2014-04-22 - Coma!

The Stark medical tech is quiet. Very quiet. Disturbingly quiet, even, especially for someone like James who would be used to the noisier, larger medical scanners, IV pumps, and equipment in general.

Natasha is asleep, of course, a hand resting on her swollen stomach. Her face is paler than normal, dark circles under her closed eyes. The monitors don't look happy, but they don't look to be in full panic yet, either-- and it's not like there's any doctors hovering about in panic. Still, she doesn't look entirely... right.

But then again, she has a pair of twins demanding more and more from her body as the days pass. The IV in her arm pulses slightly, continuing to feed her nutrients and liquid.

He's in his costume, the one that is, and yet is not Steve Rogers. And he's prepared to head to Chicago, shortly. And things? Things are making sense to him. In a disturbing way. James opens the door, steps inside. Watches her for a good minute, two, before he begins to walk towards her. And, clears his throat. He does not sit down on the bed.

"Natasha," he states, quiet, yet forceful. The expression on his face is grim, a thin line. And the fact he called her Natasha - not Natalie? Ought to be a clue in of itself. The name used, purposefully. "Wake up. We need to talk."

Eyes flutter open. Natasha looks over at him, groggily, exhaustedly.

She sits up, part-way. And that he called her by Natasha-- not Natalie, not Natalia-- isn't lost on her, however tired she is. "Yes, James?" Still. It wasn't Widow either, so for now, he isn't Captain America. She sees his expression, and concern flickers across her face.

"Something is wrong." A statement. "What's happened?" She looks as if she might get up, but she doesn't. She sinks back, too tired and weak to move much.

There's no denial that something isn't wrong. No attempt to console, or ease any tensions. Only a question. "Been to Chicago, recently?" The man asks, quietly. Still, he doesn't seem as if he's about to kill her, or isn't taking on a threatning nature, physically.

James folds his arms over his chest, expectantly. And, he's strategically placed himself between the bed, and the medical equipment.

Natasha looks at him, confused. "What?"

She could be lying, of course. But at least it seems her confusion is genuine. "No. Malibu, yes." She closes her eyes, thinking. And it seems like her thoughts are sluggish, even. "It's been a few years since the last time I was in Chicago-- Clint was with me." She doesn't explain. "Why?"

That could be disturbing, if Natasha's been on ice as long as that. And his frown shows it. "Was he." James doesn't sound like there's a whole lot of belief going on, there. And his eyes narrow, marginally.

"Ran into an old friend of yours. Knew your apartment. Knew you had a control panel in the closet. And, knew the self-destruct code for it. You'd asked him to set it off, if something happened to you. By the sound of it, something did. In Chicago." He pauses, to let that settle in.

"I'm listening."

Natasha-- whether it's truly her or not-- has been trained to lie. To decieve. To manipulate and distract. And to know when to employ them.

And to know when to employ other measures. Like truth.

In limited doses.

"What?" she replies. "I have a couple of informants who have similar orders... in case of something going terribly wrong. I can't imagine what might trigger that in Chicago-- the orders are very clear. I have to be dead."

"He saw you being loaded into a cryo chamber. In Chicago. Recently." James lowers his arms, and is ready to move, if needed. "So, he's following orders. Considering the amount of information he knew, and the fact he risked his life to do it? Either someone has an LMD that you've been operating while you've been here, and under lockdown - which hasn't been reported to SHIELD, someone is going around looking like you and got caught - or, you're not Natasha." He watches her reaction, closely.

"Clint and I are going to Chicago, to find out which it is."

Her reaction is calm. Perhaps too calm. All she does is nod.

And with that, James turns to the medical equipment. And, dials up the sedative that's in place as a backup, in case her systems begin to go into chaos. His eyes meet hers, "We'll talk again, when I get back." He knows Natasha - if it's the real her, will understand what he's doing. And why he's doing it. And he knows she'd do the same, to him, if their roles in this were reversed. He can't afford to take chances she'd contact anyone. Or, do the Avengers damage from within.

"Goodnight."

There is a moment of panic that crosses her expression before the sedative hits-- a moment where she reaches for the IV cuff.

But she does not quite make it before the sedative hits her already weakened body. Her eyes roll back and close, her body limp on the bed.