𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞
Pairing : Firefighter Natasha Romanoff/Fem Reader
Chapter : 1/1
Words : 5k
Summary :
Trapped in a malfunctioning elevator and convinced you are about to fall to your death, panic is all you have left. That was until a rather pretty firefighter forced her way in.
Warning : brief injury, mention of panic attack (Nat makes it feel better)...
⧗ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑
The elevator had been making that, somewhat weird, noise all week.
You had first noticed it on Tuesday, an ugly metallic groan between floors, like something inside it was grinding itself to pieces. It echoed in your bones and made you clench your teeth together in a reaction you could not quite shake nor hide. By Wednesday, you noticed that the lights flickered faintly every time the lift passed the eighteenth floor.
You had meant to report it.
You really had.
Now you were very aware that you had, in fact, not.
The elevator jolted violently somewhere between what you thought were the twenty-first and twenty-second floors, and then it stopped completely.
Not a gentle stop, no, that would have been too nice. A brutal fucking lurch, mind you.
The kind that happened so abruptly it completely stole the air from your lungs and made your body lose its axis. You gasped, grabbing blindly for the handrail in the confined space, a cry of pain escaping your lips as your ankle twisted beneath you at the same moment the lights went out...
Pain shot up your leg.
"Shit-"
Stupid, stupid heels, stupid job. And most of all, fucking stupid elevator.
For half-second, there was only silence in the box you were trapped in. Heavy silence and the blood rushing in your ears before it raced south to warm up your ankle.
Then the cables screamed. The entire lift dipped a terrifying inch, maybe more - metal screeching against metal, and your body slammed into the mirrored wall behind you, the impact knocking a strangled cry from your throat.
"Oh my God," you whispered, widening eyes darting around in the dark. "Oh my God, oh my God-"
The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the small space in a sickly red glow.
Your hands were already shaking. You sucked in a deep breath before lunging for the control panel, hitting the red button in clouded panic. Door open. A soft, broken whimper slipped out as heat bloomed around your ankle, sharp and throbbing.
You exhaled hard, eyes narrowing as you hit the alarm button. Alarm, alarm, alarm again. You pressed it so hard your fingertip hurt.
Nothing.
The alarm gave a weak, frankly pathetic buzz that died almost instantly.
"Hello?" Your voice cracked as you leaned toward the speaker anyway. "Hello?! Can anybody hear me? I-I’m stuck, I-"
The elevator answered with another grinding groan before it slowly - so slowly it felt like moving in slow-motion - shifted again. Lower, just a tiny, insignificant fraction, but it was enough. Enough for your brain to supply the images: snapping cables, freefall, the box crumpling like a soda can when it hit the bottom.
With you inside it.
All because you refused to come to work early to climb up twenty-five flights of stairs.
Your knees gave out before you even realized it was happening, you slid down the mirrored wall, your back dragging against the cold surface until you hit the floor. You brought your injured ankle closer, only now realizing just how much it was burning. You were probably not going to be able to walk out of there - if the doors accepted to open again one day, that was.
Oh, God.
You did not like small spaces.
You did not like not being in control.
You definitely did not like the sound of metal giving up.
"It’s fine," you muttered to yourself, breath coming too fast. "It’s fine. Elevators don’t just-"
The car dropped another inch.
You screamed, hoping if you were loud enough whatever Gods there were out there would come and get you out of here themselves.
⧗
Natasha Romanoff had been halfway through her second coffee at their usual café when the call came in.
Elevator malfunction in a building downtown with presumably one occupant trapped. Structural concerns.
She was already on her feet before the dispatcher finished.
"Alright, let’s move," Clint muttered, tossing his cup in the trash and dragging a hand through his hair. "Too early for this kind of bullshit."
The engine roared to life, their sirens cutting through the late afternoon traffic as they cut across the streets.
Natasha stood in the back of the truck, one hand braced against the rail, the other clenched tight at her side. Her jaw was set hard enough to ache. Elevator calls were unpredictable, they could go either way - minor inconvenience or catastrophic failure. She sure hoped it was not the latest. However, the words structural concerns made something cold coil in her stomach.
They pulled up in under seven minutes, fortunately they were not far from the building when they received the call.
Natasha was out of the truck before it had fully stopped.
A small crowd had gathered outside the building, tension thick in the air. She scanned them once, before zeroing in on the man pacing near the entrance.
The building manager looked pale, sweating through his shirt.
"It’s stuck between floors," he rushed out as she approached. "We think twenty-one and twenty-two. We tried resetting the system, but it’s not responding. And we h-heard-" His voice wavered. "Someone said they heard it drop."
Natasha’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes went sharper - dangerously so - as she recognized the situation for what it was.
"How many people are inside?"
"One. I-I think."
"You think?" Natasha scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "Name?"
"I-I don’t know?"
She shook her head, of course he did not, why would he know anything useful? Natasha was already turning away from him, biting down the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming at him.
"Team’s arriving in ten." Clint said, jogging up to reach her side.
Natasha let out a short breath, pinching the bridge of her nose for half a second as she forced herself to think rationally.
Ten minutes.
Yeah, no.
Her gaze snapped back to the building, already calculating distances, access points, worst-case scenarios.
"That’s too fucking long. I’m not waiting."
Clint exhaled, looking at her as if he already knew the end of the story.
"Nat-"
"I’m going." She cut him off, already heading inside.
⧗
Inside the elevator, you were crying now.
Quiet and panicked tears that refused to stop, slipping endlessly down your cheeks no matter how hard you tried to steady your breathing. Your chest hitched in uneven rhythms, every inhale too sharp, every exhale too shallow.
As if it was not bad luck enough already, you had discovered your so-called waterproof mascara was not as waterproof as the bold words on the package made it sound to be. You had dark streaks smudged beneath your eyes, sticky and uneven, making your reflection in the mirrored wall look... ridiculous, or pathetic. Or both.
You looked like an actress trying too hard to win an award for a drama.
And then there was your last straw; your damn phone. Because you had also discovered that you had no service inside this creepy box. Because, of course there was not. You had tried 911 anyway - once, twice or maybe five times - but each attempt failed before it even began, before you could hope. No signal, no lifeline, nothing.
The red emergency light was still on, though. Making everything inside feel smaller, the walls too close, the ceiling too low. And the air hotter, thin, like every ragged breath you took was not quite enough to fill your aching lungs. And just for that, you were grateful for being the only one here. You could not imagine panicking like this in front of someone else. Or even being stuck for God knew how long in here with someone else.
Especially that creepy Dylan guy who could not take a hint to save his life. So, yeah... you supposed the situation could be worse.
Another groan tore through the walls as soon as you finished your thought.
God, you really should learn to hold your tongue.
It was the third in under five minutes, you had been counting.
Your hands flew up to your ears, palms pressing hard as you squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could block it out, as if ignoring it might somehow make it all stop.
"I don’t want to die," you whispered to no one, to yourself, to whatever Gods out there that must have heard you by now but seemingly decided to do nothing about your case. "Please, please, I don’t want to die."
Your voice sounded so small to your own ears, like it did not even matter. And then, there was a sudden metallic clang echoing from above. As if answering you, finally.
Your hands slipped from your ears, hovering uselessly in the air as your brows pulled together, confusion cutting through the panic.
Another clang, louder this time.
And then... voices? Were you hearing voices? If that was true, they were definitely muffled, distant and barely distinguishable. Though you were not quite sure you had not started imagining things. That was what the brain was supposed to do, right? Hallucinate something comforting when reality became too much?
Your head snapped up at another sound, your heart beating with newfound hope.
"Hello!?" You shouted, scrambling to your feet as best as you could, a sharp whimper escaping when your ankle screamed in protest. You clung to the handrail, leaning heavily against the mirrored wall, slowly sinking back into a sitting position. "I-I’m in here! Please! Anyone?"
Something heavy thudded against the top of the elevator.
Then a voice. You were sure of it this time. It was clear and calm and authoritative.
"Fire department! We hear you."
The sob that tore out of you was immediate and uncontrollable. Your hand flew to your mouth, pressing hard as if you could somehow contain the sound, but it shook through your whole body anyway.
"We’re going to get you out," the voice continued. A beacon in the chaos. A lighthouse in the fog. "I need you to step back from the doors."
"I-I am!" Your voice cracked badly, but you stumbled back as much as your ankle allowed, deciding to ignore the new noise coming from the elevator.
Tools met metal then. A harsh, grating sound filled the air as something outside strained against the doors. The entire elevator creaked in protest, a deep and very unsettling groan vibrating through the walls.
You watched, unable to look away, as the doors jerked before you felt the elevator shift under your feet.
The elevator fucking moved beneath your feet.
"No, no, no-" You choked, panic surging back as you slid down the wall again, your body refusing to stay upright.
"Hey!"
The voice was closer now. Right outside. Your head snapped up from where you thought the person was, lips pressed into a tight line.
"Stay with me. What’s your name?"
For a second, you forgot how to speak.
You swallowed hard, whispering it back in a shaky tone.
"I’m Natasha. I need you to look at me when I get this open. Can you do that for me?"
You nodded frantically before realizing she could not see you as she called out your name to make sure you were listening.
"Yes-yes, I can do that." You finally breathed.
A sharp grunt echoed from the other side.
Then suddenly a gloved hand appeared, forcing its way between the doors.
You held your breath as the gap widened, one inch first.
Then two. The metal shrieked in protest like it was alive, like it was fighting her every step of the way.
But then, you saw her.
First, her arm - muscles straining, veins taut beneath sweat-dusted skin, shiny bicep flexing hard as she forced the doors apart manually.
Then her shoulder, the short black sleeve of her shirt covering most of it, stretching tight.
Then her face.
The red emergency light behind you clashed with the brighter hallway lights spilling in from outside, casting her in something almost unreal. The glow caught on the edges of her helmet, creating a halo effect that made her look-
Not real. Not human, at least.
You had been asking for a God all this time when you should have prayed for an angel.
A streak of red hair clung to her cheek, damp with sweat, and her green eyes locked onto yours with sharp, unwavering focus.
"Hey, you’re okay." She said, as if it were fact, her lips offering you a small yet gentle smile.
The doors opened wider, revealing the misalignment - the elevator sitting a good foot below the hallway floor.
Natasha’s gaze assessed the inside in seconds.
"Alright. It’s stable," she called over her shoulder to someone you could not see before nodding at whatever answer she received. Then her gaze softened as it returned to you. "Can you walk?"
You tried, but the second you put weight on your ankle, pain exploded up your leg, sharp enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
You gasped, shaking your head, your hands gripping the bar tighter.
"I-I don’t think so. My ankle, I-"
You expected frustration, maybe impatience. Anything of that range. But Natasha just nodded once, quick and decisive as she shifted closer.
"It’s okay. That’s alright," her voice lowered slightly before she braced one boot against the frame and forced the doors wider with a low, controlled exhale. "We’ll adjust."
Behind her, you could hear someone securing something metal against the frame above. More clanging. More tools. The elevator trembled faintly and you flinched.
Her eyes snapped back to yours instantly.
"Hey," she said, firmer this time. "Stay with me. It’s secured from the top. It’s not going anywhere, alright?"
You searched her face for a lie or at least doubt but did not find any. Just certainty.
Natasha adjusted her footing, one boot planted firmly on the hallway floor, the other testing the edge of the elevator.
"I’m coming in," she warned, her tone turning serious again. "It might shake a little when I transfer my weight. That’s normal, you do not need to panic."
Normal...
You almost wanted to laugh at how fragile that word sounded. But you nodded anyway, your throat tight, your eyes locked on her like she was the only stable thing left in the world.
Your gaze caught on a strange, almost irrelevant detail - the glint of light along her left ear. Multiple piercings, small pieces of metal catching the hallway light. Your brain latched onto that stupid detail even through the panic you could feel rising.
Behind her, you caught a glimpse of movement - her colleague stepping in, rope in hand. He clipped it to her harness with practiced ease, giving her shoulder a firm, reassuring tap.
She did not look back.
The elevator dipped half an inch the moment she slid through the gap with controlled precision. You gasped, hands flying to the wall.
Natasha did not even flinch, she simply moved like she trusted it - like she understood the language of metal and tension and load-bearing structures better than fear ever could. She crouched in front of you immediately, one of her gloved hands finding your arm without hesitation.
Up close, she was even more unfairly breathtaking. A thin sheen of sweat clung to her temple. A faint smudge of grease near her jaw. Her green eyes were sharp, assessing but warm.
Your entire world narrowed to green.
"Hi." She said quietly, her lips twitching into the faintest smirk that made you weak in the knees.
Your brain short-circuited.
Great.
Of all the moments.
Of all the possible moments.
You had to be a gay disaster right now. Of course. And get caught while checking her out.
You let out a shaky, hysterical half-laugh - still reeling from seeing her entering your space so easily.
"Hi."
Before you could utter another word, another distant metallic groan echoed through the shaft, low and threatening.
Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly.
"Alright. We’re going to lift you out," she said, focus snapping back into place. "As you can see the car is about a foot low, so I’ll boost you up to Clint - that guy over there. He’ll grab you, and I’ll be right behind. Got any questions?"
You shook your head quickly, instinctively shifting closer to her as the elevator creaked again, your breath catching.
"We’re not falling," Natasha murmured, her hoarse voice wrapping around your ears. "I’ve got you. All I need is for you to wrap your arms around my shoulders. Can you do that?"
The certainty in her tone did something to your spiraling mind.
You scooted closer and circled your arms around her neck. You tried not to wince too much as she carefully slipped one very muscular arm carefully behind your back and the other under your knees before lifting you effortlessly. Like you weighed nothing at all.
The elevator trembled faintly as she stood, but she adjusted without hesitation, her stance shifting in tiny, precise movements - like balance was something she negotiated with gravity every single day.
You looked at her, suddenly hyper-aware of the proximity. The strength coiled in her arms. The heat of her body through her clothes. The steadiness of her breathing compared to your own chaotic one.
"Oh God-" You choked as the car trembled all around you, your fingertips digging into the fabric of her shirt.
"Shh, it’s okay. I would not be in here with you if it wasn’t secure," she said steadily, her hot breath ghosting your cheek as she turned, bracing her back against one wall and her boot against the other to give herself leverage. "I don’t gamble with old elevators."
You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking nervously around as the walls creaked.
"That probably doesn’t sound as... comforting as you want it to be..."
A soft huff of amusement brushed your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine, the hair at the back of your neck raising in consequence.
"Okay, then I don’t gamble with pretty girls I’m rescuing," she corrected, chuckling faintly at the openly shocked look you gave her. "Alright," she added, like she had not just short-circuited your brain entirely, again. "It might feel like it’s moving like crazy, okay?"
"Okay..." You grumbled weakly, not liking her last words very much.
"Clint!" She called upward, her voice snapping back into command. "I’ve got her, we’re moving."
A man’s face appeared at the gap, giving you both a quick thumbs-up.
"Copy that."
"On three..." She murmured to you, but mostly to herself.
And then she was moving. Natasha bent slightly, grounding her stance - then pushed upward with controlled, explosive strength.
You cried out - not from pain, but from the sudden motion of everything. And then hands grabbed you under the arms.
"You’re good." The man, Clint, reassured you as he hauled you onto the hallway floor.
The second you were clear of the elevator, your body sagged in relief. The carpet felt like heaven beneath your palms.
You twisted immediately, panic snapping back just as fast.
"Natas-"
The elevator shifted again just as she grabbed the frame to pull herself up.
There was a loud, ugly snap from somewhere above. You froze, lips parting. Everything inside you went cold.
Natasha did not panic, she surged upward in one fluid movement, boots scraping harshly against the metal as she hauled herself through the gap.
The elevator dropped five inches the moment her weight cleared it.
A collective gasp rippled from both you and Clint. You stared at the open shaft, your heart pounding violently in your chest.
A second later, Natasha rolled onto her back beside you, her breathing heavier now, not uncontrolled, but very real as she took off her helmet. For the first time, you could actually see the adrenaline in her eyes.
Clint let out a low whistle, patting her shoulder as he helped her out of the harness.
Natasha pushed herself up, completely ignoring him, her eyes already on you.
"You okay?"
You nodded numbly before a sudden, illogical anger spread through your veins.
"You said it wouldn’t do that!" You exclaimed, smacking her arm.
Her eyebrow lifted, surprise flickering briefly across her face - ignoring Clint’s snort behind her as he walked away.
"Actually," Natasha replied, far too calm for your liking. "I said it would not collapse with you in it, not that it would not move at all..." She said, lips threatening to pull into a smirk that she forced herself to contain - like she knew exactly how close she was to getting hit again.
"Oh my God." You groaned into your hands, dragging your hands over your face, fingers pressing hard into your hairline.
But the second you felt your throat closing in again, something in you shattered completely. And then, before you realized it, you were shaking uncontrollably. The adrenaline you had been running on for what felt like hours disappeared from your system all at once, leaving nothing behind to hold you together.
Your hands started shaking, then your arms, then everything.
Natasha was immediately on her knees in front of you, tugging off her gloves as she reached for your forearms.
"Hey-hey. Stay with me."
You could not stop crying.
You tried to speak, you really did, but nothing came out except broken gasps that refused to form words.
Her warm hands closed around your wrists, warm and firm, her thumbs pressing gently but insistently against your pulse points.
"Breathe with me," she instructed gently. "In."
You tried. Failed a few times, but she did not lose patience. She shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of her, close enough that her presence alone started to anchor you, almost close enough to press her forehead lightly to yours.
"Come on, I know you can do it. In," she repeated before taking a slow, deliberate breath - deep enough that you could see it, feel it. "And out."
Your body followed the rhythm instinctively before your mind could catch up.
In.
Out.
In-
Out...
The world slowly stopped spinning quite so violently. The noise faded. The impossible tightness in your chest loosened just enough for air to finally, generously reach your lungs.
And suddenly you were made very aware that you were half in her lap. Very aware that your hands were fisted in the front of her shirt.
"I-I really thought I was going to die..." You whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.
Her thumbs brushed under your eyes, wiping away tears and smeared mascara.
"Well, clearly you didn’t." She said quietly.
Your laugh came out wet and shaky.
"That’s... that’s because you’re apparently made of steel."
One corner of her mouth lifted.
"Sometimes I wish."
You huffed something that might have been a watery chuckle.
Your face crumpled again as the last of the adrenaline drained out of you, leaving you raw and exposed. Without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed your face into her shoulder, your arms wrapping around her.
You felt Natasha freeze for half a second before her arms came around you as well. Firm and protective.
"It’s alright. I’ve got you." She repeated softly.
You were still trembling, a faint tremor running through your body. If you had not been so close perhaps she would not have even noticed it. But she was close and she did notice.
"It’s over now. You’re safe." She murmured, shifting a little closer on her knees. Slowly, hesitantly, one of her hands came up to rest against the back of your head.
You pulled back once your brain caught up with the realization of just how close you suddenly were, your entire face heating up with embarrassment.
"Sorry-I just, you saved-"
"No, no," she said quietly, shaking her head. "It’s okay. Really. I get it."
There was an awkward pause before you realized her hand was still on you. She seemed to realize it too as she withdrew, clearing her throat slightly.
"I’m... I should probably check your ankle?"
You nodded, wiping at your face in a completely useless attempt to fix or even hide the damage.
"Sorry," you muttered. "I’m not usually this... dramatic?"
A corner of her mouth twitched as she shot you a knowing look.
"You weren’t. But even if you were, you were trapped in a failing elevator. So... I think you’re allowed," she replied, shifting to your extended leg. "I always preferred stairs, you know."
Her hands were surprisingly gentle as she examined your ankle. You hissed when she pressed along the outer bone.
"Yeah," she murmured. "That’s tender."
Her thumb brushed lightly over the area before she leaned back.
"Looks like a sprain. Maybe a mild one. You’re lucky."
Lucky.
You almost laughed in disbelief again.
Natasha glanced toward the stairwell where two more firefighters were coordinating with the building manager.
"Medics are downstairs," Clint called over. "Stairwells all clear."
Natasha looked back at you, assessing as she pursed her lips.
"Alright," she said, decisive again. "You’re not putting weight on that."
You blinked.
"I can hop-"
"Nope."
Before you could argue further, she slid one arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees again, lifting you as if you weighed nothing at all just like she previously did.
Another startled sound left you, hands instinctively flying to her shoulders.
"Natasha-"
"Relax..." She said smoothly, adjusting you against her chest.
"You don’t have to carry me all the way," you muttered, acutely aware of how solid she felt under your hands. And how steady she was. Which was a very welcomed thing after the situation you experienced. "I can... hobble... or something."
She snorted softly as she began the descent.
"Well, I think you already had your elevator moment. Let’s not add 'faceplanting down the stairs' to today’s crazy résumé."
Your lips parted in offended disbelief.
"Yeah," she said dryly. "You’ve done enough dramatic for one afternoon."
You actually gasped this time.
"Excuse me-"
"The screaming?"
"I was falling!"
"You dropped an inch."
"An inch is a lot when you think you’re about to die!"
That earned you a low, amused hum, deep enough that you felt it vibrate through her chest where you were pressed against her.
God. This was unfair.
She took the steps steadily, controlled, one at a time. Her grip never faltered, not even slightly - which was also very much unfair. You looked up at her face, catching her eyes flickering over yours before lingering. There was a beat where you hesitated, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the seemingly amused look on her face, your cheeks warming up under the attention.
"...What?" You asked warily, narrowing your eyes slightly.
There was a pause, followed by a flicker of mischief in her green eyes.
"Nothing."
"Natasha."
She exhaled slowly through her nose, like she was actively trying not to laugh.
"You look like a raccoon."
You stared at her, blinking in confusion.
"I-what...?"
She nodded solemnly, tipping her chin toward your face.
"Mascara situation. It’s... everywhere, very feral, very committed."
You stared at her, scandalized.
"I almost died and you’re bullying me?"
"I’m not bullying you," she replied gravely, adjusting you slightly higher in her arms. "I’m appreciating the aesthetic. You fully committed to the smoky eye look."
A choked sound escaped you, half laugh, half disbelief, as you tried to glare at her. Your lips betrayed you first, twitching at the corners despite your best effort.
She caught it instantly.
"There it is..." She murmured.
"I hate you." You muttered, though your voice wobbled with a laugh.
"Kinda doubt that."
You could not help but smile at her, shaking your head before awkwardly wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks.
"Better," she said quietly. "That’s better."
You rolled your eyes, though there was no heat behind the action.
"You’re unbelievable."
"Meh, I’ve been called worse."
The stairwell echoed with distant voices and the steady rhythm of boots on concrete, but in the space between you, everything felt... quieter. You bit down your lip, really wishing you were not imagining things.
Now that the panic had ebbed, you found yourself studying her properly.
Freckles scattered beneath a sheen of sweat. A faint cut near her brow. Green eyes that had locked onto yours like you mattered the second those devilish doors opened.
"Am I heavy?" You asked suddenly.
Natasha scoffed, giving your face a clear once over.
"I lift people twice your size in full gear."
"Oh," you said, pretending to consider her words. "So I’m light like... what? A backpack?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if genuinely thinking it through.
"Mhm... More like an angry kitten."
You gasped, smacking her shoulder.
"Raccoon and kitten? Pick a species, Natasha."
"Raccoon aesthetic," she corrected smoothly. "Kitten attitude."
You were fully smiling now.
It felt strange - how easily she could pull you out of that spiral without even really knowing you. Like she had simply decided fear did not get to win today.
She reached the final flight, the soft afternoon light filtering up faintly from the lobby below. Sirens flashing through the glass doors.
You hesitate, talking yourself out of saying what you wanted to, but when will you ever get the chance to if not now?
"Alright, I have to ask... Do I at least look like a cute raccoon?" You asked quietly after a full minute of convincing yourself to finally get the words out.
Natasha did not hesitate, her lips offering you a charming smile.
"Oh, the cutest I’ve ever rescued, for sure."
Your stomach flipped in a way that did not resemble anything you experienced in the elevators.
The lobby doors burst open as you finally stepped out into the open air. The cool breeze hit your face and you inhaled sharply - you had not realized how badly you needed that until your lungs filled with it. It was perhaps the first full breath that did not feel like borrowed oxygen.
Paramedics hurried forward with a stretcher, voices overlapping as they approached. But Natasha did not set you down immediately.
"Possible ankle sprain. No loss of consciousness. Minor shock." She reported, her tone shifting seamlessly back to professional as her eyes flicked to one of the medics who nodded at her.
"We’ll take it from here."
You tightened your grip on Natasha for half a second longer than necessary. She looked down at you again, something unreadable flickering in her expression now that the urgency was over. She crouched, lowering you carefully onto the stretcher, hands lingering at your waist just long enough to make your pulse jump.
The sudden loss of contact felt... noticeable.
She stepped back as the medics started examining your ankle, asking questions.
You answered automatically but your attention never really left her, your eyes neither.
Natasha ran a hand through her slightly disheveled red hair, pushing it back from her face as the wind picked up. The adrenaline was still humming under her skin, you could see it in the way her jaw was set too tight, her fingers almost buzzing with restless energy. But she was already shifting back into that composed, controlled version of herself. She spoke briefly with Clint, answering a question from someone else. And suddenly, the thought of her just... walking away felt unbearable. And unfair.
"Natasha?"
She turned immediately at your voice, brows lifting.
You swallowed, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now.
"Yeah?"
Your throat felt tight again, but not from fear.
"Thank you. Truly," the words were simple, too small compared to what she had done, but you meant them with everything in you. "Thank you for saving my life."
Her teasing edge from earlier left her completely.
For a moment, she did not look like the confident firefighter who had climbed into a failing elevator without hesitation. She just looked like a woman who had been very, very scared of being too late.
"You’re welcome, just... doing my job." She said quietly, smiling at you as she reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Your heart did that stupid thing again.
One of the medics cleared her throat nearby, smiling sheepishly as she interrupted the... moment.
"We’re going to transport her for X-rays."
Natasha nodded absently, not pulling her hand away until she absolutely had to, her eyes staying on yours.
"You’ll be okay?" She asked.
You hesitated, biting down your lips. Then, before you could overthink it-
"...Will you visit the hospital raccoon?"
Her mouth curved slowly, something warm and amused - and dare you say even relief - settling into her expression.
"I’ll make sure to bring waterproof mascara recommendations."
You scoffed, swatting her hand away playfully. She smiled at you, watching as the stretcher you were on reached the ambulance doors.
"You’re safe now." She whispered, winking at you.
And the way she had said it, certain like a promise made you unable to not smile back. You believed her completely.
Hope you enjoyed this silly fic!🤭 Actually working on a longer fic (series) right now but I had this idea for a while so here it is!! See you - hopefully - soon :))
⧗ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
