black-widow:

One thing Natasha couldn’t stand was that look of sympathy. But from him, she’d let it slide. Reaching back, she adjusted the pillows behind her so she could sit up comfortably and sighed as she sank back a bit. “I mean, I know I probably don’t look all that great considering. But you look like shit. Did you stay out there all night?” She already knew the answer to that question. It was comforting to know that he’d been with her throughout the night, even if he wasn’t by her side. But she didn’t want him to forget to take care of himself. 

“I think I scared the shit out of the nurse. She tried to help me and I refused to do anything until I saw you. That’s why she ran out like that.” She laughed softly and reached up to run her fingers through her hair in attempt to tame her wild bedhead. “I can’t believe you’re seeing me like this.”

He shrugged, running his hands through his messy hair. “They wouldn’t let me inside. And…considering…you actually look fine.” he said earnestly. “Better than you did, at least.” He wasn’t sure what to do, he wanted to take care of her, but at the same time, he felt more than certain she might really hate if he tried. He sat back in the chair, arms crossed, not able to look away from her. He chuckled quietly and shook his head. “Yes, I’m shocked and appalled to learn you aren’t actually bulletproof.” He smiled for a moment before it seemed to slip off his face. If she had died in that hallway, he didn’t know what would have happened from there and if he would have been able to control himself. He doubted it.

“How are you feeling?” She certainly seemed to recover quickly. But it wasn’t comforting to see her like this, he hated it. He didn’t want to admit it, but her strength was something he’d come to rely on, as a constant and a comfort. “Anything I can do for you, just name it, okay?”

battleforliberty:

With a smile, Steve chuckled. He didn’t feel the ache of age on his bones or the strong strain on his mind, but there was the shade of weariness that plagued him. Age was more obvious on Banner physically. But even with the gray strands weaved into his hair, Steve couldn’t help but feel a millennium older. However, that gap was lessening every time he was struck by how similar they were. “That must be a relief. Your head is less cluttered with all the nuances of this age. Yet that must give it more room for your own troubles to fester.”

He shot Banner another smile in gratitude, pinching the slice between his fingers and inspecting it. Steve admired the thin orange skin stretched tight, tiny bubbles underneath. With a nod, he politely bit off half, swallowing the juices. God, that was good. Visible surprise showed up on his face as he enjoyed the fruit. “This is good.”

Swallowing, he glanced around the cafeteria before turning his gaze back to Bruce. “I think we have the potential, I think we have a profuse amount of potential to do great things. We all have something extraordinary in us. But it’d be our biggest challenge to unite and go beyond our differences.” He was quiet for a second. “We were handed an opportunity and it’s up to us to grab it.” With a humble chuckle, Steve thought about how he sounded. Probably like he was trying to recruit Bruce.

Admittedly, he was. Steve liked Bruce and saw a lot of himself in the other man. It’d be a waste to throw away something before they even tried it out.

He shrugged. “Cluttered would be a kind word to describe my head, to be honest.” He said with a self-deprecating laugh. Bruce actually couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel worn out or ragged around the edges from trying to keep his mind in check with his body. He looked up at Steve and grinned, taking a bite of his own piece. “Surprisingly enough.” He set the skin on the tray, his expression growing more serious as they returned to the subject of becoming a team. Having gotten to know most of the team, he should have felt a little more at ease with his position, but it was in his nature not to be aggressive. And maybe that was fear or even cowardice, but there was so much uncertainty as to how he would really perform. He wasn’t even in control of the outcome.

“That’ll be one hell of a day.” he agreed quietly. He had to keep reminding himself that this was better than being out in the desert alone, but it was difficult, only momentarily eased when he spoke to people like Steve. But if Steve had his back, Bruce had to make it his job to reciprocate the gesture.

black-widow:

Everything ached. From the top of her head down to her toes, it hurt. And Natasha could feel that before her eyes ever opened. She remembered what had happened, that she’d been shot during the commotion and that Bruce had saved her. She’d been correct in her assumptions that the bullet that ripped straight through her lower abdomen on the right side had missed her organs. All stitched up, now it was just to recover from the blood loss. Which she and her body had spent the night doing. 

Her eyes fluttered opened and for a moment, everything was a blur. All she could make out was shapes. Slowly, she blinked and her vision cleared. There was an IV in her arm that pumped blood into her veins and she sighed as she glanced up at the different monitors. “Well, this is rather unnecessary.” Forcing herself to sit up, she tore the sheet away to peer down at the bandages wrapped around her. A nurse came hurrying in and before she could say anything, Natasha pointed back towards the door. “I want to see Dr. Banner.”

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Bruce’s senses jolted awake, immediately taking note of an extremely stiff neck and sore back. He found himself sitting in the same chair in front of the medical wing, in a position that couldn’t, in any dimension, be described as comfortable. He pulled himself up, craning his neck, trying to lock his bones back into their proper position. Squinting up into the dull florescent light, he saw a nurse looking down at him. “Agent Romanoff would like to see you, sir.” He sat up bolt straight, all of his memories flooding back to him. He looked down to see he was still wearing the stained t-shirt, the blood now brown and stiff, sticking to his skin. It was all over his hands and there were streaks of his on his neck and face. He scrambled up from the chair and shot down the hall, not waiting for her permission.

Finding the door, he entered, his eyes wide with concern. Taking a moment, he looked her over, his stomach knotted all to hell. Well, she wasn’t dead, which got rid of his first fear, but she still looked tired, pale and wounded. Sighing, he approached her bed slowly with a smile. “Hey.” he said, his voice hoarse and tense. He pulled a chair over and sat down, his bloodshot eyes running over the machines and bandages surrounding her.