Natasha accepts Wanda's request to go for drinks later on behalf of both of you, and although you'd much rather just get dinner and head to sleep, you cannot deny Natasha and reluctantly get ready. Since this morning, you didn't interact much with her. It seemed as if she was veering out your way. Most likely avoiding any awkwardness between you. However, as you were changing in the front room, leaving Natasha in the bedroom alone you heard some alarming noises coming from her room. Dressed mildly, in just your bra and some loose trousers, you knocked the door firmly.
"Nat ? You okay ?"
She gave a strained reply, not satisfactory enough for you to stop prodding the situation.
"I'm coming in. I don't care if you're not decent."
As you walk in, you see Natasha on the front end of the double bed, struggling to pull up a dress, just as tight and showy as she had worn the other night. A cut on her side had bled through the tape.
"Nat...what are you doing cmon."
She gave you no answer.
You walk to her and bend to your knees, pulling her dress back down and leaving her in her underwear.
"Can we go to the front room ? I don't wanna stain your bed."
She screwed her brows together. Perhaps at your use of the singular, even though you'd both slept there just last night. She allowed you to take her hand and lead her to 'your' bed on the couch, where you redid the dressing on her cut and taped it over again. No conversation took place during this.
You helped her back to the bedroom and turned to leave. Before exiting the doorway you suggest to her maybe a change of clothes.
"The dress is a bit tight, no ?"
Perhaps you could have worded it better.
"What ?"
Her tone told you that yes, you definitely could have worded it better.
"I didn't mean it like that, just you're-"
"Fucking hell, Y/N if you think I'm a slut you could've just said it."
You stop in the doorway and rest you shoulder against the frame, bemused by her ability to jump to such a far-fetched conclusion.
"You've got fresh wounds, Natasha. Walking around dressed like a prostitute isn't gonna help them heal."
You push yourself off the frame and leave the room as Natasha calls after you.
"You wish I was a fucking prostitute, Y/N, because then maybe you'd have even the slightest chance with me."
You stop in the middle of the front room. That stung. The familiar silence fell between you to again - you had nothing to say. You wished now that you'd slept here last night, patched her up and left. You didn't like this power trip she had over your softness.
You quickly got dressed and ruffled your hair, wearing an even tighter, bustier dress than Natasha's. You were trying to prove a point, without admitting it. You fixed yourself another 'boring concoction' before downing it in two. Then another, and another as you wait for Natasha.
She enters the front room wearing dress trousers and a matching shirt, open at the front. By the time this has happened, you feel as if you've had too much and become slightly demeaned by your tipsy state.
"Wow. You look...hot."
You're immediately embarrassed by your inability to speak with conviction. She giggles at your comment and takes your hand, breaking the awkward tension.
"Come on, we're gonna be late."