Natasha had never been so relieved to get back to the helicarrier. Her latest mission had been short but brutal, and while she had long ago become accustomed to the feeling of blood on her hands, it was always hard when children were involved. She had already changed and scrubbed her face and hands, but she was looking forward to taking a long, hot bath and then sleeping for a day. As soon as she stepped off the quinjet, however, it was obvious that her plans were going to have to wait.
Clint was standing a few yards away, leaning against the wall of the hangar and staring at his feet. He looked up when she cleared her throat, and she was taken aback by his appearance. His eyes were haunted and his face pale, and there were traces of blood under his fingernails and in his hair. He was fidgeting nervously, something she had only ever seen him do after she woke up in the infirmary with new scars and new nightmares. But he had no reason to be worried about her, so it had to be something else.
"Tasha…." He hesitated, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Natasha had never seen him this distressed, at least not so openly so. He had the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, which refused to meet hers. "I wanted to call you but Fury wouldn't even tell me where you were. I get it, I do, but I was hoping to warn you before you got here and saw for yourself…." His voice trailed off and he stared into the distance. His lack of focus and rambling thoughts were so unlike him that her mind immediately began considering all possible scenarios that could illicit such a reaction. She didn't like any of them.
"Clint, what is it? Just tell me."
He sighed, and she was stunned by the weariness and grief he conveyed in that one sound. "It's Steve. Our mission went south and he barely made it out. He's been in and out of surgery and he's still not stable. And his legs…." His eyes finally met hers, and she wished they hadn't. "They took his legs, Tasha. How is he supposed to be Captain America without his legs?"
Natasha froze, staring blankly at her friend as her mind worked feverishly to process this information. Steve, who was barely holding himself together after losing everything and everyone he had ever known, had just lost this only connection to who he used to be. She wasn't deluded or optimistic enough to believe the super soldier would be able to continue fighting by their sides after this. Sure, with prosthetics and physical therapy he would be able to live a semi-normal life, but she knew that wouldn't be enough for him. He had told her once, in a rare moment of vulnerability brought on my exhaustion and worry, that being a part of the Avengers and SHIELD was the only thing keeping him going. She processed these thoughts in a moment, and then she said the only thing she could think of. "What happened?"
Clint's face crumpled, and she immediately regretted the question. "We were blowing up a weapons stockpile and Steve went back for a thumb drive that might have info on it that could help us bring down Hydra. A fucking thumb drive. He'd never even heard of a computer a year ago and now he might be dying for a fucking thumb drive that probably doesn't even have any useful information on it. I don't know why I even let him go back in the first place. There wasn't enough time, and I knew that, but he was so insistent and he said he could make it out in time and damn it I believed him."
Clint's voice was bordering on hysteria and Natasha wondered how long it had been since he had slept. She quickly led him out of the hangar and in the opposite direction of the infirmary. It killed her not to go and check on their teammate for herself, but she needed to deal with Clint first. He would never forgive her if she let him run around the helicarrier in such a vulnerable state. He obviously hadn't slept since before he and Cap had left for their disastrous mission, about forty-eight hours ago, and judging by some suspicious bruising on the side of Clint's face, he probably had a concussion. She was willing to bet he had been overlooked by the doctors in the chaos following Steve's arrival in medical.
It took a lot of cajoling, threatening, and – although she would deny it on pain of death – pleading (though not as much as she would have expected) to get Clint to lie down and go to sleep. He was still lucid enough to know he wanted to be in the infirmary waiting for updates, but Natasha promised to come wake him as soon as there was any news. She would wake him up in an hour regardless, of course, but only long enough to make sure he didn't fall into a coma.
She stopped by her own quarters only long enough to shower and change before hurrying to med bay, worry twisting her gut but face kept carefully impassive. She arrived in the hospital wing in record time, ignoring protocol by sneaking past security and strolling straight into the ICU. She found his room with little trouble – on a normal day there was little excitement in Intensive Care, so the flurry of activity surrounding Steve was impossible to miss. She slipped past the nurses easily – after all, it was her job to evade notice – and found herself standing by his bedside. Bloodstained bandages covered what skin she could see above his blanket. Wires seemed to come from everywhere, hooking him up to machines he had probably never seen before. And worst of all was the way the outlines of his legs ended halfway down his thighs, leaving only smooth white sheets where the rest of him should have been. It was almost – almost – enough to send her straight back in the opposite direction, but Clint was out of commission for a while and who knew where the hell Stark and Banner were and she'd be damned if she was going to leave Steve to face all this alone.
Although their relationship had gotten off to a bit of an awkward start – Steve's chivalry and old-fashioned, if respectful, views of women had rubbed her the wrong way and he had no idea how to handle himself around such a sensual, open woman – they had worked out their differences and had become quite comfortable working together. She may have been even more emotionally reserved than any man on their team, but she loved the Captain as a friend and a leader and seeing him like this was agony.
Two nurses suddenly entered the room, and Natasha melted back into the shadows behind her. She held completely still, and the women checked Steve's charts and vitals without even glancing in her direction. "The poor guy," one of them sighed, replacing his chart at the foot of his bed. "He's not even gonna make it through the night unless Dr. Banner comes up with something soon. If you ask me it's a lost cause and his friends should be here with him instead of off chasing some fantasy cure."
"Shut up, Lucy," the other hissed, glancing behind them out to the hallway. "That's Captain America you're talking about. If anyone heard you talking like that it would be like… treason, or something."
"Don't be so dramatic. He might have been Captain America before but now he's just Steve Rogers, some poor guy dying alone in a hospital surrounded by strangers. No one should have to die that way. Not when they have so many people who love them." The two left the room, their voices trailing behind them, and Natasha was left clenching her fists and grinding her teeth. Who was that flighty nurse to think the Avengers weren't there for their own? From the sound of it Banner was doing everything in his power to find a way to help, and she'd put money on the fact that Tony was right there with him. Clint had needed the rest and Thor was in Asgard, probably blissfully ignorant of the tragedy unfolding before her eyes. But she was here, and she wasn't going anywhere. Natasha sat in the hard plastic chair next to Steve's bed and, after only a moment of hesitation, took his hand.