Natasha stiffens when Clint reaches for her, watching the slow motion of his hand suspiciously. It's a good thing that his hand doesn't move faster, or she might've automatically considered it a threat and wrecked all the good work she's done so far. Somehow, it's still unexpected when his hand presses gently over her heart and she stills under the touch, her breath catching painfully in her chest. For a moment, she just looks at him, eyes wide with surprise.

It takes her a second longer than it should to pull herself back together and catch her breath again. And once she does, her smile has widened and grown cheerful and false once more.

In the few weeks she's been there, she's grown accustomed to the steady routine of the twice daily check-ups, and it settles her just as much as it settles him. Even though she worries about how slow his eyes are in following her finger. She takes the penlight from her chest pocket and shines it in his eyes, watching the sluggish reactions of his pupils. She tucks the penlight back in her pocket and then she covers his hand with hers, and gives it a light squeeze. "I have to fetch some things from the tray," she tells him, and then she steps out of his touch.

She kneels down and gathers the scattered papers from the floor, tucking them back into his file. "Come sit down," she orders, giving the mattress a quick pat. The rest of the examination will go quicker if she doesn't have to move back and forth all the time.