Recovery
Physiotherapy made her feel worse. The physical pain she could handle, that was easy. The aches and sleeping pills and pushing through the pain she was used to. The humiliation that came with the well meaning visits by everyone else when she was barely able to walk around the floor was a new kind of torture. She spent every other hour stretching and trying to push herself further. Limited by the pain that radiated across her, by the threats of injuring herself more.
The visits just made her more frustrated, everyone else managed a simple mission just fine. They got to keep going on with their lives whilst she was practically bedbound. Steve got under her skin the most. He was so well meaning and kind. She couldn't help but see every way in which he was better than her.
The recovery was fast, aided by whatever magic SHIELD and Stark could cook up. It just wasn't fast enough for her. The physiotherapist alternated between congratulating her on her progress and warning her on pushing herself too far. The second she was cleared for more strenuous activities she let the warnings fly past her. She couldn't waste anymore time. Missions were still a no go for her, much to the red heads anger. Instead she devoted her time to her training. Physiotherapy, and stretching, and her workout. A carefully planned and hasty meal then straight back to it. Dancing and sparring and preparing for her next missions. She'd make customary appearances at dinner, or breakfast.
She soon learned SHIELD was a good escape, and she could always find a sparring partner there. Too many people in the tower knew too much about her last mission. They walked on egg shells around her, scared she wouldn't be able to take a hit. Scared she was out of her depth. Too much, too soon. It almost made her laugh. They didn't understand where Natasha had come from or what she could handle. She refused to be seen as weak. She would prove she had a place on the team.
It was a Tuesday, and the kind of afternoon where sweat coated her, her hair sticking to the back of her neck. Despite the large fans and steady breeze the gymnasium was sweltering hot. Black spots danced across her vision as she pushed herself up to her feet. "Round 2?" She asked, beckoning her partner to stand.
The brunette man smiled. "So you can wipe the floor with me again? If you must." His face shifted from an easy going smile into a concentrated glare as he stood up. She appreciated a partner like him, someone who didn't take things too seriously but wouldn't mess around when it came to the fight. The delicate dance between the two of them began. An unexpected kick from her sent him flying backwards. A sharp punch from him had her head reeling briefly. They continued until both were panting, until the sharp pains had spread to her arms and legs.
"Truce? It's too hot for this." He offered.
She agreed with a nod, leaning against the wall to steady herself.
"I hate this weather." He continued.
"Tell me about it. I should not be able to sit in air conditioned rooms and still be sweating. It's ridiculous." She replied, taking a gulp of water.
"Exactly!" He smiled. "So same time tomorrow?"
"You know it. Let's hope the weather calms down." The redhead said.
"Or they decide that a giant freezer is appropriate for sparring."
"I could definitely work with that." She chuckled, beginning to walk out.
The trip to the tower was slow and uneventful. It was accompanied by Natasha reading over the latest mission reports and some tinny pop song playing in her headphones. The shiny screen of her phone reflected her face when the light struck it right. The quick glances to assess her hair and make up didn't give her time to dwell on the bags under her eyes the way her morning routine in front of a mirror did. It was probably better this way. The hot weather had forced her out of her cosy jacket. Instead she stayed in her singlet from sparring, barely noticing the bruises from it that littered her arms.
Bruises that did not escape Bruce's eyes. He was flipping through news channels when she entered the common room of the tower and turned to greet her. She smiled at him, warily watching how his eyes looked her over. "Hey Bruce." He did his half smile, turning the television down. "Want anything to drink?" He asked.
"I'm alright. Thanks though." She stretched gingerly, wincing slightly at the warning shocks her back sent.
"Hey Natasha? How have you been?" He asked it casually but the question threatened to send her spiralling. Does he think she can't handle this? Does it not seem like she's healing?
"I'm doing well, I should be returning to missions like normal soon. I bet you boys have missed me." The redhead shot him a teasing grin.
Bruce smiled and nodded. "You know we have. But..are you sure you're ready Natasha? You've been doing a lot lately-" he kept talking but she couldn't hear him. Not through the familiar flood of panic, the feeling of thoughts burying her under them.
He doesn't think I can do it. He thinks I'm doing too much, he thinks I can't handle it. He thinks I'm out of my depth. He thinks I can't handle it. He thinks I'm not enough. Not enough for them. For the team. Not enough to cope. Not enough to be an avenger, not enough to work with them, not enough to be anything more than a murderer. Out of my depth. In over my head.
The cold shock of water startled her out of the mental loop she'd been rooted in. She stared at the shower, her clothes a neat pile on the floor beside it. She blinked. She was under the water now, muscle memory compelling her to clean up. She must have left the conversation. Hopefully she didn't make a fool of herself. The memory refused to come back to her, leaving her instead with a blank fuzzy patch. Came inside, spoke to him, panicked. And now she was here.
A few deep breaths steadied her. She couldn't dwell on it any longer now. Forgetting conversations and where she was wouldn't help her. She could work out what happened with Banner later. For now she needed to focus. She needed to calm down. And she needed to get back into missions, she needed to show she was okay. That she could do it - serum or no serum, suit or no suit, bizarre godly powers or not. She was made for more than panic attacks in a shower. She had work to do.