Chapter 18.

Steve hated hospitals.

His childhood had been marred by hospital visits. He had every disease in the book, every syndrome, everything that could possibly stunt his growth. If not for his dad dying a hero, the first few years of his life would have bankrupted his mother.

And he hated lying still.

He toyed with the oxygen meter on his finger, the edge of the sheets, the hem of his gown.

"Please stop doing that," Natasha said, not looking up from her magazine.

"Give me my pants back and I might."

"You gave those up willingly."

"You had a knife."

Nat smiled. She sat by his bed, her legs crossed, a magazine in her lap. Her clothes were dusty, scuffed, her cheek red with a fresh, forming bruise.

Steve started changing channels, looking for anything to break up the monotony.

Nat clamped her hand over his, "Can you relax?"

"I hate waiting around. I need to be out there looking for Tony. He could be anywhere by now."

She looked at the clock, "We've been here for half an hour. Small radius."

Half an hour.

It had only been half an hour since Tony tried to skewer him.

Steve said, "You gonna let me out of your sight anytime soon?"

"I warned you."

"Is it too late to switch to Bruce?"

Nat grabbed the remote from his hand and chucked it at the wall, shattering it.

"That was uncalled for," Steve said.

She shrugged.

"I'm fine." He stretched his arm out, recoiling when his entire shoulder spasmed. "Except for that one specific movement."

"If I can still physically keep you in that bed, you're not fine."

"You wanna give it a shot?"

Nat looked over, cocking an eyebrow. "You really wanna fight me right now, Rogers?"

He laughed.

"You have five broken ribs, probably a fractured femur," Nat said, folding up her magazine. "A fractured collarbone, possible spinal damage – and that's just the preliminary stuff."

"I think it might be four broken ribs now. Felt something pop back in."

She grimaced.

"I'll be up in an hour," he said. "I'm tough."

Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I know you are."

He sensed a 'but' coming.

He had something lined up to counter it, a quip, a joke, but Nat disarmed him. Her eyes were wide, vibrant. He had known her for years, but he had never seen her so afraid.

"When I saw him on top of you…"

And he had never heard her voice break like that.

Steve fell short. "I'm not going anywhere. Still got a lot to do down here."

She looked away.

"I still believe in him, Nat."

She laughed. "Of course you do. You're the best of us."

"I wouldn't say that."

"That's why it's true."

"Do you trust me?"

Nat sighed. "Unfortunately."

"So, trust me."

"You make it sound so easy."

Nat stood up, putting her hand tenderly on his cheek, and kissed his forehead. He was unprepared for the intimacy. It was a sharp contrast to getting his face slammed into concrete pillars.

It made his heart race.

When she drew away, she hovered, trapping him in her gravity.

"I checked you in under a false name. Agent Hill sent guards to watch the perimeter and keep an eye out for Tony. Just stay here, please, Steve."

He lied.

"I will."

Nat turned to leave.

He said, "I know what I saw. Tony is still in there somewhere. We can save him."

She was already in the doorway, but she hesitated. He wished he knew what she was thinking.

She left.

Steve lay there, contemplating one of his teammates killing another. If he was right about Tony being under the influence of something else…

If she went out there and killed him, what would become of their team?

What would become of their friendship?

He tried to make himself stay. Lying down for once wasn't so bad. The doctor was in and out, showing him x-rays, explaining causes and complications. Steve assured him that he would be fine, that he was already feeling better.

An hour later, a thunderclap woke him.

Thor rushed into the room, eyes wild, "I leave the planet for a few days and mayhem ensues." He was in his usual attire – gold armor, hammer in hand.

Steve said, "It might be a record for shenanigans.

Thor looked him over, eyes grave, "Stark did this?"

If anyone was going to believe him, it would be Thor. Steve summed up the situation, emphasizing the gray smoke in his eyes. "It wasn't him. Something is… controlling him."

Thor sat on the foot of his bed, spinning his hammer around. "Gray smoke… gray smoke… gray smoke… I know not of a possession of this nature. I rarely paid attention when my father tried to teach me the mysteries of the universe. There is much I do not know."

Steve said, "But there could be something out there?"

"Oh, certainly. You can find all manner of strange things in the cosmos. I might know someone who has answers. I can take you to him."

"We need to go right now, then."

Steve tried to get up, realizing he was hooked up to a dozen machines when it was already too late. He fell on his face, sprawled out on the cold tiled floor.

Thor came over, yanking on wires, "Here, I will free you."

"You're going to break it. Let me do it," Steve objected.

"I have a delicate touch, fear not." Thor took one of the wires and pulled, yanking an electrical fixture out of the wall. "That was already loose."

Steve untangled himself, "Can you bring me my clothes?"

"Describe them."

"Shirt. Pants. Shoes. Shield."

"Your shield is here," Thor announced, setting it on the bed.

Steve stood up, swaying, testing the barely-healed wound on his leg. "I saw them put the bag in the… chair. Damnit Romanoff."

"Ahh, hijinks." Thor held up a finger, indicating Steve should wait.

He stepped into the hall, coming back with a beanpole nurse aid under his arm.

"We have a heroic emergency. Please take your clothes off so that my friend here can wear them."

The guy looked horrified.

"No, no." Steve joined them by the door, already (almost) back in his stride. He had taken a big hit, but nothing kept him down for very long. "What's your name?"

The guy seemed to realize who he was talking to.

His eyes widened and he stammered, "J-J-Josh."

"Okay, Josh, I have somewhere I need to be, and my clothes were misplaced. Can you help me?"

Josh looked at Thor, hesitated, and then said, "I can look for something in lost and found."

"Thank you. I really appreciate that."

Josh left.

Thor said, "My way would have been faster."

"I shouldn't have to tell you why that's not okay."

While they waited, Steve began to pace, keeping one hand on the back of his gown to make sure it was shut. He realized this was why Nat insisted he change when he was admitted. It was either strategic, or she did it because she thought it was funny.

Or both.

The nurse aid returned ten minutes later, handing a plastic bag to Steve. "There was nothing in lost and found that would fit you. Please don't tell anybody I took this. I could get fired."

"Where is it supposed to be?" Steve asked.

"Room 34, down the hall."

"I'll bring it back later."

Thor led the way to the roof, breaking the access door with his shoulder. "It is possible that Stark has just lost his mind."

"Yeah, it is," Steve said.

"Brace yourself," Thor warned.

A pillar of light consumed everything around them.

His last thought was of a piece of rebar hovering above his heart.

XxXxX

When she returned to the tower, the boys were milling around in the penthouse. It was midday and the sun was pouring through the broken windows, reflecting on the glass. Natasha lingered on them, imagining what she would have done if Rhodey had not been there to catch Steve.

He was the glue that kept them together, the moral center of their team.

And she only had two close friends.

"Any luck?" she asked.

Clint was lying on the couch, feet on the cushions, his bow across his stomach. "No luck finding Stark. I searched the tower – no more suits or giant death robots lying in wait."

"How is Steve?" Bruce asked.

She thought of his face, his worried eyes, his quiet promise, and responded, "Stubborn, impatient, irritating. He was already healing when I left. I give it an hour before he shows up here."

Bruce chuckled, and then became a little grim. "Pepper?"

"She has a bad concussion and a broken wrist, but thankfully the robot was just there to kill us. She was still unconscious. Happy is with her."

Clint said, "Tony might come back here. Do we have a plan for that?"

Bruce started pacing, his anxiety physically manifesting. "What if he goes to the hospital?"

"Steve is there under a false name, with a dozen agents on the lookout." Nat looked at the sky, the buildings, the bustling city. "We need to find Tony."

Rhodey was standing by the window. His stress was palpable. Nat knew what he was feeling. When the aliens were attacking New York, she had to deal with Clint, who was under the control of Loki. It hurt to see him that way, to watch him wreak havoc, to wonder what she would do if he never snapped out of it. Rhodey and Tony were as close as friends came.

Rhodey said, "If something is controlling him, we have to help him. Whatever this is, it's not his fault."

He said that with a pointed look at Nat.

Her first instinct was to snap at him, to point out that Tony had nearly killed them, that Steve almost died because he was pulling his punches. But even when he was away, Steve was influencing her. She took his warmth and spread it.

"I know you care about him," she said. "I do, too. But if we want to help him, we have to catch him, and holding back might get one of us killed."

Rhodey turned away, going back to his silent watch.

Natasha had put a lot of thought into what Tony would want in this situation. She sat in the hospital, watching over Steve, looking in on Pepper, and searched through everything she knew about Tony. He was a wildcard sometimes, but he wanted to do good in the world.

If he knew what was happening, he would want her to try and save him – and if there was no other choice, he would want her to kill him.

"I'm going up to the roof," Rhodey announced, stepping out into the open air.

Natasha took his place in the window.

It had suddenly gotten very cold out, despite the sun shining. A couple of weeks ago, in dark, dreary weather, she had reunited with Steve for the first time in almost a year. It was hard to imagine that things had changed so quickly.

She said, "We should relocate, find somewhere with less civilians in case Tony comes after us again. His suits could do some serious damage to the city."

Clint said, "There are a few planned neighborhoods being built upstate. I can get us there."

Natasha was quiet for a while, processing.

Bruce joined her in the window, stepping up to the edge to look down at the destruction their fight had wrought a couple of hours ago. Police, firefighters, and construction crews were assessing the situation. It seemed superficial now. Maybe the columns Steve broke with his face were aesthetic.

"Whatcha thinking?" Bruce asked.

She smiled at his tone. Curious, but not pushy. "I was thinking we better get going."

"I meant more along the lines of whether or not you were going to kill Tony."

"I'm going to do everything in my power to keep it from coming to that."

And there it was. Steve would be proud. It was too bad mushy stuff like that might get him killed in the end.

"You really care about Steve, huh?" Bruce asked.

She shrugged. "I owe him my life."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

Steve was… confusing.

She admired him, respected him, trusted him. He was upstanding and honest, a good man to the core. But she didn't have time to wonder if she loved him.

Natasha put her hand on Bruce's shoulder, "We're not having this talk. If you want to have a sleepover and whisper about boys, it's gonna have to wait until we deal with this crisis."

He smirked.

Nat tapped her ear. "Rhodey, we're moving to another location. Meet us at the quinjet."