating with her vitals, her heart rate in a normal range, a little fast maybe; her blood pressure seems okay.
The last lot of blood they took before the seizure showed improvement, better than before she left.
The doctor doesn’t know the extent the men went to, to get her back in this room, but whatever they did to her has helped.
“Natasha,” she says softly, waking the woman with her voice.
“I’m sorry I need to take some more blood, is that okay?”
Dark, tired eyes look at her.
And then.
She nods, offering her arm. It’s a slow movement with her palm to the sky.. deliberate it seems, rather than forced.
Clint sits up, leans forward.
“Nat, can you.. You can do things you want?”
The doctor notices how clumsy it comes out, that he doesn’t want to tell her do something, even answer his questions.
Natasha is quiet as the doctor takes blood, leaves it on her tray.
“I’m going to test some things okay?”
Natasha nods again. Tony looks on interested and Clint shuffles his chair forward.
“Are you in any pain?”
There’s a shake of her head.
Progress. The pain killers are working.
“Can I see your burn marks?”
Another nod.
She lifts her top and even this movement brings the slightest of smiles to Clint’s face.
It’s different, it’s voluntary.
The doctor redresses the wound that seems on the mend, the blisters still present but the redness around them less.
Her bruising seems better, although still prominent across her torso.
“Are you hungry?”
The question is met with a stare, and then slowly, a shrug.
“I don’t know,” Natasha says, as if realising she has a voice, a say in this.
“I’m thirsty though.”
Almost comedically Tony and Clint stretch their arms to offer their water bottles.
The doctor waves them off and pours another drink into the disposable cup.
“How do you feel?”
The question has always been a difficult one for Natasha. It doesn’t surprise Clint to hear the stock standard answer that he knows she gives when she can’t be bothered explaining.
“I’m tired.”
The doctor nods.
“You can rest now. Thank you for this,” she holds up the blood, “we will hopefully have more answers for you tomorrow.”
Natasha nods looking directly to Clint.
“Thank you,” comes the quiet response.
Followed by the two men speaking the same words.
.