A/N: I watched Iron Man 2 yesterday. This got into my brain. Three parts, should hopefully get the other two out this weekend. Hope you enjoy it. :)
Inching Closer
by Flaignhan
She feels like a naughty child, as she sits there, hands clasped in her lap, knees clamped together, muscles tense. They had been fooling around, comparing her brain activity to Clint's readouts from the previous week, when Bruce had frowned, pulling one of the monitors sharply towards him, and expanding the image. Tony had herded her into a chamber for a more comprehensive scan, giving her what she had assumed to be his attempt at a reassuring smile. It had been unnecessary, because she knows that whatever it is, whatever happens, they'll be able to figure out a way to fix it. They brought Coulson back from the dead, not that she'd ever agree to such drastic measures being taken with her. But all the same, if there's something wrong, she knows that they have the minds and the resources to right it.
Tony's muttering, but Bruce is shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him, his teeth pulling at the inside of his lower lip. He has his arms folded, his fingers drumming against his forearm as he thinks, and Natasha's stomach begins to churn. He's probably just worried because it's her, because he doesn't want to be the one to tell her she's going to need surgery, that she'll be laid up for a few months, and office-bound for a few months more after that. The silence is what's stressing her out the most however. She doesn't understand what they're looking at, or for, and so she's completely in the dark while they discuss things in low murmurs, swiping between images, expanding and contracting three-dimensional wireframes of her brain, casting each one aside when they have gained all the information that they possibly can from it.
Bruce shuts down the images, and they flicker and vanish, leaving the room looking rather dull and ordinary. Before he can open his mouth however, Tony has fired them up again, his jaw set as he inspects each wireframe again, his brown eyes glazed with concern.
Natasha's heart starts beating faster. If Tony's in denial, then it's probably time to start worrying. If it were something fairly easy to treat, even if it would take a long time to recover, he would break the news with a shrug of the shoulders and an offer of vodka. This is different though. He's worried, and he's only ever worried when there isn't a way out.
"Tony," Bruce says quietly.
Tony shakes his head. "Let's just take another look," he mutters. With a wave of his hands, one of the blue models of Natasha's brain expands, filling the entire room, and Tony strolls around it, his brow creased as he pauses, looking at a certain spot, deep within her temporal lobe.
"Tony," Bruce says again, even more softly this time. "Tony, we need to tell her."
Natasha's stomach lurches as Tony's shoulders sag, and he lets out a sigh, shutting down all the images with one frustrated sweep of his hand.
"Fine," he says sharply. "Fine." He strides over to the small metal cabinet in the corner of the lab, opens the doors, and, after a small amount of noise, turns around with a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a glass of something clear in the other. Natasha suspects that this is for her.
He crosses the room and presses the glass into her hand, then drops onto the chair next to her, swallowing down half of his whiskey in one go, before he looks up to Bruce, standing awkwardly in front of them.
"Tell me," she says, her voice weaker than she had intended. She clears her throat, and says, more firmly: "Just tell me, Bruce."
Bruce takes his glasses off and folds the arms in, holding them loosely in his hand as he paces slowly in front of Natasha and Tony, his expression telling Natasha everything she really needs to know.
"It's an aneurysm," he sighs. "You must have had it a while, it's uh…well, it's looking quite fragile."
An aneurysm. How normal. She will not die in combat, not on the battlefield during an alien invasion, nor will she be facing down an opponent with twice her mass, twice her strength, and twice her firepower. She'll probably collapse in a store, be rushed to the hospital, and lay there, a vegetable, until Fury finally gives the order for the plug to be pulled, knowing that the limbo will be worse torture than anything else she has ever endured.
"The position of it is incredibly hard to get at without causing irreversible damage," Bruce continues. "We're not advanced enough, not even the best robots with the smallest instruments could get in there to fix it."
Natasha nods and takes a sip of her vodka. Next to her, Tony is staring at the floor, his whiskey tumbler held loosely in his hands.
"Well maybe she doesn't need a temporal lobe," Tony says offhandedly. "Maybe we could - "
"Yeah, that's a great idea. She doesn't need to speak, doesn't any sensory recognition, doesn't need to store visual memories…" Bruce interrupts, one eyebrow raised, his arms folded across his chest as he looks down at Tony.
"Well when you put it like that," Tony mumbles, running a hand through his hair.
"How long?" Natasha asks, her voice surprising her with its steadiness. She doesn't feel calm about this, in fact her insides are swirling with panic. This isn't something she can defend herself against, she can't punch and kick and bite until it goes away, this is something fundamentally wrong with her.
"It's difficult to say," Bruce says with a grimace. "It might not even rupture at all, and if it does then there's still a chance that if we get to you in time that you might be able to survive and maybe recuperate…"
"We're gonna fix it before it ruptures," Tony says determinedly. "It's gonna rupture, it's a miracle that it hasn't already, but we're gonna find a way to fix it, and we're gonna fix it."
"Tony - "
"No," Tony argues, standing abruptly and dropping his glass onto the nearest workbench with a loud clunk. "When the palladium that was keeping me alive was slowly killing me, I created a new element. We can figure something out to fix her. We're two of the smartest people on the planet, our resources are limitless, there has to be something we can do." He paces anxiously around the lab, wringing his hands.
"Tony, that kind of technology is - "
"We can invent it," he snaps. "And if we can't, then what's the point of us? What's the point of you and me being in this lab if we can't even save her from a god damn aneurysm?"
"I'm not saying we won't try," Bruce stresses. "Of course we'll try. But the brain is so complex and - "
"Loser talk," Tony interrupts, shaking his head, before he turns back to Natasha. "I promise you," he says, lowering himself down onto his haunches so he can look her dead in the eye. He takes her hands in his, an uncommonly intimate gesture for both of them, but she doesn't pull away. Her heart slows a little at the contact, her breathing a little easier as he stares at her earnestly, his eyes wide and bright. "I will not stop until we find something to fix this. Bruce and I will figure something out, somehow, and you'll be good as new. I promise."
She wants to believe him, but when she glances over to Bruce, leaning against the work bench, his expression grim, she knows that Tony is searching for a miracle. His god complex is a little more of a problem than she initially thought, if he thinks he's capable of producing such things. But then she looks down, sees the ridge of the scar that signifies where his miniature arc reactor used to be, and decides that maybe, if it's a miracle she needs, she's probably in the best hands.
"Don't tell anybody," she says abruptly. The last thing she wants is to spend her last few weeks or months being prodded and poked by doctors, while all of her friends tip toe around her as though she's made of glass. She's not fragile. There's just one tiny piece of her that is, only a few millimetres, but that's more than enough.
"We're gonna have to tell Fury," Bruce sighs. He gives her an apologetic look and Natasha takes another sip of her vodka. "You're probably gonna get grounded for…well, for the foreseeable. We need you to be close by in case," he pauses, struggling for the right words. "In case we come up with a fix. We'll need to act quickly."
Tony nods in approval, but Bruce hasn't mastered blind optimism in quite the same way as Tony. She doesn't exactly need x-ray vision in order to be able to see straight through it.
"Don't tell Clint though," Natasha adds. "Or Steve…or anybody…" She trails off, then takes another sip of her vodka. She doesn't think she could face people if they knew, she wouldn't be able to handle their sad expressions, their attempts at comfort, or their words of condolence. She would be far more likely to take off without a moment's notice if that were to happen, and then if Tony and Bruce ever did manage to find a solution, she'd be miles and miles away, probably out of contact, and she'd end up dying alone in some remote place, far out of reach of her friends.
"Natasha, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Bruce tells her kindly. "There's nothing you could have done to prevent this."
"I know," she replies, the crack in her voice betraying the melting pot of emotions storming around her body.
"It doesn't make you weak," he continues. "It's just one of those awful, awful things."
She nods, then stands abruptly, Tony rising too. She sets her glass down next to his, before resting her hands on the edge of the workbench. She doesn't know what to do. Bruce is going to tell Fury as soon as she leaves this lab. He's obliged to. She can't be going on missions when she's a ticking bomb, ready to explode at any minute and potentially destroy the entire assignment. She's a liability. She's never been one of those before. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, focusing on getting her heart to settle into a steady, gentle rhythm. High blood pressure won't do her any good at all, will only inch her closer and closer to her premature death, and so she tries to stay calm, but it's nearly impossible when her world is collapsing around her and there's nothing she can do about it.
She flinches when a hand lands softly on her shoulder, and she turns around to find Bruce standing close to her, the lines of worry forming on his forehead.
"We'll do everything we can," he says. "I promise."
She nods, and part of her yearns for a hug, for a little bit of human contact that can give her reassurance that things might, they just might end up being okay. But she's the Black Widow and that's not her style, so Bruce remains at a respectful distance while she presses her lips together tightly, an uncomfortable lump building in her throat.
"We'll start right away," Tony adds, striding over to one of the monitors and bringing up all of her medical records with a few rapid gestures. "And we won't stop until we find a cure, okay?"
"Thanks," she manages to say. "I'll see you later," she adds, before ducking out of the lab and heading down the corridor without a backward glance.
"Wait, what's the date?" Tony's voice is faint as she walks quickly away, and she speeds up as much as she can without breaking into a run.
"November twenty-second," Bruce answers absentmindedly. "Why?"
Tony swears, but Natasha rounds the corner and breaks into a sprint. She needs to get out. Now.
