"Easy peasy" Clint hums, walking out of the jet and glances over to you. "Sure you don't want any help?"
You groan silently but nod anyway. Despite being a dangerous assassin you're also very clumsy, you were sprinting away with the intel with a couple more guys chasing and shooting at you, then you tripped and landed on the floor with a thud.
Laying on your side, you felt a throbbing, lingering pain in your left ankle. You scooched over to the side of the jet as Clint closed the doors and prepared for take off.
"Normally I'd be laughing my ass off but I'm used to it." He stated with a smug look.
"Shut up," you huffed, getting up, walking with a limp in your step to give him the flash drive.
You thought you were fine. You always trip and twist your ankle, but the closer you get back to the compound, the more sting and pain you feel.
That's when you realized: it's bad.
A small bump materialized on your ankle but you didn't let the archer know because one, he didn't ask, two, you can take care of it easily with an ice pack.
Natasha's in the middle of taking out something from the fridge when you enter the room. She frowns when she sees you limping.
"I take it that the mission was unsuccessful?" She raises an eyebrow. You mumble that it went smoothly, rummaging around the freezer for solid water to soothe your injury, but not one person who lives the damn facility took the time to make any. You then turn around to get some rest.
Natasha catches up to you from how slow you move. She swiftly gets under one of your arms to assist you. "Will you let me check it out?" You let out a noise, a way to say that you don't need help but she doesn't budge. Is it me or is it getting worse?
"I'm fine. I just need to sit it out." You tell her.
Sitting on the couch, you try not to wince as Natasha removes your shoes.
You are fine.
"You," she tosses your shoes to the side, staring at the bump on your ankle the size of a ping pong ball, maybe slightly bigger. "Are absolutely not fine. Look at it!"
"It'll heal eventually." You brush off, trying to touch the lump.
Natasha slaps your hand away, "it's swollen."
She looked at you for a moment with a frown. There's a chance you might've broken it and you're acting like it's going to be gone like the common cold.
"Nat, you worry too much," you decide to get up to go rest in your room, the pain is worse than before and it takes a hot minute to even get to the elevator.
"This'll be gone in no time."
Boy, were you wrong.
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The next morning, you don't even think you can stand on the foot anymore since it hurt like hell.
Cursing yourself, you start thinking of ways on how you'll get yourself up. Maybe a cane will work, or a wheelchair, or just don't get out of bed at all. That works too.
Or call for help. For Natasha.
You feel slightly embarrassed for not letting her help. You didn't listen, why would she help now? She'd probably just laugh at your face and say she told you so.
But you prefer that than Tony calling you a grandma for using a cane.
"Friday, can you call Natasha over?"
"She's already on her way." The A.I responds promptly.
You sigh, gently lifting yourself off the bed hopping over to your closet. You figured you'd change your clothes while waiting for her.
Just as you pull the hem of your fresh shirt down, she opens the door without knocking.
"I'm surprised you can still walk," she quirks an eyebrow but her tone is laced with concern.
"I hopped."
Natasha sighs, eyes landing on the lump on your ankle. "I'll get you breakfast and an ice pack. Stay here."
"I can't physically go anywhere, now can I?"
She looks over her shoulder and chuckles before walking out of the room. You smile to yourself, taking in how lucky you are to have someone like her.
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The next few days are a pain for you and at the same time embarrassing. Icing your ankle helped a lot, but Natasha advised that you shouldn't move it too much yet, let alone walk with it.
It seemed like she did a lot of research for this - or she already knew everything, seeing as she also gets a buttload of injuries on the daily.
"I feel like you're enjoying this." You point out.
Everywhere you go, Natasha would always help you walk. Wrapping an arm around the back of her neck and she wraps an arm around your waist. She might as well carry you but you'd be enjoying yourself.
She smiles, "Oh, I am."
Bruce already checked if it was serious, if you had broken a bone or anything, but it was just a really bad and unfortunate landing. And when you asked Natasha if you could go around in a wheelchair instead of wasting her time-
"We don't have a wheelchair."
Your lip tug upwards and finally you let out a giggle. You feel Natasha chuckle softly from under your arm.
"If we had one I would've gotten it for you by now," she shrugs before letting you go when the both of you reach the bed in your room.
"Oh yeah," you say sarcastically, sitting down. "We live in a building owned by a billionaire. I think you just wanna spend more time with me, Romanoff."
For a moment, Natasha looks at you incredulously. Then she leans in to press a kiss on your cheek and pulls away to grab another ice pack. "What if I did?"
"Then I say you're getting pretty soft," you smile, feeling a bit of heat growing on your cheeks at the mere thought of her willingly wanting more time with you.
She scoffs, the comment completely throwing her off of making the bag of ice. You lean over and gently stand up, shuffling towards your drawer to grab something.
"Soft?"
"Mhmm-"
"I can still kick your ass,"
"I know," you agree, nodding. The teasing smile never leaving your face. "But seriously though, thank you for the help."
Natasha sits down at the edge of the bed as you did. "You know I'd do anything for you."
"And that, ladies and gentlemen," you start. "Is what I mean by 'getting soft'." You laugh out loud as Natasha tackles you to the bed.
