Several Nightcaps Later // WandaNat Bartender AU

14

Natasha lost track of how many hours Wanda had been in surgery. She tried to keep a tally, but after the fourth or fifth, sleep deprivation and anxiety got the better of her, and she spiraled. The spy was sick to her stomach, and not just because of all the literal gut punches she had taken. All of this was her fault, and if Wanda didn't make it, she would never forgive herself. As she paced the hospital waiting room for the thousandth time, Clint finally sighed and took her by the hand.

"You need to sit down," he directed tiredly, wincing as he overexerted his bandaged shoulder.

Natasha obeyed with a stubborn huff. "What happened to you, anyway? Anything broken?"

"Just my pride. Shoulder was dislocated, nothing too bad." He shook his head in disappointment. "Guess this really is my sign to retire. I should've had those two guys."

"Don't dwell on it too much. You still got 'em."

"And you?"

"Hm?"

"You hurt?"

"No," she replied bitterly. Somehow, Natasha had made it out unscathed, but Wanda was hanging on by a thread. Fate was a cruel, unforgiving mistress; Wanda, innocent and good hearted, ended up the crossfire while Natasha, no saint, came out clean. "God damn it."

"Stop blaming yourself, Nat. It won't do you or her any good." Clint looked her squarely in the eye. "Do I wish it had ended differently? Yes, of course I do. But she knew the risks. All we can do now is support her."

Natasha's fists clenched. "What we should be doing is hunting Jacobs. None of us are safe with him still out there."

"The Feds have Pietro and all of his guys in custody. They're probably getting grilled right now back at HQ. Trust me, I don't think Jacobs will be a free man much longer."

"God, what I'd give to be in that interrogation..."

The waiting room door swung open, and Natasha jumped to her feet, expecting it to be a surgeon with an update. Instead, a wide eyed Peter rushed in, asking frantically about Wanda.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner it was my last shift. Is Wanda okay? Where is she? Will she make it?" He rambled, grabbing Natasha's shoulders urgently. "Will she make it?"

Stunned, Natasha could only shake her head before whispering, "we aren't sure yet. She's still in surgery."

Peter slumped into a chair, head in his hands. "Holy shit..."

"I'm sorry, Peter," Natasha managed, finally taking a seat as well.

"Did you, uh, did you get the bad guys, at least? Who even shot her? What the hell happened?"

"It was Pietro who shot her," the spy admitted. "The mission... it just derailed. It was a setup. I should've seen it from a mile away."

"Nat," Clint warned.

"Right, it wasn't my fault," Natasha sarcastically spit.

The trio fell into tense silence. Peter wrung his hands continuously, trying and failing to sit still. Clint somehow fell asleep in his stiff waiting room chair, the day taking a heavy toll on him. Natasha secretly suspected his injuries were worse than he let on, but said nothing. Today didn't need any more drama. So Natasha waited, alternating between nervous pacing and anxiously sitting, leg bouncing in anticipation. Finally, and infinity later, a doctor entered, calling for the family of Wanda Maximoff. With the doctor's face solemn, Natasha expected the worst.

"Thats us, we're the family," Natasha responded without hesitation. With Pietro in custody, the trio was all Wanda had. The doctor nodded, beckoning the three through the doorway. Rousing Clint, Natasha rushed to follow the doctor, a thousand questions sitting at the tip of her tongue.