The Long Way Home: Thirty
Glass rained down from the windows up above your heads and Thor swept you quickly into the shelter of his arms to keep it from hurting you. “Are you alright?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands tenderly.
“Yes,” you answer, turning you head to kiss his palm.
Thor didn’t wait for another second, he shoved you gently towards Barton and Romanoff where they were protecting each other before he started to run towards the building.
He knew that they would protect you. Keep you from any major harm. They liked you. A lot. Barton appreciated your innate skill as a marks woman and Romanoff appreciated your sense of humor. They saw in you some of the same qualities that he did. The qualities that made you his ideal queen.
The afternoon was a haze of heat and sweat. The wounded. The dying. Agents and other Avengers swarmed like helpful gnats and all he had to do was keep moving. Exploiting his strength to move debris. You were never far from his thoughts. But still. He was focused.
Until he could finally think about anything else.
He was hungry. And tired. And sore. But when he was you, reading, or trying to, on a sofa in his old apartments, he felt himself relax. Barton or Romanoff had indeed kept you safe. Installed you here and evidently had seen to it that you were given anything you might need to be comfortable.
“Thor!”
You’re off the sofa and examining the cuts on his face and hands, a worried frown on your face. Thor doesn’t like that. The worried wrinkles on your forehead. The suspicious glimmer in your eyes that looks too terribly close to tears.
“I’m alright, sweetheart,” he soothed. “I’m only... A little bruised, I suppose.”
“You’re bleeding,” you protest.
“Not for long,” he said softly, cupping your face in his hands, “All I need is rest. And something to eat. It will heal.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” he said, smiling a little. “I’ll be good as new by morning. Possibly even later tonight if you baby me enough.”
When his answer gets you to smile he claims your lips in a careful kiss. “The first order of business though, is a shower. I’m filthy.”