Pacing the open space of the living area, Natasha tightened her hold on her emotions and willed herself to remain calm. Three days earlier Clint had returned from a hunt nursing a wound to his side which he had told her had been caused by a fall. They had taken all the necessary precautions against infection, cleaning the wound and stitching it closed as best they could with their limited supplies. Since then though, it had become increasingly obvious to her that an infection had set in and now the wound was beyond her expertise to treat effectively. The temptation to call for help was growing stronger by the minute, particularly as she listened to the sound of his fevered mutterings on the other side of the door.
At first he had insisted that he was fine, moving around the cabin as if nothing was wrong, favouring his side only slightly, but then he had developed a fever and started to favour his side more, culminating in a collapse. For the last day and a half he had been too sick to get out of bed, battling fever, chills and bouts of delirium. Despite making a run into town on her own to collect medication and other supplies, she hadn't been able to regulate his temperature and, worried about sepsis, she knew that if she wanted to help him she would have to look to the outside world.
If absolutely necessary she would take him to hospital but they were technically AWOL from SHIELD and doctors would ask a lot of questions, so she would have to be a little more creative. There was one person that she could turn to but it wasn't without risk.
Moving out onto the porch, she shivered at the rush of cold winter air and dialled the number that had been written down and slipped in amongst her medical supplies when they left the SHIELD base three and a half months ago. It was fortunate that Clint had always kept the satellite phone out there since there was no cell reception and a normal phone line would have been out of the question. On the one prior occasion that they had used the number that she had just dialled, they had driven to a nearby town and made the call from a pay phone then travelled to a hotel two towns over for the meeting. She didn't want to leave him or move him unless it was absolutely necessary so she would use the satellite phone and rely on the discretion of the person she called.
"Hello?" The sound of that familiar voice was an instant balm, calling back memories of understanding and competency. Natasha could almost picture the woman at the other end of the line, hear the wheels turning in that formidable brain.
"It's me," she said softly. There was a silence at the other end of the line but she knew that her voice had been recognised. "I think we might need your help Doc ..."
It didn't take long for her to describe the situation to Carter and it took even less time for the medic to agree that she would meet her the following day. As luck would have it she was on leave and had been at home in New York when Natasha called. It would be easy for her to hop a flight and come out to them, not that she knew where they were exactly. Clint had made the decision to keep the doctor in the dark about the specifics of their location so that if she was asked she didn't have to lie. Neither of them wanted Carter to be compromised by her kindness toward them or the duty that she evidently felt toward them both as their medic. Instead, Natasha would meet Carter at a nearby airport and drive her out to the cabin so that she could treat Clint and then she would take her back and let her board a flight home.
The night passed quietly with the fire built up in the living room and Natasha remaining at Clint's side. It wasn't a quiet night for him, that much was obvious, the twitching of his limbs and the trembling of his muscles told her that though he slept it was anything but peaceful. Cooling his brow with damp towels and murmuring reassurances to him, she told herself that he was the strongest man she had ever known and that he would never leave her by choice. During his more lucid moments, he reached out to her, forcing his body upright from the mattress to rest his head against her shoulder. Natasha sat on the edge of the mattress, absorbing his body weight and running her hands through his sweat soaked hair. His skin was burning up, his breathing ragged in her ear.
She fed him spoonfuls of home-made broth and honeyed tea when he was awake and encouraged him to drink sips from the bottle of water she had kept at the bedside, eventually stretching out at his side so that she could snatch a couple of hours of rest for herself when the worst of his shivers subsided. She did not sleep though, she didn't dare take her eyes off him. At sunrise, when she was sure that he was sleeping soundly, she slipped her fingers from the grip of his own and resumed pacing the length of the cabin, chewing on her thumb and watching the clock. The passing of hours that led up to the doctor's arrival had been painfully slow and she was more concerned than ever about Clint's condition, her only comfort was in knowing that help was on the way.
"Tasha ..." his voice carried out into the open space, disrupting her thought process. She rushed into the bedroom, finding him awake but disoriented, his eyes filled with shadows that she could not banish for him. He looked lost, child-like. The need to protect him while he was so vulnerable was nearly overwhelming.
"I'm right here," she told him, urging him back against the pillows, running her fingers through his hair and taking his temperature with the touch of her hand against his skin. Too high. He didn't fight her as she coaxed him into drinking some water but he refused her offer of food, his eyes already heavy. Sweat glistened on his top lip, catching in the scruff that had grown in since he had last shaved. She'd never seen him with a beard, wasn't sure what she thought of it.
"Time is it?" he managed to ask, swallowing painfully around the words. She imagined that his throat was dry, that the fever must be slowly wringing every drop of moisture from his body.
"A little after eight," she replied. "I'm heading out to get us some supplies shortly but I'll be back as soon as I can."
Clint nodded, trying to stay awake. Peeling back the dressing that she had strapped over his wound the previous day, Natasha was dismayed to find that the evidence of infection was spreading, the surrounding tissue hot to the touch and inflamed to an ugly red. It was a good thing that she had called for Carter because his condition was now definitely beyond her skill to treat with any kind of finesse.
Under normal circumstances she would have considered stealing the antibiotics that he obviously needed from a nearby pharmacy or hospital but she really couldn't risk the exposure, plus she would be guessing as to which type he needed. His hand found hers and squeezed it as she redressed the wound with fresh gauze and taped it down gently, his breath a pained hiss. "Painful?" she asked, not really needing the confirmation.
He nodded, relaxing his grip on her hand. His eyes locked with hers. "It's bad isn't it?" he asked.
Natasha couldn't find the words that she needed to confirm his suspicions, but it wouldn't matter whether she lied to him or not. He knew that the pain and the fever were signs that the wound was infected and he knew what that could mean when they were so far away from their usual standard of medical care. "You've had worse," she told him, offering a slight smile of reassurance. "I called Carter, she's on her way," she admitted.
He didn't show any surprise , just closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. On impulse Natasha leaned forward and squeezed his hand so that he opened his lids again and lifted his weary eyes to hers. "You're going to be fine," she told him firmly, "you'll be back on your feet before you know it."
He didn't believe her, not completely, she knew without the words being spoken, but his fingers tightened around hers. Even though he remained silent, though he didn't utter a single word, his eyes said more than his words ever could. She saw his determination to fight mingled with the tiredness that was, even now, pulling his eyes closed.
"Rest up," she told him, pressing her hand to the side of his cheek "I'll be back before you know it."
She made it to the airport with time to spare and parked the truck so that she could meet the doctor from the flight. It wasn't difficult to pick her out as she wove her way through the crowd, a rucksack slung over one shoulder and a black leather doctor's bag in her hand. It surprised Natasha how pleased she was to see the woman, how much relief she drew just from the simple sight of her. "Thanks for coming Doc," she said as they reached each other.
Carter nodded and reached out, laying a hand against Natasha's arm, the closest thing to a hug that the two women had shared. "It's Emma," she said, "if we're breaking the rules we should probably know each other by name don't you think."
A moment of shared understanding flowed between them, an acknowledgement of all that had come before and passed between them in the months that they had known one another.
"Okay, tell me what we're dealing with on the drive," she instructed, turning her attention to the matter at hand. Natasha was pleased by the resolve that she saw in the medic's eyes as she explained what she knew about his condition. "Sounds like you did everything right," Carter remarked, "but I'll know more once I get a look at him."
The drive out to the cabin seemed longer on the way back, the two women exchanging conversation as Natasha navigated the winding roads that led to the cabin. She wasn't a talker, not really, but Emma kept the conversation flowing easily, chattering about what she had been doing during her leave and giving her snippets of information about some of their colleagues. It was a surprise when she pulled an opaque sleep mask from her bag and fastened it over her eyes so that she couldn't track their route, but they both knew that it was safest if she didn't know where they were headed. once they were closer to the cabin it wouldn't matter, all the rural roads looked the same.
"You can take it off," Natasha told him as they turned onto the forest access roads that would take them to Clint's property. "We're almost there."
Speeding through the trees, her thoughts turned to the man who was waiting for them within the cabin walls. It had been necessary to leave him behind but now that she was close to being back under the same roof as him, within minutes of being able to set eyes on him and know that he was okay, she felt that she could breathe again. The weight in her chest lessened with every metre of ground that she covered.
Carter was out of the car almost before it had stopped moving, bag in hand as she moved across the open ground toward the porch steps. Opening the way into the cabin, Natasha headed straight for the bedroom door, dropping the rucksack that she had carried inside on the couch as she passed. He was asleep where she had left him, propped up against the pillows, a slight frown possessing his features. His eyes flickered open as she crossed the room to his side, hand tightening around the handgun that he had apparently removed from the bedside cabinet. She didn't like the cough that rattled up from his chest as he set the gun down again carefully.
"Just me," she told him gently, "Doc's here to take a look at you."
Carter's appraisal of Clint's wound was swift and methodical as she pushed her way to the bed. Natasha stepped back to give her room but she didn't miss the expression that flickered through the woman's eyes when she removed the dressing. The infection was worse than it had been when she had changed it in the early hours, inflammation spreading quickly and leaving the surrounding tissues burning. Clint winced as Carter palpated his abdomen, biting deep into his lip in an attempt to swallow a cry of pain and Natasha reacted the only way she knew how when he was hurting, her hand finding his and absorbing his grip as he tried to catch his breath.
"Well you did the right thing calling me Natasha," Carter exclaimed, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. She listened intently for a second. "Okay," she breathed after a moment, keeping her eyes and her focus on her patient. Natasha knew that now she had seen Clint, he would be the sole focus of her attention until she had administered whatever treatment was necessary but she also knew that though she addressed the words to him, Emma was speaking to them both. "There's infection in the tissue surrounding the wound and we need to get that under control, it's worse than I had hoped but it's treatable. For starters I'm going to have to reopen the stitches and flush the wound out."
"Sounds bad," he groaned. "Guess I should be more careful when I fall on my arrows."
The attempt at humour would have been a lot more convincing if he could get the words out without writhing around the pain he was feeling. Turning her gaze to the medic at the other side of his body, Natasha braced herself for what was to come. No matter how bad it got she wasn't about to leave him now, medical procedure or not, she would stay at his side. "What do you need me to do?" she asked.
"I'll need boiled water and then could you get my black bag and some clean towels. I'm going to need you here to assist." Natasha moved to follow the instructions and heard Carter's voice speaking directly to Clint, her tone sure and steady as she helped him to lie flat on the mattress. When she returned to the bedroom she found the doctor looking down at him, her expression one of determined calm and absolute self-assurance. "Don't worry, I'm going to fix you," she told him.
Clint nodded and complied as Natasha helped Carter to lay a pad of towels under him. The padding made sense to her, it would be easier to change towels than to try to change the bedding when the procedure was over. Natasha brought in a small side table to arrange supplies on so that they would be within easy reach.
Both women retreated to pull on plastic aprons, tie back hair and scrub their hands. If the fact that she was about to operate in something far removed from infirmary conditions bothered the doctor, she didn't voice those concerns, instead she calmly explained to Natasha what they were about to do and how staying through it would both help to keep him calm and possibly help her with her phobia about doctors.
"You ready?" she asked, giving Clint a series of small injections to the affected area to help with the pain. He looked at Natasha, eyes silently reassuring her that he was going to be okay and then nodded. Carter paused with her suture scissors poised over the stitches that he had put into himself a couple of days earlier and met his gaze once again. "I won't lie, this could be uncomfortable," she told him.
Clint gritted his teeth and nodded slightly, acknowledging the words. "Do what you have to do Doc," he told her. He turned his head, searching, "Nat?"
She positioned herself on the mattress beside his right shoulder, laying a hand on his forehead and running her fingers through his damp hair. "Right here."
Carter laid her hand on his stomach, positioning the gauze that she had prepared and Clint jerked, discomfort evident. The doctor didn't flinch, her hand steady as a rock as she locked eyes firstly with Natasha and then with Clint himself. "I'll be as quick and as gentle as I can," she told him. "Buckle up Agent Barton this is going to sting a little."