The Budapest Objective

Seventeen

The jet landed on the Helicarrier four hours later. Natasha filled out reports, taking her time, afraid to find out if Clint was still alive or not. Not knowing was torture, but knowing that he was actually dead... she wasn't sure if she could handle that again within 24 hours of losing him the first time.

Once she was done filling out reports, one of the agents that worked as a nurse in the Infirmary pulled her aside and told Natasha to come with her. Bracing herself for the worst, Natasha followed Agent Brant to the Infirmary. But it turned out she didn't have anything to say about Clint. She just wanted to get Natasha cleaned up and bandage her wounds.

She usually fixed herself up, but Natasha was too worried to care much at the moment.

"You're lucky, Agent Romanoff," Agent Brant said.

"How so?" Natasha asked.

"You could have ended up like Agent Barton."

A pang of fear and sorrow equal to nothing Natasha had ever felt went through her body like an electric shock. Dread coursed through her as she said in a nearly inaudible voice, "Is he... dead?"

Brant looked up at her. "I'm not sure, Agent Romanoff. I only saw him as they brought him in. He was in bad shape, though; he'd lost a lot of blood."

"Have you heard anything?"

Brant looked worried. "No, I haven't. Are you alright? You seem quite upset."

Natasha recovered and swallowed hard to bring her emotions back to a controllable level. "Um, yes, I'm fine. Where... where is Agent Barton?"

"Room 709, I think."

"Do you know who I can talk to that may know how he is?"

"Yeah, I'll page him for you. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine!"

Agent Brant paged Agent Walker. A few minutes later, one of the Agents on the Medical Team that had brought Clint back to the Helicarrier walked in the room.

"Agent Brant, you wished to speak to me?" he addressed Brant.

"No, actually Agent Romanoff had a question for you."

"Oh." He turned to look at Natasha. "I'm assuming you would like to inquire about your partner?"

"Yes, um, how is he?" Natasha asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

"You don't need to worry, Agent Romanoff. It's only natural to feel worried about someone you've worked with for years," Agent Walker dismissed her fear.

"So he's alive?" Momentary relief swept through her body.

"Alive, yes. Alright, no."

Natasha swallowed hard again. "What... what happened? Is he going to pull through?" She could not keep the worry out of her voice this time.

Agent Walker hesitated. "We're not sure. He's lost a lot of blood and he's slipped into a coma. Agent Coulson is with him now. We've already done surgery to remove the bullet, and we've patched him up as best we could."

The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think. "Can I see him?"

Agent Walker's serious expression softened a bit. "Of course. Come with me."

Natasha followed Agent Walker down the stale, pristine hall of the Infirmary, stopping at room number 709. He opened the door to let her in, and walked back down the hall in the opposite direction. Phil was sitting beside Clint's bed with his back to the door. He turned as she walked in.

Coulson didn't say anything to acknowledge that she was there. Instead, he rose from his seat and crossed the room, picking up another chair and setting it down on the other side of Clint's bed. Natasha slowly crossed the room and sat down in the seat Phil had silently offered her.

Clint was pale as death. If it wasn't for his slow and shallow breathing and the light pulse, there would be nothing to indicate he was alive at all.

Natasha leaned forward and rested her forearms on the bed, staring at Clint's lifeless face. It was odd seeing him like this. He was always so full of life and hope...

Please, she silently prayed to whatever higher power existed. Please, don't let him die. I'll do anything, just don't let him die.

Natasha and Phil sat in silence for what felt like a lifetime, each one praying that Clint would make it. The quiet between them was heavy with worry and fear. It was probably one of the worst days of Natasha's life, and that was really saying something.

Finally, she broke the nearly tangible silence by simply saying, "I hate being human."

"What do you mean?" Phil asked, his voice cracked from lack of use.

"I hate having emotions. If I didn't I wouldn't be sitting here in fear of what might happen to my partner. It would be so much easier not to care."

"But then you wouldn't be able to pour you emotions into your work. You wouldn't have a reason to do anything."

"Yeah, I guess not. I'm just so used to not feeling anything but hate and anger and sorrow. I'm not used to caring."

They lapsed back into silence for a few minutes. Phil broke it this time by saying, "I'm going to ask you a very simple question, and I want you to answer me truthfully. Do you love him?"

Natasha felt that small, painful pang that she associated to being stabbed in the gut. That feeling had become quite familiar over the past few days.

"I... Of course I don't. That's insane! How could I love him?"

He gave her an unbelieving look. "Natasha, please don't lie. It's more important than you know."

Natasha looked at Phil, recognizing the look he was giving her as the one Clint had used when he was bandaging her arm in the hotel room what felt like years ago.

"I... I don't know." She turned her gaze back to Clint's unconscious face. "I really don't know. I've never loved someone before, so I don't know what it feels like."

Coulson looked at her in amusement. "It amazes me."

"What does?"

"That you can be so smart and clever, but at the same time you're so ignorant."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I mean, you can figure out enemies' plans as if it were nothing. And you're so intelligent when it comes to fighting moves and weapons and things like that. But you still have so much to learn about being human."

Natasha looked at him reproachfully before realizing that he was right. She had so much to learn about being a human with human emotions. She never felt anything but hate and anger and despair and fear. But that was only scratching the surface of the range of human emotion. She knew nothing about love and hope and happiness. She'd never even felt alright before. She didn't know what it was like to be whole; her life had always been the fragments of what could have been if she hadn't grown up in Red Room. She was always so broken. Nothing had ever been able to even begin repairing her.

And the one person who would even try was, for all she knew, dying.

Coulson got up suddenly and stretched. "I'm gonna go get some coffee. Do you want some?"

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

After he had left, Natasha gently took Clint's hand in hers.

"Clint, if you can hear me, please try. Please try to make it. I owe you so much, and I..." She felt a tear splash onto her hand. "I don't want to lose you. Please, please try."

She was completely exhausted, both emotionally and physically. She sighed deeply, and slowly let her body relax. She laid her head down on the side of the bed, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.