[Yay, first author's note ever! :)

So, since this is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT from what I like to do, I think you guys need an author's note.

Obviously, this is Avengers, but not what I normally write. First off, it's actually going to have chapters. And, it's about Natasha. All the other characters should be involved (or at least mentioned), but this is solely Natasha's story. Now, don't get too upset; there's still going to be Science Boyfriends in this. :) They're just not the focus in this story.

I hope you guys like it. No idea how long it's going to be. It's my goal to finish this; so far, I've worked on it on and off all week, and am on the fourth chapter, so I'm hoping that's a good sign that it'll ACTUALLY GET FINISHED. *crosses fingers*

Don't expect normal updates; musical is going on right now (yay The King and I!) so I'm crazy busy. If not by Thanksgiving, I'll hopefully finish by then.

I don't own the Avengers! :( If I did, Tony and Bruce would be making out the entire time.

P.S. Not going to say anything else in the other chapters. Author notes are fun to read, but I don't like doing them on mine.

Enjoy!]

Pain.

That was the first thing I noticed when I regained consciousness. Pain, beginning in my foot and ankle, surging its way up my leg. It spread from my pounding head through my body, random areas aching more than others.

What happened to me?

Slowly, so not to cause any sudden shock to my eyes, I slid open my eyelids, discovering I was in a hospital room. Taking in the sterile scent in the air, the beeping of the heart monitor next to me, and the bright white walls, I wondered whether I was at a normal hospital, or at one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s. Probably the latter, since Fury would want to oversee the recovery of one of his top spies.

Oh god, I wondered what kind of mood Fury would be in, seeing me hospitalized.

"Hey, you're up," a voice said to my right.

Tilting my head slowly—and only enough to be able to see him out of the corner of my eyes, because my neck was in serious pain—I saw that it was Clint next to me, leaned forward in his seat to watch me earnestly. His face looked exhausted, drawn tight with stress and concern.

I sincerely hoped he hadn't been here since the moment I got admitted.

"How long have I been out?" I croaked, my voice weak from disuse. Probably a long time, based solely on just that.

Clint wasn't the type to hesitate with me. Never had been. The majority of the time, we told each other exactly what we were thinking. He was the only person I would let past my protective shield, and I was the same for him. We only trusted each other, not even our other team members. So when he said, "You've been unconscious for two days," there wasn't even a falter in his voice. This was just a normal conversation, one that just happened to be occurring in a hospital while one of us had an IV drip in our arm.

Nodding—two days was less than I had guessed, but it still was quite a while—I noticed why my foot was so painful. It was wrapped in a cast, suspended above the rest of my body. What had I done to it?

Making a grunting noise, I shifted my weight—discovering that my neck hurt because of the awkward angle I had been sleeping in, and not because of an actual injury—I hoarsely inquired, "What happened, Clint? I don't remember anything."

He sighed, but launched into the story anyways. "Nat, remember how we were trying to find Ping Bai, the assassin?" I nodded, that part of my questions filled in. "Well, Fury sent all of the Avengers in to try and defeat him and his accomplices. When we got there, they were waiting for us, and began attacking. It wasn't that difficult to defeat them—the Hulk got most of them easily—but Ping Bai decided to set off a bomb. And… well, part of the roof fell on top of you before you could get out. According to Banner, it broke your leg and gave you a concussion as well as other bruises."

I nodded, my mind now refreshed of all its information. Wincing as the throbbing began again from suddenly moving my head, I leaned my head back into the pillow, wanting desperately for the pain to stop.

I had no idea why I felt so weak; it wasn't like I hadn't been injured before.

Sliding from his chair to stand to his feet, he softly told me, "You look like you need some sleep. I'll leave you alone." But, even as he said that, I could see that his eyes were saying the opposite, begging me to tell him to stay.

But, even though I wanted him to, wanted him to stay so desperately, I didn't want him to see me like this. He was used to me always being tough, with only rare, brief moments of despair. Not this, not so broken, with my body destroyed from a building. The thought of him staying made me feel sick, so I nodded my head, watching with tears in my eyes as he exited the room, hesitant for the first time that I've known him.

Deciding that maybe he was right—maybe sleep would regain my composure—I closed my eyes, preparing to fall back into darkness, into rest.

But not before a tear slipped out.