BLACK & RED | NATASHA ROMANOFF X READER | MARVEL

20

About two weeks went by of me living in the compound's medbay. The days blended together in a fog of treatments and therapy sessions. The medical staff was kind and patient, but I often felt like a prisoner in my own mind.

My injuries were slowly healing, but the process was grueling. A few broken ribs, a concussion, dislocated shoulder and various cuts and bruises were nothing to scoff at. In addition to the ribs and arm, I also had a deep bulleted scar in my waist. The wound had healed significantly, thanks to the expert medical care the compound provided, but it still ached from time to time. I found myself constantly checking my body for any signs of pain or discomfort, almost as if I was still on high alert, expecting an attack at any moment. The pain was constant, and even the strong painkillers the medical staff gave me only offered a brief relief.

One morning, as the sun streamed through the window, I sat up in bed, stretching my sore muscles. The door opened, and Tasha walked in, carrying a tray with breakfast.

"Morning, Alana," she said with a warm smile. "How are you feeling today?"

I gave her a small smile in return. "Better, I think."

"How's the head?" She strokes my hair.

"Better too."

"Good to hear." She set the tray down on the bedside table and handed me a cup of coffee. "I brought your favorite. Wanda helped me make it."

I took a sip, savoring the warmth and familiarity. "Thank you. For everything."

She sat down in the chair beside my bed, her expression serious. "Alana, there's something we need to talk about."

I felt a pang of anxiety. "What is it?"

Tasha took a deep breath. "We've been monitoring the remnants. They're still out there, and they're still a threat. Steve and Bucky have been gathering intel, and we think we have a lead on their next move."

I set the coffee cup down, my hands trembling slightly. "What do we do?"

"You don't do anything." She corrects.

I bristled at her words, a wave of frustration washing over me. "So, what? I'm just supposed to sit here and do nothing? I've been doing just that for the past two weeks."

"Yes," She said firmly.

Then sighed, her expression turning sympathetic. "I know it's hard, but you need to focus on getting better. We're all worried about you, Alana."

I gritted my teeth, my anger rising. "I can handle myself. I don't need to be coddled."

"I know that," she replied, her voice gentle. "But you're not at your best right now. If you went out there now, you'd be a liability, not an asset." She sighed, "I'm not even back in the field yet."

I opened my mouth to protest, but the truth in her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew she was right, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. I felt useless. Weak.

I slumped back against the pillows, my anger and frustration giving way to resignation. "Fine. What do you want me to do, then?" Her expression softened. I closed my eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. "I hate this," I muttered. "Feeling useless like this."

"I know," she said, her hand on my shoulder.

I nodded, my eyes still closed. "I just want to feel like myself again."

Natasha gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You will," she said quietly. "You just need to give yourself time."

"How much time? When will I be out of this f*cking hospital room?" I snapped, but took a deep breath. I knew what happened when I couldn't control my anger.