Bruises

By: InitialA

Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Marvel universe.

Author's Note: Well, upon the umpteenth viewing of The Avengers, I noticed that everyone's faces were all cleared of dirt and grime and blood during the close-up "I'll have that drink now" scene with Loki in the last five minutes. And I thought that was pretty unrealistic.

"Everything looks fine from this angle, Stark, they're clear to come up," Natasha said over the comms, closing the hatch to the grid. The reactor stabilizing the building's power had somehow survived the catastrophe, and the elevators were fully intact.

"Great, good, I'll come get you."

"Uh, no, you're riding this one up too. I can handle this one."

"I'm fine."

"Stark, I saw that fall. Take the elevator."

She heard a grunt, and then she heard Clint say, "We'll take care of him, Nat."

"He can barely stand, we'll get him," Steve said.

Natasha smiled to herself, and then went to the service stairs. She met the boys as they got out of the elevator, and was grateful that Tony needed a moment to lean against the wall; she took a moment to catch her breath herself. She felt dizzy. "You alright?" Steve asked.

She nodded. "Yeah… yeah, just gotta take a sec."

"Hey," he reached out and she twitched slightly when he touched her forehead, "you need to have that looked at."

He was, unsurprisingly, gentle as he moved her hair to look for the source of the blood. She felt it drying, but she didn't remember when she'd been hit. A big chunk of the fighting was a blur of adrenaline and reflexes. And now, with that adrenaline rush fading, she was starting to feel her other bruises and scrapes. Her shoulders were beginning to ache in a familiar way, and the hip she'd landed on after jumping from the Chitauri speeder was going to have a fantastic bruise in the morning.

Her eyes glazed over as his fingers gently moved over her head and through her hair; if there was one thing she had a weakness for, it was someone playing with her hair. And if nothing else, it was a nice distraction from what was going to amount to a thoroughly impressive beating. She screwed up her face in pain as Steve found the source of the blood; she barely refrained from grabbing him and tossing him across the room. He saw her wince. "Sorry. It's shallow enough."

"Head wounds bleed. I'll have medical look at it. And everything else."

He nodded, and then leaned against the wall himself. She glanced over. "No one ever tells you that you can spend years building up resistance and exercising and strength, and then find out that you're still human after all when it counts. You might want to have that checked out," she added, nodding at the mess that was his abdomen.

"What, this?" Steve asked, and winced as covered it with one hand. "It'll be fine. Super… healing. Or whatever they call it."

"I call it a reason I shouldn't leave you alone on the battlefield," Natasha teased. "You were perfectly fine before I left. Someone needs to be around to watch your back. Or front."

Steve blinked, and then grinned shyly, looking away. She was amused to see a blush under all the grime and dirt smeared on his face. "Yes, ma'am."

She nudged him. "Hey. We saved each other's skins out there, none of that ma'aming."

"Yes, ma—Natasha. Anyway, I had a bit of a cheat, getting like this. I feel bad I won't be one big bruise in the morning."

Natasha laughed. "I'll trade you metabolisms."

"If the lovebirds are done twittering, let's wrap that bastard up in chains and dangle him off the balcony for Fury to pick up," Tony said, moving upright.

"Excuse you, gramps," Natasha said.

"Grab a towel and some water from the bathroom if you're that worried," he fired back.

"Maybe I will. And maybe I'll even be nice and grab some aspirin for you."

"Oh hell no, from you it'll be poison or something."

"Do you keep poison in the medicine cabinet?" Natasha smiled sweetly. "Then it's fine."

They trooped into the living room, Natasha taking up the rear behind Steve. Her scalp still felt a bit tingly where Steve had touched it; her gaze drifted downwards. She smirked. 'Bless Coulson, and bless spandex…'