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.