Why don't you touch my hand? (Curb your temper, it's the weekend)

by honeyrotking

Summary:

You work your whole life to cover up what you are, so it doesn’t railroad your career. Then, you’re finally, *finally* where you want to be- and it all comes spilling out of the closet anyways.

Bob can’t really blame Walker for being so mad that the door was opened at all.

Notes:

babies first omegaverse! and it’s marvel! what the hell!

anyways walker and bob have taken over my brain for some reason and the mcu version of USAgent drives me a little nutty- so ofc i had to write them. the omegaverse is just for spice <3

Chapter 1: Well I was dripping with aggression, I didn't know what to do

Honestly, though he’d never admit it if you asked, John kind of assumed that the serum might change some things that it just… didn’t.

 

Sure, it changed plenty. No one can deny that. But John was strong before the serum- so his body didn’t change much. He can take a hell of a lot harder of hits now. He just looks… mostly the same. Tall, broad shouldered, lean but filled out.

 

And listen- of course he wasn’t expecting a change like Rogers, okay? The guy was 90 pounds soaking wet on a good day, asthmatic with a heart condition, like a shaking chihuahua on an army base. Of course his taking the serum was drastic. He grew nearly a foot.

 

But… the more John reads, and watches historical documentaries, and youtube essays, and whatever else he can get his hands on… the more he finds himself let down. Not just by the things that didn’t change- his height, his physique, the size of… other things- but also by his assumptions. All his life, he assumed what must have changed in Rogers.

 

It seems only tabloids had the gall to claim outright that Steve went from omega to alpha in the irradiated coffin he crawled into and stepped out of a bigger man. There were more valid claims and no one corrected the assumptions in the 40’s- but there were stronger prejudices at play back then. A prevalent idea that alphas were the only ones who could fight. The only ones who could be strong enough to lead the charge into war-torn Europe and come out having saved what was in the thousands of men and blazing a red-white-and-blue trail across the continent.

 

But every file he has requested from the old SHIELD database, and every medical record of public matter, and every personal account from friends and those he was close to- Steve Rogers was an omega from the day he presented sometime in his late teens to the day he disappeared- after the second blip.

 

So despite his assumptions, John Walker lives on heat suppressants, covered in scent block patches and an extremely obnoxious pheromone-based cologne. Because just like Steve Rogers, he will be an Omega until the day he dies. And while Steve may have been brave enough to be Captain America as a proud omega- at this point John thinks everyone knows that he’s just not as good at Steve Rogers.

 

It’s not an issue, even living with the team in the newly renovated Avengers Tower- Valentina has been trying to get them to call it the Watchtower, but it’s just not sticking. (No one in New York calls it that. It’s either Avengers Tower, or Stark Tower- for those old enough to remember the time before the world got so strange, or some people call it just The Tower.)

 

None of them question him. He’s not sure if they have any reason to, to be honest. Sure- he’s not quite so agro when they settle into life in the tower, he has a few habits that probably read a little strange for an alpha, but he smells neutral most days, foregoing the cologne but not the scent blockers when they don’t leave the tower. That can be explained by being private or ready for anything. He has no problem with stepping up to them when they posture, bickering and wrestling around with everyone all the same. He even sniffs after other omegas now and then to keep any lingering suspicions on his back. None of them have ever met Olivia, so they don’t know she’s an alpha. They don’t care to know. He guesses he’s done fine with lying low and they just don’t care to question how weird he is- they’re all weird.

 

Maybe too well, considering.

 

——

 

It’s after a mission- he got hurt. Not deadly, but bad enough that it hadn’t even stopped bleeding by the time the jet drops them back on their roof, Yelena shouting and leading him off, Alexei having to tuck an arm under Johns to keep him from stumbling as they haul inside, Bucky and Ava following all the way to the medbay room on the top floor, just inside from the helipad. Easy access, John thinks wearily. He took a thick, wickedly sharp bit of shrapnel to his ribs, not slotting through them but getting firmly stuck in the bone, blood slowly trickling out around it. They had elected not to move it, and John was still moving- just in pain and with a bit of soul-deep exhaustion mixed in.

 

They walk in and Bob is already there, hands wringing and pacing anxiously as he waits for them. When Alexei deposits him on one of the three medical tables, John groans loud and low, having jostled the metal support by accident. Bob is talking to Yelena low and radiating nerves as his eyes cut over to John. Bucky is already coming up to press John down onto the table-bed-thing and help him pull his legs up into it, Ava stepping back with wide eyes and tensely crossed arms. Alexei is talking to him, but John just grunts and his eyes go a bit crossed with the change in position and the pain that rockets through him as he lays back.

 

They all look at the door from where they hover above him and suddenly he’s blinking up not at his friends but a group of doctors- or nurses, or something. One of them packs gauze around the wound and the other says, “This will hurt,” -Before they yank the metal out of his chest with a grunt of effort. John growls low and angry with the pain, jaw strained and hands in fists at his side, barely restrained from throwing themselves at the source of pain- doctor or not.

 

He suffers through some more not-so-medical-feeling patching up, one of them coming back with a surgical stapler and popping one after another in his pec as their friend cleans the wound with… saline maybe. Something cold, trickling its way across Johns chest and down to his side to the table. John doesn’t know. Doesn’t care, honestly. He’s barely conscious for this, wincing and breathing deep through the process before someone sticks him with something and his eyes fall shut against his will.

 

——

 

His first thought when he opens his eyes is, “ Ow…”

 

His second thought is, “ What the fuck is that medical staff, Valentina? ”

 

He opens his eyes to a dark room. His room, downstairs. He’s in just boxers, tucked into the bed, a bandage over his left pec that itches like crazy, healing already.

 

He can hear the air blowing through the vents, cool and clean. He can hear traffic, far, far down in the city below. He just lays there for a dragging moment, coming back to himself before throwing his legs out of the bed and tottering over to the dresser. He hisses and groans at the sore sting in his chest as he pulls on sweatpants and a tshirt, head pounding, but muffled. Pain killers, he guesses vaguely. It can’t be more than a few hours- four, max- since they stapled him back together. Must be strong meds, too, if his metabolism hasn’t gotten rid of them yet.

 

He shuffles out the door and towards the elevator, going up a floor to the main living area of the tower. They’ve changed it a bit, added couches and chairs, a massive screen for a TV against the wall opposite the bar. Empty. Okay.

 

He heads down the hall to the kitchen and dining room instead. As he gets closer, he can hear noise, but the overhead light doesn’t look like it’s on. When he turns the corner and pauses in the doorway, staring in at a full kitchen. The kitchen is an internal room, so no windows, a square galley with a table in the middle. The overhead may not be on, but the trim lights under the cabinets are, casting a low orangey glow across the kitchen.

 

Alexei, Yelena and Ava are sitting at the table. Bob is perched on the counter to one side, hands half-tucked under his thighs, and Bucky is at the opposite corner, leaned against the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. They all look very… serious.

 

He only catches a snippet ( “He could have just- But he didn’t. We have to…” ) but they go quiet as Bucky is the first to see him, followed by Yelena, then Ava. Bob and Alexei turn their heads when they see the others do the same. They all stare at him with something unreadable.

 

“…Hey guys,” John starts, awkward and suddenly anxious, “Why the long faces?”

 

They all just stare before Bob speaks up; “How do you feel?” He asks, brow pinched and head tilted to the side.

 

“Fiiiine…” He squints at them all, “Seriously, I’m fine. Did something else happen?” He responds, leaning against the doorway and crossing his own arms almost defensively, steeling against a wince as it tugs at the wound.

 

Another pregnant pause. His skin starts to crawl, something like dread crawling up his spine.

 

Bucky speaks first.

 

“The doctors ripped off your scent block before we had a chance to tell him ‘no’.” His face is grim, eyes on Walker but head tilted down a bit. Almost like shame.

 

For a second, John forgets. That they don’t know what he is- or didn’t, at least. That it should matter at all. He stares back at a room of what now is clearly a variation of guilty and, irritatingly, almost pitying faces- his own scrunched in confusion. Then the realization comes and it’s like a bucket of ice-water. He bristles almost immediately, standing up straight but arms staying crossed, glaring at them all.

 

“…Okay?” He asks- more like demands. So what? What will they do about it? Despite his heart pounding, he finds himself thinking that they can just try and tell him they have a problem with it- his hackles raise at the thought alone, knuckles itching and ready for a fight. Bob ducks his head, Ava turns her face away from him. Yelena and Bucky stare at him unflinching. Alexei looks between him and Yelena.

 

Then, all of their noses wrinkle. Jesus.

 

“You-“ He bares his teeth as his arms drop, fists balling.

 

“Walker, hang on-“ Bucky tries, voice strained as he lifts a hand at him, as if to say ‘calm down’.

 

They’re all looking at him now, petulant fucking frowns and concern and- he feels like he’s suffocating suddenly.

 

“Jesus- can everyone stop looking at me like I- Like I have cancer or something? You’d think none of you have ever met-“ He can’t even get the word out. It locks up in his throat like there’s any point in it staying a secret.

 

Yelena stands up, slow enough that it’s clear she’s trying not to startle him or something stupid like that. He rolls his eyes.

 

“Walker,” She starts cautiously, her accent rounding his name in the way it does, her hands on her hips, head down but eyes up at him, “We get why you- hid it. But we’re a team. You should not have.”

 

“What does it change?” He asks, voice brittle and sharp.

 

She just shakes her head, lips downturned.

 

“Nothing, Walker, nothing,” she insists, “None of us… care- obviously. But it may have come up- especially like how it did. We could not brace ourselves, or stop the- the doctor guy.” She crosses her own arms now. Great. All standing around with crossed arms. Bunch of assholes. He glares at them all.

 

“If anyone has a problem…” He gestures vaguely between them all, at the table mostly. Bucky sighs, Bob fidgets with his hands, covered by his sleeves.

 

Surprisingly, Alexei is next to speak up, “No- no problem, Walker, no problem. We are thrilled to have this new information about you.” He smiles, wide and yellowed, “We are stronger together now. No secrets!”

 

“Alright then.” He deadpans in return, tired of this already. There’s a reason he doesn’t tell people. There’s a reason he hadn’t told them. He turns on his heel and walks away from the kitchen.

Notes:

Title and chapter title from Pendulum by Bay Faction i love themm

Chapter 2: Figured I don't need it

Summary:

Bob POV!! just to get a sense of his feelings here and because i like having them switch off povs

Notes:

if anyone gets on me abt ava i’m sorry i don’t know how to write her i haven’t even seen the movie she’s in tbh. i WILL i promise but i’m making my friend watch all the mcu movies in chronological order so she’s a bit down the line TT

Bob is starting to feel like maybe they should have done things differently. He wasn’t very involved, to be honest- ushered (or pushed) to the side like the rest while Walker received treatment, heart pounding despite Yelena murmuring in his ear about accelerated healing, super soldier pain tolerances. Walker and he didn’t start on the best of terms- but he’s a friend. Bob worries anyway.

 

The smell in the room was already confusing, the scent of the others, of their stress and pain and worry. The blood, smaller amounts from everyone but a lot of Walkers blood, thick and cloying in their noses and throats, coppery and different than his usual smell, missing some key note everyone had come to associate with Walker.

 

The doctor ripped the patch off like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t holding anything important. It had came away with a sticky ripping sound, and the scent filled the room like someone had opened a vial of the most concentrated perfume they could find. The doctors barely reacted, mouths twisting at the smell but not seeming to care. The team was another matter. They all went deathly still, staring over at Johns knocked out form, eyes wide and confused.

 

Yelena is the first to move.

 

“Hey!” She shouts at them, starting forward and shoving at them, pushing them back from Walker, “Hey, assholes- do not touch him anymore! Back off! Get back!”

 

Then Bucky is at their side, and Alexei, taking over the bandages and moving Walkers body to wrap them around him as Yelena shoos the medical team from the floor, angrily telling them they’ll take care of it and let Valentina know how helpful  they had been.

 

 

Bucky had carried John to his room- which looked ridiculous and felt somehow sad. Ava whispered something to Yelena and wandered off, and Yelena and Alexei followed behind Bucky and Walker so Bob did too. It’s quiet- no one knows what to say. Bob feels a familiar squirm in his stomach, his face hot and chest tight- he knows that when Walker wakes up, there’ll be hell to pay for all these alphas of the tower, or more especially for those doctors.

 

Once in Walkers room, Yelena and Bucky chat quietly on whether or not they should take his suit off- the top was ruined and there was a dripping mess of blood on the pants. Bucky lowers him onto the bed like a kid despite the 6-foot-something of him being dead weight. They tug off his boots, peel off his top, then his pants. Professional and unashamed- strictly helpful. They don’t even blink. They covered him with the sheets and took his clothes to throw them away- making a note to request a new suit for him before they go on another mission. Bob hovered with Alexei, both staring down at the man- oddly pale on the bed. The others stop in the doorway, Yelena calling for them without being too loud.

 

“Shouldn’t we-?” Bob starts, but Alexei just hauls his arm around his shoulders and steers him away, out the door. Bob bites his lip to stow the words away.

 

-

 

Its maybe two hours later when they meet in the kitchen, slowly trickling in one by one. No one turns the overhead on, as if the fact can’t be allowed to see the light. It would be too harsh.

 

Yelena is first.

 

“What do we do?”

 

Bob frowns. Nothing, is his gut reaction. What is there to do? It’s not like anything is different. Is it?

 

“All we can do is let him know we don’t care.” Bucky responds, voice low, head to the side. He’s frowning, but not angrily. Just… thinking.

 

“Why would we?” Ava asks, voice dry and feet kicked up on the chair next to hers.

 

“We would not. Many would.” Alexei shrugs, opening a beer and taking a swig.

 

They all sit for a minute with the idea.

 

“Do we try to help him?” Yelena asks finally, frowning and chewing on her thumb, knee pulled up in the chair with her.

 

“Help him what?” Questions Bucky, glancing at her more curious than anything else. She frowns up at him over her shoulder.

 

“Help him… I don’t know.” She drags the last word and shrugs with her whole body.

 

“It’s probably best if we ignore it.” Shrugs Ava, head down and staring at her hands in her lap.

 

“No, we have to talk about it,” Yelena insists, “He kept a big secret- it could’ve been bad if it had been sprung on us by an enemy or something!”

 

“Yelena-“ Alexei reaches out, frowning gently at her.

 

“I just don’t get why he wouldn’t tell us!” She argues louder, “He could have just-“

 

“But he didn’t,” Bucky interrupts, “We have to-“

 

Bucky is looking at the door, then. And everyone else is too.

 

-

 

So, yeah. As Walker stalks away- the sickly scent of something like fear but angrier, defensive and exposed, lingers- Bob thinks they could have done things a little differently.

 

They all sit for a second, something like regret simmering between them all.

 

“How long has he been wearing those patches?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing at his nose with an uncomfortable expression. Bob assumes he probably means what he’s thinking- probably what they’re all thinking: Walkers scent is loud. They can practically smell every emotion the man has run through in the past 5 minutes. It’s not generally a bad smell- it reminds Bob of clothes left out in the sun, or laying down in the grass on a hot day. Something warm and clean, or natural. But it’s tinged with an underlying sour smell of fear, frustration. Alexei sneezes.

 

“Probably not good for him,” Bob thinks aloud, “His room doesn’t smell like this- he probably sleeps in them…”

 

When he looks up, Bucky and Yelena are looking at him, twin expressions of thoughtfulness. He blinks back at them, unsure.

 

“Alright-“ Ava starts, standing up with a  tap at the table, “As fun as this… discussion has been, I’m going to bed. See you all when it’s not 1:30 in the morning.” She saunters out of the room, weight uneven with her sore ankle- twisted slightly on the mission.

 

“Yes!” Alexei bursts out, having been almost eerily quiet for him, now slapping his own hands down on the table, “Let us sleep! We can all de-“ He seems to doubt that he has the right word. He looks at Bucky uncertainly, “De-brief?” He chops the word in half chunkily, but beams when Bucky nods with a huff of almost-amusement.

 

He stands up then, motioning for the others to follow and walking out as well. Yelena goes to follow but hesitates, Bucky and Bob not moving yet. They all just look at each other. Bob tilts his head, smiling a bit, feeling false.

 

“So, how badly do you guys think we fucked up?” He chuckles weakly. They look at each other and share a shrug, some sort of quiet, private communication passing between them. Bob feels a tug in his chest, something achy but happy at the sight. He loves seeing these little moments between everyone- he couldn’t explain why if he tried, usually he isn’t even involved. It’s just nice to see, their little group pulling closer to each other every day. Like family.

 

“He probably will forget about it by morning,” Yelena drawls faux-casually, shifting on her feet, “Every-body move on- we never talk about it again. Right?”

 

Bucky gives her a look she doesn’t see. Bob can’t help but huff a laugh at them.

 

“…We just need to be normal about it.” Bucky tries next.

 

Yelena turns and they both stare at the man, still leaned up against the corner of the cabinets with his arms crossed. His face is stony for a long moment until it breaks, going lax as he looks down and shakes his head. “Yeah, we fucked up.” He confirms, pitching off the counter and striding towards the door.

 

-

 

Bob and Yelena stay in the kitchen a bit longer, Bob hopping off the counter to make them both tea while Yelena chats with him about seemingly nothing. When the tea is made they wander to the elevator, heading downstairs and saying goodbye at Bobs door before she pads away to her own.

 

‘ She’s a good friend .’ He thinks as he watches her walk away. He finds himself thinking that a lot.

 

She is. Maybe the best friend he’s ever had. He’s had a few friends, real ones, and even more who weren’t but called themselves his friends. Sarasota to Jacksonville to clear across the ocean. Kids in his classes, druggies, dealers, social workers on the street.

 

He doesn’t like to think about that. So instead, he goes to bed, turning the tv in his room on to something mindless with a laugh track.

Chapter 3: Till the pendulum swing Leave me reelin’

Notes:

I’m so sorry for the crazy wait guys the Curse got my ass. Here it is!! More to come! Especially now that I can rewatch the movie at home!! Yippiee

It takes Walker over an hour to stop doing circuits of his room, back and forth, trying to stomp down on the feeling that he should walk away from this building and not look back.

 

It takes another twenty minutes to accept that he should try to go back to sleep. Super soldier or not- he’s not doing himself any favors by pacing like an animal in a cage instead of resting.

 

He manages to sleep through sheer will alone, the way they’d sometimes have to slow their breathing and force themselves to sleep at any opportunity in the army- get as much rest in 45 minutes as humanly possible just to jump up and keep going. He’s restless though, by the time light starts creeping in the windows that comprise one wall of the room, he swings his legs out of bed and sits up before his mind has a chance to catch up.

 

He has to take the bandage off to shower, so he does it in front of the bathroom mirror, unwinding the support wrap from around his chest and peeling it away with an annoyed huff when it pulls out hairs on his chest. Peering down at it, the staples are functionally useless by now; the skin already having knit itself together, still jagged and raw looking but soon to fade.

 

He showers, shaves, and slaps on another scent blocking patch with a vague feeling of spite before heading out for food.

 

Except that when he opens the door, he runs almost headfirst into Bob.

 

“Oh!” Bob exclaims, eyes wide and hands out to avoid crashing into John, then his eyes meet Johns and his brow furrows, “You shaved.” He points out, plain and almost confused.

 

John takes a second to answer, confused himself. “…Yeah?”

 

Bob blinks, and then seems to look him over, eye catching on the neckline of his t-shirt. Probably, John thinks, at the edge of the patch peeking just barely out. He had to put it higher up his neck than usual to avoid the wound.

 

“Bob,” He sighs, settling on one leg and crossing his arms, trying not to frown, “What’s up?”

 

His skin crawls a bit as Bobs eyes creep up to his face distractedly, still frowning a little.

 

“Sorry-“ He blinks the distance from his eyes, “I wanted to let you know I made breakfast. Bucky is eating already but I figured- y’know, you’re usually up real early.” He tries for a smile, a bit unsteady as his adams apple bobs. “I didn’t burn it! Bucky says the eggs are ‘really good’.” The smile shifts to something more genuine even as Bob’s eyes dart anywhere but Johns face, now.

 

John nods, straightening up again and reaching out, hand hovering to gesture Bob out of the way, either to the side or to lead the way.

 

“Cool. Finally get the hang of bacon yet, or no?” He replies, falling into the normalcy of chatting with a team member. Bob has been learning to cook, Bucky and John being really the only people who know how in the tower. The girls are hopeless with it, and Alexei can’t be trusted to make anything for anyone but himself.

 

Bob starts, walking with John towards the elevator with his hands folded around each other in front of him, glancing up at him repeatedly.

 

“Uhh- they- they might be a little crispy. Bucky says he likes them that way, but he might have been sparing my feelings.” Bob chuckles, but his nervous energy sets Johns teeth on edge. He finally got to a point where the man didn’t flinch so much around him. He’s not sure if his puppy dog gaze is better or worse than that- worried eyes grazing from his neck to his jaw and back again. They stand in the elevator quietly, but when the doors open and they step out, John reaches out, the backs of his fingers bumping Bobs arm to grab his attention, stepping to the side of the doors in case anyone else comes up.

 

“Bob-“ He starts, voice a bit strained. He really  doesn’t want to talk about this.

 

“I’m sorry.” Bob answers instantly, wringing his hands, looking up at John earnestly. He blinks down at him, surprised. “I’m not trying to- make you uncomfortable.”

 

That sends Johns brows up. “You aren’t.” He says, even though it’s a little bit of a lie. “Just- this didn’t change anything. Okay?” He gestures vaguely at the patch, watching Bobs eyes flicker to and away from it. Watching him nod, biting his lips into a thin line and looking up into his eyes instead.

 

“Of course not,” Bob says, almost earnestly, “Honestly- I’m more worried about the sheet of metal that was stuck in you less than 24 hours ago.”

 

John takes a deep breath. Of course thats what Bob’s worried about.

 

“Oh. I’m fine. Gotta take the staples out- but it’s already mostly healed. Perks of accelerated healing. Starving- but all better.” He turns towards the kitchen again, shoulders dropping with the relief that at least someone is worried about something not-stupid.

 

—

 

As they turn into the kitchen, Bucky is sat at the table with his phone, slouched in a seat as he slowly eats a piece of, admittedly, not completely hopeless looking bacon.

 

John heads straight for the food, feeling almost nauseous with hunger. They don’t tell you that- being super means being hungry . Like- all-the-time hungry. Calories burned like nobody’s business. ‘The flesh and bone version of a gas-guzzler,’ Olivia had said once, laughing at him eating cold food out of the fridge before dinner.

 

He piles a plate up with food, more than  would normally be acceptable if they didn’t know how much he ate by now. The others probably won’t be out of their rooms for hours still, it’s barely seven am now- so John doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad about taking the last of the eggs and bacon and toast.

 

When he turns around, Bucky is looking right back at him. Bacon in one hand, phone in the other, still as stone. John rolls his eyes and sits down, not in front of him but to the side a bit. Bob comes to the table with coffee, setting one mug in front of himself and the other in front of John. Cream. Sugar. A little bit of cinnamon. John squints over at him, unsure how to feel about this very accurate offering.

 

Then his eyes slide to Bucky again, who is trying to look like he wasn’t looking. For a former assassin-spy, he’s remarkably bad at it.

 

Instead of addressing the crushing, silent awkwardness between the three of them- he just digs into the food. Eventually it seems Bucky figures they aren’t going to talk about it and goes back to his phone. Bob has picked up a book from somewhere, probably left it in here when he was cooking.

 

Huh. Maybe it won’t be a big deal after all.

 

——

 

After he finishes his food, he lets the dishes clatter gently in the sink and heads for the door. Two brunette heads turn towards him curiously and he suppresses the urge to roll his eyes and nods back at them before disappearing down the hallway.

 

Soon he stands in the medical room in front of a mirror, a pair of what would look like if pliers and scissors had a baby in his hand. He takes a deep breath, eyeing the staples in his chest in the mirror, t-shirt tossed onto the counter next to it.

 

He doesn’t jump at the door sliding open (very high-tech, thank you Valentina) or the little knock rapped on the doorframe. He glances over briefly just to see the fluff of blonde hair craning its head at him. His grip tightens on the scissor-pliers.

 

“Hey…” Yelena says, leaning her entire body against the wall and pressing a finger to the panel to close the door.

 

“Mornin’” He says back, trying not to frown at her, feeling a bit trapped.

 

“Need help?” Yelena asks, watching the tool in his hand warily.

 

He jerks his chin down in a reluctant nod, holding them out to her tensely. She just steps forward, house slippers slapping against the floor a bit. She’s wearing pajamas still, too-long pants (that almost definitely aren’t hers originally) dragging under her heels and a jaggedly cropped sweatshirt. She takes it from him and keeps her eyes on the 8 staples in his pec. He turns his head, cracking his neck, and adjusts his gaze to stare past her head, chewing his inner cheek.

 

She doesn’t speak again until she brings the tool up, hooks one side under a staple, and presses the handles closed so it pinches the staple in half, either side lifting out of his skin with a sting. He’s hissing under his breath as she murmurs casually; “Sooo, you are fine?”

 

He clenches his jaw and hands in mostly pain-fueled frustration. Not that her prodding isn’t fuel enough.

 

“Yeah. Fine. Why?” He asks, voice quiet but strained.

 

She shrugs, glancing up at him with that weirdly innocent look he can’t believe she can manage most of the time. She bends another staple and he manages not to flinch at the sharp pinch. He can feel his skin close the little gaps near-instantly. It itches.

 

“A lot happened yesterday,” She says, equally quiet but with the ever-present snark under her voice, “But whatever.”

 

They’re quiet for a minute as a few more staples come loose. She’s just letting them fall, bouncing on the floor next to their feet. He’ll have to pick them up when they’re done. Only two to go now.

 

“Yelena-“ He starts, another snip of the tool interrupting him and she looks back up, brow pinched and lips quirked.

 

“…I’m okay,” He says, instead of whatever was waiting behind his teeth, “All good.” Ge finishes off with a nod, meeting her eye.

 

She seems to get out of his bubble, shoulders dropping minutely. Her expressions smoothes over as she snick’s the last staple out, nodding.

 

“Good,” She hums, dropping the tool on the counter next to them and looking his newly knit together skin over with a critical eye, “No more catching shrapnel, Walker.”

 

She steps away, throwing up a hand to wave him along with her. “Come tell the boys your staples are out- they were very weird when I came up for breakfast. I am going to eat now.”

 

She doesn’t wait for him, just waltzes out of the room with the air-whoosh noise of the door opening and closing again and the slide of her slippers along the ground, leaving him to put his shirt back on and sweep the staples out of the floor with his hands.