pursuit
Liquid fire burns in her veins and she doesn’t have it in her to reassure Tony that she’s fine.
They’ve done her a favour and broken her thumbs, she knows she can get out of these cuffs and possibly out of the chair, but fuck, she can’t keep a thought straight in her head, as her body heats up.
It leaves no space for her to formulate… anything.
It’s like she’s got the flu, as her body temperature rises, every place where something is touching her skin feels like it’s an open wound that keeps getting rubbed against.
Even all the wounds that are currently open feel acidic and she can’t pull back the scream that breaks from her lips.
They’re manhandling Tony back to the the chair he vacated, and he’s pushing against them.
Natasha knows it’s their only chance to escape; but her body is revolving against her.
She hears Tony yelling that he’s sorry, for them to get off him as he tries to reach her, but she’s too far gone to reassure him, to even try and help him.
Heat traverses through her, opening her eyes, she watches as her skin becomes red.
“How long?” She hears Tony ask. It’s in her interest to pay attention, she should probably know how bad this thing is going to get before she dies or survives. Even if they do get out, there’s a chance that things won’t work in her favour.
She feels the woman near her, she smells her perfume, as it permeates through the pain, giving her something else to hold onto.
And then, she touches her, the unwanted touch across her sternum makes her scream, skin crawling, arms bracing against the handcuffs that brings a whole set of new pain.
She was wrong, the pain could get worse.
.
Tony watches as her body bucks, yells when she does to let her go, to help her, give her something for the pain, that he’s sorry.
The woman stands back, just watching in interest.
“How long?” he asks, wondering if there is any way out of this, and if there is how much time Natasha might just have left.
He has hope, she’s one of the strongest people he knows, if anyone can survive it, he thinks she can.
The woman shrugs, steps forward and touches her skin, almost caresses it, as Natasha screams and tries to move away from the offending touch.
He yells for her to stop, feels his wrists a wet mess of blood, one hand bringing almost wanted pain as he feels the bone rubs against itself.
“Her body is deciding whether to accept it or give up,” the words are reminiscent of what Killian said to him about Pepper, and the flashback of her glowing body and panic filling his pores.
He can’t do this again.
“It’s all pain from here on out,” she clarifies, and touches Natasha again. Her voice is almost hoarse, as another anguished yell lets loose.
“Stop!” He tries. “Please stop.”
The woman shrugs.
“Maybe twelve hours, if my calculations are correct,” she pauses and looks at Natasha. “If she lives or dies, you’ll be running tests on her, making sure that this can be replicated.”
Anger boils over.
“And if I don’t?” He asks, danger in his tone.
“Then whose next? Pepper? Me? What can you possibly do, that would hurt me more?” Images of his friends pulse in his head, as he knows there are so many ways of getting to him.
The woman grins.
“Mr. Stark, there are always ways of hurting more.”
She motions for the other two to leave, “I’ll be back soon, Mr Stark, give it take a couple of hours. If she.. doesn’t make it, we’ll know by then, we can leave her here to be… alone,” she hovers at the door before exiting herself.
Tony breathes heavily, thankful that they’re alone, he can’t even process his own traumas, in the thick of survival.
They need to get out of here.
He can save her, if she lives, he can save her.
“Nat?” He ventures.
She doesn’t answer, eyes pulled shut, breathing slow and deliberate.
He leaves her be, trusting that she’ll come back to him when she’s ready. He looks around, trying to find a way out ignoring the pain his arm, not looking down at his chest, thankful that they left his legs alone.
“Tony?” Her quiet voice permeates the container.
“Hey, I’m here,” he tells her, matching her voice, trying to be calm. “Are you okay?”
He’s ignored.
“We need to leave, we need to get out.”
If he were in any other situation he’d roll his eyes at the obviousness of her statement but he can see how she’s trying to hold it together as pain seems to roll through her in waves. Sees it as she hums and clenches her jaw.
“I can’t; I don’t see how..” he starts.
She removes one hand from her cuffs and he’s in awe of her, how could she possibly be planning her escape, when he’s just panicking? She’s the one in agony; and he’s just.. Useless.
“The syringe, they left it where you dropped it.” Her breath catches and she closes her eyes tight.
She right, but he doesn’t see how it helps.
“Kick it to me,” she says, and he has no idea how.
She’s managed to get her other hand out and she folds in on herself. Her back is red and there’s parts that seem to be almost glowing.
He can see the bruising wrapping around her ribs.
“Natasha, are you ok?” He questions tentatively.
“Get the syringe,” she says harshly.
“It’s too far,” he tells her, but she doesn’t answer. He thinks her skin is redder.
He reaches for it with his bare feet, cringing as the metal scrapes and peels back skin, and manages to kick it towards her.
He feels an once of joy as she picks it up with bloody hands, and disassembles it, using the point as a key.
She unlocks her feet and stands, breathing hard.
“Natasha?” He asks, “just breathe, ok?”
She stands and sways, managing to stay upright and steps towards him. Natasha grips the syringe as she frees his hands and then crouching in front of him she frees his feet.
She collapses when he’s free, all her energy seems to have just drained out of her, now that she’d accomplished her task. Her wrists are a mess of skin and blood, and when he moves to pick her up, he almost cringes at how hot her skin is.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers as she cries out in pain at his touch, he lets her go immediately .
He moves to the door without her and opens it as quietly as he can. He has a thought. The lines of the faraday cage are broken.
Calling the Iron Man suit he leaves the door ajar and moves back to where Natasha is sitting, legs curled under her.
“Natasha, the suit’s coming, ok? We’re going to get out of here, it’s going to be ok.” He tries to reassure her, but he knows it’s never that easy.
He’s going to have to touch her to get her out, he’s going to have to get her to a hospital and he doesn’t even know where they are.
The woman said twelve hours, it’s been maybe two. He feels like he’s running out of time for her.
“Natasha, are you with me? Can I do anything?”
She doesn’t answer and he can see how laboured her breath is; the effort it takes for the rise and fall of her chest.
“Almost there,” he assures and goes back to the door.
He feels the suit close, and he looks to Natasha, whose looking at him intently.
“Sixty seconds,” he tells her and she nods, using the chair, she hoists her self into standing, and holds on.
Pale faced, her fists clenched, she looks like she’s going to fall apart.
The first part of his suit arrives, it’s not quiet.
It attaches to his arm, he hears the alert of a guard as his chest pieces comes and he stands between Natasha and the two that tortured them.
He shoots pulses indiscriminately and maybe puts more power in them than necessary but he doesn’t care.
His helmet arrives and he’s reconnected back with Jarvis.
“Hello Sir,” the AI interfaces.
“Jarvis.” The relief is evident.
Gun shots are aimed at him, as he shoots two more down, he turns to Natasha and asks if she’s ready.
Picking her up, he tries to ignore her muffled moan.
His leg pieces still haven’t arrived, but they can’t stay here.
“Sorry,” he says and runs to the closest building.
“Jarvis, give me a way out,” he asks desperately, seeing the woman run after them, gun out. There’s shots as he shields Natasha as best he can.
Finally, one leg arrives, then the other and he takes off; gun fire pursuing them as he flies away.
.