Give him back to me, or so help me god

Chapter 8: The Rescue

Looking at them for too long left even Steve – with his serum advanced eyes – feeling queasy.

"And Ross?"

"In Geneva." Natasha murmured from her place, seated on the steps just above Clint. Her eyes were on Tony as well. "Story is that it's something to do with the Accords, but he's checked into a private medical suite there."

"Probably trying to fix what Tony left of his nose before the press gets wind." Sam ground out – the loathing dripping from the words would probably have been enough to kill Ross on the spot if he'd been present.

"It also sports some of the best security services money can buy." Natasha continued, her eyes flicking across the screens in the lab with just as much speed as Tony's. Perhaps more. Steve was starting to worry about her as well. As far as he was aware it was down to himself, her and Tony who hadn't slept since the school had been attacked. Tony looked wrecked. Steve doubted very much that he would be able to even move from the chair if he tried. Even Steve was feeling it. The tablet in his hands still felt like it weighed a goddamn tonne, and it was getting to the point where he, too, was finding it difficult to stay standing for too long. He hadn't felt this weak for a long time. Not since he was a scrawny child, forced into his bed with pneumonia and practically sat on by Bucky to ensure that he stayed there until he was somewhat able to breathe again.

Natasha, though, looked...fine. There was dark circles beneath her eyes that looked painful – but other than that Steve was having a hard time picking out any signs of exhaustion, and it was more than a little concerning.

Even after Clint had come back from the Raft – practically dragged back by Rhodey who could see the man's imminent meltdown fast approaching – Natasha had stayed behind. She had only appeared at the Compound little more than an hour ago, seeming to materialize on the steps where the others were monitoring Tony.

The sight of her had nearly had Steve demanding that she head upstairs to get some sleep – he was even tempted to pull her up there himself, and stay with her to ensure she got some sleep, despite his almost painful need to stick close to Tony – because, despite her almost seamless appearance, her eyes were just wrong.

The mirror behind them, so perfect that almost no one ever saw what was behind it, was shattered, and Steve could see. And god he wished he couldn't. God he wished he could wash away darkness in those eyes – the empty, gnawing hole at their centre that seemed far too deep, and far too much for anyone to bare.

He had always had the vague awareness that while the rest of them had been dragged into this mess one way or another – through circumstance or choice – Natasha had been born into it. Moulded by it. She hadn't seen light until she was already a woman, and Steve imagined it had been nothing short of blinding.

One look into those eyes as she had descended the stairs had put her right below Tony when it came to the quickly growing list of people he was terrified to let out of his sight.

Steve wasn't afraid of what she'd do to herself – unlike Tony, who looked seconds away from self-destruction – no, he was afraid of what she'd do to others.

It was no secret that the team had killed – sometimes they just had to, no matter how much it hurt – but Natasha was a killer. Cold-blooded. And it terrifying.

Steve didn't want to think about how high the body count might just get on this – and especially didn't want to think that hers might join it.

He felt like everything was seconds away from spiralling so far out of control that they might never be able to fix it. Fix themselves.