Warning: Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

Disclaimer: Yeah. I don't own Avengers.

-;-

She woke in the dark, surrounded by beeping machines and the slow dripping of IV lines. It took several long moments- too long, in her opinion- to orient herself, before shifting under the thin medical grade sheets that always itched in the wrong ways, assessing how badly she'd been injured this time.

Maybe a couple broken ribs if she was lucky, broken wrist, fractured wrist, likely a concussion since she was already feeling generous, and the usual array of bruises.

Of course, this was all normal for someone like the Black Widow, and it only took a handful of moments, coupled with deft fingers, to remove the IV and stand, wincing only slightly as her bruised and cramped limbs stretched out.

Natasha glanced over the room, noting immediately that apparently SHIELD didn't deem her someone of interest- no guard detail, this time. Luckily enough for her. Also lucky was the fact that there was a pair of loose lounge pants and t-shirt left over the back of an all too boring standard black chair. It meant she could get out of her less than comfortable state and into something that was more suitable to her tastes.

Stripping off the open back hospital gown, Natasha pulled on the clothing and shifted experimentally, pleased that they'd managed to figure out that she preferred lounging clothing over jeans and a tank top. The last morons to do that had met with unfortunate ends to their careers.

…Actually, now that she thought about it, they had been Stark's employees. Maybe the billionaire had had something to do with it. Highly unlikely, but possible.

"Well, you just don't stay down, do you?"

"Stark." She replied tonelessly. Speak of the devil and he shall appear...

"The one and only." The billionaire replied charmingly. "How do you feel? You were a bit of a wreck when SHIELD dumped you on my doorstep."

"I've been better." Natasha shrugged vaguely. "Where's Barton?"

The shift in Stark's mannerism was immediate. His shoulders hunched slightly, and his eyes flicked away from the redheaded assassin's own. The posture in it's entirely made her uneasy.

"Stark, where is Barton." She said again, firmer. Already, her mind was producing scenarios that ranged from likely to rare and back again. And none of them were good.

"Uh, about that…" Tony muttered quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Natasha, Clint…he didn't make it. You were the only one who made it out of that shitshow alive."

No.

Lie. It wasn't possible.

But looking at Stark and his reaction to the statement, she could tell that it was true. He wasn't lying. Clint was dead.

Clint.

Visibly, she was still composed, but inside her mind, everything was falling to pieces. Clint was dead. Gone. It just didn't seem real, as utterly ridiculous as it sounded. She'd always thought that other people who said it were morons, but now it was her saying it.

"You're lying." She said quietly. At her sides, her hands slowly clenched in an attempt to calm herself down, even if marginally. After several seconds, however, she felt her nails puncture skin, and knew that she was about to have an emotional breakdown. She knew that she had to get the hell out of here or risk causing a lot of damage to a lot of things, somewhere in the back of her mind. But at the moment, all logic was thrown out the window in favor of simply letting go of all of her control over her usual composure.

"I'm not. You should know by now I don't lie about this." Tony replied, just as softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There was nothing you could do." She replied coldly.

Ignoring the flinch that the tone brought on, Natasha straightened her back and moved past Tony and out into the hall of the Stark Tower medical centre. Instinctively, she followed familiar pathways down to the elevator and then further into the depths of the tower, hunting out the three training rooms that had been designed and built specially for the pair of assassins.

Also somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that the rest of the team would no doubt seek her out and offer their own condolences, if not to stop her from harming herself. After all, the Black Widow wasn't exactly known for self control once she managed to get worked up.

Lying. Had to be lying. It wasn't possible. Clint was stronger and smarter than that. He wouldn't have been killed in something that minor. They'd made it through so much worse than that with far less serious injury. He was fine. He was alive. There was nothing wrong her. All just a nightmare. She would wake up in another twenty minutes and he would be sitting there with that obnoxious fucking smirk on his face and mock her for her bedhead or some other such thing.

"Natasha!"

Great. Just great. She already knew whose footsteps those belonged to, and if there was one person that she wanted to see the least, it would be Captain America.

Ignoring the call, she punched in the override code to the door and slammed it closed behind her, punching in her own personal code that would lock the door from the inside. And considering that Stark had reinforced the doors, no one was going to be getting in unless she let them. And that was not going to be happening any time soon.

"Natasha, let me in!"

Like hell. She though to herself. She had no ties to the man. Hell, the only time that she'd ever even communicated with him had been during the whole Loki apocalypse. Since then, nothing. And she had no plans on re-kindling any communications with him now, of all times.

"Natasha, it's Steve."

"I know exactly who it is." She growled to herself, stalking over to the wall covered with weapons from all over the world. Eyes roaming over the massive collection, the redhead grabbed something that looked vaguely sword-like before turning on her heel and throwing it at the door. With a heavy thunk, it embedded itself in the thick metal and shook with the force of the vibrations before stilling, and silence fell from her irritating guest on the other side.

"Was that necessary?"

She was going to kill him. Slowly, and with great pleasure. Was the hint not subtle enough for him, or did she need to get a collection of throwing knives and stick them into his chest for him to get the goddamn message?

Snarling, she swung back around, looking for the cameras she knew were in the room somewhere. As soon as she found them, she grabbed the nearest weapon on the wall and threw it.

With a shower of sparks, the small electronic exploded.

She did this for the next five that she found before finally turning her sights on the simulation system. As soon as it powered up, she adjusted the settings to high difficulty and got to work, going after everything with savagery.

"You know, I didn't peg you for the one who would have the breakdown." Stark's voice said over the communications speakers.

"Stark, I will kill you."

"You think that you're the only one who happens to be suffering? You almost took Capsicle out with that sword thing."

"He was irritating." Natasha growled. "As are you."

"I try."

"Unless you want me to hunt you down and rip you to shreds, I suggest you shut the fuck up."

"Fine. We're all upstairs if you need anything."

"I won't." the redhead promised, lunging after her next target.

-;-

"Capsicle, we've got to talk." Tony said as soon as Steve stepped out of the elevator. "You do realize that you can't actually reason with a pissed off Widow? She'll kill you."

Steve leveled a deadpan stare at the billionaire before shrugging. "Someone has to make sure she's alright." He reasoned.

"Dude. She just lost her partner. And is in denial, by the looks of things. Do you really think that you'll be able to get her to calm the hell down just by following her around when she clearly doesn't want anything to do with anyone?" Tony frowned.

"I agree with Tony." Bruce agreed, looking up from his cutting board at the counter, where the man was currently preparing to cook some dish or another. "You have to give her a little space, Steve. She's probably not going to come out of the room for a while. Plus, she needs to work it out."

"I can't do that." Steve replied stubbornly.

"Okay Steve. You go near her, she'll kill you. You can go right ahead and take that damn risk. I don't care." Tony finally huffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation before moving over to his liquor cabinet. "I'll just be over here with my well known friend Whiskey."

Steve and Bruce looked over disapprovingly, but after a long moment Bruce just sighed and shook his head ever so slightly. Apparently, it would be more effort to try to stop him than to just let the billionaire do what he wanted. Steve, however, curled his lip and turned on his heel, headed back towards the elevator.

"Your funeral!" Tony called after him.

As soon as the doors closed behind him, the pair shared a look, Tony's shoulders slumping.

"God, still doesn't seem real." He muttered.

Bruce nodded in agreement, though he didn't look up from his pepper. "I'm just worried about what this means for the team." The scientist said softly. "Natasha might actually snap and do something that she'll regret."

"I know. Jarvis is keeping an eye on her for me." Tony assured. "He'll let us know if she leaves the building or tries to hurt herself. Also if she tries to destroy my cars."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not." The billionaire shrugged. "But still. We're going to have a lot of work ahead of us if we want to get Natasha back on her feet after this."