Chapter Text
"Oh my God, I can't remember
Who I was just last December
What have I done?
How did I get here?
What have I done? (What have I done?)" - Oh My God, by Alec Benjamin
Months later they all pretend to forget. They pretend it was just another mission among dozens of others, each filled with their own horrors. Sometimes Steve wishes they talked about it as a group and then the next day he’ll decide that pretending is best. Because if they talked about it then he’d have to talk about it too. And he’s not ready to say how scared he was.
It took Natasha first, he remembers.
Steve thinks that's what scared him the most.
…
“Me and Clint are going down to S.H.I.E.L.D. today.” Natasha says over breakfast, she sips her coffee that’s filled with so much creamer it’s hovering on the lighter side of the color spectrum instead of the darker.
Tony sighs dramatically, he doesn’t like it when Natasha and Clint go to S.H.I.E.L.D. He and Fury butt heads over everything, though Steve suspects that’s mostly for show in the Directors part. Tony seems to get oddly put out whenever Clint and Natasha spend time away from the Tower on S.H.I.E.L.D. business. Steve remembers when Natasha and Clint were out on a mission for a week. Tony stuck himself in his workshop for days too long, he snapped at Steve like they were enemies and generally just sulked. Then they came back and it was like a light switch. He never apologized or explained, and the team never asked.
“Don’t miss me too much, sweetheart.” Clint coos. Teasing Tony and stealing his bagel at the same time.
Tony either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, “Begone, Tweetie Bird! Time to learn to fly on your own.” He flaps his hand dismissively.
“What’s at S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Bruce asks Natasha since no one else did and Bruce is polite like that.
“Just a debrief on our last mission and some medical.”
Bruce nods approvingly. Clint and Natasha are terrible about check ups and hospitals, but he can trust Natasha to drag Clint to S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. Steve personally thinks that they could get better care here at the tower, but Bruce always insists he isn’t that kind of doctor. Of course he always does a good job anyways.
They go to S.H.I.E.L.D. and come back without fanfare. Reappearing in the common room mid-afternoon in casual clothing and not their agent attire. Steve doesn’t comment on the sudden appearance because he has long ago accepted that he will never catch Natasha off guard.
Tony insists on a movie night, dragging Bruce out of the lab and upstairs despite his protests. JARVIS warns the rest of them and Clint wanders in with a packet of Skittles from who knows where. Steve settles on the couch and Natasha gets up to grab ice cream. He can hear Tony and Bruce in the elevator.
“Come on Bruce, Steve has never watched Star Wars.” Tony’s voice is playful and scandalized, as if it’s some great sin to have never watched ‘Star Wars’. Whatever that is.
“Tony, I'm busy.” Bruce whines. He sounds tired, but Steve can tell he’s not really upset, he’s only putting up a fight out of principle.
“With unimportant things.” Tony decides for Bruce, because he does stuff like that, “This is really important. You need to help me explain to Steve that we have to start with episode number three instead of one.”
Steve stops listening, deciding he really does not want to know. He’ll act surprised for Tony when he brings it up.
When he pulls a surprised face at Tony’s explanation mere minutes later, Tony grins in delight. Clint howls in laughter when Steve good naturedly protests but eventually gives in. He feels warmth spread through him at his teammates' happiness. Everything is good.
“How was the debrief?” Bruce asks after they finish A New Hope.
Natasha stares at the frozen TV screen. Apparently spaced out, Steve dismisses it. Later he curses himself for it.
“Ugh,” Clint groans, “so dull I thought about sharpening a toothbrush for the fun of it. Right Natasha?”
He elbows her and she faces him with a frown, “Hmm?” she asks.
That’s the first clue. Natasha is always aware of what is taking place in the room. She listens in on conversations, never fully taking part in them, expertly. Steve has seen her keep tabs on three different groups of people without them ever suspecting a thing.
Clint picks up on it too, his eyes go sharper but there is no other change. He is trained too well for that.
“I was just telling Bruce about how boring the debrief at S.H.I.E.L.D. was today.” He flashes her a cheeky grin.
Natasha’s eyebrows come together the slightest bit, as if she’s concentrating. She remembers herself and they smooth back out, her face forming the picture of casualness. All in a blink of an eye, Steve wonders if he imagined it.
There’s a beat of silence when Natasha doesn’t answer, just keeps looking at Clint like he's a puzzle to be figured out. Steve has faded to the background, Bruce excused himself to the kitchen with Tony minutes ago. The silence goes a beat too long before she replies.
“”Oh yeah, thought about using the picture frames as target practice to spice it up.” It’s too cautious of an answer. She’s playing it safe, but the effect is lost on teammates who have known her too long to be fooled. Her eyes still look off, a little too wide, a little too intense. Steve swears they look duller than usual. At least for a casual movie night with friends.
Clint plays it cool, continues to talk about absolutely nothing with Natasha. She has regained her footing and talks right back, not a word or action out of place. Perfect Natasha. Bruce and Tony come back and they start up the next movie, oblivious to the strange conversation they had missed.
By the time they finish Return of the Jedi it’s two am, Steve is tired and has eaten way too many Doritos. He has forgotten about Natasha’s moment, it being such a little thing in an otherwise joyful evening. He doesn’t bother going to bed, no one else has. He falls asleep on the couch and dreams of a conference room at S.H.I.E.L.D. with Natasha sitting in one chair with all the others empty. She stares at nothing, unblinking and unflinching no matter how loud Steve yells at her.
He doesn’t mention his dream.
…
Natasha has told Steve the story of her sweet tooth. He knows how the food in the Red Room was bland at best and disgusting at worst. It merely served as a vehicle for protein and vitamins, just a way to keep the girls alive and healthy. She told him how the only real food she saw, smelled and on rare occasions tasted, was on missions. The options were limited and you were only to take food in order to keep your cover. Natasha had coveted those moments.
He knows how Clint had bought her his favorite snack foods and candy when she defected to S.H.I.E.L.D., how he introduced her to restaurants and bakeries and ate obscene amounts of food to find out her favorites. Natasha decided she loved sugar. The sickly sweetness that filled your mouth and your brain until you felt like the whole world was a sugar cube and you had canker sores in your mouth. She could eat more dessert than Steve, even with his enhanced metabolism and his own sweet tooth.
Steve remembers how Tony bought her expensive chocolates from some far away place and she squirreled them away to savor over months. Bruce made brownies and Natasha ate a whole tray. Natasha took Thor out to see the sights and they came back with boxes of pastries and drinks piled high with whipped cream.
On the few undercover missions Steve had gone on with Natasha she always ordered a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows or a milkshake with extra flavor. On movie nights she always ate ice cream, a different flavor every time. She always had some kind of sweet in her pockets, no matter the time or situation. And she always put enough flavored creamer in her coffee that Tony protested that it could even be called coffee anymore.
So when he sees Natasha pour herself a cup of coffee and drink it black he knows something is wrong. Horribly, terribly, inexplicably wrong.
He watches her carefully, not wanting to make a scene. She could just be feeling under the weather, he reasons. Maybe she just felt like changing it up. It sounds weak even to himself.
“What, no creamer today?” Tony asks, sipping his own cup of black coffee so strong Steve swears he can smell the caffeine.
Natasha stares at him blankly, her hand wrapped around her cup almost protectively. Clint perks up from his spot at the table, assessing the situation. Natasha continues to watch Tony, like she can't tell what he’s doing there or why he spoke to her. Tony has stopped, his teasing rhythm thrown off when Natasha didn’t play along.
Steve swallows, a faint feeling of deja vu running through him. But he doesn’t know what that’s about so he ignores it, flicking his eyes from Natasha to Tony to Clint and back to Natasha again.
“Uh..Nat?” Steve asks, because the staring is worrying him. He wishes she would grin and go ‘haha gotcha!’ so they could all laugh along and tease Tony for falling for it. But she doesn’t, and it’s not funny at all.
“Steve.” She blinks and looks at him, confusion coloring her features. Natasha looks around the kitchen like it’s a different world, “What…-why does my coffee taste terrible?” She glares at her cup like it’s betrayed her.
“Get Bruce.” Tony says, wide eyed. “He’ll know what’s going on.”
“What do you-” Natasha says, narrowing her eyes but Clint cuts her off.
“Yeah, get Bruce.” He takes Natasha’s coffee and puts it on the counter.
Steve turns around and stalks out of the kitchen to get Bruce.
“Why isn’t Thor up?” He hears Natasha ask.
Steve starts jogging to the labs. Thor left for Asgard two months ago.
…
“And you feel fine?” Bruce asks, peering at Natasha intently.
She nods firmly, showing no sign of discomfort or uncomfortableness while she sits on the examining table. Steve knows she must feel self conscious, at least a little. They’re all gathered in the medical bay, watching her, checking her charts and pacing a line on the floor. Natasha hates to be fussed over, that time she had caught the flu was proof of that.
“No dizziness, nausea? Are you cold? Warm?” Bruce asks again.
“I’m perfectly fine.” Natasha says again.
Steve wants to scream at her, she's not fine. He wants to tear his hair out. Swaddle her in a blanket, drag her to the hospital.
“She didn’t complain about the debriefing with me.” Clint says.
“You didn’t put creamer in your coffee.” Steve mutters, resisting the urge to wring his hands.
They sound insane, Steve feels like laughing. But he doesn’t, because it’s not funny and he’s not going insane. For a horrible moment he thinks that maybe Natasha is going insane but just as quickly he shakes the thought away.
Bruce nods slowly at them, he thinks they’re insane. Steve is sure of it. He’d think he was insane too.
“Her charts aren’t showing anything.” Tony says with disgust, throwing the tablet down on the bed. He runs a hand through his hair.
“See, I’m fine. Thank you Tony.”
“No, that’s not-”
Natasha slides off the table, Clint glares at her, obviously disapproving. Steve hovers anxiously, kicking himself for it, because Natasha hates people hovering over her. Bruce watches the scene warily.
“I’m going to the gym.” She says, her expression not allowing room for argument.
“Natasha.” Bruce sighs, “Could you just relax? Watch tv or something?”
“I can come with you.” Steve offers hopefully. Wanting to keep an eye on her. Don’t let her go alone. He doesn't care if she doesn’t want him there. Take Clint or Tony or Bruce. Just don’t go alone.
“No. Thank you Steve. Clint you stay here too.” She gives him a look and Clint scowls. Steve grinds his teeth.
“I’m coming with. We’ll go spar.” Clint says.
“It’s not a negotiation.” She shoots back, already walking out. Clint follows anyway and she doesn’t say anything.
…
“Bruce I’m telling you, there’s something wrong with Natasha.” Tony insists, spinning in one of the severely comfy chairs Bruce has in his lab. He stares at the ceiling fan as he spins in the opposite direction, feeling the nausea coming on already.
“Natasha can take care of herself.” Bruce says, unconcerned and scribbling in his notebook.
Tony scoffs, no one on this team can take care of themselves. They’re all dysfunctional. The only reason the team held together at all was because somehow they balanced each other out.
“Her blood sugar was low.” He says instead, wanting to find something wrong. He kicks the ground again and picks up speed.
“I saw that. It’s not severe, everybody's blood sugar goes up and down throughout the day. You know that Tony.”
“Hmm.” Tony says, not wanting to agree. He is definitely dizzy now.
Bruce keeps scribbling. Tony keeps spinning. Around and around. He can see a window from the corner of his eye everytime he goes around. Dark and then light. Dark. Light.
“JARVIS, what’re the spy twins up to?” He asks.
“Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barton are sparring in the gym. As they said earlier.”
“Tone down the sass, J.” He kicks the ground again.
Dark. Light.
Dark. Light.
“Tony.” Bruce says.
“Tony.”
“Tony!”
“Ugh. What?” Tony stops spinning to look at Bruce. He is facing the wrong way so he completes a half spin to face Bruce. Bruce is blurry around the edges, Tony blinks hard. That hurts, but he does it again and Bruce comes into focus, kind of.
Bruce squints at him, inspecting his face. Tony rolls his eyes, hiding the flash of a headache at the action. Maybe spinning wasn’t the best idea. Bruce’s face softens and he frowns concernedly.
“It’s not like you to be so worried.” Bruce says. It’s not a question but it sure sounds like one.
Tony shrugs, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the attention. Bruce notices and breaks eye contact, going back to reviewing his notes. Tony watches him, thinking about Nat and Clint. Particularly Natasha.
“She’s fine Tony. You saw those charts, and even if she had caught a bug, colds can change a person's behavior.”
“But what if it's something we can’t detect, Bruce? Have you thought about that? What if it’s some kind of crazy disease HYDRA made and we picked up at one of their bases, or a space thing that Thor exposed us to unknowingly?” Tony gestures wildly, running a hand through his hair. His mind is spinning with theories that are outlandish and wild even to his own ears, “What if it was S.H.I.E.L.D., we know they get up to some shady stuff.”
Bruce frowns at him thoughtfully. But Tony knows he’s not persuaded to Tony’s side. No. Bruce is concerned about him, Bruce thinks he’s crazy. Just for being concerned about Natasha. Tony feels himself prickle, getting ready to defend himself and brush Bruce’s concerns off because he’s fine.
JARVIS speaks first.
“Sir, I believe yours and Doctor Banner’s presence is required in the gym.”
Alarm bells are ringing in Tony’s head. Bruce is already standing up and moving.
“Why?” Tony asks sharply.
“Both of them are in distress and I believe Mr. Barton's wrist is broken.”
Tony runs for the door.
…
The scene that greets Steve in the gym is not a pretty one.
Natasha and Clint are both in fighting stances, standing at opposite sides of the mat. Clint’s wrist is obviously seriously injured, hanging at an odd angle and already slightly swollen. Natasha’s nose is bleeding, and with her face twisted into a snarl she looks almost feral.
Tony and Bruce burst in seconds later, pausing only briefly before moving forward in a much calmer manner.
“Hey, what’s up spy twins?” Tony asks cautiously, eyes darting from Nat’s face to Clint’s wrist and then back again. Steve can almost see the gears turning in his head, digesting the information and working through a solution.
He is still rooted to the floor. Natasha loved Clint, and Clint loved her. Not in a romantic way, but something more than siblings. They trusted each other implicitly, without question. To think that they would hurt each other…
“I’m fine.” Clint says, still watching Natasha warily, “Nat just got confused, right?”
Natasha shifts her weight, her face unreadable. Steve wishes it wasn’t, if she was trying to look blank it meant something was wrong.
“Clint?” Natasha asks.
“Yeah, that’s Clint.” Tony agrees, nodding like a bobble head, “Our tweetie bird. Your best friend..or boyfriend. It depends. His wrist isn’t looking too good. Would you happen to know something about that?” Natasha seems to tense and Tony rushes on, “Or not. That’s fine. Just thought I’d ask.”
Steve feels anger spike through him at Tony’s rambling because it isn't helping the situation. At all. Clint is still looking half worried and half battle ready, and Natasha still doesn’t seem to fully register that it’s them in this gym. Her eyes look glazed over, like nothings registering with her. Almost like no one is home.
Bruce is standing next to him, clenching and unclenching his fists. Green colors his temple but he seems to have it under control.
“I’m sorry I broke your nose.” Clint says, jerking his head, “But I guess we’re even now.”
Natasha’s eyes dart to Clint’s wrist and everything comes crashing down at once. Her eyes widen and she drops out of fight posture. She moves toward Clint all at once, brushing Tony out of the way to grab Clint’s wrist.
Bruce startles and Tony squawks indignantly.
“Natash-”
“Maybe she shouldn’t-”
“Shh, it’s ok.” Clint shushes them, letting Natasha examine his wrist.
Steve holds his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it doesn’t. Natasha bites her lip and lets go of Clint’s wrist, looking guilty and ashamed, which he thinks doesn’t suit her at all. Clint grabs her shoulder, pulling her in for a hug. It goes on for so long Steve begins to feel like an intruder. They whisper things in each other's ears, too quiet for even Steve to hear, and Nat’s finger’s tap on Clint’s shoulder in something like morse code. Then they break apart.
“I told you something was wrong.” Tony says to Bruce.
Bruce swallows, breathing deeply. Clint keeps a comforting grip of Natasha’s shoulder.
“Let’s go to the medbay.” Bruce says, still breathing deeply.
“I-”
“Natasha if you’re about to say that you’re fine, we're going to have some problems.” Steve cuts her off, glaring at her. She glares back, but doesn’t object.
As one group they go down to the medbay, Natasha and Clint sticking to each other like leeches. Steve hovers as close to Natasha as he can get, noting the tenseness of her shoulders and the glaze that is still over her eyes. It looks like a faint silver mist. Beautiful, if it weren’t making a pit in Steve’s stomach.
Clint’s wrist is safely cocooned in a cast while Bruce sets Natasha’s broken nose. Steve insists on another check up for Natasha and she consents. Tony flits about the room like a butterfly, muttering and humming under his breath. He draws a crude stick figure on Clint’s cast with scary fixation. Steve watches him painstakingly make a tower of bandaids and doesn’t feel a bit sorry when Natasha blows it down. Again and again Tony goes back and reads the reports over Bruce's shoulder.
Bruce hums and says, “I need to grab something from my lab.”
Clint eyes him almost suspiciously, probably wondering what Bruce needs to grab for simple check up reports.
Tony instantly tags along with the excuse, “I’ll come too, the med bay makes me nervous.”
They’re only gone a minute before Nat says, “I want chocolate” Clint raises his eyebrows at Nat, who narrows her eyes back and jerks her head towards the door.
“Why can’t Steve get them?” Clint whines. He doesn’t want to leave Natasha, wants to keep supporting her and watching her.
“Because he doesn’t know where I put my marshmallow chocolate, which is what I want.” Nat says. Steve perks up, he has a soft spot for marshmallows. He once ate an entire bag and was going for a second one before Tony found him and pitched a fit about too much sugar. Natasha takes him on the occasional trip for gourmet marshmallows covered in chocolate or paired with other ridiculous things.
“No marshmallows for Steve.” Clint says, half teasing, still sitting with Natasha.
She gives him a nudge, nodding slightly to encourage him. Go on, I’ll be ok, Steve understands the unspoken words. Finally, Clint gives her a winning smile and dashes for the door.
They sit in brooding silence for a while.
“I didn’t mean to.” Natasha says suddenly.
Steve fixes his gaze on her, “Of course you didn’t.” He says instantly, because the thought that Natasha purposefully hurt Clint made him want to throw up. (Or maybe that was the nausea that had been rolling in his gut since this morning.)
“I was fine.” She insists, “Me and Clint were sparring, he threw a punch, I threw a punch. We both dodged. And then he threw a punch and I just…didn’t remember what we were doing.” Steve sucks in a breath, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. Natasha wasn’t looking at him anymore.
“It was like I forgot who he was for a second. I forgot who my partner was. So when he threw a punch I reacted like he was an enemy and both of us ended up getting hurt.” There’s frustration in her voice, Steve doesn’t like that, Natasha is just always so sure of what she's doing. To think she doesn’t understand why she did something scares him. It scares the hell out of him. (Because he loves her and this team so much.)
(Especially her.)
“It wasn’t your fault.” Steve says, feeling dizzy.
Natasha looks at him sharply, “If it wasn’t my fault, then whose was it? Hmm Steve? Tony and Bruce can’t find anything wrong medically, so it must just be me.” She’s using that tone she takes when he’s being stupid. Or at least when she thinks he’s being stupid.
He scrambles for something to say, anything that doens’t sound patronizing or just plain stupid. He doesn’t want to prove Natasha right.
“The results aren’t back yet. It’s not you. It can’t be.” He says, wincing internally at how weak it sounds.
“Don’t lie to me, soldier. It doesn’t suit you.”
…
Natasha feels like she's skipping through time and space at random. Back and forth, to the side and back again. The world isn’t on its axis anymore. Every time she gathers her feet beneath herself, her world tumbles again.
Her brain is Swiss cheese. That cheese they always show mice going after in movies. It has a bunch of holes in it. That’s what her brain has turned into. Swiss cheese. Riddled with holes that information is slipping through. Memories, data, friends, emotions.
Clint asks her about a S.H.I.E.L.D. meeting she doesn’t remember. Her world tilts for the first time. At first she thinks he’s messing around, but Steve is looking at her expectantly too and Clint is starting to look spooked. So she makes something up on the spot, like a mission, and plays it cool. Steve and Clint forget her moment of panic.
When she wakes up in a pile of sweet smelling blankets on the common room floor, Natasha knows exactly where she is. She feels safe and content to lie there. Tony wakes up and makes coffee. Natasha likes coffee (She thinks) so she gets up too, and pours herself a cup.
“What no creamer today?” A brown haired man asks, grinning widely.
Natasha stares at him. How did he get into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters? And where is his uniform? And what the hell is he talking about?
Her brain is Swiss cheese. Stinky swiss cheese, because this sucks.
“Nat?” Someone asks, she turns her head and finds herself staring straight at Captain America, Steven Grant Rogers. (Steve)
“Steve.” She says. A switch is flicked.
The world comes rushing back all at once. Clint is at the table. The brown haired man is Tony. She’s in Avengers Tower. And her coffee tastes bitter.
Nobody answers her questions, looking at her like she’s a ghost. She stumbles, the world just fell off its axis again.
In the med bay she lets herself be poked and prodded by Bruce. Steve is hovering, but she lets him. Clint looks like he’s on the edge of a panic attack and Tony just looks spooked. Like that time after their murder mystery movie binge.
Natasha lets the team fret over her and talk around her like she’s not here. The world is spinning and she can’t remember exactly why she’s here, but she understands the feeling coursing through her body.
Fear. She is afraid.
The one thing Natasha has always cherished is her ability to gather information, to have control over her emotions and body. She knows what it is to not have control, to be manipulated and twisted into something else. And now she is losing control again. She can’t stop it from happening.
The tests turn up nothing, Natasha’s heart sinks and at the same time soars. Maybe nothing is wrong, maybe it was just a one off. (Deep down she knows that’s not true.)
She goes to the gym, determined to put it out of her mind. Clint comes with her and they begin to spar, falling into a familiar rhythm. Natasha grounds herself, feels the smooth, worn surface of the mat beneath her feet. Hears the nearly silent beat count of their choreographed fight.
It is good. Calming. Natasha is fine.
The world falls off its axis. Someone throws a punch at her. Danger. Threat! Her mind screams at her.
1, she dodges and catches the man's hand. His knee comes up and breaks her nose, Natasha ignores it, she’ll deal with it later. 2, she whirls around, twisting the man's wrist to break it. 3, she leaps away, buying time to assess her options and figure out what in the fresh hell is going on.
More men enter the room, keeping their distance from her and her assailant. They don’t look like Red Room operatives, but that doesn’t mean anything. She keeps watching the man who is circling her, feeling something twitch in the back of her mind.
His gait is familiar, not cataloged like a target's detail for a mission, but familiar as in safe and right. Like she knows it for an important reason, more important than any mission. (Which doesn’t make sense.) The shade of his eyes slaps her in the face. The style of his hair, his confused expression.
The world rights itself. Her brain refills the gaps. Oh god. Clint. Clints wrist. That she broke. Oh no.
“Clint.” She says, or maybe she asks.
Her brain is playing on repeat. How did this happen? How could she have done this? To Clint? Who trusted her with his life. Who brought her in from the cold, gave her a real home. Who was her family in every way that mattered. How could she?
They go to the medbay. She is poked and prodded again. Natasha lets it happen. Her brain is Swiss cheese. Things are falling down through the holes. The world has fallen off its axis.