Disclaimer:I clearly don't owe the characters, they all belong to Marvel & co. No copyright infringement intended- please don't sue. This is just a writing exercise :)

Pain in the behind

oOoOoOo

Natasha tore a muscle. Thor gets babysitting duty.

oOoOoOo

It happened while she was stretching.

Not while beating Clint's ass or Steve's for that matter, since the idiot still refused to lay a hand on her. It also didn't happen when throwing poisonous darts or a few heavy rocks at Stark. And it also didn't happen during a mission or fighting aliens but while stretching.

One moment she was doing simple back stretches to relieve neck tension and the next she was rolling on the floor, tears in her eyes, and swearing enough to make the local bikers blush.

After both Clint and Steve pinned her down to allow Bruce to examine her, he confirmed her worst suspicions: she had pulled a muscle.

It ran down the right side of her neck, all the way down through her trapezoid and it ended up somewhere in her mid back. Bruce wasn't even sure if the muscles beneath those were damaged or not. All Natasha knew was that it hurt to fight, it hurt to throw a vase at Stark, hell, it hurt to keep her head straight.

And that was just the beginning of her problems.

"Here you go, fair lady; a perfectly brewed mocha coffee," Natasha stared opened eyed at the big, naïve, and rather slow Asgardian prince. Thor looked at her with glee clear in his baby blue eyes, and a steaming cup of what looked like liquefied mud on his big, fat hand. Thor was trying to learn to cook – and Clint had wisely commented that brewing the perfect cup of coffee was paramount to being a gourmet chef.

She didn't bother to fake a smile, but took the offered cup nonetheless, careful not to move too much lest her heat patch slid down. It had taken her seventeen minutes to find a comfortable spot for it. As soon as she healed, she would kick Clint's ass back to Iowa, she planned with a well-concealed grimace.

There was no particular reason for her anger towards her partner (other than suggesting Thor he give coffee making a shot) but she figured she'd have a better chance of making him a cripple than Thor did of brewing something that didn't look like it came out of a sheep's intestines.

The god in question was staring at her rather with a big, goofy grin. He looked utterly ridiculous in a beige and lace apron with embroidered flowers – but Natasha wasn't one to judge.

She lifted the ceramic mug to her lips and inhaled. Immediately, she wished she hadn't. It smelled like sewage with a touch of cinnamon and just a speck of chocolate. But Thor gave her an encouraging nudge with his hands, practically jumping on the spot, and she couldn't bring herself to break his little, silly heart.

She drank.

And she nearly choked.

Although thanks to a lifetime of training, she managed to keep her face from giving her away. In fact, if Thor's little squeals were anything to go by, she was sure she looked like she was actually enjoying herself.

If hell existed, she was adamant this is what it tasted like.

"How did I do, beautiful maid?" he asked, his booming voiced echoing in the empty common room. The rest of the team had made a beeline for the door the moment Natasha had walked in with the stupid heat-patch.

"Good," she said setting the mug back on the coffee table. "But not as good as number thirteen. What did you add to that one?"

Thor lifted his finger to his mouth and narrowed his eyes, before lifting said finger to the air. "I went nuts!"

Yeah, Natasha thought, knew that. "You mean you put nutmeg in it?"

"Yes! I put nutmeg in it. Does the beautiful lady prefer it with nutmeg?"

She nodded. That cup had at least tasted somewhat like coffee. "Try a little ginger and maybe a dash of cinnamon," she suggested, handing him the cup and wincing. Ginger ought to compensate for the horrible texture, she thought, plopping herself back against the leather couch, A jolt of pain made her eyes water, but she didn't scream, she merely contented herself with huffing angrily.

Compared to Thor's coffee, the pain was nothing.

That night, she made Stark by one of those coffee machines that prepared mocha coffee's with the push of a button. There was no way Thor could screw that up.

The next morning, Tony had to call in a few favour to get the wiring of the kitchen fixed and running.

But at least Natasha got a decent cup of coffee.

By the third day of her-not-healing-rapidly-enough-injury, Natasha was going crazy.

Clint had fled the continent the second she had muttered "ow"; he was somewhere in Australia. He had sent her a postcard with the picture of a kangaroo and the words "wish you were here" scribbled in it.

Bruce and Stark were locked up in their little lab of sorts, doing god-knows-what. Stark tower wasn't crumbling to pieces, so Natasha was sure that the resident idiot hadn't poked Bruce with an electrified poking stick.

Yet.

Steve was being Steve and volunteering. She didn't ask.

Pepper was actually running the company and Jane was chasing Tornados.

Which left her alone, again, with the enormous Asgardian prince. At least he had given up cooking.

Bruce had suggested some light exercises to help ease some of the knots. Stark had graciously provided her with a brand new (hacked and "improved") xbox kinekt. She had enjoyed the childish games, quickly mastering archery, table tennis, and simple sun salutations. Perhaps when this was over, she'd take some yoga.

And kick Clint's ass at the archery game while she was at it.

Thor had been fascinated by the little magic box, and had quickly discovered a mortal kombat game. She had challenged him to a duel, and Thor had accepted.

Natasha ended up with a sprained wrist and Pepper was lacking a crystal vase. But, Natasha thought, that ugly thing really didn't do much for the décor. It's life as an ashtray would be much more productive.

The vase had been Pepper's grandmothers's.

From that moment on, the only games they were allowed to play were snakes and ladder, T.E.G., and old school Mario.

Thor almost turned Stark's precious oak table over when Natasha's Soviet Union conquered the world.

Natasha thought the fist marks on the mohaghany wood gave the table a certain je ne sais quoi.

Stark decided that they could only play hangman from then on.

That Friday night, Natasha took it as her personal mission to out-drink Thor – she was Russian, and she knew how to handle her vodka.

She didn't factor in the "do not mix this medication with alcohol" warning.

Pepper's precious (and apparently irreplaceable) Picasso now sported a nice punch through the canvas (and glass, and supporting wood, and wall) and Tony's beloved carpet was in dire need of cleaning.

Natasha swore she'd never drink like that again.

Bruce recommended that she ease back into exercise and training in a safe and secure environment. She had Thor accompany her to a hot yoga class. The heat, the humidity, and the gentle movements proved wonderful for her muscles.

Until Thor lost his balance and crashed on top of her, almost pulling all her muscles again.

Two weeks in, Thor had decided that Natasha needed some fresh air. They went to the park and Natasha amused herself by listening to the Asgaridan prince commenting about the most mundane things: street lights, pink poodles, sparkly things on shop windows. The day had gone surprisingly smooth –as far as they were concerned. She was certain Thor had knocked down half of New York's population.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing towards a group of teenagers playing Frisbee.

Natasha licked her ice-cream before explaining the concept behind the silly game. Like a Chihuahua on cocaine, Thor had jumped up and down before running over to join in.

She wasn't at all surprised when he brought down three trees.

During the third week, Clint sent her another postcard, this time from France.

She swore revenge.

Three and a half weeks in, her wrist healed, but not her back. She could move, but not up to her standards.

After her exercise attempts had failed brilliantly, Bruce suggested cutting back on the action. She decided that a night in, some popcorn, and a movie would do her good. Thor picked "The Notebook" and she spent the entire night handing over paper tissues.

Clint called her from Spain. He had finished his mission early and was taking "a much needed break."

She blocked his number.

Her back was finally almost healed early in the fourth week since she injured herself.

Stark was over, for a change, and hungry. The three decided to hit the shawarma place around the corner.

Taking a bulldog out for shawarma was probably less messy than taking the crown prince of Asgard, Natasha thought watching all of the contents in his sandwich (sauces and tomatoes included) fly right out of the pita and land on the old lady sitting next to them.

Thor was not amused.

Neither was the old lady, for that matter

The whole ordeal took a month and a three days to clear up. Thor and Jane had gone south, supposedly to chase tornadoes. Stark was being an ass, as usual while Bruce was somewhere in India. Pepper was still working hard.

Clint was also back, with a nice 'get well card' written in Finnish. She made sure he now sported a fabulous black eye. Pepper glared at her, while she applied some ice on her partner's injury.

She stretched her neck lightly, smirked, and admired her handiwork.

Author's notes: Just a silly one shot to cheer me up when I pulled a muscle. Reviews and constructive criticism is much appreciated :)