For the hundredth time that day, Natasha squeezed Clint's hand and spoke his name, hoping for some sort of coherent response. In the past five days since his seizure at the hospital he'd been mostly comatose, though his fever had finally gone down and they'd been able to move him home to The Tower. Tony had been flying in all kinds of specialists and equipment from the second the blood tests confirmed Jarvis' diagnosis of encephalitis, and while Natasha tried to remind herself how grateful she was for the billionaire's help, the endless debates about what state Clint's brain was in were wearing on her.
And she hadn't seen his eyes in five days.
His hand continued to lay limp in hers as she watched his face for any kind of sign that he was still with her. She had told Phil that they didn't compromise each other, but she felt pretty compromised at the moment. She was constantly distracted, could barely hold a conversation with anyone, couldn't sleep or eat. And it was getting to the point that anyone saying something like "it will be okay" or "we won't know anything until he wakes up" or "if you don't take care of yourself you'll be no good to Clint" made her physically ill.
The door suddenly opened and the Stark family spilled into the room, Felix jabbering away between his parents, clutching the string of a "Get well soon" balloon in his small fist.
Pepper saw her first and smiled gently. "How is he today?" she asked.
Before she could respond, Felix caught sight of her and his face lit up. "Nattie! Is Cwint all better?" he asked. "We got a balloon."
His exuberance was enough to bring something like a smile to her face. "He'll love it," she told him.
"We figured if this kid can't wake him up, nothing will," Tony said, rolling his eyes and looking at Felix with a small smile.
Natasha nodded, feeling too tired to respond with words.
"Oh, you know Dr. Eisen? The neurosurgeon from the UK?" Tony said.
Natasha didn't know. She hadn't cared to keep them all straight.
"He has some idea about node stimulation that he wants to try. He wants to talk with you and Phil about it. Bruce and I think it might be worth a shot. But see what you think."
She nodded again.
Pepper put a hand on Tony's arm. "Happy made some lemon grass tea downstairs," she told Natasha. "I left a cup in your room if you want a break."
Natasha attempted a smile and stood, glancing once more at Clint before moving past the family to the door. She walked down the hallway trying to decide if she was grateful to leave the room or not. She decided she was equal parts guilty and relieved and then decided not to let herself even think about it anymore. She stepped into the elevator and slumped against the wall, hoping she wouldn't run into anyone else before making it to her room.
Her wish was granted, and she collapsed on her bed, noting the cup of tea placed carefully on her nightstand. She picked it up and allowed the cup to warm her hands before taking a sip. Then, placing the cup back on the nightstand with a small click, she curled up on her bed and closed her eyes.
He felt like drowning was the only thing he'd ever known. Sounds, hurts, weariness, all washed over him in wave after numbing wave and he was unable to surface, unable to draw a clear breath. And there was an endless underlying terror that he was trapped in this inglorious in-between forever.
But … voices. At first they were part of the ongoing rumble that was far above him, indecipherable and intangible. Then they began to get clearer. For once he could distinguish actual voices, though he couldn't understand the words – there were people somewhere. He concentrated, though the pain made it difficult, wanting to tighten his grasp on the sounds before they could slip away from him like they had before. The voices began to grow louder and more distinct and he wanted to scream out to them, beg them to stay until he could get himself to the surface.
There was an ache somewhere in his body, and something was moving near him. And the smell of … he didn't know what it was called. He didn't know if he'd ever smelled it before. It was distinct. It was driving him insane, not knowing. But it brought him closer to the voices.
"... kidding?"
"No, honey, it's fine. I'll teach him how to use it!"
"Tony, he's three. He's barely three."
"He has excellent motor control for his age! And I didn't include the weapons, obviously. I don't understand what you're so worried about."
"Oh, so no weapons, but he'll be able to fly off – literally fly off – to who knows where?"
"Low-powered thrusters! How many times do I have to say it?"
The words piled up in his head and he couldn't understand what they meant all together. But they were clear, and that was improvement.
There was a sudden pressure against his side and accompanying pain. It made him aware of his own mass and other distinct pains began vying for his attention, and still, that smell.
"Felix! You're going to hurt him. Stay over on this side or you have to get down, remember?"
The pressure receded but the hurt remained. He tried to make some kind of motion or sound but couldn't seem to remember how to do either. He struggled, focusing on the pain as the only points of reference to the physical world he had at the moment, trying to orient himself, trying to understand what was happening.
"Tony? What's going on?"
"Didn't you hear that? His heart rate just jumped up."
"What does that mean? Do we need to – Felix, get off of him! Do I need to call the doctor or-"
"There, see? See that! Look right there at his brain activity."
"Is that good? That's good right? He's waking up?"
There was silence and he felt something … pressure, but not pain. Something … someone was holding tightly to his hand.
"Clint?" the higher voice asked. "Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, okay?"
He understood what the voice was asking of him, but he couldn't comply the way he wanted to. If he didn't let them know he was here, would he sink back down? He could feel the hand around his, could make sense of his own hand, but it didn't quite feel like it belonged to him.
"C'mon, you can do it. I know you're still in there," the other voice said.
There was movement on his other side, and sudden pain. He felt his hands tighten reflexively and a small gasp escaped his lips.
"Felix!"
"Clint!"
"Okay, get down, little man -"
"Clint, we're right here, squeeze again for me, okay? Felix, carefully!"
"I wanna see!" Another voice wailed, almost right in his ear.
And then he opened his eyes.
The light was dizzying and he dropped his eyelids again, but the brief glimpse he'd gotten was so refreshing despite the pain it caused in his head that he was willing to try again. And he had to see who was making all the noise. Had to see the voices that had brought him back.
He risked cracking them open again, ignoring for now the excited talking that was happening above him, and focused on the blur in front of him, the smell he'd first smelled growing stronger.
"Unca Cwint?" the blur said, as two brown eyes and an unruly head of reddish hair came into view. "You all better?" Peanut butter. It was peanut butter that he could smell.
He blinked a few times, but the images in front of him were swimming in and out of focus.
"Jarvis, get Natasha and Dr. Eisen up here. Phil, everybody."
"Yes, sir," an entirely new, strange voice said.
"His heart rate is still climbing, Tony. Felix, honey, let's get down." The blur in front of Clint disappeared, but not quietly.
"I wanna pway with Cwint!"
"Yeah, hey Clint, everything's okay." Someone else was hovering over him. "Take some deep breaths, buddy."
He realized the voice was talking to him and he tried to comply, sucking air in, but it was too much, too far, and the pain in his side intensified. He let the breath out, surprised, gasping, his eyes squeezed back shut.
"Easy, easy. You still have broken ribs." He felt a hand on his shoulder, pressing gently. "Where does it hurt the most? You want more meds?"
"Tony, maybe we should back off a little, his heart rate -"
The hand left his shoulder and he wanted to scream. Don't leave! But he couldn't make his mouth work. His eyes stuttered open again, and he took another breath, slower this time. He heard sudden noises farther away and suddenly there were more people in the room. His eyes were still having a difficult time focusing, and it didn't help when someone rushed over to shine lights into them and poke at him, and there were suddenly too many blurs to distinguish surrounding him and all of them were making noise and touching him, and he couldn't make sense of any of it anymore.
There was a sudden shout, and the noise died down. He realized his eyes were shut again, but the sudden silence scared him enough to open them again. If he was alone he might go back to that place that was so difficult to get out of.
"Clint." A new voice, a new hand touching his. There was only one blur remaining now, and he concentrated on focusing his eyes.
Her face was beautiful. But she looked so tired, so scared. And somehow happy. All of those things were in her eyes as she touched his face.
"Are you okay?"
He wanted to answer her, but it was all he could do to keep his breath moving in and out and his eyes open.
Her thumb wiped something wet off his cheek. "It's going to be fine."
Suddenly feeling calm, he allowed his eyes to slide shut, and he slipped off into a comforting darkness. And this time he was floating, not drowning.
Thank you so much for your reviews and follows and favorites! I was just thinking today how awesome of an experience I've had on this website. I have honestly never had anything but positive encounters with people so THANK YOU! It makes this so much fun. :)