Wanda Maximoff didn't know what she was expecting.
Obviously Natasha had been spending a nearly unhealthy amount of time doing this.
She held the 'Widowmaker's' hands in hers, mapping the damage.
Half healed bruises, split scabs, new cuts, broken (presumably self administered) stitches. It was nearly impossible to tell if there was anything else because almost the entirety of her hands were caked in dried blood.
"Tasha..,"
"Whaaaat?"
"You said you were taking care of yourself."
"I was- I am!" She pulled her hands back and absentmindedly pulled her sleeves lower so they covered her hands.
"You were gone a long time Wanda, I just- I needed something to do."
"Me being gone is no excuse to hurt yourself."
"I--" Her thoughts flicked to a couple days earlier, "This isn't hurting me."
"You're bleeding."
"So?"
"So you're hurt. Let's get you cleaned up. And maybe we can do something?"
A small smile flicked across Natasha's face, "Fine, I guuuuuess we can do that..."
