Phil looked up from the paperwork that was strewn over their coffee table only to see Clint framed in the front doorway. But it wasn’t just him; he also held a very grumpy looking Natasha in his arms, bridal style.
“I’m confused” Phil replies and Natasha rolls her eyes.
“No it’s not;” Clint interrupted, “she sprained her ankle and the doctor said—“
“The doctor was an idiot. I’m fine.”
“And the highly qualified, Harvard trained doctor said she shouldn’t put any weight on it for at least a couple of days.”
Phil had been up on his feet at ‘sprained’ and now he pulled back her pant leg to take a look. Her ankle was already bandaged but he could see the edges of a nasty purple bruise underneath it. He rana hand over it gently but pulled back as she tried to stifle a grimace.
“What happened?” He asked
“We were on assignment, just rounding up a group of smugglers, nothing simpler,” Natasha began.
“Until Tash decided it would be a good idea to pursue a one of them out of a two story window when they ran. “ Clint interjected his tone an odd mix between admonishing and amused.
“I caught her didn’t I?” Natasha said, trying to look haughty and condescending but failing because of how tightly her arms were still wound around Clint’s neck.
“Not without recklessly injuring yourself—”
“Can we have this argument later please? Just put me down”
After Phil and Clint had guided her gently down onto the couch, they made it their mission to do everything possible that one can do for a sick person. Tasha watched slightly amused as Phil went to the kitchen to get some ice for her ankle and prepare her a warm mug of tea while Clint went in search of an extra pillow to prop up her foot and a blanket because, in his words, the apartment was “too damn cold for someone with a sprained ankle”(as though temperature had anything to do with it). It would have been absolutely ridiculous if it wasn’t so adorable and while Tasha tried to maintain her grumpy frown her mouth kept quirking up at the ends. Both of them were flapping around like a bunch of startled chickens or even worse, like two very worried S.H.E.I.L.D. agents. Clint propped her foot up on the pillow and proceeded to try and fluff it out of existence, but only after covering her in the blanket from swollen ankle to neck and tucking it so tightly around her that she thought maybe he had forgotten that she needed to breathe to get better. Phil came over with an ice pack in one hand and a mug in the other, but after taking an experimental sip himself declared that the tea was too hot and really the ice was too cold and proceeded to the kitchen to rectify their various unacceptable temperatures. The adorableness of the situation was fast wearing off so Tasha gave a sigh and said,
“For fuck’s sake, just sit down with me will you guys?”
Both men stopped in their tracks, dropping what they were doing to mumble apologies.
“I just want to relax ok?” Tasha said beckoning them over. Phil very gently insinuated himself behind her, his arms and legs bracketing her smaller body as Clint removed the pillow and placed her feet gently in his lap, rubbing a soothing hand farther up her legs. She lay back against Phil’s chest as they turned on the T.V. and after a while the two other men finally seemed to relax and actually believe that she was going to be ok.
Tasha started to feel the long day weighing her down as well as the injury and the painkillers she’d been given for it. She let out a yawn and a half an hour later her eyes were half closed. Before she fell asleep she murmured aloud,
“No walking for a couple of days. I’m going to be so bored.”
And Clint, who had been rubbing the foot of her uninjured leg, replied with a twinkle in his eye, “Don’t’ worry, we’ll keep you occupied.”
And that was a nice image to dream about.