Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: Eighteen
“Nat,” you say laughing, “Enough.” The Spy looked up from where she was fussing with blankets on the sofa and nodded. “Are you okay? How’s your head?” she frowned and kissed your hands and you softened a little.
“It was just my blood sugar, Tasha, it’s okay.” you remind her, “Everything is fine. All I needed to do was eat something. Maybe drink some orange juice.” She nods. It had been a little terrifying watching you go pale and collapse.
Just minutes before you’d been grousing about your jeans not fitting right and Bruce’s snoring. Then you were just down. Your head had made a nasty sound hitting the counter and when you came too you were disoriented and shaky.
Nat pets the small swell of your stomach gently and carefully kisses your head to avoid the tender spot, “I’d feel better if you’d at least lay down,” she coaxes. They’d not told Bruce yet. They were waiting until the mission was over. And all your test results came back fine so they’d have something concrete to give him. A quinjet and the Hulk didn’t tend to mix well, and where both Bruce and Hulk were concerned. Well. If anything could make Bruce of all people lose his head completely, it was something happening to you. Or the baby.
You let her settle you on the couch and drink the sprite she handed you, hoping to help quell the anxiety. “It’s okay, Tasha,” you soothe, “It’s not that uncommon. Especially not when I’m working, remember? My sugar drops like that from time to time. Spell work takes energy... and so does growing a whole human. Except this little human will just barely let me eat anything before the afternoon.” She nods and puts your feet in her lap so she can sit next to you, “I thought that was better,” she says frowning. “Slowly better,” you say nodding and sigh. She tuts and smacks the bottoms of your feet gently, “You should be keeping an eye on that,” she lectures. “If Bruce sees you do that he’ll have a heart attack. Or tear the building apart. Possibly both.” You wince, “Needles, Tasha.” you say softly.
It makes you anxious just thinking about it and you have to set down the cup you’re holding. It’s glass and you’re holding it too tight. The last thing you need is for Bruce to come home to you getting stitches too. Tasha rubs your calf gently, “Shhh,” she says, “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I forgot.” You know it’s stupid and you can’t make the panic stop because now you can’t stop thinking about it. When the tears start flowing you can’t stop that either. Natasha scoops you up carefully and holds you to her tightly, rocking you gently. You curse hormones, witchfinders, and orange juice as you try to get a grip on her shoulder and the spy curses herself. You had one fear.
It wasn’t death, snakes, heights, or taxes. It was needles. Pure and simple. It didn’t matter what for. But needles anywhere near your skin caused a wave of panic that nothing could quell. Even after years of therapy. Even if you knew you needed to do it. You couldn’t. They needed to knock you out just to put three stitches in your finger once. She doesn’t try to make it stop. She just lets you cry it out. Once you can calm down, she brings you a cool cloth and presses the cup back into your hands, “Take a drink,” she soothes, “Then we’ll order some food... Think the little one inherited your love of orange chicken?”
You chuckle and wipe your face, “One way to find out... we know they like eggrolls.” Nat smiled and touched your belly affectionately, “Definitely likes those... 6 of them later and you probably could have eaten a couple more.” You sigh and start to get up, “First things first. I need jammies. I’ve had enough of real pants.” The spy watched you go, watching your gait and making sure you were steady on your feet, “Ooo,” she says, “Good plan. I’ll go get mine too.”
______
“And none of you fucking told me?” Bruce yelled. Clint held up his hands and handed him a stack of blood work results, “Nat’s been with her. All day. It really is just blood sugar dropping. Just like before.”
Bruce was getting a little green around the irises and Tony tensed, “Nat had them run all the tests,” he said, “She’s fine, just tired. It’s been a long day. You know how she is about needles... she straight up begged them to just let her cut her hand open and do it that way.” The brought Bruce up short, “How did they get the blood test done?” he asked. Clint smiled a little, “Nat had her magic herself under for a little bit. Otherwise one of those techs was gonna wind up with a broken nose.” Bruce took a deep breath, “Where is she now?” he asked slowly. “Upstairs with Nat in your rooms,” Clint said quickly, “Pepper’s there too... Girl’s night, ya, know? They have dinner and they’ve been watching some baking show or something.” Tony glanced at him, “How do you know all that?” he asked, “All Pepper told me is that she’s not at the office.” Clint snorted, “Snapchat, duh.”
Bruce didn’t stick around after that. He hit the elevator, taking a minute to breathe. He wasn’t mad at you, not really. You hadn’t done it on purpose, kept that from him. Or if you had, it had been to protect him. He knew it. But he was still furious that he hadn’t been able to take care of you.
He stops at the door, listening. You sound okay. Laughing, protesting eating anymore. “Pepper,” you protest, “Eating for two is a little bit of an exaggeration... If I eat anything more I might literally explode.” He can’t hear Pepper’s response exactly but he smiles a little. It’s something of a comfort that you haven’t just been alone and he makes a mental note to thank them both. It sounds like they’re letting you go to bed. Or at least that someone alerted them Bruce was on his way up. So he backs up to let them come through. Pepper pats his hand and Natasha pulls him aside, pressing a finger to her lips and walking him down the hall.
“Bruce,” she says quietly, “You have to make her test her sugar... Medical needs a baseline. They’ve been after her for one for years because of the way it drops.” He frowns, “What am I supposed to do? Hold her down and do it?” Nat sighs, “I don’t know... I tried to talk to her about it today and she had a whole meltdown.” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m not pressing the issue tonight,” he said. He felt too old for this. “The stress isn’t good for her either.” The spy gave him a sympathetic look and smiled a little, “The good news is, she doesn’t have a concussion from smacking her head on the way down... It sounded worse than it was.” Bruce sighed, “Did she eat enough?” Nat grinned, “The baby likes orange chicken... and eggrolls. She ate.” That makes him smile a little, “Right so. Heartburn later.” She snorts, “Yeah. Lots of that.” Nat stands on her toes and kisses his cheek, “Go take care of her,” she said gently, “she’s missed you.” He doesn’t need telling twice.
“Baby?” he said softly, dropping his bag and crossing the floor to kneel next to the sofa, “How are you feeling? Are you okay? How’s your head?” You smile and pull him down to kiss him softly, “We’re fine,” you soothe, “Everything is fine. It’s just a few scary seconds and a knock on the head.”
Bruce looks over your scalp and kisses the bump carefully before kissing your lips and laying a hand on your stomach, rubbing gently. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks. “Bruce,” you say, swallowing hard, “It’s bad enough when you’re away... I didn’t want you hurt because you were distracted. I told Nat not to say anything because I wanted to make sure you came home.” Tears start falling and he hugs you tightly, “The big guy wouldn’t have let anything keep us from you,” he said, “He’s really excited to meet the baby. And he loves you. Probably as much as I do... Trust me. No force in the universe could keep him from being here.” You nuzzle into his neck and breath him in. The smell of his aftershave and something else that was indefinably him. “Let’s get you tucked in, hmm?” he coaxes, “We both had a long day and you need rest... We just got you functioning without coffee. I’d hate to have to go back to leaving my mugs outside.” He relaxes a little when you snort and presses on, “It was nice. Those little afternoon naps though,” he teases. Your cheeks color and he grins, “Sometimes you still talk in your sleep, you know that?” When you blush harder he kisses your nose, “C ‘ mon, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed,” he coaxes again, standing slowly and holding out his hands. You go willingly and he finds the hem of your tank top, easing it out of the way slowly and sliding it over your head, “Bruce!” you protest, and he stops, “Please?” he asked softly, “I missed you.” He touches your belly, tracing his fingers over the swell tenderly. You were bigger than you’d been when he left, he could swear to it. And he just wanted to feel you. All your warm silky skin and nothing in the way.
He wanted to admire his handiwork.
He feathers soft kisses down your neck and you moan softly. When you say his name again it’s a different tone and he smiles a little. Your hands are on his shirt, unbuttoning buttons as he’s stripping you of your pajama bottoms. “Good girl,” he praises, tucking you into the bed. He finishes undressing himself and pins you to the mattress gently, “What do you need, baby?” he asks seriously, “How can I help?” When you look up at him, all wide eyed and innocent still, just like the first time, his heart stutters and he kisses your nose.
“Make the monsters go away,” you tell him softly.
And Bruce doesn’t need telling twice. He doesn’t need an explanation. He grounds you in your now as gently as he can. Reminding you that you are safe, and you are loved the best way he’s ever learned how. Anything he can do to keep the nightmares away.
tags: @lancsnerd @stevieang @golddaggers @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts @process-pending @xmarveled @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess