Only You

Chapter Six

 "How's he doing?" Natasha asks, with three drinks in her hand. She thanks Bruce for holding the door open and sets the glasses down. A disgustingly strong alcohol for Tony, an herbal tea for Bruce, and coffee for herself with a few drops of creamer.

"Alive," Bruce answers, taking the hot mug of tea in his hands. He takes a sip, watching the monitor over the rim of his drink. He adds, "He was awake an hour ago." Bruce glances at Natasha, gaging her expression.

"Was?"

"We had to knock him out," Tony says, smoothly swiping his glass from the countertop and taking a long drink. He winces at the strength and cheekily smiles after he swallows. Natasha folds her arms across her chest and rolls her eyes.

"He's in a lot of physical pain. Even with his altered genetics, the pain would probably kill him. For good. If he dies, his tissues and cells can't go through another stage of regeneration."

"So what you mean to say is that you're keeping him in between life and death," she clarifies. Bruce opens his mouth and then shuts it.

Tony, master of word twisting, denies the claim. "We're letting him decide."

"What decision is there to make? Either he dies or he doesn't," Natasha says flatly, taking a sip of her iced drink.

"When people are in his position, a lot of the outcome depends on the person's willpower," Bruce says slowly. "So there isn't anything more we can do than keep him unconscious. We got him back to life, but he has to decide for himself if he wants that."

Natasha doubts they'll let Pietro die if he so chooses, but she purses her lips. "Steve is going to be furious."

"And what, throw a temper tantrum?" Tony asks, shaking his head. Bruce stays out of it, keeping a steady and focused look at the monitor. "This isn't his fight."

It isn't yours, either. Natasha wants to yell at him.

Under any other circumstances, Natasha would have. She's not scared of getting into a verbal argument, not even with someone as stubborn and strong-headed as Tony. But for the sake of someone else, she keeps her thoughts private.

She thinks about Clint's possible reactions to seeing Pietro. She's felt her own share of guilt and complete devastation. Clint's beating himself up over Pietro, she can see it as clear as day. She's known Clint for years now and she knows him inside out, better than the back of her hand. If Pietro being alive has a stab at easing Clint out of the depression he's sunken into, she's not going to stop it.

She figures Pietro has won the Rookie of the Year award. She moves towards the bed he's in, laying still as stone. He looks pale and gaunt — like death. She looks over her shoulder, not wanting to be caught talking to someone so close to the grave. Tony and Bruce face the other way, deep in conversation.

Natasha breathes in deeply, bringing her lips down next to Pietro's ear. "Don't die on us," she whispers. "Or I'll kill you." Sure, she could have done that — she could have killed anyone twice over. But the small smile, nearly invisible on her lips, is detectable in her voice.

She leaves the boys to their work and leaves the laboratory, silently rooting on the Sokovian. Like he can feel it, Pietro's monitor spikes up. His heart rate inches a little more towards a more stable beat. Bruce rushes towards him, with Tony hot on his heels. "Did you hear that?"

"Take a look at the monitor," Tony says, watching the rise and fall of the jagged red line following Pietro's heartbeat.

"He's going for it," Bruce mutters, looking at an abandoned coffee mug on the floor next to Pietro's cot. He wonders what Natasha said. He smiles to himself, laughing soundlessly. "This is crazy."

Tony sips his alcohol through a blue, plastic bendy straw. "You said it."

"Do you think Steve is going to get mad?" Bruce asks.

Tony, unfazed, looks at Bruce. "If I can handle you mad, he'll be no problem." He claps his partner in crime on the shoulder, and the two of them raise their glasses.

"Cheers," they say together.

"To the impossible," Bruce says, taking a modest sip of tea. Tony pushes the straw aside and empties the last half of his glass.