Anxiety
Tony watches and follows as they take her away. There’s one doctor left, and of course Pepper has thought of him.
“Are you injured?” The doctor asks the suit.
Tony takes off the mask, and the sends away the top half of the suit, feeling like if he doesn’t have it, he’s going to fall over.
He hears Pepper gasp, forgetting that he’s been zapped with a cattle prod, beaten and
Probably isn’t looking at his best.
“Just take care of her,” he directs the doctor.
The doctors looks to where they’re taking Natasha into surgery, and she shakes her head.
“I’m here for you,” she tells him, directing him into another room.
It feels a cross between sterile and comfortable, and he supposes when he built this part of the tower, it was what he was going for.
“Track the light,” she tells him, sitting him down next to Pepper who hasn’t left his side.
He can’t, he needs to close his eyes against it.
Adrenaline is fading and he feels so… tired.
His vision blacks around the edges, he hears them talk but..
“Mr Stark?”
“Tony?”
.
He wakes with a start.
Something’s wrong.
Natasha.
She’s not here, they’ve taken her.
“Where is she!?” He asks, seeing Clint, and looking towards the door.
“Where is she!?” He’s frantic. If Clint is here with him… what does that mean for her?
He pulls himself out of the bed, and moves sways.
Clint pulls him away from the door, mindful of his cast.
“Breathe, Tony.”
Clint pushes him gently back to the bed.
“She’s in surgery,” he says, as Tony adjusts himself, looking at his cast.
He looks terrified as he turns to Clint.
“It’s my fault,” he says, voice breaking and quiet.
“It’s my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“They made me, they said… and I did it. Clint. It’s my fault.”
“I don’t think it’s your fault,” Clint says, kindly looking him up and down.
“And I don’t think she would either.”
Tony shakes his head. He wants to hit something. Of course Natasha wouldn’t, she told him it was ok, and looked like she meant it, but that doesn’t erase the fact that he knows it’s his fault.
Because it is.
“Any news?” He asks forlornly.
“Nothing yet,” Clint tells him, “it’s been around four hours so far.”
Tony’s heart sinks, Pepper was only there for around 3, whatever is happening, he doesn’t think it’s good.
He stands again, pain through his ankle as he looks down to see it bandaged.
Clint follows his line of sight and nods.
“They put you guys in cuffs?”
Tony can’t help but to look confused, but his brain catches up to the statement, of course Clint knows what degloving is, the bandage feels wet and the skin feels hot underneath the bandage.
As he takes stock of his body, he realises that his wrists feel the same. He looks at the cast again; almost disbelieving as he sees Clint has already drawn on it.
“We’ll need to change your bandages, change out the wet ones,” Clint nods.
“What are you, my doctor?” Tony mumbles as he lays back, suddenly exhausted.
“For now? Yes,” Clint cuts him off from talking further. “Your pain medication is probably making you tired. You should probably sleep.”
Tony doesn’t want to, he realises now that’s why nothing hurts. He wants to stay awake to; if there is anything he can do for Natasha, doesn’t want to be out when she wakes up.. If she wakes up.
“I’ll wake you,” Clint preempts, and pulls the blanket over his body.
The warmth and Clint’s reassurances lull him to sleep, the sunshine breaking through the window, far too bright and cheery for the tumultuous emotions bubbling under the surface.
.
He wakes in pain.
He hears Pepper in the deep recesses of his mind, and he tries to make himself pay attention.
His chest is covered and his ankle itches and hurts at the same time. It makes him clench his fists and try to pull the blanket off him.
“Tony?” Pepper’s sweet voice betrays her worry, as he tries to sit up again. His wrist hurts.
He doesn’t understand why he’s here, what’s happened and it’s the faint haze of drugs that wash over him.
“Tony, we’ve needed to wake you; Clint said you’d want to know.”
He’s awake. He’s definitely awake now.
“She’s ok?” He slurs.
He finally focuses on Pepper’s face, and notices that she’s been crying.
“She’s not okay?” He tries to guess, when she doesn’t answer right away. she’s not saying anything and his anxiety makes him sweat.
He’s killed his friend, he said he’d save her and he didn’t, he’s been in bed whilst she died and he didn’t do anything about it.
“I killed her,” he murmurs.
Pepper holds his hand, careful to keep it away from the bandages adorning her wrists, and kisses it.
“No,” she tells him, trying to get his attention as she kisses his fingers.
“She’s ok,” more tears fall as she says it, “it was touch and go, they’re keeping her sedated to make sure, but they think she’s going to be okay.”
Tony sinks back on the pillows, his heart beating fast as relief washes over him.
“Clint’s with her?” He asks.
Pepper nods. “Won’t leave her side.”
“I want to see her,” he says to Pepper, sitting up again, she nods to the wheelchair next to the bed.
Begrudgingly, he transfers across.
He’s surprised to find that he doesn’t have any lines attached to him, as is so often the case when he has been here before.
They’re not going far.
The doors slide open and he runs a hand over his face in shock. She’s completely sedated and intubated. It looks like her skin is translucent, not the bright red it was when they took her away.
Clint stands to greet them, his face stoic.
“She’s okay,” he assures, but his face doesn’t believe it.
The fact that she’s still sedated and in their version of intensive care, means that there’s still danger in her condition.
They all sit, lost in their own thoughts, as a nurse mulls around them, checking Natasha’s vitals.