Are you Real?

Its Your Fault

Your eyes flutter open, the sound of faint conversation reaching your ears. Wrapped in sheets, your body feels vulnerable in its nakedness, causing a momentary panic. But as you come to your senses, you take in the sight of the fireplace, the makeshift bed you lay on in the living room, and a pillow beside you.

Your throat feels dry, and your voice trembles as you struggle to form words, as if you haven't spoken in days. "Na.. Natty," your hoarse voice calls out for her.

The conversation halts abruptly, as if they've heard something. "Na.. Natasha?" you call out again, and you hear a chair scrape back followed by hurried footsteps approaching you.

"Detka," Natasha's voice washes over you in relief as her hand brushes your hair from your face, tears streaming down her cheeks, and suddenly you feel a tightness in your chest a sharp pain appearing.

Instinctively, your hand moves to cover the ache, seeking solace in the warmth of your touch. But Natasha intercepts your movement with gentle determination, her fingers curling around your trembling hand, guiding it away from the source of your discomfort.

"I know, baby," she soothes in a hushed tone, trying to prevent you from panicking.

You feel worse than before and Natasha's next revelation only serves to tighten the vice around your heart, squeezing the breath from your lungs in a paralyzing grip.

"Your heart stopped," she reveals, her voice carrying the weight of an unbearable truth. "I had to perform CPR." Panic surges within you, but it's tempered by a grim acceptance, a haunting reminder of the fragility your heart has endured since that toxic serum from the previous mission has altered its rhythm.

"You're okay now, you've only been asleep for a day," she continues softly,"It's normal, baby," attempting to reassure you. "You're suffering from an infection, and your body went into shock because of it. The CPR added more stress," she explains, but your mind is spinning.

"Honey," she notices your disoriented state, "you're okay," she says softly, her lips brushing your cheek.

"Fury?" you manage to say, and Natasha shakes her head. "Every line is being monitored," she whispers. "We're stuck for now," she admits honestly, and you can feel your heart rate quickening. "Hey," she murmurs, "we're safe here. No one will find us."

"Hydra? The Widows?" you blurt out in panic, and Natasha's features soften as she pushes your hair back. "Don't worry," she reassures gently.

But even amidst your own turmoil, your concern for her remains unwavering. "Are you okay?" you manage to choke out, your voice hoarse with emotion. Natasha nods, her expression softening with affection, and she lifts her shirt to reveal a canvas of bruises that mar her skin.

Your eyes widen in disbelief at the sight, and a wave of anguish washes over you. "Natty..." you murmur, your voice laden with worry as you reach out to gently trace the bruises that mar her skin. Each mark is a testament to the battles she's fought, a silent reminder of the dangers she faces.

Natasha meets your gaze with a tender smile, her eyes reflecting a mix of pain and resilience. "I'm okay, love," she assures, her voice soft but resolute. "It's just a few bumps and bruises, nothing I can't handle."

But you can't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at your gut. "You shouldn't have to go through this," you whisper, your heart aching with the weight of your concern.

Natasha's hand finds yours, her touch a comforting anchor amidst the storm. "Hey," she murmurs, her voice filled with warmth and affection, "this is nothing compared to having you safe and sound by my side."

Her words wash over you like a soothing balm, easing the tension coiled tight within your chest. Yet, beneath the surface of relief lies a current of guilt. She's injured, in pain, and here you are, feeling weak and feeble, always needing her to rescue you, always needing her care.