Clint leaped to his feet as the chamber burst into a ball of flames. "Natasha! Natasha! WHAT ARE YOU IDIOTS DOING, GET HER OUT OF THERE!" he screamed from the observation deck.

"We can't stop it now or it could kill her!" one of the technicians called, running for the fire extinguisher.

"IT'S ALREADY KILLING HER! TURN IT OFF!"

Steve and Thor gripped his arms, holding him back from breaking through the glass barrier and getting to Natasha himself. Savagely yanking the extinguisher from the tech's arms, Bruce doused the chamber in the chemical suppressant again and again until the fire went out. "Natasha, can you hear me?" he called through the glass, squinting against the bright light coming from within. "Natasha, focus on me! It's going to be alright, just hold on!"

"100 percent! Shut it down!" a tech at the controls shouted, and another slammed down the lever to turn off the machine. The lights went down and the chamber smoldered as they pulled Natasha's limp body from the wreckage. Abandoning the attempt to hold Clint back, Steve and Thor joined him in his frenzied chase down to the operating theater. They were blocked from crowding the medical team attending to Natasha by Bruce, Tony, and Peter, all of them looking just as terrified as Clint felt and he hated them for it. What gave them the right to be so afraid when it was Clint's wife dying in there?

Before any of them could get a good look, Natasha was rushed out on a stretcher pushed by Sharon's team, the woman herself already shouting instructions on how to treat her before they vanished out the door. Cleanup continued in the quiet lab, making sure the fire was out and the machinery was shut down. Clint and the others hurried after the stretcher.

Clint didn't even get the chance to ask before Sharon was pressing against his shoulder, stopping him from entering the infirmary. "No, we don't know what went wrong and no, we don't know if she's going to be okay. Please wait out here until she's stable and I will come get you," she firmly said. "Sit down, Clint."

For hours they sat, waiting for news. Thor tried to cheer them up with some Asgardian drinking songs, but it was difficult to cheer up when the singing god had tears steadily dripping into his beard. They looked to Steve, their constant leader, for guidance, but he was staring at his hands like foreign creatures.

"We just need to be patient, and I'm sure everything will work out for the best," he noncommittally said. Working out for the best could either be Natasha waking up cured or slipping away from a tortuously painful quality of life. Clint knew that. They all knew that. But in the quiet hallway outside of Natasha's room they stared at the floor and pretended the captain meant she would be alright.

The door opened with a silent hiss of air and Sharon stepped out. Her hair was askew and expression grim as she surveyed them all. "Well, she's alive and the reversal was successful," she announced to great relief. "However...she's comatose. I'm still trying to figure out what went wrong, but." She shrugged helplessly and shook her head. "Probably it was just the shock to her system, which means her body will need some time to repair itself, come to grips with the change."

Hands tangled between his knees, Clint watched Sharon through somber eyes. "When's she gonna wake up?" he asked.

Already Bruce was shaking his head, mouth twisting and looking at the floor. Sharon shot him a look. "She'll wake up when she wakes up, Clint. There's no set timer on these sorts of things, and her body needs this time to heal. As long as she come out of it within the week there shouldn't be too much cause for alarm. And we're monitoring her vitals very carefully for any sign of change, so if something happens we'll know immediately. Now is not the time to be worried. You can go in and sit with her, Clint." She bit her lip, looking down at her clipboard instead of at any of them.

For the next eight days, Clint didn't leave her side. Sharon had a cot set up for him so he could sleep with one hand always closed over Natasha's, always able to feel her in case she woke up, and Bucky standing guard outside. After a while - when it became clear that Clint wouldn't leave and Natasha showed no sign of waking - other visitors were allowed in one at a time.

Steve brought flowers; purple carnations. Tony talked at the speed of light for an hour and didn't once allow himself to actually look at Natasha lying prone on the bed. The picture of poise and calm, Pepper brought Clint a duffel bag of fresh clothes and his favorite foods. Her mouth set itself in a thin red line as she held Natasha's hand for a few minutes, not speaking because Natasha didn't believe in the myth that the comatose could hear everything. Bruce didn't sit with Natasha so much as he sat with Clint, an arm around his shoulders and quietly listening in case he wanted to talk.

But Clint didn't want to talk.

When it was his turn to offer comfort, Thor sang more songs and told Clint about Valhalla, where only the most honored warriors went after death. The hall thatched with golden shields, the valkyries who carried the warriors to their final rest past the golden tree Glasîr, the most beautiful among gods and men. Clint knew it was supposed to reassure him, just like children felt reassured when told their puppies just went away to a farm upstate after getting hit by that car, but he just leaned against the big guy's side and watched the mechanical rise and fall of Natasha's chest.

That was the seventh day.

He was losing her. It was only a matter of time before Natasha got an infection from all the tubes or developed pneumonia. The serum reversal had been successful, but Clint almost wished that it hadn't. If it hadn't she would get over this and he would at least have her for the rest of his miserable life. Now he might never hear her voice again. He couldn't even remember the last thing they'd said to one another. Probably something stupid, like, "Don't forget to buy milk," or, "Brush your teeth before you kiss me; your breath stinks."

"Come on, Tash, you're better than this," he whispered to her early on the eighth morning. "Just open your eyes. I bet if you knew I was talking to you while you were comatose, you'd laugh at me until you turned blue. We're not supposed to believe in this sort of stuff. Neither of us were trained for miracles, but...come on, Tasha. Since when did you do things by the book, anyway?"

He readjusted slightly, head pillowed on both of his arms and one of hers, running a hand soft as a whisper up and down her arm like always. If she died, he would get up and walk again. He would reassemble the broken pieces and go back to work just as he did after Coulson died. But it wouldn't be easy. The loss of her would sit heavy on him for the rest of his life, chasing the smell of carnations down his throat. He understood her thing with roses, now.

"Sharon's bringing her kid to see you later. We're probably gonna end up talking about-about switching you off, Nat. That it would make your pain go away or-or that you wouldn't want to live like this. What should I tell her? I know that if this came up before, when you still had the serum, you woulda wanted me to let you go. But...things are different now. What about those kids we talked about, huh? What about growing old together? I really wanna make fun of you when you start getting wrinkles. Don't...don't take that from me. Just wake up, Natasha. Come on, prove 'em all wrong again. If I didn't think you were made of stronger stuff, I wouldn't have made that call."

After checking that Bucky was standing guard, mechanical arm gleaming in the dimmed corridor, Clint pillowed his head on Natasha's hip and allowed himself to sleep a little longer.

Being under was like being submerged in the deep end of the swimming pool wrapped in a bubble of air. Natasha could breathe, but was suspended motionless and blind in the depths. Every great once in a while a small sound or sensation would occur to her, but they came and went so quickly they were almost immediately forgotten. The only thing that ever lingered longer than a breath was the tickling up and down her right arm.

It felt like both years and seconds before something changed, before the restrictions around her finally seemed to break and she started clawing her way up. Sensations came more easily, more often, and she reached toward them. Reached for Clint's voice. For the sensation of his hand on her arm. For the love sitting heavy in her heart. There was a light - not a light at the end of a tunnel, much bigger and with more promise - and she swam, bullying her throat to call back when she heard someone singing to her.

Clint.

She reached. And she reached. And she called back.

The smell of carnations rose with her.

Sharon stepped into the hospital room and froze in the door with a gasp. "Is she awake?" she breathlessly asked. Jamie peered out from behind her legs with wide eyes.

Turning to look at her over his shoulder, Clint smiled so fiercely that the tears in his eyes fell free. "Nah, just kinda mumbling."

Waking up from a coma wasn't like on medical dramas, where the patient just opened their eyes and were fine again. The team was called but it took eight hours from the first sign, a soft wordless murmuration, before there was another. Her hands started to slowly open and close and react to soft touches. Thor was concerned that it was going so slowly but Sharon insisted that any sign was a good sign. Pepper made regular coffee and food runs because no one dared leave.

Nearly twenty hours after the first sound, Natasha jerked against the breathing apparatus and her eyes flew open. Sharon carefully removed the tubes and Natasha gasped like a fish out of water before looking at Clint and dropping back against the pillows, out again. "That's fine, it's normal, waking up is a process," Sharon told them.

Clint didn't want to sleep, not when Natasha could be back at any moment, but when night fell and the rest of the team slipped out one by one with promises to return come morning, Bucky took stand outside and Clint couldn't help laying his head down. Just for a little while. Just to rest his eyes. He hadn't slept in over a week and it was beginning to grate on him But as soon as he drifted off he imagined the sound of her shifting or thought he heard her murmuring and jerked awake. The gleam of Bucky's metal arm was a reassuring sight out in the hall. He relaxed but sat up to curl around the edge of the bed-

And found her watching him, green eyes glassy but blessedly open. He scrambled for the nurse call button.

"You're fine, Natasha. You've been in a coma for nearly nine days, but you're waking up and you're going to be fine," were the first words Natasha heard clearly when she awoke, tears streaming from Sharon's eyes as she checked Natasha's vitals. "Things might be a little confusing at first, and you might have trouble talking, but it's a process and you'll be recovered in no time."

The tubes were gone. Natasha could breathe on her own. The burns and bruises faded and Natasha began the long climb to life after the serum. The path was narrow, rocky and uneven under her shaky legs, but if Natasha was anything she was resilient. When her legs crumbled she just mustered her strength and got up again. When she discovered words had fallen from her memory and left gaping holes, Pepper made a prompt appearance with flash cards and a cup of tea. In the days after Sharon took the samples to test whether Natasha could have children, when the nerves ate at her like the plague, Bruce showed up with journals and charts to explain what her chances and options were.

She was able to go home and continue recovery on her own a week after waking up. There was a team party waiting on the communal floor and she welcomed it. Welcomed the normalcy. Welcomed beloved bodies crowding in close to wish her well. Welcomed the sensation of being temporary just as long as she was alive to watch it all go by. Natasha thought she would feel different, somehow, sense the passage of time or the accelerated aging of her body or just feel things more acutely, but of course she didn't. Just like anyone else, she took all of those things for granted.

Even though there was nothing to really grieve - she knew there would never be another life after Clint even if she could live a thousand years, and she had finally come to terms with the loss of her babies six months before the procedure - but her heart still sometimes ached for her first daughter, her theoretical daughter, only that ache came solely in the nighttime now. Only with Clint there, snoring curled against her back while she shoved the corner of her pillow into her mouth and relished the freedom of being able to feel without consequence.

On her fourth day at home Sharon brought Jamie and the test results. The six-year-old immediately squeezed Natasha round the waist and allowed Clint to ruffle his hair before running off to find Steve. "So, do you want me to tell you both at the same time or just let Nat relay?" she asked, face carefully neutral.

Natasha and Clint didn't budge from the sofa. Sharon nodded and pulled out the file of test data. "So, we've basically done every fertility test known to man-"

"Oh, I'm aware," Natasha replied with a roll of her eyes. "I recall the hysteroscopy to be particularly traumatizing."

Smiling apologetically, Sharon quipped, "Oh, and don't forget the endometrial biopsy," and Natasha shuddered under her skin. Their companionable laughter shuttered and died into silence as they contemplated the papers sitting on the coffee table. "Okay. Let's just...rip the band-aid. Natasha, I am so, so sorry..."

A coil of dread surged coldly in the pit of her stomach and she grasped Clint's hand. It wasn't supposed to happen this way; this was supposed to fix her, make her whole again, heal what was lost so long ago, send the ghosts back to Hell, not break her even further. Natasha closed her eyes and recited from memory every alternative option Bruce had explained to her. Adoption. Surrogacy. Fostering. Sometimes there were fertility treatments that could-

"But your days of sleep are numbered, because once you have your first baby, you aren't gonna get a wink for at least-" Natasha's shock was so strong that she lashed out and slapped Sharon across the face. "Hey! That's good news, Tasha!"

"Are you kidding me?!" Natasha yelled. "This isn't a game, Sharon, this is my-" Then it hit her. The blood drained from her face and Sharon grinned. Clint's fingers tightened around hers. "I can have a baby?"

"Nat, you could have ten babies if you wanted to!" cried Sharon tearfully. "God, it's not my fault you didn't wait for me to finish and assumed the worst!"

She was tempted to hit Sharon again, but the blonde woman's arms unexpectedly wrapped around her in a suffocating embrace. Natasha held her in kind and they were silent, pinned in place and so perfectly still, crystallized by the revelation of that moment. She would never be alone. Not that she had ever doubted it once since the team was formed, but to be surrounded by people and to have people of her own were two different kinds of family.

Arrangements were made at SHIELD for Natasha to switch roles from spy to handler-Clint's handler, to be exact. He was partnered with Torres, the Agent who performed their wedding, and she looked after them like rambunctious children. Like Coulson would have. She knew that if it were what she really wanted, she could have left SHIELD altogether, but no matter how much she wished her life had played out differently it was plain that the civilian role was never meant for her. As long as she had Clint and Sharon and the team then she would be content with her lot in life.

Her lot in life, though, was no longer set in stone. It was oh so changeable. That much was proven only six months later, when Clint came up to the apartment from the training rooms and reported with an amused grin, "Tony's been taking bets on us again."

"Oh?" she asked, flipping through a book but hardly seeing the words. Her excuses to skip training were thin but true; she was tired, exhausted, really, and distracted to the point that the lines of the book ran together in her eyes.

Clint pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he passed the couch. "Yep. On whether any kid of ours is going to turn out a Katniss, a Merida, or a Legolas," he replied from the kitchen.

The book snapped shut in her hands and she turned to face him, a cryptic smile playing across the corners of her mouth. "I'll take that action."

"Yeah?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "We'll know in about...oh, seven months, anyway."

A bowl crashed to the floor and shattered but Clint didn't pay any heed to the mess, staring at her with cautious hope fluttering soft behind his shuttered eyes. "Tash, are you pregnant?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly, deliberately, making sure he could see the most minute flicker of her expression, she nodded. Her eyes stung but heart was strong as Clint practically dove over the couch to wrap himself around her. She was ready. This was what she'd been made for.

They would not name their firstborn Rose. No child deserved to be weighed down by ghosts created so long before her own birth. And they understood, in one way or another, that Natasha already had a daughter by that name. A daughter that, though she never really lived, would always live in Natasha's mind, a shadow, a beacon, a memory that she wouldn't give up for all the riches in the world. Remembering Rose was what kept Natasha human through the long waiting sleep, and now it was time to wake up and live.