Chapter Text
A few months had passed since you first entered the New Avengers' tower as the resident medical care provider. You learned quite a lot about these "New Avengers" through their visits to your office.
Yelena would come in every now and then to get some stitches, but she had never once asked for painkillers. Ava sometimes visited for a check up on her vitals or the occasional battle wound. Bob, bless his heart, would come in the most, never with a single scratch on him. He just sat comfortably on your medical table, listening to you talk or telling you about his day. Alexei would talk, too. A lot. Barnes was always quiet, starting off into the distance.
Then there was one man you almost never saw, Walker.
You usually kept to your designated space, not wanting to intrude on any official superhero business, so the only times you ever saw Walker were when you happened to pass him in the hallway or when he carried an injured teammate to your office.
He seemed like a polite guy, giving you a quick nod in the rare times you did cross paths. Although, he did strike you as a very prideful man that would probably rarely admit to being wounded.
He's the last person you expect to come knocking on your office door.
Seeing him through the small window, you quickly rise from your chair and go to open the door. His face radiates the feeling that this is the last place he wants to be.
"Hey, Walker. Do you need something?"
"Yeah-," he clears his throat, "Yes."
"Okay," you respond, a little confused, but you step aside. "Come on in."
He shuffles through the doorway and stands by your examination table, crossing his arms. You follow him in, shutting the door and pulling the window blinds down, as you always did for the sake of every patient's privacy. Walker stares at the lock on the door, and he almost looks uncomfortable.
"So, um," he starts as you finish up your process. "Can I get some painkillers?" It almost sounds like even just asking causes extra pain, like it hurts him to be vulnerable in front of someone he doesn't know very well.
You walk over to your desk, picking up your clipboard and placing a patient visit form onto it. He stands there in awkward silence as you fill out his name and the date of the visit.
"Maybe, but I'd have to check you to make sure nothing is broken. Do you mind telling me what happened?" You look up at him, and the annoyance slips through his facade.
"I'm pretty sure nothing's broken," he chuckles, almost rolling his eyes but catching himself. "I just took a bit of a fall, that's all. Maybe got a bruise or two." He gestures to his ribs.
"Okay, well, I can do a quick check." You motion with your pen to point at the examination bed.
"Really? You can't just give me some painkillers?"
"Uh, no, I really can't send you away knowing you might have really hurt yourself," you laugh awkwardly, standing and rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You turn toward your box of gloves and busy yourself with putting them on.
Walker sighs, and after a second you see movement in your peripheral vision. You can hear restrained noises of pain as well, and you take that as a sign that you were right to make him stay.
When you turn back around, he's laying flat, right where you told him to, with his hands clasped politely over his stomach.
"Okay, this is a great start," you say slowly, walking over to the table, "but if I'm going to check your ribs, this has to come off." You poke lightly at a red stripe on the chest plate of his uniform.
He seems more willing now, probably just wanting to get this over with so he could get to relief from the pain. However, when he tries to sit up, he immediately winces, thumping back down on the table. You were right after all.
"It's okay, stay right there." You lean forward, reaching for the clasps of his shoulder straps.
You feel a strong grip around your wrist before you could reach it. Walker stares up at you intensely with those striking blues of his. You start to feel bad about not asking first, but you just wanted to help him.
"Be careful." He grits out. Was he trying to pretend like it was the pain that made him stop you? That seems like something he'd try to hide if it really was the case. Weird.
"Oh, come on, I'll be gentle."
"Whatever," he huffs and looks away, releasing your hand.
After you unhook the straps, you direct him to lift his torso slightly so that you can slide his empty shield holster out from under him. You go slowly, paying attention to every time his eyebrows furrow.
Setting it aside, you gently start to pull his reinforced vest up and over his head. He atleast tries his best to sit up to make it easier.
"Shit," he hisses as he raises his arms, allowing you to slide the vest off of him.
"That should be good enough," you say quietly.
He lays back down with a sigh, still wearing his navy blue long sleeve shirt. To spare him the energy of removing another layer, you simply slide the fabric up to his chest.
"Oh, shit," you murmur, seeing the damage. He makes the effort to lift his head to see.
Deep shades of purple spread across his ribs like splattered paint. No wonder he was so ginger with every movement.
"Sorry, this is gonna hurt. I have to check for broken ribs."
"J-just, just get it over with," he grits out, resting his head back down. His voice sounds so small.
You press you gloved fingers to his ribs gently. He flinches at the cold touch, instinctively reaching up to hold onto your arm for support. You move across his entire ribcage, checking for any bumps or dips. He doesn't make a sound save for the occasional hitch of his breath, and he's incredibly gentle with his grip on your arm despite his other hand balling into a tight fist at his side.
"Okay, I think it's just the bruising," you mutter, trying not to look at his toned abdominal muscles as you pull his shirt back down to its rightful place.
"Thanks, I was starting to get cold," he quips, chuckling, but his voice is still strained. His hand falls audibly against the table as he releases his grip on your arm.
Trying to ignore the way he looks with his head back and his eyes shut, you turn to your medicine cabinet.
"So, I would say just get some ice on it, and take some of these." You turn back around, shaking the bottle of painkillers. He's quick to open his eyes for that sound. "Take one every four hours, as needed, and come back if anything worsens."
He sits up slowly, but he's clearly relieved that the damage wasn't too bad, and that he's getting a quick remedy.
"Thanks, Doc."
Jeez, this guy. Giving out nicknames to people he barely knows.
You huff out a quick laugh in response. Leaning against your desk, you watch as he gathers his removed gear. He gives a cute little salute before turning to unlock the door and leave.
After he exits, you make your way to the doorway, staring at the broadness of his back as he walks away.