This chapter contains a trigger warning for suicide.

You see the ER in a different light once you've treated someone you know. At least, that's what Steve thinks; he never felt like he was fast enough, there's always something he could have done differently when he plays it back in his mind. Being on call for the last fifteen hours hasn't helped much.

In the ER today, no-one can quite meet anyone else's eye. There's awkwardness in the air, a feeling of regret. Everyone is being extra cautious, taking a little more time out of their day to talk to their patients and check they're alright. None of the doctors or nurses wants to miss anything like that again.

Steve was sitting at the desk, filling in paperwork, when he spotted Natasha walking through the ambulance doors, with a blank expression on her face. He rubbed at his eyes, and wondered why he was about to do this, before getting up and cautiously following her into the trauma room.

"Why does he have to live six stories up?" Natasha grumbled to herself as she dragged her bag up another flight of stairs. "What sick joy does he get from living in an apartment building with no elevator?"

Hauling her bag onto her shoulder, she finally made it up the last stretch of staircase, and walked down the hallway to his apartment. Turning the key is his lock ("My key," she thought with a smile), Natasha pushed open the door and walked in.

"Bruce? You up? It's only me," she called, dumping her bag and fishing out a few bottles, opening the fridge as she passed it. "I bought your juice."

The apartment seemed a little quiet, even for two-fifteen in the morning. Her yelling should have woken him, and if that hadn't, the slam of the fridge door would definitely do the trick. She bit her lip as she knocked gently on the bedroom door.

"Are you ok?"

"Nat? Nat, I'm…I'm…"

She threw the door open as she heard him slurring. Kneeling down next to the bed where Bruce was lying, she turned him on his side.

"Bruce? Are you ok?"

"I'm sorry Nat," Bruce whispered. He was barely conscious. Natasha had gone into automatic mode, scanning him and the bedroom for what had caused this. Her eyes fell on the pills and the whisky bottle on the bedside table.

"Shit! Bruce, look at me, how much did you take?"

"Enough," Bruce mumbled, closing his eyes. Natasha shook him, but he'd already passed out. She shifted him into the recovery position and ran into the lounge to call 911.

Natasha was standing in Trauma One, staring blankly at the gurney, when Steve walked in.

"Doctor Romanoff?" Steve moved round in front of her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she answered sharply. "What are you doing?"

"I came to see if you were alright." Steve looked even more nervous now; Natasha was glaring at him.

"I'm not. I have good reason not to be."

"I know, I just…I just want you to know, if you want to talk to anyone, I'm here," Steve said, and moved forward to take one of her hands, which were hanging by her side.

She promptly slapped him with it, and marched out of the side door.

"Not cool, bro," Clint called, as he and Tony came rushing in with a kid on a gurney. Steve leapt out of the way, and flinched when he saw the state of the thirteen year old.

"How long has he been down for?" Tony asked the paramedics who were passing saline drips to the nurses.

"Twenty five minutes. We tried to get him stabilised on the scene, but eventually we had to load him up, he needed help here. His parents are a few minutes behind."

"What have we got?" Maria Hill, formidable Chief of Emergency Services at County Shield, stormed in.

"Marcus Fielding, thirteen year old boy, got hit by a truck when he was out on his bike. Head injuries, possible internal bleeding. He's been down for twenty five minutes, and I've paged Fury down to take a look," Tony yelled across the commotion on the gurney.

"Twenty five minutes? Doctor Stark, with all due respect, even if you do get this boy breathing, which is an outside chance, he's not going to have any quality of life. As good as he is, Fury can't perform miracles."

"We have to try!" Tony was already intubating.

"I'm sorry, Tony, I'm calling it. Time of death, 11:52," Maria said sombrely.

Everyone took a step back. For a few seconds, the only noise in the room was the beep of the monitor as it flatlined, and the Clint reached up to switch it off. Tony glared at Maria, before stalking out of the room.

"Sorry Nick, you're not needed," he spat out, brushing past the surgeon.

Walking out into the hallway, Tony saw who must be the parents of the boy. Snapping his gloves off and dumping his gown, he approached them carefully.

"Mr and Mrs Fielding?"

"Where is Marcus? Is he going to be alright?" The boy's mother looked frantic.

"Marcus came in here after he was hit by a truck. We used all our capabilities, but unfortunately his injuries were too severe, and he died. I'm very sorry."

She screamed, and her husband buried his head in her hands. All Tony had to offer were a few small pieces of advice, before walking off and kicking a trashcan.

"I didn't even get a chance," he muttered.

Natasha was curled up in a chair, her eyes closed, just listening to the noises around her. She was trying so hard not to think about what happened yesterday, but images kept swimming up in her mind. The bottles on the table, the inside of the ambulance, the trauma room when everyone came running back in to try and save him. How could she not have noticed that something was wrong? She tried to hold back a sob, but it was pointless.

"Don't cry Nat." A voice whispered too her from the bed next to her. Her eyes flew open, watching as Bruce's eyes fluttered open.

A/N: You didn't think we'd really kill Bruce off, did you?