Grin and Bear It

Nat caught up to Clint as he connected you to the Quinjet’s heart rate monitor. She didn’t wait for the reassuring beep, she just hauled ass to the controls and fired up the engine.

“How is she?” Nat yelled over the purr of the rotors as she pulled on her headset.

“Pulse is faint but steady,” Clint said through his own comm link. “But I can’t get the bleeding to stop.”

Nat cursed as she jerked up on the Quinjet’s joystick, launching the jet into the air. It wasn’t her most graceful takeoff, but it was efficient. She got the jet up to speed just as quickly, set course for the compound, and turned on the autopilot.

“She’s losing a lot of blood.” Clint’s voice was desperate as Nat ran to the back of the jet. Your body lay splayed on a bench in the makeshift medical bay. Though it was stocked with Tony’s latest state of the art medical technology, it was still small, and she leaned over Clint to get a better look.

A lot of blood was an understatement, and drops were already spilling onto the floor. Nat gently removed the wad of soaked gauze and took a closer look at the entry wound. “I think the bullet punctured an artery.”

Clint passed her a pile of fresh gauze. They watched as it quickly turned red. Nat pulled out her phone and started rapidly texting. “I’ll tell Bruce to have the doctors prep for surgery and meet us when we land. They’ll need to stop the bleeding and remove the bullet.” She paused, double-checking her work. “There’s no exit wound.”

Clint grasped your hand. “Come on, Y/N.”

Your heart rate continued to slow. Nat couldn't help but wonder at how defenseless you looked. It was a complete one-eighty from the angsty nonchalance she had to admit she'd grown to like. Yet she was smart enough to realize her growing attachment was rife with risk. Who knew how the other Avengers would react when you arrived at the compound? How would she explain to a still-recovering Wanda why she deemed you worthy not only of medical care, but a second chance?

Nat fixed an oxygen mask over your face, hoping it would allow your body to conserve what little energy it had left. She checked her smartwatch, which was synched to the Quinjet's navigation panel. "We have to keep her stable for another thirty-seven minutes."

Clint nodded, changing out your gauze yet again. It hadn't completely soaked through, and Clint took that as a good sign. "I think it's finally clotting."

Or maybe, Nat kept the thought to herself, you were just running out of blood. She mentally kicked herself. How had she forgotten about the pilot? Of course, there was a fourth person in that helicopter; those mercenaries were so kitted out they probably couldn't even touch their toes let alone operate a control panel. Clint's explosion had been massive, but she knew people who'd survived worse. Hell, she'd survived way worse.

Clint was still holding your hand and Nat's eyes wandered to the tracking bracelet, still holding a steady green. If that hadn't convinced you to run, getting shot wasn't going to help. Then again, based on the scars spread across your body, Nat was pretty certain this wasn't the first time you'd been shot. Or stabbed. Or burned. In fact, your scars were giving her own battled tested skin a run for its money.

"Nat?" Clint nodded to the heart rate monitor. Even with the oxygen, your heart rate was still falling, likely due to the lack of blood to keep it pumping. "I'll ready the paddles, just in case."

Nat nodded and Clint got to work prepping the defibrillator. She made a mental note to apologize to Steve for being such a pain in the ass when he forced the entire team to take an emergency medical course. It was unfortunately turning out to be very helpful.

She checked her watch. "Just hold on for twenty-five minutes, Y/N."

Nat hated waiting just as much as she hated feeling helpless, which made the next fifteen minutes worse than hell.

"You should drink something," Clint held out a water bottle which Nat waved away.

"I'm fine." Nat's eyes stayed locked on your heart rate monitor. The only thing steady about it was your decline. "I can wait ten more minutes."

Clint didn't push. He knew it was pointless. Seconds later, the monitor flatlined, accompanied by the distinctive, undeniable beep that meant you were dying.

Nat grabbed the paddles while Clint brought the machine up to power. "Go!" he yelled, and Nat wasted no time slamming the paddles onto your chest. Your body rocked with the shock, but the heart rate monitor still screamed.

"Again!" Nat yelled, shocking you a second time. There was still no response from the monitor or your heart. "Again!"

Still nothing. Nat's watch vibrated. It was the navigation system reminding her to retake manual control of the Quinjet in preparation for landing. Nat ignored it. "Again."

After several more minutes, Clint turned off the machine.

"What are you doing?" Nat yelled, still holding the paddles.

Clint held her gaze solemnly. "If her heart hasn't restarted by now, it's not going to. I'm sorry."

Nat's watch vibrated more urgently. They were five minutes away from the compound. There was no way she was giving up now, not when they were so close.

"Clint, I need you to land the jet." Clint knew how; he'd done it enough times. Most recently when Natasha herself was shot coming back from a mission in Bogota. Still, the archer didn't like the desperation in Nat's voice or the idea of leaving her alone.

"Nat, there's nothing you can do––"

"Land the Quinjet or we'll crash." Nat's voice was calculating. It reminded Clint of when they had first met, and he tried to help Nat acclimate to life in SHIELD after defecting from the Red Room. Widows, he had quickly learned, had a bad habit of putting everything –– including their own lives –– on the line for the mission.

"We'll talk about this later," Clint said before jogging to the front of the jet.

As soon as Clint was gone, Nat shot you with a widow's bite. It was pure electricity after all, and much more concentrated than a defibrillator. Maybe something in your super soldier physiology would respond to the increased voltage. But as soon as your body stilled from the shock, Nat knew it hadn't worked.

"Goddamnit!" Natasha felt the Quinjet start to descend; knew she was quickly running out of time. And then she saw it. The bag with the serum. Clint must've removed it when he set you down. Nat picked it up and unzipped it. Three intact vials sat nestled in the center. Tony said the formulation seemed stable and if you were dead, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Nat dug through the drawers for an empty syringe. She'd self-administered morphine as a widow dozens of times, but she had no idea what the proper dose of super soldier serum was. She filled it to the top, just to be on the safe side. Besides, she continued to reason, it wouldn't matter if you were dead.

"About to land. I'd sit down if I were you." Nat had completely forgotten about the comms and Clint's voice in her head startled her. She ripped off the headset, choosing to wrap a band around your arm instead, tying it extra tight to force out a vein.

The Quinjet dipped downward and Nat struggled to maintain her balance. She really needed to let Clint practice more, she thought as she braced herself against the bench. Nat pinned your arm to keep it steady and inserted the needle, pressing down the syringe at a steady pace until the serum had disappeared into what was left of your bloodstream.

And then she waited. For what, she didn't know. She knew what she was doing wasn't logical; that it probably wouldn't work. Not to mention having to answer to Steve or Bruce, or even Wanda, about why she committed such a huge ethical overreach.

Nat put the vial back in the bag with the other two, zipped it up, set the bag on the ground, and stomped on it as hard as she could, only stopping once she was certain each vial was shattered beyond recognition.

That's when you opened your eyes and started to scream.