/Hey everyone! Warnings throughout the fic for medical things some people may find upsetting; including lifesaving procedures etc. Please be careful but otherwise enjoy!/
Natasha had started to feel ill a few days ago.
To begin with, it had felt like the flu. Slight fever, sore throat, muscle aches. Nothing too worrying.
She'd gone about her usual routine at the tower; wake early, exercise, teach classes at the academy, come home, eat dinner, hang out with the others.
A few days into the illness, she'd had to cancel her classes and stay at the tower.
She was still sure it was the flu, but her chest was tighter by the hour, so exercising was out of the question.
The others all had their own lives and jobs, but Tony and Bruce would often leave the labs to come check on her. Bruce would make her tea and soup, Tony would make her laugh.
Then it had advanced into what Natasha presumed to be a stomach bug.
She holed up in her en-suite and puked her guts up for a few hours straight before finally being able to stand, brush her teeth, and collapse on the bed.
When she woke, she was drenched with sweat and Clint's arm was thrown over her waist.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she stood and slowly walked out her room and down to the kitchen.
It was past ten am, and the fact Clint was sleeping in told her it was Saturday.
She flicked the kettle on and leaned against the counter as she waited for it to boil.
She absently rubbed at her sternum, wincing at the pain that crept down her ribs and up her throat.
She coughed a couple times as she filled her mug, setting the kettle down.
A sleepy Clint appeared at the doorway, making a beeline for the coffee machine.
Natasha held her mug of cooling tea for the next five minutes, but didn't take a sip.
Tony looked up from the table, eyebrow raising. "You gonna stand there all day?"
Natasha blinked and shook her head.
Bruce, at his other side, frowned. "Natasha, are you still feeling ill?"
She didn't answer and Clint touched her back, eyes widening a little. "Christ, Tasha, you're burning-"
Her chest had been feeling tighter and tighter since the moment she woke up, but now it was reaching danger levels, not just 'I have a cold'.
"I-" the woman choked out, her eyes widening with panic as her back hit the kitchen side and her mug slid from her grip.
Clint grabbed her shoulders and quickly turned, shoving her into the first seat he could find.
"Tash?'' He bent, cupping her cheek.
"I...can't-" a rasping inhale sounded from her chest and her hand came up to touch her throat.
"Breathe-" she gasped.
Bruce was up in another second, pushing Clint's hand away so he could hold her head up, his other hand pressed to the inside of her wrist.
"Natasha, try to talk to me, what is it?"
"M...my chest. Can't...breathe-" her shoulders heaved with each frantic, rattling breath.
Her face drained of colour, lips tinged blue. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought for air.
Each breath sounded wet and gurgled and as Bruce carefully hit her back, Natasha coughed and retched violently.
Blood splattered over her lips and down Bruce's shirt.
Then her eyes were rolling back into her head and she went slack, tipping forward on the chair.
Bruce caught her. "The lab. Now." Clint reached for her, sliding the woman into his arms as Bruce rushed ahead to prep the lab with Tony.
Once there, Clint laid her down on the hospital bed, face streaked with blood.
"What's happening? What the hell is wrong with her?"
"I don't know." Bruce shook his head, placing his stethoscope in his ears, sliding the metal up the front of her shirt.
A couple of moments later, he was rushing to the equipment. "Her lungs are full of blood."
He quickly shoved gloves on, gathering the stuff he needed.
Just as he moved towards Natasha, she stilled and her chest fell. And stopped.
"Nat-" Clint choked.
"Tony, the intubation kit. Now." Bruce cut through the material of her shirt and pulled the sides away from her skin.
With no real warning, he stabbed a needle through Natasha's skin and through her ribs, pulling the plunger. The tube filled with red and brown liquid.
Bruce emptied the tube and did it again, this time it came out half full.
In mere moments, he had a thinner tube sliding into her body.
The tube connected to a container and soon the liquid trickled through.
One problem addressed, Bruce got her hooked up to a monitor, but still felt her neck for a pulse.
He felt a flutter under his fingertips, a flutter that told him if he didn't sort out her breathing in the next twenty seconds, she would arrest.
Tony handed Bruce the kit and Bruce pulled her jaw open, expertly winding the intubation tube down her throat.
In seconds, he had the tube connected to the ventilator, and her chest rose with a soft hiss.
The monitor told him that her heart rate was picking up, thready, but stable.
With Natasha out of immediate danger, they were onto the next problem.
What the hell was wrong with her?