Summary: After a rough mission, James overworks himself and it isn't until he collapses in the gym that Natasha realizes what's going on.
A/N: Italics represent Russian
She should have noticed sooner. The signs had been there, she knew how to recognize them, but she had ignored them. Perhaps it wasn't entirely her fault―she tried to respect his privacy when he decided not to tell her something―but she had still accepted his excuses.
It had started after a failed mission the week before. Natasha hadn't gone with him, but she'd known that it hadn't gone well as soon as he returned. Being who he was, James didn't have any physical injuries aside from a few scattered bruises, but he'd had a nightmare for the first time in a while that night. When she asked, he said he couldn't remember it and insisted they both fall back asleep.
The following morning, he woke up earlier than usual and spent an extra hour in the gym. He went again in the evening and didn't come home until midnight.
"I'm fine, Nata," he promised, brushing a kiss to her brow and wrapping an arm around her as he climbed into the bed.
Four hours later, he woke up and went back to the gym.
By the third day, Natasha was worried. While she knew James was fully capable of running on a few hours of sleep, he had just returned from a mission and she knew he needed to rest. Instead of curling up beside her like he often did after missions, he spent more time at the gym.
Four days after his mission, Natasha doesn't see him at all. He's gone before she wakes up and isn't home by the time she goes to bed. She expects him to sleep in the following morning, but instead, she wakes up alone again and finds him in the gym.
"James."
He must not have heard her come up behind him because he startles at her voice. His wrist twists as it connects with the punching bag and even Natasha grimaces at the hit. It had to have hurt, but James doesn't let it show as he turns to face her.
"Good morn―"
"What are you doing?" she asks. She takes a step forward to run her hand through his hair. His forehead is already sticky with sweat. "You should be sleeping."
"No," he argues, "I should be training."
He tries to step away from her, but Natasha's arm around him tightens and she holds him in place. His eyes narrow.
"Natalia," he warns.
"Take a break, love," she tells him softly in Russian. Something in his eyes flickers and Natasha frowns. "Tell me what's bothering you."
He doesn't and after a bout of tense silence, Natasha nods.
"At least eat breakfast with me," she asks quietly. He agrees and they return to their floor to eat.
After that, they split ways with the promise of seeing each other again at dinner. For the first time in five days, Natasha thinks she might actually get to see him while the sun is up.
She's wrong, of course.
As dinner comes around, she waits for James to return home. She sets out a plate for him and sends him a text, asking when he'll be home. He doesn't respond.
Ten minutes go by before she panics. She tries calling, but it goes straight to voicemail. She's out the door before she tries calling him again.
It takes her a moment to think about where he could be, but she has a sinking suspicion she already knows. Before she checks anywhere else or calls Steve to send out a search party, she goes to the gym.
It's dead silent as she walks through the door, but the lights are on and she sees James's jacket hanging near the door.
"James?" she calls.
There's no answer and anxiety crawls through her chest.
She tries again. "James?"
James doesn't usually ignore her so the fact that he isn't responding doesn't sit well with her. As she takes a further step into the gym, however, her eyes land on a crumpled heap below his favorite punching bag. James isn't moving.
"James," she gasps.
In a flash, she's across the room and kneeling beside him. As soon as she reaches for him, his eyes fly open and he pushes away from her.
"No," he hisses, twisting away from her so quickly she's worried she hurt him.
It takes a moment for Natasha to realize that isn't the case and another moment for James to recognize her. She waits for recognition to flood his face before pulling him into her arms. His arms tangle around her and he lets out a shuddering sob.
"It's me," she murmurs, holding him tighter despite the fever she can feel running through his body. "It's me―Natalia."
"Don't―" He switches to English quickly and she frowns. "Don't say that."
Normally, James doesn't mind Russian. If anything, he enjoys the way she often turns and mutters something to him so that the rest of the team can't understand. It's turned into their own language and the fact that he's asking her not to use it is unsettling. She can count on one hand the number of times he's panicked at the use of it and it's usually after certain nightmares. Unfortunately, that means it doesn't take Natasha too long to come up with a theory as to why he's growing increasingly panicked.
"Alright," she agrees softly. "Alright, I won't. Just tell me how to help."
He doesn't say anything, but his grip becomes iron around her and he starts to shake in her arms. He's still feverish and Natasha's certainly worried, but she doesn't have the heart to let him go. In all honesty, she's not sure she could. He'd given her quite a scare, lying unconscious on the gym floor. It'll be a while before she forgets it.
"They were there," he whispers suddenly. "In Prague."
Prague. His mission. The one that he'd returned from five days ago and why he's been acting strange ever since. However, there's a myriad of faces and names that spring to mind when he says that, so she doesn't really know who he's talking about.
"Who?" she murmurs. His arms around her tighten and he buries his face in the crook of her neck. "Who, James?"
"Hydra."
It's unfortunately possible. Despite taking out most of Hydra after the Project Insight disaster, Natasha knows there are still people from James's past that are out there. People with too much money or too many connections to be caught easily.
"What do you mean?" She pulls back to look at him but he clings to her desperately. "James?"
"They knew the words," he whispers, his voice almost inaudible.
Natasha's breath catches in her throat.
He broke through the programming years ago thanks to the Wakandans, but the words still carry weight. Natasha's seen firsthand how it messes with him and how disoriented he feels after.
Normally, she would be upset that she hadn't picked up on it earlier, but there was something distinctly different about the after effect this time. James hadn't told her about it (as he usually did) and he hadn't locked himself away from the others. Instead, he'd kept to himself and gone to the gym more than usual. The change can only mean one thing: something was different this time.
"What was it?" she asks. James flinches in her arms and she knows he understands the real question: what was it that was different?
"I blew the mission."
It's certainly not what she expected him to say and it throws her off for a moment.
"What?"
"I hesitated," he tells her. He pulls away from her just enough to look at her and―switching back to Russian―he says, "They used the damn words and I hesitated. Two agents got killed and another three are in critical condition because I hesitated and they had to take point. I blew the mission."
"Oh, James," Natasha sighs. She runs a hand over his hair and tells him, "That's not your fault."
"It is," he argues fiercely. Natasha scowls.
"Did you kill those agents?" She makes the switch to prove a point. "Did you turn your gun on them and kill them yourself?"
Now it's James's turn to scowl. "No."
"Then," she tells him, "it's not your fault."
James looks like he's going to argue further, but Natasha beats him to it.
"Those words will never leave you," she says painfully. "You will never be able to fully escape them, but they do not control you anymore, James. You can't torture yourself because someone tries to use them against you."
"I hesitated, Natalia." His voice cracks. "If I hadn't―"
"No one is blaming you," she assures him. If anyone does, she'll take care of them. "You hesitated―you're human."
Rather than arguing more, James drops his head back to her shoulder and lets out a stuttering breath. She's not sure that she managed to convince him it's not his fault, but the fact that he's done fighting her is good enough for now.
"Come on," she hums softly. She slowly gets to her feet, pulling James up with her. "You've been running yourself ragged and it's time you rest."
James is dead on his feet and ends up leaning heavily on Natasha as she guides him into the elevator. She stumbles when his feet give out from under him, but manages to keep them both from falling. By the time they get back up to their floor, Natasha's shoulder is starting to ache but James's fever is starting to subside. A perk of his serum, she imagines.
While Natasha helps him into the bedroom, she doesn't forget about the dinner she'd made before. She's fairly certain James hasn't eaten anything aside from breakfast that day, so once he's safely lying on the bed, she goes into the kitchen to get him some food.
"Eat," she instructs, holding out the bowl then joining him on the bed.
"I'm not―"
"You haven't eaten since breakfast," she interrupts. She'd asked FRIDAY just to be sure and was not pleased with the answer. "Eat."
James does as he's told but as soon as he's finished eating, he wraps his arm around her and tugs her down beside him.
"Feeling better?" she asks once he's stopped moving. James grunts in reply and tugs her infinitesimally closer. She takes it as a yes. "It's never your fault, James."
She knows she'll have to remind him again, but it's all part of his recovery and she's more than willing to help. For the moment, though, he seems content to take her word for it.