Imagines and more

The sick assassin

If there was something you hated more than anything else in this world, it was debriefing. Above all else, debriefing with Tony Stark. It wasn't that you disliked the man. In fact, you were actually quite fond of him. But he talked. Oh man could he freaking talk. It was like his mouth moves before his brain gives him permission to do so.

No matter what cues you gave; how many times you'd try to politely interrupt him, he would pay you absolutely no mind. Often times, you'd tolerate it. He meant no harm after all. But due to the fact you were running on just two hours of sleep, your patience was wearing a little thin.

You were exhausted, and all you wanted to do was find your girlfriend so you could shower together before succumbing to dreamland.

With the knowledge that you'd be here for hours if you let him continue, you simply slide the completed mission report over to him before quietly slipping out of room. With the intention of going to find Natasha, your feet take you towards the common room where she'd typically wait for you after missions.

But much to your chagrin, she wasn't there. No one was. The room was completely empty.

"Great." You sigh heavily, deciding to head through to the kitchen to grab a drink before making any further attempts to figure out just where she'd disappeared off to.

Turns out, that wasn't necessary, because sat at the table was the woman herself. You feel whatever stress that had continue to linger leave at the sight of her. You knew she knew you were there, and because of that you expect her to beam at the sight of you before throwing herself into your arms.

But that doesn't happen. She barely even sends a glance your way. Weird.

"Nat? I'm home." You murmur like she didn't already know, setting down your bag before making your way over to her. You were tired, and you just wanted her to hold you.

Before you could even make it two steps however, she was already up and on her feet and setting her empty coffee cup into the sink. You go to smile and hold out your arms, under the assumption she'd walk into them, but she simply sends you a half hearted smile before grabbing her phone and leaving the room.

What on earth...?

Feeling a little hurt and very much confused, you follow her knowing she was heading back to your shared room. You push open the door and see her rifling through her dresser seemingly searching for something.

"Nat? What's going on? What are you doing?"

She glances back at you, "Getting clothes?" She retorts like you were dumb, and if you weren't so focused on why she was acting so weird, you'd hear the unfamiliar hoarseness in her voice. But you take absolutely no notice, feeling a little hurt that she was speaking to you in such a way.

"I see that. Let me grab some too so we can-"

"No y/n," she cuts you off, and you freeze midway to your own dresser. "I want to shower by myself."

You could only bring yourself to murmur a small, "Oh." in response, feeling your eyes burning with the familiar onslaught of tears. This never happens. No matter what, you always showered together after missions, no matter who's they were or how long they'd taken. It was a way to reconnect, to be close after being apart for so long. Tears would be wiped, bruises would be tenderly kissed and you'd spend over an hour simply holding one another.

It had become routine, something you both cherished and looked forward to so to be rejected so harshly made your chest physically ache. Knowing you needed to respect her boundaries, no matter how badly they hurt, you acquiesce her with only a nod and take a few steps away from her.

"Okay. That's okay. I'll-um-I'll wait." You ignore the single tear that had managed to escape as you sit down at your desk chair, completely missing the look of regret that appears briefly on Natasha's face before she reluctantly disappears into the bathroom, too busy trying to hold yourself together so you didn't fall apart in front of her.

You didn't want to cry. Not really. But you were tired, and overwhelmed, and all you had wanted was for Natasha to hold you just as she always does. You couldn't be mad at her for wanting space though, and you'd always respect her choices and boundaries.

You sniffle softly as you wipe off your cheeks with your sleeve, intending to get some more work done so there would be less to do tomorrow. Perhaps Natasha would be in a better mood then, and maybe she'd hold you. With a light sigh, you reach for your laptop.

"Huh'tsschoo!"

You startle slightly at the sound, head whipping up to face the bathroom door your girlfriend was currently behind. You wanted to call out and bless her, but something inside stops you in your tracks.

Give her some space, you remind yourself.

You bring your focus back to your laptop, interrupted again only moments later by yet more sneezes.

"H'htschoo! Huh'tsschoo! H'htschoo!"

Okay. That was concerning. Natasha never sneezes more than once. In fact, now that you think about it, you don't think you had ever heard her sneeze before. Was she...was she sick? Was that why she didn't want you near her?

Biting your bottom lip in consideration for just a moment, you close your laptop, rise to your feet and make quick work of kicking off your shoes before tentatively knocking on the bathroom door and inviting yourself in. You were immediately met with a heat that takes your breath away, and you frown in concern as you leave the door open intending to let some air inside.

"Nat?" You call in concern over the sound of the water hitting the tiled floor, reaching forward to pull the glass door of the shower open slightly. The sight that greets you all but breaks your heart. Natasha was flush in the face, eyes wet and bloodshot from what you could only assume were tears and that and even mentioning her dripping nose that she seemingly no longer cared about wiping.

She looked completely and utterly defeated.

"You're sick? Baby, why didn't you tell me?" You reach into the shower to turn down the temperature of the water before stripping off yourself and stepping inside. You hold out your hand, waiting for her to nod in consent before tenderly cupping her cheek.

Your other hand soon follows, and you can't help but pull her forward just slightly so you could press your lips against her forehead.

"I'm sorry." She chokes out, her own arms taking their rightful place around your waist, and you shake your head dismissively as you pull her properly into your arms, her bare frame flush against your own.

"It's okay. You don't have to be sorry." You cup the back of her head, combing your fingers through the wet strands.

"I do," she insists. "I was mean and ignored you and I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to see me like this. So gross and-"

You coax her head away from your chest and once again reach up to cup her cheeks, "Nuh uh. None of that. You're sick. You're allowed to be sick. It doesn't make you gross or whatever else you were going to say. And I forgive you. Yes it hurt-" you don't miss the way her eyes grow suddenly shiny at those last few words, and you pull her back to your chest and hold her as close as you possibly could.

"but I understand." You continue, "I'm not mad at you, or upset. I just want you to get better. Will you let he help you get better?"

Natasha sniffles, and nods, bringing a smile to your face for the first time in hours.

"Thank you pumpkin."