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katebisxop · 19 minutes ago

Text

It´s nothing

pairing: yelena belova x fem!reader

summary: yelena is dragged into the medbay with a bullet wound in her hand and a bad mood to match. you’re the avenger´s medic. what starts as a simple check-up turns into something more as you slowly find your way into her heart.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: emotional vulnerability, minor injury, mentions of medical care and treatment, slight swearing

an: there are NOT ENOUGH YELENA FICS. why is it that I go to the tag and see every character but her?? this fic is my contribution to fix that injustice. also shoutout to the medics out there, i tried to do some research, but not sure if it´s correct:D

part one | part two

The doors to the med wing burst open. You glance up from your desk, pen pausing mid-note. It’s never good when someone enters like that.

"(Y/N)!" Kate Bishop’s voice rings out before you even spot her. She’s grinning, breathless, and flanked by Natasha Romanoff on one side and between them, a very scowly blonde with a bleeding hand.

"Please," the blonde mutters, "I can walk. I am not a potato sack."

"Could’ve fooled me," Natasha deadpans, barely breaking stride as she drags her by the arm, "you’re leaking all over the hallway."

"I’m fine."

Kate gestures toward the nearest exam table. "She’s not fine."

You raise an eyebrow and stand, already pulling on gloves, "what can I help you with?"

Before Romanoff can answer, the blonde, who you now recognize as Yelena, her sister, new Avenger and walking embodiment of resistance to medical care, answers flatly.

"Nothing. Thank you."

You blink once. Then glance at her arm, soaked glove, torn fabric, blood trailing down to her wrist. Then back at her unimpressed stare.

"…Right."

"Sit down," Natasha orders, giving Yelena a little shove toward the exam table.

"I said I’m-"

"Injured," you finish for her, calmly setting out antiseptic and bandages, "which is sort of my whole thing."

"I do not need your-"

"Sit," Natasha says again, this time with the terrifying big sister voice. Even you straighten a little.

Yelena reluctantly hops onto the table, muttering something in Russian under her breath. You’re ninety percent sure it translates to some swear words.

Kate leans against the counter beside you, arms crossed. "Mission in Riga went sideways. Some idiot with a rooftop sniper popped off early. We got the civilians out, but someone," she tilts her head toward Yelena, "decided catching a bullet was a solid tactic."

"I was covering your blind spot," Yelena snaps.

"And we love you for it," Kate sings sweetly, patting her knee.

You try not to laugh, biting the inside of your cheek as you clean around the wound. Yelena stiffens like you’re threatening to amputate. "I’m just cleaning it," you assure her.

"You’re poking at it."

"That’s how cleaning works," you say dryly.

She scowls harder.

You glance at the entry wound and sigh. "Few inches to the left and we’d be having a very different conversation, miss Belova."

That earns you an annoyed look. But she quiets. Not from pain, you sense, but from guilt. Silence spreads around, everyone just looking at Yelena´s arm and you stitching her up. But there is some tension you can´t really shake away. You can tell, especially from Yelena herself since her muscles are very tight.

"I ruined the mission," she mumbles.

"Yelena," Natasha says, exasperated. "You saved a kid from getting shot. The only thing you ruined was your suit."

Kate leans closer to you, whispering behind her hand. "She’s been dramatic about this for like twenty minutes. It’s kinda cute."

You smile, just a little, "like a dog before the vet?"

"Exactly!" Kate says, that makes you smile once again.

"I can hear you," Yelena grumbles.

You pat her wrist gently, "you were lucky. But let’s not make it a habit."

She doesn’t respond, but her eyes linger on your face a beat longer than necessary. You feel your heart flicker. Uh-oh. What- no.

You secure the last piece of bandage over Yelena’s palm with practiced ease. "There," you say softly, smoothing the edge with your thumb. "No nerve damage, just a clean graze. It’ll need a check-up in two days to make sure there’s no infection."

Yelena rolls her eyes, "I’ll live."

"That’s the idea," you reply with a faint smile. "Two days, miss Belova. Don’t make me hunt you down."

"She will," Kate chimes in, arms crossed again like she's giving a ted talk in the corner of your medbay. "I’ve been hunted."

You glance at her, amused, "you tripped on your own bowstring and fell from a second floor."

"It was one time!"

"Twice," you and Natasha say at the same time.

Kate scowls. "Betrayal. Anyway-" she turns back to Yelena, "You heard the medic. Been there, done that. If you don’t show up, Fury’s gonna kick your ass and make you file incident paperwork for the next six weeks."

Yelena frowns, "I do not do paperwork."

"Then let (Y/N) help you. She's very good at lying for us in the report," Kate grins. "Right, doc?"

You shrug, mock-innocent, "I don’t recall anything unusual. Miss Belova bravely sustained a minor injury in the course of protecting civilians."

Yelena’s eyes flick toward you again, slightly less stormy now. "You’re good at this."

You glance up, "patching people up?"

She holds your gaze, "making it not feel so horrible."

…Oh. You weren’t expecting that.

Kate, apparently catching the subtle shift in tone, chooses that moment to stretch. "Well! My work here is done. Nat, you owe me ten bucks, she didn’t bite anyone."

"I never agreed to that bet," Natasha says as she heads for the door.

Kate waves a hand, "details."

You follow them to the door, letting Yelena slide off the exam table behind you. She still holds her hand a little awkwardly, like it feels unfamiliar now.

"Two days," you remind her gently, "same time."

Yelena stops beside you, "okay."

...

You glance at the clock. She’s fifty minutes late. Not that you’re watching the clock or anything. Not that you’ve already replayed the conversation in your head once. Or twice. Maybe three times.

You’re starting to wonder if she bailed when the door finally swings open, just a little too hard, like it lost an argument on the way in.

Yelena steps inside, hoodie half-zipped, blonde hair slightly slicked back. Not dramatically injured. Just… tired.

You look up from your desk, "I was afraid you wouldn’t show up," you say lightly. "I almost started hunting you down."

She shrugs, gaze flicking to the floor and back again, "had to deal with something."

You nod, not pushing. But even if she hadn’t said it, you’d know. Something's off. Her whole posture is different, less sharp-edged and more… slouched in on itself.

"Come on," you say gently, and motion to the same exam table.

She sits without protest this time, but she doesn’t meet your eyes.

You unwrap the bandage and examine the healing wound. It’s clean, no signs of infection, the scab smooth and pink.

"Looks good," you murmur, carefully rotating her hand. "Healing fast. No swelling. I’ll rewrap it, but you should let it breathe a little at night."

Yelena nods, but doesn’t say anything.

You glance up again. Still that silence. Still that weight in her shoulders, like she’s wearing something too heavy for one person.

You clear your throat softly. "There’s some scar cream I can recommend. Stuff Nat probably never used, but it helps. I’ll print out a sheet with tips for minimizing scarring, heat, pressure, massage, all that."

Another nod.

You start to wrap her hand again, slower this time. More deliberate. Then you stop. "One more thing," you say gently, looking up at her. "Are you okay?"

That finally gets her attention. She lifts her eyes to meet yours. And something in them flickers, confusion, hesitation, like she’s not sure how to lie to you and not sure how to tell the truth, either.

Yelena exhales, sharp and shallow.

"The mission was stupid," she mutters. "And now I have pain in my ass from the people upstairs asking why I didn’t save three buildings while juggling a bunch of agents on my own. So. Just a total failure. Very exciting. Five stars."

You smile, but it’s a sad one, "sounds exhausting."

"They sit on their asses and yell about tactics from ten floors above ground," she mutters. "Like.... like it is chess. But it is not chess. It is people bleeding. People panicking. And I’m out there trying not to get everyone killed."

You don’t say anything right away. You just take her hand in yours again and finish wrapping the bandage, not rushed, not clinical. Careful. Gentle. Like someone seeing the person beneath the bruises.

"I’m sorry," you say quietly. "You don’t deserve that."

Yelena stares at you. Just for a second. Like no one’s ever said that to her before. Or like no one’s ever meant it. Yelena’s voice is quiet, barely more than breath, "thank you."

You glance up from her hand, surprised by the softness in her tone. But her eyes aren’t on the bandage. They’re on you. You nod once. A small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, "anytime."

...

You’re sorting inventory when the door to the medbay opens. You don’t even turn around at first. "You’re early for your check-up," you call over your shoulder. "It’s not for another-"

You pause as you turn and see her. Her stance is stiff, and there’s something off in the way she’s holding her shoulder, slightly hunched, as if she's trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt while also not being able to stop it from hurting.

Your tone softens, "oh."

She doesn’t say anything. Just steps inside, closes the door quietly behind her, and stands there like she’s not sure if this was a good idea.

"What happened?" you ask gently, already reaching for gloves.

She shakes her head once, "It´s nothing bad."

You raise an eyebrow, "right. Paper cut is nothing bad,” you motion to the table. "Suit off. Let me see."

Yelena hesitates for just a second, then wordlessly begins peeling back the upper half of her tactical suit. You do your best not to watch too closely as the fabric shifts down her arm, revealing the bruising already blooming over her shoulder and upper bicep, deep, violet-pink, painful just to look at.

No gash this time. No blood. Just impact. Bone-deep and messy. You step closer and gently brush your fingers just above the bruise, testing the reaction without pressing.

"Not dislocated. That’s something. It’ll be sore for a few days. I’ll tape it for compression." Yelena nods, staying quiet.

You glance up at her as you begin preparing the wrap, raising a brow. "Are you getting hurt just to see me?"

That makes her head snap toward you.

Caught.

There’s a flash of something in her eyes... surprise, maybe. Embarrassment? It's hard to tell. But her cheeks color just slightly, like she wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud.

You give her a playful smirk, still wrapping her shoulder. "Because I doubt hero like you is this clumsy."

She stares at you for a beat, then mutters under her breath, "I’m not a hero."

You glance up again, meeting her eyes with calm certainty. "You’re jumping in front of civilians. Protecting your team. Saving the world. That sounds like the definition of a hero to me."

She scoffs softly, "well… says the medic."

You chuckle under your breath as you finish taping the wrap, "guess we’re both doing what we can."

There’s a quiet moment between you then. Not uncomfortable. Just… full of something unspoken.

You smile at her gently, "you can come by, you know. Even when you’re not bleeding."

Yelena tilts her head. "And do what? Let you lecture me about scar cream?"

You grin, "if that’s what it takes."

She huffs a laugh. And even though she doesn’t say anything more, she doesn’t leave right away either.

...

Once again Yelena slides into the medbay five minutes late for her check-up, hoodie pulled over her usual black tank top, hands stuffed in her pockets.

You glance up from your tablet and smile, "look who decided to show up."

She shrugs with her good shoulder, "told you I’d come."

You set the tablet down and gesture to the exam table, "hop up, Belova. Let’s see how that shoulder’s doing."

She climbs up without complaint, though she winces slightly as she rolls the hoodie off her injured side. The bruise has changed color, less angry, more faded, but still deep enough to make your brow furrow.

"How’s the pain?" you ask, fingers gentle as you palpate the joint.

She shrugs again, "it’s fine. Just a little sore."

"Mhm," you hum. Then you press just below the clavicle and watch her flinch. "Still sore?"

"It’s nothing. I’ve been resting."

You pause. Look her in the eye, "have you?"

"Yeah, yeah," she waves you off, looking away a little too quickly. "Totally."

You narrow your eyes, "Yelena." Her eyes flick back to yours. Innocent. Too innocent.

You sigh, stepping back, arms crossing, "you’ve been training, haven’t you?"

"... no"

You raise one eyebrow slowly.

" … lightly."

"Yelena, your shoulder still has inflammation around the supraspinatus. If you keep pushing it, you’re risking a rotator cuff tear."

She blinks, "that sounds bad."

"It is bad. And painful. And you’ll be benched for months, which, knowing you, would drive you completely insane."

"I don’t do benches."

"Exactly. So let it heal properly."

She grumbles something in Russian under her breath, and you hand her a gel pack.

"Use this tonight. No push-ups. No sparring. No throwing knives with that arm."

"Only with the other one," she mutters with a faint smirk.

You sigh, but there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips too. She hops off the table, wincing slightly again.

"You’re free to go," you say, trying to sound casual. "As long as you rest."

Just as she reaches the door, the calm voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y. fills the room.

"Miss Belova, you are required at the quinjet bay in fifteen minutes. New mission briefing in progress."

You freeze, "wait, what?"

Yelena pauses, like she hoped you didn’t hear that.

Your eyes widen, "oh, absolutely not."

Yelena turns slowly, "it’s just-"

"You’re injured."

"I’m fine."

You walk toward her, voice firm now. "You’ve got limited rotation in your dominant shoulder, you’re still bruising internally, and you just said it hurts. That’s not ‘fine.’ That’s ignoring medical advice."

You snatch your tablet from the counter, fingers flying over the screen. A few swipes and taps later, you enter a temporary hold on Yelena’s deployment clearance, medical evaluation pending. You barely finish typing the last line when your comms device buzzes.

You glance at the caller ID and sigh. Of course.

"Medbay, (Y/L/N) speaking," you answer, putting the call on speaker out of pure principle.

"Miss (Y/L/N)," comes the clipped voice of someone two floors up and far too high on the food chain to care about bruised shoulders, "I see you’ve just submitted an availability block on agent Belova?"

"She just finished her check-up with me five minutes ago," you reply, calmly but with steel under it. "Her shoulder is still compromised. She’s not ready for a mission... any type."

A pause on the other end. "That information should’ve been input prior to deployment call. You’ve now created a discrepancy in the field team manifest."

"I’m sorry," you say flatly, unapologetically. "But my priority is my patient’s well-being, not your paperwork."

Another pause. Slightly longer. Then, with clipped resignation, "fine. We’ll pull another name. But we will talk."

"Looking forward to it," you say sweetly, and hang up.

The moment the comm cuts, you realize how quiet it’s gotten. Yelena leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, impressed.

"Wow…" she says after a beat, voice half amusement, half awe. "Didn’t know you could order them around like that."

You glance over, shrugging with forced nonchalance. "I usually don’t have to. But I also usually don’t have Avengers trying to sneak into the field with half-functioning shoulders."

Yelena gives a low chuckle, then winces, "okay. Maybe quarter-functioning."

You tilt your head at her, not smiling, not scolding. Just looking.

"Why do you do that?" you ask softly. "Always willing to tear yourself apart for them?"

She shrugs, "that’s the job."

"No. That’s you." You soften. "But just for today, maybe let someone else carry the weight?"

Yelena studies you for a moment, "you always talk to your patients like this?"

You grin, "only the stubborn ones."

She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to you. You roll your eyes, but the smile lingers, "go rest, Belova. That’s a medical order."

She salutes playfully, smirk reappearing, "yes, doctor."

Thank you for reading:)

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