Friends With the Monster

Vulnerability

"Don't, touch it!"

Bruce snaps with heavy eyelids, positioned in the stray wheeled chair of their hiding spot. His eyes are wide, squirming as if the chair has another foot to go when it's already backed up against the wall.

Natasha flings a q-tip within her fingertips onto the floor and bites her lip. His mere existence infuriates her at the moment, not to mention the twitching and obvious paranoia.

He's both tried and failed to escape their safe house at least twice upon arrival and now he's rejecting assistance with his injury. The fact that she was able to shower without him successfully running off is nothing short of a miracle.

Perhaps diving toward his sliced chin with a Neosporin filled cotton swab without warning was the breaking point for the both of them...BUT that gash needs to be cleaned. Super serum complete with healing abilities or not, it's a deep cut.

In the back of Natasha's head, she can hear Clint giving her some lecture about bacteria and infection.

He was born to be a father.

Natasha sighs and lays her hand on her hip in the dark space lot by a single bulb. Despite wanting to raise her voice, the fact that they are currently in the basement of an ex S.H.I.E.L.D agent makes screaming a bad idea. Their housemate might come running down with a weapon and fire at her 'asset', set the monster loose.

Romanoff chooses to channel her frustration by opening her mouth to scream silently, tensing her fingertips with damp hair from a cold shower almost at her hips. She slaps her palms against each of her individual thighs next and looks up at the unfinished ceiling.

Nothing triggers her emotions. She's the master of hiding her feelings, and the doctor is testing every fiber of her being. He's gotten under her skin in an odd way- she's unfamiliar with the sensation.

Between his wanting to escape and clear distrust, her deduction tells her he's a stubborn ass.

'Arse' as the infamous musical character, Eliza Doolittle, would say.

The spy takes a breath and storms to the sofa, bare feet stepping on the stray carpets along her way in search of the television remote; she could use a decent musical to distract from the scientist silently watching and analyzing her every move. Natasha can feel his gaze as she crosses a knee, rests an elbow on top of it and holds her forehead.

She holds her remote in the other hand and mumbles something in Russian, followed up by, "If you don't clean out that gash it'll get infected."

"No way!"

She's reaching her limit with his sarcasm.

Bruce groans, now standing in front of a small old mirror with it's fading gold frame. His tongue is pushing up against his bottom lip to check the slice for himself.

"Believe it or not Miss Nina, that thing will heal itself in the next two hours."

"It's been bleeding for the past three, so," she leans against the back of the sofa, toying with an arrow necklace around her neck as she skims through the channels.

"It heals," he pushes back simply and yet with just enough force to elicit a response.

"Do your crows' feet heal too?" She knows the answer but she can't hide the grin full of satisfaction when he looks over his shoulder with the coldest of glares.

His chuckle catches her off guard, complete with a finger point, "You're just going to sit there? Watching your soap operas?"

Sitcom...Natasha almost corrects, catching herself staring at his exposed forearms due to rolled up sleeves. Her eyes shift momentarily over the way he's standing a hip's width apart.