1: Sick/Injured & I'll let Steve pick the other :)doeswhatsrightAugust 11 2012, 14:49:23 UTC
The Helicarrier's sickbay was probably Hill's least favorite place on the whole ship, but Fury had ordered her to get checked out after the Chitauri attack was over. Sure, the med-techs had done what they could to patch her up on the bridge, but she still needed to be examined for a concussion and possible rib injuries. She wasn't sure what she'd landed on when she hit the deck getting away from that grenade, but she sure as hell felt like she'd taken a punch from Romanoff
( ... )
Everybody needs a cuddle after a day like that one *nods* A gentle cuddle.buy_war_bondsAugust 13 2012, 06:08:40 UTC
"I bet you say that to all the guys." Steve smiled weakly at her, motioning for Tony to go on the rest of the way without him. Tony gave him one of his patented "go on with your bad self" looks out of the corner of his eye, but Steve manfully ignored it, which wasn't too hard that time since Tony's not got a lot of energy left to put into it.
Steve flopped down on a small sofa in the "waiting area" of the sickbay, one that was somewhat shielded from the almost stately chaos of the rest of the place by a slighlty de-potted fake tree. That thing'd always been strange, and he was somewhat disconcerted to see that it had fake roots and everything, now sticking clumsily out of the large pot. Who does that? Who makes those things?He shook his head, turning back to her, head cocked to the side as he took her in, almost as though double-checking to make sure she's all right and really there. She was sporting small bandage neatly taped to her cheek, and he nodded toward her, his smile softening a bit, his voice solicitous, a part of his
( ... )
"Mostly, yeah," she replied and forced herself to stop picking at the butterfly closures on her cheek. "Doc thinks I might have a concussion and a couple of bruised ribs, but other than that, I'm okay. Still waiting on the test results, though
( ... )
He gives her a small smile. "Nothing like taking one to the old noggin' to get the docs all up in a frenzy."
The look is, well, mostly professional as his eyes stray to her side, as though he were Superman or something and had x-ray vision and could check up on the status of her ribs through her shirt. Through the kind of small and clingy tank top that did really nice things for her figure.
Rein it in, buddy, put that on the back burner and revisit it later. Lady's got some busted up ribs, this is no time to think about anything strenuous]
"C'mere, sit down. There's plenty of couch for two, and if you need to stretch out just give me a shove and it's all yours." He almost physically can't have her standing and him sitting down, not with a couple of bruises on her and the day they've all had. He pats the sofa next to him, smiling softly. "I'll be fine soon enough. Just a few dents, nothing that won't get popped right out again
( ... )
Now that the worst is over, she can finally relax and let herself come down off Adrenaline Rush Alpha, and she moves to sink into the sofa next to Rogers. But then Hill does something he probably isn't expecting: she turns so that she's almost sitting sideways with her back is cuddled into his side. Rogers still looks and smells like a walking war zone, but she obviously doesn't mind
( ... )
No, he most definitely hadn't been expecting that. But he doesn't have those super soldier reflexes for nothing, and he shifts a bit as she leans back, in order to her her settled comfortably against him. But then, well, there's the matter of what to do with his damn arm. How did it suddenly become such a useless, extra appendage? It had always seemed to helpful before now. Finally, he settles it lightly around her, trying not to his any bruises and really making sure he doesn't accidentally smack her in the breast or cop and kind of sneaky feels.
He listens to the litany of wounds their helicarrier received, knowing just enough to realize how well and truly that big old flying goose had been cooked. "Wow. Sure makes me glad I'm not a mechanic sometimes, just hearing about ho long it's going to take to get her back up and running again."
The hand not behaving strictly up to code by her side is looking for something to do, and he settles on gently -- really, really gently, because of the whole possible concussion thing --
( ... )
The fingers against her hair feel are a welcome distraction from the pounding in her head, and she keeps her eyes closed since the glare from the window and the overhead lights only makes her headache worse.
"Usually, I'd opt for camping or hiking in the Catskills or something, but I dunno. I think I'd want to go someplace less... rugged. Maybe something tropical where they bring you piña coladas on the beach or whatever."
The more Hill thinks about it, the more she likes the idea. Except that she can probably count on one hand how many times she's been on an actual vacation, and wouldn't know the first thing about where to go. Maybe she should give Potts a call. Stark's assistant-turned-girlfriend probably knows all the best places to get pampered for awhile. Not that Hill's the type to go for a mud wrap or avocado facial, but a full-body massage sounds like heaven right about now.
"I always wanted to go to the Catskills. One of my neighbors when I was a little kid would go up there for a month in the summer with his family. The way he told it made it sound like the whole place was a Fairyland."
He's fascinated by how soft her hair still is even now, after this long, never-ending day. Soft and just right, something gentle and sweet and -- and good.
"I've never really been to one of those places," Steve says softly, trying to test the ay of the land here. He finds a lot to think good about the idea of laying on a beach somewhere next to Maria, watching the waves in the still quiet of a long afternoon under the warm sun. "They always sounded good, too. I passed through Miami a couple of times on the tour back in the War, but -- but I didn't really have a chance to go around looking at things."
The remark about the neighbor reminds her of a certain movie about a dance instructor who hooks up with some innocent young thing. Hill has only seen bits and pieces of it, but not enough to really capture her attention long enough to figure out the whole story. She's not really the "chick flick" type. As for Miami, all she knows about it comes from some show about a red-headed cop with a sunglasses fetish.
"Yeah, Miami's nice and all, but I dunno. I think I'd like to go somewhere less populated." Her voice is vague almost to the point of being sleepy. "Maybe someplace like the Bahamas or St. Thomas or something. I wonder if Stark's got a place we could use for a few days."
There. She'd said it. We.
It's not the first time that day she'd put herself on the line, and considering everything else that'd blown up in her face, what's the worst that could happen? Even if Rogers turns her down, she's still going to get the hell off the Helicarrier for a week, if not more.
Hill will have to show that to Steve at some point -- he's woefully behind on movies and is eager to catch-up. And the phrase "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" has not, in a miracle that only seventy years in ice could bring, lost its resonance for Steve yet. Though he may, in secret, have developed an affinity for chick-flicks that makes up for her lack of interest. Coming at them from an historical perspective, sort of a "let's see what I've missed" POV, Steve had accidentally been piecing together a rudimentary understanding -- on a mostly intuitive level that will need some solid guidance before he's through -- of the changing nature of gender politics in America
( ... )
That gets a chuckle, followed by a wince. Yep, her ribs are definitely bruised, but Hill doesn't really care. She's just glad they've both made it through the past twenty-four hours. Unlike so many. Unlike Coulson. That thought sobers her, and she moves to sit up
( ... )
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Steve flopped down on a small sofa in the "waiting area" of the sickbay, one that was somewhat shielded from the almost stately chaos of the rest of the place by a slighlty de-potted fake tree. That thing'd always been strange, and he was somewhat disconcerted to see that it had fake roots and everything, now sticking clumsily out of the large pot. Who does that? Who makes those things?He shook his head, turning back to her, head cocked to the side as he took her in, almost as though double-checking to make sure she's all right and really there. She was sporting small bandage neatly taped to her cheek, and he nodded toward her, his smile softening a bit, his voice solicitous, a part of his ( ... )
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The look is, well, mostly professional as his eyes stray to her side, as though he were Superman or something and had x-ray vision and could check up on the status of her ribs through her shirt. Through the kind of small and clingy tank top that did really nice things for her figure.
Rein it in, buddy, put that on the back burner and revisit it later. Lady's got some busted up ribs, this is no time to think about anything strenuous]
"C'mere, sit down. There's plenty of couch for two, and if you need to stretch out just give me a shove and it's all yours." He almost physically can't have her standing and him sitting down, not with a couple of bruises on her and the day they've all had. He pats the sofa next to him, smiling softly. "I'll be fine soon enough. Just a few dents, nothing that won't get popped right out again ( ... )
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He listens to the litany of wounds their helicarrier received, knowing just enough to realize how well and truly that big old flying goose had been cooked. "Wow. Sure makes me glad I'm not a mechanic sometimes, just hearing about ho long it's going to take to get her back up and running again."
The hand not behaving strictly up to code by her side is looking for something to do, and he settles on gently -- really, really gently, because of the whole possible concussion thing -- ( ... )
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"Usually, I'd opt for camping or hiking in the Catskills or something, but I dunno. I think I'd want to go someplace less... rugged. Maybe something tropical where they bring you piña coladas on the beach or whatever."
The more Hill thinks about it, the more she likes the idea. Except that she can probably count on one hand how many times she's been on an actual vacation, and wouldn't know the first thing about where to go. Maybe she should give Potts a call. Stark's assistant-turned-girlfriend probably knows all the best places to get pampered for awhile. Not that Hill's the type to go for a mud wrap or avocado facial, but a full-body massage sounds like heaven right about now.
Reply
He's fascinated by how soft her hair still is even now, after this long, never-ending day. Soft and just right, something gentle and sweet and -- and good.
"I've never really been to one of those places," Steve says softly, trying to test the ay of the land here. He finds a lot to think good about the idea of laying on a beach somewhere next to Maria, watching the waves in the still quiet of a long afternoon under the warm sun. "They always sounded good, too. I passed through Miami a couple of times on the tour back in the War, but -- but I didn't really have a chance to go around looking at things."
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"Yeah, Miami's nice and all, but I dunno. I think I'd like to go somewhere less populated." Her voice is vague almost to the point of being sleepy. "Maybe someplace like the Bahamas or St. Thomas or something. I wonder if Stark's got a place we could use for a few days."
There. She'd said it. We.
It's not the first time that day she'd put herself on the line, and considering everything else that'd blown up in her face, what's the worst that could happen? Even if Rogers turns her down, she's still going to get the hell off the Helicarrier for a week, if not more.
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