The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Proof I Can Feel


“You know I’m not that kind of doctor,” Bruce points out in his usual mellow tone.

Natasha pops up on the bed anyway and tilts her head playfully. “Am I that bad a patient?” She leans forward ever so slightly, flirtatious cant of her lips, lets him chew on that as he decides whether or not she actually means it.




No one would ever look at Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, who had ruthlessly killed any target of any age for years and think ‘tender.’ But there wasn’t any other word that quite felt right to Clint as he watched her cuddling his sleeping newborn, a small smile on her face, one finger delicately tracing over the soft fuzz of Lila’s hair.