You had been pushing yourself too hard, as usual. The weight of the mission, the constant movement, the unrelenting pressure to be strong for everyone around you—it had all finally caught up to you. Now, as you lay on the cold metal of the ship’s infirmary bed, your body felt heavy, feverish, and weak. You tried to focus on the steady beeping of the machines nearby, but your mind was foggy, clouded by the relentless ache that had settled deep in your bones.

And then, you heard the soft click of footsteps, the familiar sound of Natasha entering the room.

She was a calming presence, always. Whether it was her gentle demeanor or the soothing calmness in her voice, Natasha had a way of making you feel safe—even when you were at your lowest. But tonight, there was something different in her expression. Her eyes, usually so full of light, were filled with concern, and her lips were pressed into a thin line, a clear sign that something had her troubled.

she murmured, walking slowly to your side. Her hands were warm as they reached out, brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead. “How are you feeling?”