tushanshu_logs | (no subject)

She lets him help her off the bike, and doesn't comment at the arm around her. Much as she'd like to lean on pride, her pride isn't going to support her if she stumbles, and the way the world seems to be pitching at odd angles now that she's on her feet again... she'd rather not risk it.

However, she doesn't immediately start for the door to her apartment, just looks up into his face, her expression quiet and sympathetic, with maybe a touch of... guilt? Regret?

"I don't think so. And I'm sorry, but maybe..." Maybe he doesn't want to know after all. Maybe it's best if they go on as they have, strangers in some curious orbit around each other... As if there's any chance she would let the topic go, if she were in his place.

The ground seems to shift under her, and she stumbles a little, catching herself with only a little wobble, but it's enough. She drags in a breath, reaching up to press a hand to her shoulder again. The wound throbs, and it's too, too hot, a burning brand against her hand. "Maybe you should come inside."

There is more going on here than he expected. And when she pauses, he stays with her, frowning slightly and listening carefully. Hanging on to her words. Paying sufficient attention to catch her and steady her as she stumbles.

And even with the unexpected conclusion, he rumbles, low. "I was actually gonna do that, anyway. Another friend was still running fever days after she'd been hurt, gonna go out on a limb and guess it was pretty bad to begin with. Not a situation to leave anybody alone in."

Sure, he's made an assumption. But no way in hell was he just leaving her alone.

Natasha shoots him a look at that, somewhere between frustrated and amused, but she can hardly deny she could use a little help, and after a moment she nods and starts for the door. She moves slowly, leaning subtly into his support to keep from stumbling again, and drops her hand from her shoulder to retrieve the key from her suit.

"This is not the way I usually invite men over," she says with a wry smile as she opens the door. As if she ever trusts anyone but Clint enough to invite him into the place where she actually lives.

Clint... and apparently now Bucky.

"I bet it ain't," there's a small grin mixed with worry in his voice. After all, the way she looks? He can absolutely guarantee there are men lining up to be invited. And that it's her choice, absolutely and always, who does go in.

But it's not his intent, not today. Not with the way she's burning up.

He takes a little more of her weight as she has to let go, then spends a moment to orient himself around the new space (so similar to Steve's and yet so different). Well, there's a--

"Couch, bed, kitchen counter?" For taking care of the damage. Her call, since it's her home and up to her to deal with how well the place can be cleaned.

If she were a little steadier right now, she'd say the counter - she's patched herself up in less comfortable places, and at least it's easy to wipe down. As it is, it's probably easier to change the sheets on the bed than clean the couch if she bleeds on it.

"Bed," she says, and starts in that direction, trusting he'll keep pace with her and help keep her upright. She's getting less and less certain she'd manage that on her own if she had to.

When they get there, she drops down onto the bed with a grateful sigh and unzips her suit with no trace of self-consciousness, shrugging it off her uninjured shoulder first, and then more carefully peeling it away from the wound. "There's a box of medical supplies in the bathroom, next to the sink."

"Got it."

He settles her gently on the bed, then follows the instruction, quickly, quietly, his eyes intent on the revealed wound when he comes back with the kit and a few towels and pieces of cloth he's soaked through. Lips pinched (he's seen worse, but he'd rather not), he sets about gently places the equivalent of paracetamol easy for her to reach. Both for pain reduction (not much) and fever reduction.

The towels... yeah, fever reduction is probably as important as getting the direct infection in check, hence the cool fabric for her to rest against while he works. It's not pretty. And he's glad she doesn't have to deal with it alone.

"I hope that if I hadn't run into you, you'd have called somebody in, for this."

It's... almost a tease. On the one hand, Steve does live next door. On the other... he really is not sure if that's something she would have done. Agents, as far as he's seen, don't seem the overly open and trusting kind.

She would have handled it herself, but since he seems willing and able to deal with it... she leans back on the bed, letting him handle it while she keeps an eye on the proceedings.

"I have a... partner, here," she murmurs, reaching over to take the painkillers and swallow them dry. "And I've handled worse on my own."

She honestly can't say if she'd have called for help or not. She likes to handle her own problems as much as she can, even with those she trusts - this is actually somewhat unusual for her.

"Sorry to hear that." About having handled worse. It's honest, too, sympathy without a trace of pity. Clearly she's come out of it stronger. Just... nobody should have to.

"Guess that goes with coming by your skills honestly, huh?"

He's not stopping his hands, for talking. Cooling towels against the skin he's not cleaning directly, careful fingers and not a wince to show just how bad the gash is (and it is bad enough). He dabs carefully at the oozing wound, wiping away the dirt as well, then picks out of the box a paste that she doesn't seem to have used, so far. Good thing he's met an apothecary's assistant, then (or maybe not - it could be that she's used up the previous jar) and knows this to be a strong antibiotic that actually works on foreigners.

"This may sting some."

Not 'a little' - he kind of knows it may be more than that. But warning is better than none, right?

She laughs sharply, managing a somewhat tense smile. "I suppose that depends on your definition of honest..."

Natasha nods a little at his warning, fingers tightening in the blankets as she clenches her jaw. There's hardly any visible reaction to the sting of the antiseptic on her wounds - she closes her eyes, swallows hard, but it's just a different kind of pain, cold and penetrating in place of the hot throb she's been dealing with.

Once she's adjusted to it, she forces herself to relax, hands unclenching, letting out a slow breath. She opens her eyes and looks back up at him, gaze a little hazy more from the fever than pain. Now that she's in a secure location, safe and having the injuries dealt with, all the stress and pain and exhaustion of the past few days is catching up with her; it's harder to keep the same sharp focus now.

"You know you don't have to do this," she murmurs. "You don't owe me anything."

"Honest as in 'you paid for it in pain and blood,' I guess," his own comment, for all its gravity, it said easily. Though a little of her tension creeps into his mind, into the way he is looking at the whole situation. Though he can't put his finger on how.

And then.

Then, she says that, and, for a moment, he blinks at her dumbly before focusing back on the wound. On deciding whether it needs stitching and how to go about that. On... thinking about the question.

"Yeah, maybe I don't, but..." His mouth twists, eyes not straying from his work. "Last thing before I came here, I was falling from a train, in a precipice. Lights out kind of a fall. I remember the look on Steve's face. The fall and the cold. I mean... What I do here? It's the last I'll get a chance to do, ever. So I figure, might as well do the best I can, right? IT might not matter to anyone, back home, or it might make a difference, here or there or... something. But I'm not gettin' a chance to fix... anything. Might as well be the person I should've been, for whatever I've left."

He's never really said it out loud, before. Thought around the edges of it, yeah, but not spoken it.

Beat.

"Plus, you're the one who wanted me on her team in an emergency. Gotta watch out for the two people who do that."

Levity? Levity.

"Well, who wouldn't want the war hero on her side?" she asks, matching his attempt at levity with her own.

She falls silent momentarily, eyes on his face and his hands as he works. There's something oddly entrancing in the care he takes with it, and for a moment she's distracted from their conversation, just tracking his movements. Finally she has to shake her head to clear it again, her eyes flicking back to his face.

"Would you go back if you could? Forget Steve and the war for a moment, just... Would you want another chance in our world if you could have it?"

"Dunno," he drawls a bit, "gig's kinda new to me, to be honest."

Though his attention is, still, mostly on the wound. His eyes tighten at the jolt that the head-shake causes, but he keeps on going.

... until her question, that is. It's the first time his fingers pause, and he frowns, before resuming the stitching.

"You mean, forget one of the things that's made sense for most of my life and the other that made - in its way - sense over the last year and a half of it?" Small, careful shrug. "I'd probably spend a hell of a lot of time looking for Steve if I were to go back, from what I know. Maybe I'd get lucky."

Another few moments of quiet work. "Steve said he'd try to take me back with him. Don't think that'll really work, though."

"No," she says softly, her eyes still on his face but something utterly inscrutable in them, like she's not exactly looking at him, too clear and present for it to just be the fever. "I don't think it will."

She sighs softly, looking away again. "I'm sorry. It's not any of my business, really..."

He meets her eyes for just an instant, before she looks away. It makes him swallow, hard. There is... more in those eyes that he's ever really considered. And, since he's been thinking on the matter since he woke up, here, that's saying something - it made him take a sharp breath, then focus again on the wound, pausing only for a moment to nudge one of the clean wet towels towards her.

"No problem. I mean, anything to keep your mind on, and I don't mind."

There are things he's... trying very hard to come to find his peace with. That's all.