There's Worse Ways To Go

Seven

So that is how it was every night while I healed. Natasha would undress me and we would slip under the covers, weaving our bodies together and talking late into the night. Our childhoods, our siblings, our parents - the good, the bad, and the ugly.

We sleep by each other's sides and act as a dreamcatcher, neither one of us ever having a nightmare as long as the other is against them. We don't see much of each other during the day, Natasha training and doing chores and maintaining any threat's whereabouts with the others. I spend the days waddling around the compound and memorizing it, cooking for my team at lunch when Wanda and Vis are busy with their duties. But at night, we come together.

My ribs are still bruised but mostly healed after a few weeks. I push through the pain of my side, just a lulling throb now. I spend a lot of time in the gym, getting my strength back. I do my combat training alone, or with Natasha beside me. She won't let us spar together again until I'm fully healed, and I let this one slide, as much as I want to take any chance I have to get close to her.

I go back to the gun range, playing with the different weapons and stances and targets. Sam and I team up and he carries me around to different training towers, Bucky coming out every once and while when he's bored and offering his hand.

I've been at the compound for a month when it arrives.

Nat and I are having lunch after a gym session when Tony marches in with shades on, a garment bag over one shoulder and a briefcase in his hand.

"What is up, my dudes," he calls, announcing his presence. "Bronson, you're with me. I've got a present for you."

Nat wiggles her brows at me and I playfully punch her shoulder, standing and following him into the conference room.

He hangs the garment bag from the whiteboard, setting the case on the table. "Option one or two," he says, pointing at the bag and the case.

"One."

"Good, because that's what I was going to give you."

He unzips the bag and flares it open, unveiling a dark camo suit. Greens and blues and grays and reds all weave together, creating an undulating pattern across the entire suit. Gold zippers line a central vest, too many pockets and sleeves for ammunition. Attached to the vest on the shoulders are two thick pieces of cloth that look like handles, and I realize they're for Sam to grab and carry me away.

"So, you're got your basic army fatigue colors, but with a little of my own fashion flair because your uniforms are so basic. The central vest is equipped to carry too much ammo, and Sam has got these handles here to pick you up and take you where you need to go. Try it on, try it on."

I do, struggling to get into it quick enough. When I button all the buttons and clasp all the clasps Tony reaches into the bottom of the garment bag and pulls out a pair of combat boots. I put them on, and they pretty much complete the look.

It fits me like a glove.

"Looks like I don't have to make any alterations. Makes my job easier." He pulls out a pair of fancy safety glasses from the inside of his suit. "Friday glasses. She'll let you know all the things that your little computers and radios used to tell you, only more accurate. Work with her a little before you actually go out in the field. And finally," he clicks open the briefcase, "the main event."

"The suit wasn't already the main event?"

"Papa Tony treats you well." He opens the case and reveals a compressed chunk of metal. "Ta-da."

"What is that supposed to be?"

"It's your rifle. Your sniper gun. Pew-pew."

"Sniper rifles are bigger than that, Stark. You sure you know your guns?"