𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃. he might’ve wanted nothing more than to join the army, but he hadn’t minded taking care of his mother while she needed it even if he knew, inside, what it meant. ( still his apartment is safe, but it has a sense of comfort to it. reasonable for his current situation but you’d never guess someone on 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓾𝓷 was living here! plush couch with a blanket thrown over it, some slight clutter in the kitchen, unused shows by the door , && even what appears to be a food bowl for a cat. ) his mother passed && he was alone save for bucky . . his best friend, the one person he’d fought so very hard for. since coming out of the ice, since becoming an avenger, steve had decided that home wasn’t a place anymore . . but it was 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴. it was the avengers, it was bucky, it was yelena even─the people who made you feel safe, important, loved ! that’s all someone really needs anyways, right? the older male chuckles at her comment, ❝ i’m pretty sure i’m not a soviet sleeper-cell , yelena. ❞ he comments back with a expanding grin on his bearded features, ❝ besides, i’m fairly confident you or your widow friends could run rings around me, knock me around a little. you gals are as strong as any super solider. ❞ meant as a 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙, hands tugging his shirt over shoulders/head toward the tail ned of sentence. ; slightly worn, dirty, bloody shirt is set aside on the couch he’d taken residence on, a deep breath taken into lungs as the kit is handed toward the other. steve accommodates as he turns toward her, toned && muscular back facing yelena─his flesh is riddled with old scars, fresh bruises the lightest shade of pink && deeper purple. an old bullet wound, one that hadn’t healed properly while still in the service, on right shoulder sticks out among his others . . closed, but slightly risen from where it healed. more pressingly, however, is a pretty nasty gash he’d earned from today . . blood leaks from it just a little, fresh && dried. ❝ yes, i still feel pain. ❞ answered gently, grin returning. ❝ stitches? i’ll be fine if i need stitches, don’t you worry. will you be able to give them to me if i need them, though? ❞
YELENA RELEASES A LOW CHUCKLE AT HIS COMPLIMENT. “ my widow friends and i could absolutely knock you around a little. don’t tempt me. ” she smirks, though the comment is clearly a light joke. that was something she’d never even considered before : whether or not she could take on a fight with steve rogers, or whether she could win. that was usually something she meticulously calculated with every person she met, every person that got close enough to threaten her. FIND THE WEAKNESS TO WIN THE FIGHT BEFORE IT STARTS. it was a survival tactic, a necessity. yelena begins to wonder, then, out of habit, as she stares at the man’s bare shoulders, at his bruised and scarred back . . . it’s sudden, the feeling that stampedes over her at the thought of adding to those wounds. she’s glad he couldn’t see her face and the wince that found it’s place on it for a fraction of a moment.
“ i’m assuming that serum of yours burns off anesthesia, doesn’t it ? ” yelena asks softly, her eyes now focused on the particular wound that had been the cause of the majority of his bleeding. she knew it burnt off alcohol, so why wouldn’t it do the same for something that numbed pain ? one of the downsides, she thinks. “ don’t worry, ” she assures him, lightly applying pressure to the area near the wound to gauge how severe it is, “ i can’t count how many times i’ve stitched my own body shut after ugly jobs. no lighting, no antiseptic, no anesthesia, no thread except dental floss. so this ? i could do this blindfolded. i won’t, though. my eyes are wide open. ” the woman says, preparing the medical equipment and cleaning the area.
she steps in front of him for a moment, offering a sympathetic smile, “ you ready, старик ? ”