Chapter 2: Fallaces Sunt Rerum Species
It's me again! I talked with the others, and we'll be posting every second Friday with everything up by spring break (all this is subject to change). I have a poll on my profile, so when everything's up, if I could ask you all to vote, that would be excellent! You can always leave reviews too. I can't promise that I can make it a reality, but I will try! Oh, and let me know if there's any errors. I don't have a beta.
Warning: Some Clintasha, but skipped over graphicness.
Natasha P.O.V (Just after battle)
Natasha hung back as Clint stepped forward to talk to Stark and leaned against the side of the jet. She was tired after the long fight and her leg hurt from when a lucky laser shot clipped it. When Stark insulted her and called her "Natashalie", she couldn't help but smirk a little and show Stark just what her handguns could do. She watched Stark take off impassively, and Cap slump over. Her eyes flicked from teammate to teammate. Thor was as energetic as usual, thinking of nothing but bloodlust and the thrill of victory. Banner was too preoccupied with salvaging his pants to take much notice of anything, much less how Stark hadn't said one word to him. Clint was satisfied and unruffled, and walked around counting up his arrows. She noiselessly stepped over pieces of debris to stand at his shoulder.
"You missed one."
He jumped and looked at her askance. "Where? I don't see any more."
"Up there." She flicked a finger and raised an eyebrow, but when he glanced up, completely missing the direction, she huffed a sigh.
Natasha jumped up high enough and pushed her foot off of the top of Clint's head, catching the bar of a lamplight. She swung around a couple of times to gain momentum, before letting go and carefully plucking the arrow from the shadow of a support beam. She landed in a sideways crouch next to Clint and held out the arrow. Clint raised an eyebrow and whistled.
"Damn, girl. That made me think that you did gymnastics instead of ballet." His eyes raked over her figure as she stood.
When she tensed imperceptibly, Clint's eyes softened and he looked at her with concern. She shook off old memories like a wet dog and forced a smile. She scoffed and punched his arm. He winced and shrugged it off, laughing. Bumping her shoulder with his, she offered a rare sincere smile. They walked back to the rest of the team. Thor had gone, presumably back to Asgard, Banner had rigged a system to hold up his pants, and Cap had regained some dignity.
"All right. Let's go up and regroup back at the Tower." Cap scratched his still-perfect hair, looking up at the jet and kicking it doubtfully.
"Hey! Be careful how you treat my baby. She's very sensitive. Literally. Her sensors could distinguish heat signatures under twenty feet of rock and part your hair a mile off with a missile." Clint looked offended and rubbed the side of the jet soothingly.
Natasha felt lightness contort her features into mild annoyance. "Technically, she's a he, and he's my baby." She brushed past Clint and jumped up on the ramp before taking her seat at the controls.
"Oh, yeah? What's his name?" He called after her mockingly.
She looked back at him seriously. "Barney."
Clint sobered up quickly and got into the copilot seat. Banner and Cap filed into the back. They had only been flying for a couple minutes, when Clint furrowed his forehead and squinted into the monitors.
"Is that Tony?" He asked, pointing out the red and gold blur racing towards the ground.
"Yep." Natasha pulled the controls around and pushed the ship for all he had; the only sign of strain was a slight indent between her eyebrows. "Get ready to rip Stark a new one, Cap. If he's drunk and crashing again, I swear I'll sneak into his lab and wreck all his toys."
When Stark's flight didn't straighten out, she was even more confused. When he hit the ground, her knuckles whitened on the controls.
"Damn it." Cap swore and punched the side of the container.
Banner was white-faced. "Get me down there. Now." The last word was slightly distorted, the Hulk coming through, and Natasha nodded, not wanting to see the Hulk in a flying metal bird.
"Doom's there too." Clint said impassively.
They were so close now. Natasha landed with a bump, not caring about normal procedures, and flipped the hatch. Banner was the first to bustle out, followed closely by herself. Stark was lying in a crater with half his suit missing and blood starting to pool. Doom was just slipping away, and was putting something inside a pocket. She caught a glimpse of it just before a shield slammed into the villain, sending him backwards before returning to the arm that threw it. Doom recovered, only to be met with a good old-fashioned right hook from Natasha, who had run at him regardless. The metal mask actually cracked. Doom stumbled backwards, cradling his jaw, and glared at her, before turning tail and running away. He didn't get very far because an arrow slammed into the small of his back and then exploded, sending the villain sky-high. Natasha turned back to Stark to see Banner furiously checking wounds and vitals.
"How is he, Doc?" Cap asked worriedly, clenching his hand in a nervous tic.
"Not good. Broken ribs and arm, bruises, probable concussion, internal damage, maybe bleeding, abrasions, lacerations. I'm worried about splinters of bone digging into surrounding muscle and tissue. But thank God the arc's fine." Banner sat back on his heels as he stared into the face of his best friend. "We need to get him to a hospital."
"Ne-ega-ative." A broken piece of the iron man mask said brokenly. "A-aveng-gers t-towe-er has t-t-the bes-s-st heal-l-lthcar-re sy-y-y-ystem i-i-in the c-c-c-city."
"We have a hospital?" Clint asked almost bemusedly.
"You would know if you ever got hurt on missions." Natasha informed him stonily.
"Of all the times to have Thor not here." Cap looked frustrated and distraught, emotions Natasha had no experience or patience with.
"I ha-ave t-taken-n the-e lib-berty-y to sen-n-n-nd a suit-t-t to y-y-your loca-a-ation-n. It w-w-will be th-h-here shor-r-rtly." Jarvis chimed in again.
Cap put a hand over his eyes to shade them and help him see better. Lo and behold, the faint sound of boosters could be audible. Not that Natasha could see the suit anyway. Her eyes hadn't wavered from the fallen form of her friend. It was strange to see the normally vibrant, cocky, arrogant, generous, pain-in-the-ass brought so low. She stared at him, feeling for the emotions she should be feeling: anger, worry, grief. But she felt strangely void and calm, almost scientific, even. She almost jumped when she felt the familiar weight of a hand on her shoulder.
"He'll be alright. He's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. He won't take no for an answer, even if he has to fight tooth and nail to get back." Clint tried to reassure her.
Natasha slowly shook her head. "He's already fought so much."
"Haven't we all?"
The suit came, piloted by Jarvis, and assembled around the lax form of its creator. Banner went with it and left Natasha, Clint, and Cap to get a ride. She piloted them into the Tower, barely conscious of her actions because her mind was with her friend. Then, the rest of the team gathered in the hospital room, a white, forbidding affair that was too stark for Stark, while Natasha leaned in the doorway, with Clint as a comforting presence at her shoulder. Stark looked pale and drawn, strangely shrunken with the strain of healing and the weight of concern. The arc reactor was shining pale blue through the white sheet. Dark crescents hanging under his eyes, and a minute trembling in his hands denoted a severe lack of sleep. His injuries were wrapped up and treated. A thin IV snaked out from under the sheet. Assorted machines formed a half-circle around the bed. Banner was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing an unbuttoned shirt, and rubbing his forehead.
"Where's Cap?" Clint asked.
"He went to the gym. Probably beating up a dozen punching bags by now."
"What's the situation?" Natasha cut in, in no mood for dancing around the subject.
"There's an odd puncture wound at his elbow, almost like he was stabbed, but there was no shards of the suit near it, and there was nothing that could have made it." Banner gestured with his hands sharply to underscore his frustration.
Natasha exhaled sharply in recognition. "Could a hypodermic needle make it?"
Banner stood still for a moment, then bustled around to the other side of the bed and carefully lifted Stark's arm. He whipped a foldable ruler from a pocket and measured it, muttering the numbers under his breath.
"It's about the right circumference, right depth, right spot, but I already tested his blood, and there's nothing in there."
"I saw a needle on Doom when he was running. Maybe it's an organic poison or one that dilutes in blood. If we can get Doom and that needle, then we can inverse the formula for an antidote." Natasha's mind leaped ahead, calculating the odds of catching Doom and the odds of being able to make an antidote anyway.
"It's worth looking into anyway. Maybe I can -." Banner was interrupted when Stark flipped onto his side and started vomiting up a black fluid.
He rushed to hold Stark's head, while Natasha and Clint worked to keep the legs and torso down.
"He's burning up and his vitals are all over the place." Banner shouted, doing anything and everything he could to keep his friend stable.
As Natasha watched, fascinated, black lines started to raise and spread out on Stark's elbow. They moved slowly, but fast enough so that she could make out progress. Whatever Banner did, it must have worked, because Stark settled back with a shuddering sigh. The lines also disappeared, as did the fever.
"I've never seen symptoms dissipate that quickly. I'd better -." Banner said feverishly as he started to scribble furiously in a notebook.
Natasha didn't listen to more, as she was already halfway down the hallway. She didn't want to see Stark, didn't want to put a name to the emotions that were rattling their box and spilling out of her tight grip.
"Nat?" She hadn't noticed Clint coming.
He had an uncharacteristically soft and sincere expression on his face. He leaned against the wall next to her. His warmth seeped into her coldness, so she leaned forward, just a little.
"Thanks."
"What do you need?" She needed not to feel, to put everything out of her mind.
"You."
He nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed intently on her. She headed towards her room, desperate to lose herself and outrun her storm inside.
Some time later
"This is just like Budapest, all over again." She whispered.
"You and I remember Budapest very differently." Clint chuckled drily.
"They trained us to be cold, to never care, to shoot friends if needed, to never form attachments. They warned me what would happen. It was hard at first, but I took this to heart, made it my one code when I had none. I found that it was easier to mask my true self under layers and layers of false identities, so that nothing could get to me and I could get to everyone. It's not a good way to live, but it's sure as hell a good way not to die. But there's a difference between not dying and living. And I'm so tired. I don't want to just not die anymore. I want to live." She closed her eyes as memories of old demons flashed past.
"You can live here." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she leaned into it, a foreign warmth lighting her chest. "I think that's why you're so upset about Stark. He's created a place for us misfits where we won't be judged and where we can do what we want to do."
"What do we want to do?" She couldn't help asking.
"I dunno. Maybe I'll take up beekeeping and you can go back to ballet. You certainly have the flexibility for it." Clint grinned as she swatted the arm that was wrapped around her waist.
She settled back into his arms, and couldn't help a smile that stole over her lips at the comfort and peace she found within the protective circle of Clint's arms.
And that's a wrap! Sorry if Nat's too OOC. She's really hard to write properly. I know this is really slow, it'll pick up in a couple chapters. Stay tuned 'til next time!