Though he could have left the medical bay and returned to the relative comfort of his own quarters, the thought of leaving her for longer than the thirty minutes he spent in physio every day was abhorrent to him. Barton remained at her side, whether that meant sitting in the chair at her bedside while they played board games or curling his body around hers on the bed when she slept. The only person who didn't seem frustrated by his steadfast refusal to leave her was the doctor, Carter, who simply accepted his devotion to his partner and did what she could to make them both as comfortable as possible.
When Natasha took her first authorised steps since the surgery, Carter encouraged him to be part of the process claiming that it would give her an opportunity to stand back and observe the process, claiming that it sometimes helped to be on the outside of a situation. That wasn't the real reason and they both knew it but nobody was quite ready to acknowledge the elephant in the room. He appreciated her discretion almost as much as he appreciated her medical expertise.
It was slightly alien to provide a steadying arm to the strongest woman he had ever met, even stranger when he acknowledged just how much she'd had to lean on him as they took a turn around the room. Despite the slow pace and the baby steps that were taken, by the time they made it back to the bed he knew that she was exhausted.
"How do you feel?" Carter asked, stepping up to the bedside and helping Natasha up onto the mattress. With efficient motions she checked the healing wound in her patients side for signs of strain. "Any pain?"
"Getting vertical was a bit of a challenge," Natasha admitted. In recent days it seemed that she had gone past the point of concealing her discomfort; it was apparent that whatever bond had formed between doctor and patient in the weeks before they left to track her attackers was deep enough for her to inspire frank honesty. She was still uncomfortable in medical surroundings but she hadn't been fighting as hard as usual to get out. "Now I just feel like I've run a marathon or maybe like I've been hit by a bus."
Obviously he wasn't the only one who noticed the concern in his partner's expression because the doctor moved quickly to reassure her. "It's perfectly normal to feel that way, you've been in bed for almost a week. Your body will adjust once you're back on your feet but you'll have to take things more slowly than you're used to."
"Can she get out of bed when she feels strong enough?" he asked, already contemplating the things he would be wanting to do if it were his ass that had been planted in a recovery room bed for days. He had been confined for seventy-two hours and it had almost killed him, people like them weren't built for sitting around. As soon as he'd been able he'd been out of bed and wandering the hallways, his leg was healing just fine as long as he didn't work it too hard.
Carter smiled and nodded, glancing at him before returning her attention to the woman on the bed between them. "I'd recommend it actually, just as long as there's someone around. Short walks like the one you've done today will help you to get steady on your feet again, build up a little bit of strength. As long as you listen to your body and don't overdo things, you can move around and start trying to rebuild your strength."
When Carter left them alone, he remained by the side of her bed, reading the tiny micro expressions that spoke of her frustration at being held to ransom by her body's need to take things slowly. "You need anything?" he asked, prepared to leave the bubble of the infirmary and face the enquiring glances of just about every other agent on base if there was a particular food she wanted or even something as simple as her own clothes.
Natasha turned her gaze to him and he found himself once again trying not to think about the words she'd said when she was half dosed on morphine. He hadn't mentioned the conversation they'd had; neither had she. That didn't mean that he hadn't thought about it. Sometimes those words she had spoken were all he could think about. Right now though there were more pressing concerns, like getting her well enough to get her out of the infirmary and somewhere more comfortable where she could continue her recovery. "I would kill for some hot water right about now," she told him, turning her gaze toward the door to the adjoining bathroom.
He didn't need to ask to know that a warm shower would do more to make her feel human right now than almost anything else would. Without a word he went to the bathroom, turned on the spray and busied himself setting out what she might need on the counter beside the sink. Once he was happy that he'd covered all the bases, he returned to the recovery room and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, feet dangling six or seven inches above the floor. "Ready?" he asked, taking position in front of her and easing her onto her feet, for a second they didn't move, just letting her find her balance. He waited until she indicated that she was ready to continue before they started to move.
With one hand at her waist and the other extended as a crutch for her to hold onto, they moved slowly across the room. The air was already beginning to feel humid when they reached the bathroom door, the mirror above the sink fogged over. As soon as she was able to use the door frame for support she reached out and killed the overhead lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the night lights.
"I don't need to see what I look like right now," she explained when she caught his questioning look. Words leapt into his mouth, assurances that she looked fine and she had nothing to worry about, but he kept them inside. No matter how he thought she looked, and for someone who had survived major blood loss and emergency surgery she looked great, she would see things differently.
He waited patiently while she found her balance, releasing his arm so that she could grab onto one of the rails that ran around the edge of the bathroom. "Just yell when you're done if you want me to help you back to bed," he told her with a smile, stepping back toward the open door. Her hand shot out, faster than he would have thought possible, fingers closing tightly around his wrist before he got out of reach.
"I'm not sure that I can do this on my own," she admitted, keeping her eyes averted. "My balance is shot and I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to be able to stay upright in there." With a tilt of her head she indicated the shower stall in the corner. "Will you... help me? Please."
Any physical movement in proportion to the internal reeling that accompanied her request would have left him needing a neck brace. He wasn't sure why it felt so different this time when he had thought nothing of climbing into the shower to collect her that night in his apartment. Hell, they'd seen almost every inch of each other at some point in their time as partners. She could have asked the doctor, any of the nurses, but instead she asked him. This was a medical situation, she needed the help and she trusted him to give it. Even more importantly, he could see the longing in her eyes when she looked at the falling water behind the glass. For all of those reasons and more he couldn't say no.
He left her alone to take care of her private needs, waiting outside the door until she let him know that she was ready. When he stepped back inside he found her leaning against the counter, body wrapped in one of the large white bath towels that he had left out for her. The towel and the lighting drained all of the colour from her features, making her hair look a spill of fresh blood around her shoulders. Stripping down to his boxers, he reached for her arm and helped her across the bathroom and into the shower stall.
Closing the door and shutting them in together, he kept a light grip on her arm to help her maintain her balance while trying to keep distance between their bodies. Though they had been sleeping curled around one another for days now, there was a significant difference to being clothed in a bed and unclothed in a darkened room. He did not want to do anything that might make her feel awkward about the request. He felt some of the tension ease from her frame as she tilted her face up to the hot water and used his strength to support her as she listed to the side slightly. "Guess I can't stand up and look up at the same time," she laughed, "washing my hair should be fun."
"Let me help," his hands shook as he eased her carefully toward the wall and out of the spray. Gently manoeuvring her so that she could use both hands to maintain her balance, he reached for the shampoo and lathered up the lengths of her hair, noticing that beneath the water its fiery red became a deeper brown. When he was done with the shampoo he helped her to step backwards so that she could reach the soap and concentrated on keeping her upright while she cleaned herself up.
When they emerged from the shower stall a few minutes later, it felt like they had been in there an hour. He kept his eyes averted until she had wrapped the towel around herself again, making herself a makeshift dress out of the fabric, and then left her holding onto the hand rail while he wrapped a towel around his hips. He helped her to dry off, encouraging her to lean against the counter while he patted the lingering droplets of water off her skin. The warm water had brought a rosy glow to her skin and she looked better, more like herself than she had in days.
"Well that was new," she chuckled as he pushed open the bathroom door and light flooded into the room, "never had nurse maid down as one of your skill sets." He knew that she was only playing with him, that she needed to make a joke of the situation in order to stop it becoming too real, too heavy, and that was the exact reason that he didn't let the remark go without comment.
"Don't get used to it Nat," he grumbled, escorting her back to the bed. "Once you're back on your feet you're gonna have some serious making up to do for all of this. Nurse maid my ass." Once she was up on the bed and settled, he pulled the sheet over her and stepped back, handing her a comb. "I'm going to get dressed and run up to your quarters and grab some of your clothes, anything in particular that you want?"
She thought about it for a second, "nothing too fitted, maybe yoga pants, pyjamas and that black shirt that I like, you know the one..."
She was sitting up in bed talking to Maria Hill when he returned a short time later. Somehow he'd managed to avoid just about everyone who wanted to know how they were both doing on his way up to the staff quarters and on the way back so he wasn't really expecting to find anyone in the room but Natasha and possibly the doctor on his return. Since they'd been admitted, Carter had managed to keep everyone out, turning the infirmary into a kind of bubble where it had been just the two of them and all the questions had been about medical issues so the deputy director's presence was both unexpected and slightly unwelcome. It had been nice to not have to think about the outside world and just be able to focus on getting better, not just for him if Nat's expression was anything to go by.
Hill turned to look at him as he stepped into the room, arms filled with his partner's clothing. She offered him a smile. "Barton," she acknowledged, "I'm here at Director Fury's request to ask you about New Mexico."
As his gaze ticked automatically to Natasha's, checking in, he noticed that all of the colour had drained from her face. Her hands were clenched in the bedding, eyes flat and cold. "I filed a report about New Mexico," he replied, turning his attention back to his superior.
Hill sighed, looking awkward. She didn't want to be there, that much was obvious. "And we read it," she told him evenly, "but the board are asking questions about what happened out there and why two of our best assets were able to go out on a revenge mission without their approval. They want to know what isn't in the report. They want to know everything about Natasha's time in captivity, field reports, medical files, sworn statements..."
"There's nothing to tell, you know that." Natasha's voice was cold, emotionless. "You should know better than most that there is absolutely nothing to tell about the days I spent in that compound."
The room seemed to be spinning around him as he processed the anger that suddenly seemed to be igniting in his veins. How dare the board demand details about what happened to her! Surely Hill and Fury weren't about to give in to a bunch of faceless directors that they'd never met. A glance at Maria told him that they had no intention of handing over anything without a fight. "What are you saying?" he asked.
"Fury and I are stalling as best we can," she told them, "I have Carter working on an amended version of your medical files, she won't let anything highly confidential out but some details will have to be included to make them believable. The best solution that we can see is for the two of you to be unavailable for questioning about the incident..."
"Unavailable," Natasha looked at him and he saw the guarded hope that flared in her gaze. "You're telling us to run?"
"We're suggesting that the pair of you take an extended leave of absence to recover from your injuries," Hill explained, voice hushed despite the fact that they were alone in the infirmary. "Carter is working on putting together the supplies you'll need to recover without her continued care. My suggestion is that you get the hell out of here and go somewhere quiet, somewhere off the grid where nobody will look for you until the Director and I figure this out."
"How long do we have?" he asked, knowing that it was only a matter of time before someone was sent to collect the information personally.
Hill shook her head, indicating that she didn't really know the answer. "My advice here is to get her the hell out of here Barton while you can. I'll find a way to reach you when things have blown over."
Barton's eyes met Natasha's, mind already turning over the possibilities, and he knew exactly where they had to go. If they left at first light they could be there by lunch time, settled in and comfortable by night fall. She knew where they were going too, he could see it in her eyes. "We'll be gone by morning," he promised. "I know just where to go."
