Friends With the Monster

Millitia

Natasha's breath hitches over Bruce Banner's reentry into the motel. She's completely surprised to see he's back with the promised 'hot tea', 'ice pack' and 'ankle wrap'. The spy has been on enough missions, encountered and dealt with enough humans to know any chance of 'escape' would statistically be taken. The risk is so real that she's gone so far as to tap a tracker on his backpack she only now realizes to have been excessive.

Even Clint Barton is currently texting and sending her bet worthy messages with utter curiosity to see if the doctor did in fact return.

With her foot propped on a pillow and 'Maltese Falcon' playing on the glitching television, Natasha presses her knuckles into the squeaking chair below her as she adjusts positions and shifts her weight from one hip into another. It might be excessive for the gash, but Banner is persuasive and is knowledgeable when it comes to injuries. She figures she may as well listen and care for a potentially torn ACL. What he doesn't yet know is that she recovers quickly thanks to the Red Room.

"You're back," she whispers, curious if he'll bother to respond or if he's too busy to acknowledge her verbally.

"You sound surprised," he shrugs off the backpack and offers her a warm foam cup full of chamomile tea.

Natasha runs a hand through her long red hair, taking his offer. He holds up a brown bag with a loaded bagel inside. It's her preferred lunch, filling and cheap. She checks it suspiciously, peeling the top of the bagel away to check it's contents.

Bruce looks as if she's crazy, "I'm not going to poison you."

Natasha barely reacts and clearly not in the way he had hoped;

"No but. Whoever was behind the counter saw your face. And it would seem you have enemies everywhere."

The nearby queen sized bed responds with a light bounce when he sighs and sits on the edge, noting her black and white selected film.

Natasaha had been ready to crash his bubble not 24 hours ago, and just like that she's rebuilt her wall.

He's seen her vulnerable- weak. She's overwhelmed by his care and his decision to waste stitches on her.

"We need to keep moving," Natasha says with a swing of her leg. She takes a bite of her bagel, careful not to express any personal discomfort. They're on the run for his sake. And she can handle a the injury with a big thank you to the bit of diluted Super Serum tracing through her veins.

The doctor can practically sense her weakness and there's no doubt in her mind he'll urge her to sit back down if she's not careful. Maybe he'll beg her to replace the damn ice pack that has been on her knee all night.

With his eyes now on hers, she reaches for the wrap.

No one is going to look at her with such needless sympathy.

She figures using one of the more comfortable recovery tools might keep his mouth shut;

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask," he retorts and bends to snatch up her personal communication device from the nearby table, "What I do want to ask-."

Her teeth snap together, "Put that down."

"Why? Are you worried I'm going to see something I shouldn't?"

He's toying with her based on that guilty smirk of his. She hates it;

"Drop it."

"I already read your Blonsky message. I agree with almost all of it. He's a loose cannon...but so am I."

Romanoff shivers in place, jaw opening through a forced huff as she takes another bite of her bagel. It sits in her mouth like a rock, hard to swallow. Natasha hates him for clearly having gone through one of her messages to Clint to make a 'Blonsky' connection.