Natasha Romanoff One Shots

How Do You Take Care Of Yourself If You've Never Done It Before?

Natasha sat in her room in the SHIELD base and bandaged her wrist. There was no blood but it still hurt like hell and she had a suspicion that it might be broken, if only a greenstick fracture. Using her left hand, she kicked her shoes off and used the tweezers beside her to pluck the glass out of her heels.

"Shouldn't have run barefoot on broken glass," she muttered angrily.

Droplets of blood dripped onto the floor and Natasha scowled, snapping the tweezers in half as they were only made of blue plastic from a first aid kit. Natasha glared at the wall. She wasn't going to Clint; he was already mad enough without finding out about more hidden injuries. Then she thought harder. Fury. Fury probably had countless first aid kits hidden in places in his office. Though she thought he was probably talking to the new recruits - or scaring them witless. 

"Well, it's better than nothing," Natasha said. "Oh, dammit, Clint sometimes helps with those. Oh well, let's hope he's not there."

She gently pulled on her socks and combat boots before walking out the door, ignoring the pain every step caused. Natasha paused outside Fury's office and heard him talking to the recruits. She couldn't see if Clint was there but probably not, he should still be resting in his room. 

Natasha opened the door and walked in, going straight to Fury's desk. The recruits stared at her in shock and Fury in exasperation. 

"What the hell do you need this time, Romanoff?" Fury demanded.

"First aid kit," she said, searching his draws.

The recruits watched as she stood up and checked the book shelves, wincing when her shirt lifted up as she stood on tiptoes and they saw a long gash stitched up along her side. 

"And you can't borrow Barton's because why?" 

"We may or may not be fighting and I sure as hell ain't going back to Medical."

"It's in the fourth draw," Fury said wearily.

"Brilliant. You may have it back next week." Natasha smiled at him. "Hang on, these are the new recruits, right?" At Fury's nod she continued. "Don't worry about him, he's a big softie at heart." 

Fury glared at her as she left. "Don't listen to a word she says. She is the worlds greatest manipulator and liar." He looked at Clint who seemed to be fighting an internal battle. "Barton, you may go after her, if you tell her she has to give the kit back by tomorrow morning."

Clint snorted. "She won't listen to a word I or anyone else says, but I'll try." 

He walked out of Fury's office and found Natasha sitting on a chair outside the door, picking the glass out of her feet. Clint breathed deeply and tried not to think to many bad thoughts at her. 

"You need any help with that?" He asked.

"As long as you don't drag me to medical," Natasha said. 

"You split your stitches, you have glass in your feet and you're favouring your left hand even though you're right handed which means you right wrist is probably broken, yet you want me to not take you to medical?" Clint clarified.

"Glad you understand, Barton," Natasha smiled, pulling the last bit of glass free and getting a lot of blood spill out. She pulled on her socks and shoes and walked back into Fury's office, Clint right behind her wearing a look of shock. "There you go, sir. Hope it's not too bloody."

Clint looked from Fury to Natasha and then back again. Fury just held the blood soaked first aid kit in his hand, his lips parted slightly in surprise. 

"I will never understand her," Fury said.

"Same here," Clint agreed.

Natasha was halfway down the hallway when Clint ran up to her and grabbed her shoulders.

"Come on, Nat," he said. "We're going to Medical."

"No," Natasha said. "You are. I am not. I have better things to do. Goodbye." She pulled herself away from him and continued walking.

"You need to go," Clint said, blocking her way."

"No I - ow. What was that - hey!" Natasha protested, pulling her wrist out of Clint's grip.

"If it hurts that bad, you need to go to Medical," Clint said, trying to reason with her.

"No I don't," growled Natasha. "I need to get away from you."

Clint snorted disbelievingly. "Yeah, right Tasha." He snatched her wrist, making her wince when he tightened his grip. "Coming now?"

"No," Natasha said, trying to get her wrist free. If anything, it only succeeded in getting more pain shooting up her arm. 

Clint sighed and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

"Clint! Lemme go," she yelled. 

Fury poked his head out of his office and sighed. "Romanoff, shut up and go to Medical. Barton, next time just drug her."

Clint grinned. "Will do, sir." He paused. "You got any?"

Fury disappeared inside his office and came out seconds later with a syringe. Natasha kicked and squirmed, succeeding in going nowhere. Fury stabbed the syringe full of sedative into her arm. Natasha glared murderously but she fell limp and unconscious. 

"Thanks for the reminder, sir," Clint called over his shoulder, walking towards Medical.

Natasha woke up with her wrist in a cast, her feet bandaged up and her wound restitched. She glared at Clint who was sitting beside her bed with a smug look on his face.

"Bastard," she mumbled.