Collapse
Clint holds her hand, careful of her splinted fingers. Her skin is warm, he has no concept of if it’s too hot; maybe he’s just hyper aware… After everything.
The nurse seems to think it’s ok as he asks her, and they check her vitals again. Clint stares at the heart rate monitor trying to make sense of the beat and silences.
He looks at her again and sees the ventilator pushing air in and out of her lungs, and even though it’s keeping her alive, he hates it.
Tony and Pepper come in and they both look… rough. He’s not used to seeing Tony in a wheelchair, and Pepper furiously wipes tears behind him.
He doesn’t have the emotional space to hold them too, so he tells them she’s okay.
It’s not a lie.
It can’t be.
.
They tell him they’re going to bring her out; try and wake her up.
He doesn’t want Tony and Pepper here, he knows Natasha won’t either; but he doesn’t say anything, because they have every right to be here.
Tony saved her, and Pepper saved him. They inject the drugs into the IV and wait.
.
There’s a scratching in her throat that she can’t place. It feels out of place, she doesn’t like the memories it conjures, even as she’s dragged into consciousness, body drugged, vulnerable, she tries to lift her arms to push against whatever it is.
She’s too old for this
Tell them to stop, her brain screams.
But she can’t talk.
She’s got control of her arms.
Raise your body, she thinks, but her arms aren’t obeying.
Not strong enough.
Open your eyes, she reasons.
The lights are too bright and they’re slammed shut, instinctively; automatically.
Panic is all consuming, she doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Drugs; they’ve drugged her, she thinks.
It stops her breathing and the feeling of suffocating is more present as she’s dragged into feeling.
.
“Natasha?”
Clint sees her throat working to swallow and her brow furrow as there’s a moment of calm before her heart rate goes wild.
She can’t hide what the monitors show, as she tries to push her body away, still connected.
Pepper steps back as Tony leans forward, and Clint stand up ready.
Fight or flight, he knows from experience.
His heart hurts, knowing how what having something down her throat means for her.
He wants it out like she does, as she rises to consciousness.
“Hey, look at me,” he asks gently, trying to catch wild eyes, before they’re slammed shut. He’s not even sure she took him in, in her confusion.
“You’re not there,” he tries to reassure her. Tony looks at him in confusion.
His words aren’t coming out the way he wants them to; he wants to be reassuring, and supportive and help.
Given her body’s reaction, he’s not.
“They’re going to take it out,” he tells her.
Her hands are coming up to claw at her face but the drugs are working against her, her movements are non-directional and sloppy, and he holds them close to his body as the nurse moves around him.
“I’m holding your hands,” he assures.
She distresses as she tries to pull at the intubation, and his heart breaks as the nurse pushes him to the side.
“Don’t fight it,” he tells her as he watches the professional pull the tube and extubates her in a smooth movement, placing it on her chest as Natasha coughs and gags.
It catches up with her, the realisation that it’s gone makes her shut her mouth and hold her breath against the pain.
“Breath, Tasha, breathe,” he pulls his chair back, kissing her hand. Her eyes finally catch his.
“With me, ok?” Clint holds up a hand.
“1, 2, 3,” he lifts it slowly as she breathes to his count. “And out,” he says quietly.
“That’s it. You got this,” he tells her as they do it again.
A tear sneaks out, but it stays in the pillow to dry, neither wipe it away as their eyes are locked on each other.
The nurse gives direct instructions to Natasha and Clint simultaneously as she packages up the ventilation equipment.
She keeps the oximeter on Natasha’s finger and it relays her pulse oxygen to the computers.
“Good,” she says to Natasha. “You’re doing good.”
The nurse leaves, as Natasha’s eyes close, exhaustion overcoming her.
.
She’s feels uncomfortable.
The blanket hurts her skin.
Her throat is dry,
Everywhere hurts.
She turns to find Clint watching her closely.
“Water?” She requests, horsely. This is likely not the first time she’s woken up, she realises. He has the water and straw next to her.
“Small sip,” he advises. As soon as the cool water hits her she instinctively swallows it down relishing in its coolness.
It’s a mistake.
As soon as the water hits her stomach, she feels it come back up. She sits up and throws up on the side, feels it splash onto her, as Clint tries to catch it in a towel.
“Shit,” Clint can’t help it as she lays back, miserable eyes looking at him.
“Sore throat?” He asks.
She’s not breathing as he watches her hold onto her breath, the machine next to her beeps it’s betrayal.
“Breathe, Natasha,” he says, admonishingly.
She gives him a dirty look before turning to the machine.
“Turn.. Off,” she grunts out.
“The sound?” He clarifies. He knows why. It gives away too many of her secrets.
“Ok,” he shrugs; and does as she asks.
He watches it like a hawk anyway, the sounds don’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know.
.
Alone.
She thinks she’s alone.
The room is bathed in light pollution from machines that are surrounding her, and all she wants is her own bed. She holds up her hands and looks at the bruising that runs along her veins.
No needles though, and she takes that as a win.
She’s been here too long.
Convincing herself she feels fine, she swings bare legs over the side of the bed and stands.
She feels light headed, but she’s convinced that it’s a side effect of medication and not her blood pressure dropping.
She takes one, two steps, forward, as she feels her legs shaking.
She just needs to reach the door.
“Natasha!”
Clint rushes her, as she falters on the third step.
“What are you doing?” He asks, the shock in his voice, makes her feel like she’s failed.
Her vision blacks, dizziness pounds in her head and all at once her legs give out.
Clint is there, taking her in his arms.
“Lay down,” he prompts. She shakes her head, leaning heavily on him.
Blacking out, she falls.
“Shit,” she hears, her weight against him.
The floor feels safe and stable, and his voice is a faraway balm.
“Ok, don’t move.”
She opens her eyes back up, and stares at him as he holds her. She tries to push the dizziness aside, feels comfort as he helps to put her into another position.
“I know, I know, it sucks,” he mutters as she whimpers against him.
The realisation that this is the closest someone has been to her for a while hits her as her skin burns with his touch.
“Don’t touch me…” Natasha tries to push herself away, as secure as she is in his arms, she doesn’t feel up to it.
Her skin is still sensitive, even though it’s lessened, there’s a crawling beneath it that she’s had before.
Clint moves to help her stand, they’re both slow in the action. He holds his hand out and isn’t surprised at how weak her grasp is.
She falters in the one step as he picks her up and helps her in.
“Go back to sleep, Nat. I’ll be here.”
And for once, she listens.
.