Her Hidden Past

- Chapter Thirty Three -

Natasha woke slowly, keeping her eyes closed and her breathing steady as she assessed her surroundings. All was quiet except for the regular beep of the heart monitor next to the bed. She cracked open an eye expecting the harsh brightness of a hospital room. Instead she found the room lighting subdued and the chair pulled up beside her bed empty. The curtains were left open for the last rays of the setting sun to provide extra light. Turning away from the darkening skies she looked for the door. The only escape route was obstructed by a figure standing quietly. She waited for her eyes to adjust properly, recognising Coulson leaning against the door frame. Between them was another hospital bed. She quickly realised it was occupied by a sleeping Clint Barton.

"Coulson?" Natasha croaked, her eyes then head following him as he moved.

"I'm glad to see you awake, Natasha," Coulson slowly claimed the empty chair. "You've been out for almost two weeks. The doctors weren't sure you weren't going to make it until a couple of days ago." He carefully raised the bed to allow her to sit more upright, before handing her a glass of water to ease her throat. "Yelena's knives had a pretty nasty poison on them that has slowed down your enhanced healing significantly."

"Suppressors," Natasha shrugged, whispering. "One of Medvedev's favourite training methods. What else?"

"Your throat is going to take time to heal, the doctors said it's the worst injury. Medvedev's bullet hit you in the leg as he fell," Phil sighed. "The combination of bruising, wounds and poison has kept you unconscious. You only started breathing on your own again in the last few days. Your body is healing at a very reduced rate."

"Clint?" She asked next, passing the glass back.

"Resting because I threatened to have him moved to another room, and I reminded him I can split up Strike Team Delta for good if you two become compromised," Coulson sighed. "He was in better shape than you, but not by much really."

"Coulson," Natasha reprimanded softly.

"He woke up after a couple of days," Coulson sighed. "He had a bullet in his hip, multiple deep lacerations, several small stab wounds, fractures and a lot of bruising. Of course he was sitting beside your bed from day one, and wouldn't leave your side. The Doctors said he needs to rest so his body can heal from the trauma. I let him because it was the only way to get him to follow the doctors orders even in part. He needs time to heal. As do you."

"Where are we?"

"Classified," Coulson muttered weakly.

"Bulls-," Natasha snapped, breaking into coughs that wracked her whole body.

"Natasha," Phil reached out to steady her as she hunched forward trying to ease the pain in her chest. "Natasha-," his whisper turned to one of hurt as she violently flinched away from his touch.

"Tasha?" Clint was suddenly holding her up gently as her strength disappeared. Specs of blood sprayed the blanket as she collapsed in his arms. "I've got you Tasha," Clint assured her as she tried to calm her breathing.

"Clint, you aren't supposed to be out of bed on your own," Coulson snapped.

"Shut up, Coulson," Clint glared at their handler. He readjusted his light grip on Natasha helping her lay back against the bed. "Tasha?" He met her eyes, finding tears of pain almost obscuring the fear. "It's okay, Tasha."

"Clint," Her voice barely a whisper as she grabbed his arm before he could withdraw.

"I've got you, you're safe," He reassured her. "I promise."

"You are safe here, both of you," Coulson promised. "I wouldn't have brought you here otherwise."

"Get out," Natasha spat at Coulson. "Just get out." She could feel the fear rising again.