Only You

Chapter Three

"What are Banner and Stark up to?" Clint asks Natasha, glancing over at the assassin as he unstraps an arm guard onto his forearm.

    "They haven't told us," she answers with a slight downward tilt on her lips. "But they don't need much time, gaging from what Tony told us." Clint is unsure of whether to feel relieved or not. Tony and Bruce were incredibly smart. They could achieve the impossible in an hour, if they put their minds to it. Time tells nothing of what they could be doing. "How've you been holding up? Really," she adds on, unable to ignore the exhausted demeanor Clint's been wearing all day. "You can be honest. No one expects you to be perfect."

    Clint looks at her with the slightest bit of doubt. She quirks a brow at him, wanting and expecting to hear the truth. When was she so emotionally adept? Clint wonders. He sighs, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm getting better."

    Nat doesn't lighten her stare. She knows when Clint needs to be pressed, and this is one of those times.

    He shakes his head, putting his quiver of arrows away into their slots. He puts his compound bow into a case, buckling it shut and putting it away on a countertop nearby. "It isn't Laura anymore," Clint says. He knew he'd say it out loud, no matter how much he didn't want to. He wish he could've internalized his guilt, but he felt so worn down from doing just that for so long. "It's the kid."

    "Pietro?" Nat clarifies. Clint nods, bracing his arms on a table and hopping up to sit on it. He rubs his hands together and takes an interest in the cool floor of the room. Clearly, it wasn't the answer Nat had exactly expected. But she doesn't look entirely surprised, either.

    "I don't get why he did it," Clint mutters, it being how he had sacrificed himself to save Clint and the child. He shakes his head. "I have nightmares about it," he says after a silent minute, "every night."

    Natasha, with a troubled expression, quietly lets out a breath. "He did it to protect you, Clint, and the child. He understood what being an Avenger was."

    He shakes his head. Clint remembers all too well and clearly the look in Pietro's glassy eyes as they fogged over, wide with pain — vulnerable. "There was another reason," he says, running a hand through his short hair. "There was something bigger to it, Nat," Clint repeats, looking at her with a furrowed brow, "and I can't figure it out."

    "Don't cry on me," she says with a little laugh. She pulls a small package of tissues from the pocket of her hoodie, handing it to the archer. He takes them but doesn't use them, letting a single tear stray from the corner of his eye and tickle its way down his face. "I gotta go. Duty calls," she says, glancing at the blinking light on a small radio at her hip. "I'll catch you later." With an encouraging smile, she dismisses herself from the room. The door echoes shut as she exits into the hallway, leaving Clint alone.

   

Tony Stark and Bruce Banner don't leave their lab room until the night transitions into morning. The sun sets and the moon was high in the sky by the time they gave up. Tony is out of character, a disappointed and reserved look on his face. Bruce looks as solemn as ever, tucking his glasses into the pocket of his shirt.

    "I'll alert you if anything changes, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. says over the intercom as the lights to the laboratory room dim.

    "Thanks, buddy."

    Tony doesn't look optimistic as the laboratory door clicks shut. He and Bruce exchange a look, exchanging an entire conversation in a single expression. Accepting defeat has never been easy for either of them, but they'd reached too high with this one. It had always been impossible.

—

Stark is woken by the smooth and robotic voice belonging to J.A.R.V.I.S. "Sir, there's something happening in the lab. The monitors just spiked."

    Tony grumbles, forcing open his eyes to look at the clock. It's just past 4 in the morning. He'd been in bed no more than two hours, and had slept even less. "You'd better be serious," he says tiredly, failing to stifle a yawn. Slowly, he slips out of bed. "Where'd I put my jacket?"

    "On the couch, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. answers, without missing a beat. Tony thanks him, grabbing the gray hoodie before slipping his feet into his slippers — Iron Man slippers, found at a store near Stark Tower. He gives a little grin at the plush shoes. Tony leaves his room and sluggishly walks down to the laboratory, hardly remembering what he'd even been working on. When he does remember, he's awake in seconds. If the monitors had spiked, there were only two explanations: there had been a fault in the technology, or he and Banner had actually pulled off something extraordinary.

    "Get Bruce for me," he asks J.A.R.V.I.S., flicking the lights on and silently closing the doors. He rubs his eyes, looking to the far side of the room as he cautiously advances. "Please do not turn into a murderous monster," he mutters. "I don't need another round of 'Avengers Assemble' bullshit."

    He taps the screen of the monitor, allowing it to come off of mute and brighten. The screen comes to life and the unmistakable beeping caused by a beating heart surrounds Tony. His dark eyes, suddenly very focused and intense, stare at the moving lines on the screen. They're a bit unsteady but they're moving in rises and falls, unlike the flatline he'd seen three hours before. He lets out a steady stream of select words, inspired by disbelief.

    "Tony, what's going on?" Bruce asks, tired beyond belief but moving with exceptional speed across the room. Tony steps aside, letting Bruce see for himself.

    "I think," Tony Stark says, beside himself, "we just brought him back to life." They don't talk for a long time after that, instead watching Pietro Maximoff's chest rise and fall in shallow breaths.