Human (Natasha Romanoff x reader)

Chapter 7

Warnings: swearing; injuries/burns; mentions of explosions/bombs; very brief mention of anxiety/panic attacks; BLACK WIDOW SPOILERS

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“Hello?”
“Is this Natalie Rushman?”
“Uh...yes, this is she. Who is this?”
“My name is Colleen Tylers. I’m a nurse at New York Municipal Hospital. I’m calling to speak to you about a patient of ours.”
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Natasha’s POV:
“Your wife, Casey Rushman, was admitted a couple of hours ago.” Holy shit. It can’t be.
“What... what happened to her? Is she okay?”
“She took a pretty big fall and she’s suffered some burns, but she’ll be just fine. We aren’t completely sure what actually happened. I’m sorry we didn’t call sooner, but she had no ID so we had to wait for her to wake up.” She’s okay. Oh my god, she’s okay.
“Thank you, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hung up the phone and pulled on a pair of jeans. I grabbed the keys to my Corvette and raced out of the tower.

Your POV:
I woke up in a hospital bed. What the hell happened? And why are these lights so goddamn bright? A nurse entered and, upon seeing me awake, immediately rushed to my bedside.
“Hello, ma’am. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. How did I get here?”
“You arrived in an ambulance, someone found you in the street and called the paramedics. We aren’t entirely sure what happened to you.”
Ah, yes. I remember now. I had been knocked unconscious by the blast and it must’ve thrown me out the window. I woke up and stumbled into the street before passing out again.
“Oh, my. Well, I don’t remember, either.” Lie.
“That’s quite alright. It should come back eventually. We do need your name, however. You didn’t have your ID on you when you were found.” Oh shit. Think think think. Ah!
“Casey. My name is Casey Rushman. Could you please call my wife Natalie?”
“Sure thing, Casey. Just write her number down for me.” She handed me a notepad and I quickly jotted down Nat’s number. “You said her name is Natalie?”
“Yes, Natalie Rushman. Thank you.”
“No problem, hon.”

14 Minutes Later
I heard aggressive, yet featherlight footsteps marching down the hall toward my room. Here we go. My favorite redhead stopped in the doorway, staring me down. She looked so intense, I didn’t know if she was going to start bawling or slap me. She walked with fierce determination toward my bed. Oh yeah, she’s definitely going to slap me.
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Hey! Are you wearing my shir一”
I was cut off when she grabbed my face with both her hands and pulled me into a fervent kiss. Oh...this is much nicer than getting slapped. She pulled away when oxygen became a necessity and leaned her forehead against mine.
“You really fucking scared me, Eight.” Our lips were so close that they brushed with each syllable, and it might be the morphine talking, but it was quite possibly the most blissful thing I’d ever experienced.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, Red.”
“How the hell are you even alive?”
“There was a window. I shot it out, but I wasn’t quite fast enough. The explosion knocked me out and threw me out the window.”
“Oh my god.” It came out a mere whisper, but our close proximity allowed me to hear her. “You’re okay though, right?”
“Yeah, I’m doing pretty damn great considering I just fell two stories. Only some minor burns, a sprained ankle, and a couple of bruised ribs. I heal faster than normal people, though.” She kissed my forehead and pulled me into her chest. “So I take it me being alive doesn’t change the whole you-being-in-love-with-me thing?” I asked.
“What? No, of course not. Why would it?”
“I don’t know. Heat of the moment. People say stuff.”
“Is this your way of telling me you didn’t mean it?”
“No! God, no! I love you, Natasha. Even if I’m still alive.” Wow, that last part sounded much better in my head.
She pulled away from the embrace to look at me with her eyebrows furrowed. “You’re really weird, you know that, Casey?”
“You love it. Are you gonna explain the nickname now?”
“Mmm, not yet. I think I’ll watch you squirm a little longer.” I let out a huff and frowned. “Aw, don’t pout. It’s not bad, I swear.”
“Mhm, fine,” I grumbled. She pulled me into a soft kiss, and we broke apart smiling.
“As much as I wanna live in this moment forever, we really gotta get out of here, Red.”
“What? Why? You’re hurt, we’re not going anywhere.”
“We need to leave before we get recognized.” Seeing her look of confusion, I realized she probably had no idea what was going on. “Natasha… I take it you haven’t watched the news since the bombings.” She denied it with her head. “People...they’re blaming the Avengers for not stopping the bombers. Some people are even saying that we were part of it.”
“What? That’s ridiculous!”
“I know, but there are people who want us arrested. We need to get out of here and talk with the team. Best case scenario, we help clean up and lay low until things cool down. Worst case scenario…”
“We might have to run.”
“Afraid so, liebling (darling).”
“You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you speak German.” I stood up as Natasha closed the door and she helped me change into the spare clothes she brought.
“Hm, I don’t speak it a lot anymore. But, I grew up alternating between German and English.” She lifted the shirt over my torso, careful not to jostle my burned arm. I caught her gaze flicking between my exposed chest and random areas of the room and I teased, “See something you like, Red?”
A furious blush ran up to her ears and she mumbled, “Shut up and put on the damn shirt.” I laughed and finished changing.
We walked down the hallway with our heads down, acting as normal as possible. We got into the elevator and, after a beat of silence, I said, “Will you please tell me who John Casey is? Is he from a movie? You know I don’t understand your pop culture references. It’s killing me.”
She let out a loud laugh at my displeasure. “I know. It’s eating at you, isn’t it? Don’t worry I’ll tell you eventually. Maybe.”
“I hate you, Romanoff.”
“You love me.”
The elevator dinged and we walked out the main entrance of the hospital. We made our way through the parking garage and I spotted her Corvette. “Ooh! Can I drive? Please!”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“Even if you weren’t injured and slightly high on pain meds, nobody drives my Corvette except me.”
“I will drive this Stingray one day, Romanoff.”
“Mhm. Sure you will.”