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quietlyimplode · 1 year

Text

leave everything but your bones behind

Whumptober 2022: day 30 - note to self: don’t get kidnapped

Warnings: none I can think of, maybe just serious talk.

Word Count: 1.7k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha becomes unwell and only the Red Room can fix her. The choice is die or go back to the very place that made her.

A/N: One to go. My loves, my friends, thank you for supporting this fic.

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———

He’s worried about his friends.

They’ve been missing for over two days, and even though he knows where they are, it feels like the tower is empty.

Steve wanders in and they talk about everything and nothing, avoiding the elephant in the room.

Bruce doesn’t say anything, just appears sometimes, to show Tony something or to use something in his lab.

He wants to see Natasha, know that she’s okay. Clint messages him every now and then, and sometimes he sends back a meme or picture and it’s easy communication.

It doesn’t stop the worry.

Their cat stays with him his his workshop, and he doesn’t hate the random company it keeps.

“Hello cat,” he greets, stretching and walking into the workshop. The cat stretches and eyeballs him, as he skirts around her, not wanting to disturb her.

“I think you need to go home,” he tells her, “be with your people.”

The cat licks it’s paw, then ducks it’s head as Tony gets nearer, sits next to her and sighs.

She stands and stalks over to him, sitting on him much to his delight and displeasure. He can’t move now, even if he wanted to.

“Jarvis, where’s Natasha?”

The AI takes a moment.

“They’re in Clint’s loft,” comes the comforting voice of his robot.

He sighs and absentmindedly pats the cat.

“Where’s the other girl ninja assassin?” he asks, wondering if it’s something Natasha wants to know.

“She was last tagged in Florida,” he’s told.

“Bruce?”

“Asleep.”

For once.

“Steve?”

“In the kitchen.”

The cat starts to purr lightly, the vibration oddly soothing as Tony relaxes.

Everything that’s happened over the last month, is his fault. All their pain, this journey into the abyss, rests heavily on his shoulders.

He stares at everything in his workshop, all of this and money and still…

He blames the Red Room, too, but, they’d trusted him to help; and he couldn’t.

He feels so guilty.

He keeps thinking about how he could have done it differently, if he knew then what he knows now.

He can’t take it back.

He wants to apologise to her but he doesn’t have the courage.

Sharp claws press into his thigh, and it takes his mined off his thoughts as he looks down. Green eyes look back to him as she kneads her front paws into his skin.

“Ow,” he complains.

But he doesn’t move her; he focuses on her, burying his fingers into her soft fur.

“Are you coming to get your cat?” Tony opens, as Clint laughs in response,

“Don’t act like you don’t love her.”

There’s a pause.

“Bruce told on you,” he finishes.

“Traitor,” Tony mutters, “Are you coming home.. Back?”

The silence is telling.

“No,” Clint says clearly.

“So this is goodbye?”

It hurts more than Tony cares to admit.

“For now.”

Even though he knew it was coming, he wonders if it would hurt less if they spent the last couple of days here.

If he could care for them, help them with anything they need. He knew they’d leave.

It’s what they do. They come and go like ships in the night.

Ever since he’s known them.

It was only a matter of time before they left again.

“Put Nat on?”

He almost feels Clint nod as the phone has static and then…

“Hey Tony.”

Hearing her speak, makes his breath catch in his throat.

“How are you?”

He can’t stop the question passing his lips.

The silence on the other end makes Tony cringe, it’s the wrong question.

“I’m doing okay,” she says finally. He’s not sure if she’s lying.

“Really?”

There’s a little pause before she speaks again.

“Yeah, getting there, you know? Note to self, don’t get kidnapped when you’re a child, it will lead to trauma later on.”

He sees where she’s going, opting for some levity, but he can’t quite take it.

“But … I don’t want that for you,” his words are forlorn, thinking of the conversation he’d had with Steve around childhood memories.

“It’s okay, Tony.”

“Will I see you again? Soon?”

He’d love to see what she’s doing right now, that this was a video call, because it takes her a second too long to answer. It’s been a week since he saw her last and it feels like too long,

“I’ve got to come get the cat at some point, right? Maria usually has her, but from what I hear, you’ve been getting along like a house on fire.”

Tony looks around for the black cat, unable to see her.

“I suppose,” he grumbles.

“You’ll keep her company for a couple of weeks?”

He hopes that’s all it is, he doesn’t want to tell her he’s already ordered food and scratching post and a few other things to make the cat more comfortable.

“I suppose,” he repeats.

“Where are you going?”

He’ll track them anyway, but he wants her to know he’s interested.

“Barbados,” she tells him. “The beach.”

Tony smiles, he remembers Clint being excited about the trip, which felt like so long ago.

“I’m glad you’re going,” he admits.

“Me too.”

Natasha takes an audible breath.

“Thank you, for everything,” she says softly into the phone. He hates that it sounds like goodbye.

“Always Nat. Need me to do anything whilst you’re away?”

Clint takes the phone back, as he answers.

“Nah, we’re good, but maybe don’t make the cat fat?”

Tony’s already looked into where they mentioned they’re staying; the hotel and plane. He updates the booking and changes the flights to first class.

“Okay,” he says absentmindedly.

“You’ll take care of each other?”

Clint answers straight away, sending a text at the same time.

“Of course,” he says.

Thanks; the text reads.

He’s the bearer of bad news at breakfast as he eats with both Steve and Bruce.

“They’ve gone,” he reveals, digging into the eggs that Steve had scrambled.

Bruce sips his coffee, nodding like he knew it was coming.

Steve’s back is turned, so he can’t get a read on his face. His hunched shoulders look disappointed though.

“What do we do now?” he asks, turning to face Tony, his face disappointed and serious.

Shrugging, Tony feels at a loss as well. Everything has been secondary to getting Natasha well, or safe, that going back to normal seems wrong somehow.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.

“I don’t know.”

A week earlier.

Clint revels in the heat of the shower. Finally, things feel more stable, the routine of life almost back to pre-sickness levels, and yes, the trauma of life still weighs heavily on him, and yes, everything they do is reactionary to Natasha’s stressors and triggers, but it almost feels manageable.

It’s not like before when they had to contend with shield and reprogramming and setting up Natasha with a whole new identity.

It’s now that she needs to reset, find out who she is again, given everything that life has thrown at her.

He hopes his thoughts aren’t wrong.

It hurts to see her in pain, or dissociative at times, and he’d do anything to take it away from her, but it does feel promising the progress she’s made in the last week with the help of the therapist, and consistency of routine.

Stabilising, is perhaps the word he’s looking for.

Some hours are worse than others, but some are better.

Natasha is nothing, if not resilient. She takes what life throws at her and she takes it all in, deals with it and puts on a brave face to the world, even if inside she’s dying.

He hopes that’s not how she feels.

He turns off the water and steps out, drying and dressing himself monotonously.

Hoping to find her in the place he left her, Clint walks into the bedroom, finding her asleep, somewhat peacefully on the bed.

It’s something.

Sleep isn’t easy, just as the therapist had said.

Nightmares plague her brain in disjointed images. She shoots Jace, pushes Clint off the bridge, tasers Tony in the face.

Each time, she wakes up sweating.

She eyes the sleeping tablets, and takes it as prescribed, feeling guilt at the failure.

No, she tells herself, that’s wrong; medication is not a failure.

She’s been getting better at the self talk, the recalibration of self and soul, but old habits die hard.

Clint’s shower seems long as the tablets take hold.

She wanted to tell him that she’s ready.

For the sea.

For the change in scenery.

He had asked in therapy a week ago, if she still wanted to go to Barbados.

She barely remembered the trip that they had planned with what felt like a lifetime ago.

She’d not known what to say.

Change and moving from their safe little corner of the world was not something she could even entertain. She barely left the house, sometimes only going to the tower if he made her, or the therapist challenged it.

Nothing felt safe anymore.

Sometimes not even in her own body.

He’d not mentioned it again.

But sometimes it was all she could think of.

The thought, once implanted, was sometimes true only good thing to think.

Blue skies.

Blue seas.

Somewhere that she could forget all of this had happened.

Escape.

Natasha lets sleep claim her.

No dreams, she tells her brain, please no dreams.

Clint wakes her, the daylight breaking through the window. There’s sweat on her brow, despite the cool of the room.

There’s still moments of panic as she transitions from sleep, but it’s not met with a knife to his face as he talks her down, or a wild punch that comes at his nose.

Nowadays it’s just a frown as recognition dawns, and then a nod, as she takes herself to the bathroom.

Today though, Natasha watches him.

He wishes he knew what she was thinking.

“Bad dreams?” he asks, hoping it’s not the wrong thing to say.

“Something like that,” she replies, voice quite on the air.

“Do you still want to go?” she asks cryptically.

He cocks his head in confusion.

“Go where?”

Natasha reaches over for his hand.

“Barbados. Do you still want to go?”

Emotions swirl in his being.

He’d forgotten what hope felt like.