oh, now he’s beyond uncomfortable. whiskered jaw is set in an unrelenting frown, one of concern and embarrassment and DISGUST at himself —— he should be the last person to lay a hand on her. NATASHA was more than capable of helping out another woman, wasn’t she? or did her bitterness at wanda’s COMPLETENESS as a woman really run so deep?
he’s flustered for sure, but not so wrapped up in himself as to not help out his TEAMMATE —— keeping his eyes firmly trained on the tile, he reaches out first with his metal hand; he hesitates, withdraws the steel fingertips, and carefully plucks at the strings of the robe with his flesh-and-bone fingers. it comes apart easily — too easily, he thinks; what, was nat trying to SET HIM UP ? — and he has to grit his teeth to stop a pained inhale from breaking the tense silence that has settled upon them. her frostbite was mild, but it took up a SUBSTANTIAL amount of skin, consuming most of her forearms, her abdomen, and her thighs ( FUCK , why did he look there? ) . he tries to look sympathetic, or, at least, he THINKS he does —— a grimace of pain causes his brows to furrow, white teeth showing from beneath chapped lips. it looks PAINFUL .
he tries to touch as little as possible of the damaged skin as he bends, tucks his right arm into the crook of her knees, and lifts; she’s like a FEATHER , as though he’s carrying nothing but CLOUDS in his mismatched arms. the servos in his left arm groan and shudder as he tenses up, discomfort written all over his face —— why couldn’t someone else, someone BETTER , be helping her? why should he be allowed to be privy to this poor girl’s SUFFERING ? still, as dutifully and as gently as a man with THE WINTER SOLDIER inside his head can manage, he carries her across the modestly-sized bathroom and kneels to gently deposit her in the lukewarm water. he eases her in slowly, arctic eyes carefully trained on her face to watch for signs of discomfort he knows is coming —— he’s been frostbitten enough to know that its best treatment is also one of the most PAINFUL .
His feeling of DISCOMFORT is one of which she mutually shared in
earnest. The request of HELP had been necessary she deemed - but
that FACT didn’t stop the butterflies from waking within her abdomen
and causing a RIOT of nerves to wrack through her figure. They were
STRANGERS still at best and while she TRUSTED he wouldn’t bring
her any harm, it was hard to RELAX in such a situation. Eyes locked
ONTO his movements and with her trained gaze, not one instance of
his hesitation was lost on her. Her heart SWELLED with sudden grief
for putting him into this place and it was as if the GUILT weighed NOT
on the cold which caused this stint of FROSTBITE but on HER for
not avoiding it before it SETTLED within her BONES. Quiet breathing
became SHALLOW as the thin fabric fell from her shoulders to POOL
around her ankles with almost SINFUL ease.
The silence POUNDS within her ear drums as chilled feet LEAVE the
ground and Wanda wishes for NOTHING more than to have the power
of invisibility instead. The embarrassment hangs thick within the air
and wincing through the pain, she covers herself as best as she can
- though it is THANKFULLY noted that his eyes are VERY MUCH so
trained elsewhere. As the water grows NEARER, anticipation for both
the relief and the pain become PAINFULLY obvious upon her features.
But it isn’t until she’s LOWERED into the water does her body JOLT
into action, despite any and ALL pain caused by the quick shift.
Once her legs become SUBMERGED within the tub, Wanda’s torso
rotates to face him and she presses her chest against the radiating
WARMTH of his own. Fingers DIG into the fabric of his shirt and
without thinking, the young brunette buries her face into the crook of
his neck with a HISSING pain escaping paled lips. Wounds of battle
are suddenly NOTHING to her compared to this, and it takes everything
she has not to cry out and BEG for him to stop.
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