Natasha had always hated this part of her annual
S.H.I.E.L.D. physicals more than any other. She had had things done to her in her past, methods of torture and
conditioning she had learned to endure, and while it had left her nearly
unflinching to anything that could be done to her she was not fond of letting
anyone touch her that she didn’t trust.
This doctor was clearly alarmed by what he saw,
though he did a very good job of hiding it and remaining professional. Her doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D. knew her history,
or at least the parts of it she had been willing to share, but this poor man
was completely unprepared. She answered
what questions she felt comfortable doing so, the questions that would not
incriminate them in any way as something other than the vacationing couple they
were pretending to be. He didn’t
completely buy it, she could tell, but he didn’t push her either. Ultimately the origins of her scarring weren’t
as important as their effects.
Needless to say, when the physical exam was over
Natasha was glad to retreat back behind the partition and regain some of her
protective layers. Her hands shook
harder now as she tied the drawstrings on her pants but she breathed through
it.
Returning to the others, shirt in hand, she
climbed back onto the stretcher and laid down, making herself as comfortable as
she could. A wave of relief washed over
her when Tomasini turned the monitor away so she couldn’t see it, something she
hadn’t let herself think about yet. On
that screen would be an image, and image she couldn’t even predict not knowing
exactly how far along she was. Maybe it
would just be a blob like on television where the doctor describes a humanoid
shape that looks nothing like they’re pointing out. Maybe it would look like nothing. Or maybe she would see the
shape, see the beginnings of what it was becoming.
Shuddering at the cold gel that was administered
to her stomach before the doctor started pushing the probe around, Natasha was
grateful when Clint took her hand, the touch gentle and soothing. Looking up to meet his eyes she tried to
focus on his face, tried not to let her gaze stray to the doctor’s
expression. She could read so much in it
if she looked, also part of her training, but she wasn’t ready, not yet.
no subject
Natasha had always hated this part of her annual S.H.I.E.L.D. physicals more than any other. She had had things done to her in her past, methods of torture and conditioning she had learned to endure, and while it had left her nearly unflinching to anything that could be done to her she was not fond of letting anyone touch her that she didn’t trust.
This doctor was clearly alarmed by what he saw, though he did a very good job of hiding it and remaining professional. Her doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D. knew her history, or at least the parts of it she had been willing to share, but this poor man was completely unprepared. She answered what questions she felt comfortable doing so, the questions that would not incriminate them in any way as something other than the vacationing couple they were pretending to be. He didn’t completely buy it, she could tell, but he didn’t push her either. Ultimately the origins of her scarring weren’t as important as their effects.
Needless to say, when the physical exam was over Natasha was glad to retreat back behind the partition and regain some of her protective layers. Her hands shook harder now as she tied the drawstrings on her pants but she breathed through it.
Returning to the others, shirt in hand, she climbed back onto the stretcher and laid down, making herself as comfortable as she could. A wave of relief washed over her when Tomasini turned the monitor away so she couldn’t see it, something she hadn’t let herself think about yet. On that screen would be an image, and image she couldn’t even predict not knowing exactly how far along she was. Maybe it would just be a blob like on television where the doctor describes a humanoid shape that looks nothing like they’re pointing out. Maybe it would look like nothing. Or maybe she would see the shape, see the beginnings of what it was becoming.
Shuddering at the cold gel that was administered to her stomach before the doctor started pushing the probe around, Natasha was grateful when Clint took her hand, the touch gentle and soothing. Looking up to meet his eyes she tried to focus on his face, tried not to let her gaze stray to the doctor’s expression. She could read so much in it if she looked, also part of her training, but she wasn’t ready, not yet.