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Chapter Text

The campus had been everything that she had imagined it to be. She only had the prospectus and a few searches on google images to base her imagination on but every aspect of the grass-covered quad with large oak trees lining the pathways, the redbrick buildings scattered across campus grounds and the buzzing student life was everything she had imagined. MCU had been her first choice of college- really it had been her only choice but Clint and Laura had convinced her to apply to a few more places. But MCU had the best Computer Science course in the country and they offered ballet scholarships, something very few colleges offered, so it was a bit of a no brainer.

Natasha’s eyes traced down the path of the hallway leading to her dorm room. Taking in every detail, every door decoration, every poster she saw being put up. It was a trick she learnt from her time in foster care; you could learn a lot about an individual from the decorations they put up in their rooms. The girls with the half a dozen rainbow and unicorn posters were the ones most likely to dunk your head in the toilets or put chilli oil in your shower gel. Just like it was always the members of staff with the biggest smiles that were the most likely to leave the most painful of bruises or burns in the most inconspicuous of places.  

Natasha shook off the bitter memories of her childhood and made her way over to what was to be her room for the next four years. She stopped outside of room number 316 and braced herself for the introduction that could either make or break her next four years at college. She propped her box of belongings upon her knee and braced it against the door as she twisted the door handle. Gathering the box in her grip she nudged the door open with her hip and took a deep breath as she entered the room.

The sight before her was not one that she was expecting. She had imagined an array of pinks and purples, fairy lights hanging from every possible wall and posters of whatever the latest pop band was that people her age listened to- in all fairness, her understanding of college was pretty much solely based on TV shows and movies. But the sight before her eyes was far from what her imagination had depicted. There were no fairy lights or teddy bears, no fluffy pillows and pink throws. The decorations were scarce, nothing but a few framed photos scattered on the other woman’s bedside table and desk. The bed was neatly made with not a wrinkle in sight and the woman stood in front of the bed was kept just as neatly.

Natasha offered the other woman a small smile before putting her box of belongings down and extending her hand out. “Natasha Romanoff.” She stated curtly with a larger smile than her previous one, willing that it did well to mask the nerves that were building up inside of her.

The other woman, who stood a good 3 inches taller than herself took hold of Natasha’s hand and gave it a firm shake as she introduced herself. “Maria Hill.”

“Looks like we’re roommates,” Natasha said, instantly regretting her obvious statement. Luckily the other woman took it for the attempt at breaking the ice that it was and offered a wide smile in response.

“Looks like it.” She sat back on her bed and Natasha mimicked the behaviour. “So I take it you’re on a sports scholarship.” Natasha’s face must have shown some semblance of confusion as Maria instantly offered a defence. “I’m just assuming because this dorm is full of the sporty types. I’m on a boxing scholarship.”

“Ballet.” Natasha said with a small nod.

“I didn’t know you could get a scholarship for that.”

“Only a few colleges offer it.”

Their polite conversation was interrupted by the sounds coming from the hallway and Natasha rolled her eyes at the familiar voice carrying through the hall.

“We definitely fucked up not going to college!” Clint proclaimed as he entered the room carrying a suitcase full of Natasha’s clothes. “This place is amazing!” He looked at Natasha in wide-eyed fascination then noticed she wasn’t alone in the room. His gaze shifted across to Maria and he offered her his biggest grin and a wave. “Hey, you’re making friends already.”

“This is my brother, Clint,” Natasha explained. “And this is his wife, Laura.” She added as the other woman entered the room holding a potted plant that none of them expects Natasha to actually keep alive.

“Maria Hill.” Maria extended her hand to both Clint and Laura. “And I assume congratulations are in order?”

“Oh that?” Clint pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to where Laura was standing. “Nah she’s just fat.”

The look of shock across Maria’s face was enough to make Natasha bite the inside of her lip to hold back her laughter.

Laura playfully slapped Clint at the back of his head and turned to a rather embarrassed looking Maria. “Thank you. I’m five months along.” There was an awkward silence and Natasha cursed her brain for not thinking of something to say when the silence dragged. She never was good at awkward situations and first impressions. Clint was ten times worse and if someone didn’t say something soon he was going to say something stupid. Luckily Laura was far better at social situations than the two of them and picked up on the awkwardness of the moment and broke the silence. “So, sweetie, we were going to take you for lunch before we head back. You can join us too if you’d like, Maria.”

“No thank you, ma’am, my folks took me to lunch before they left.”

“Ma’am? I’m only 24. Surely I’m not old enough to be called ma’am.”

“Sorry, military upbringing.”

“I’ll see you later then,” Natasha said as she edged Laura and Clint through the door.

Lunch was at a small coffee shop five minutes from campus. It was a simple, quaint looking place that sold artisan coffees and an organic quiche that Natasha noted was worth venturing back for. The drive back to campus was quiet. Natasha spent the entire journey taking in her surroundings and observing the people they drove past. Observing was sort of like her nervous tic and as much as she didn’t want to admit that she was nervous, this would be her first time without Clint nearby in almost fifteen years. Even when she went to ballet camp over the summers Clint would always volunteer in some form just to be around to look out for her. So this was going to be a big step; for both of them.

Natasha rounded the car to stand in front of Laura who was clearly fighting back tears. Before Natasha could say a word she was pulled into a tight squeeze of a hug from the pregnant woman. Natasha resisted these hugs at first, but after seven years of them, she had grown to love them. Her arms wrapped around the other woman reciprocating the hug and she could feel the growing wet patch on her shoulder from the fallen tears.

“We are so proud of you, baby.” Laura whispered in a tone that was barely audible.

Natasha felt Clint wrap his arms around the two of them and place a light kiss on her forehead. “Phil would’ve been proud of you too.” Natasha nodded, blinking away the tears that she refused to let fall as she pulled out of the embrace.

Clint pulled out his pocket knife and held it out to Natasha. She eyed it sceptically and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Really, Clint?”

“Just in case,” Clint said with a shrug.

“I know I shouldn’t be promoting underaged drinking but…” Laura handed her a flask, which by the weight of it was full- hopefully with the good vodka. “You’ll get hold of the stuff somehow. Also, I feel obliged to give you some talk about staying safe.” She said as she tapped the small bump of her stomach.

Natasha let out a snort of laughter. “Don’t worry, I’ll learn from your mistakes.”

“Hey! First off, that is not a mistake!” Clint stated as he pointed to Laura’s stomach. “Second off, that’s what the knife is for. Don’t make me have to come back down to this campus to kick some guys butt!”

“Clint, you do realise Phil taught us both Muay Thai right? I’m more than capable of kicking some guys butt. And as I recall, I kicked your butt several times.”

“I know, just… stay safe kiddo.”

“I love you guys.” With one last hug from the both of them, Natasha stood and watched as the two of them drove away. She watched until the Jeep Wrangler was out of view before she turned on her heel and headed back to her dorm room. Maria was at her desk typing away at her laptop when Natasha entered the room. “Hey, sorry about my brother,” Natasha said as Maria pushed back from her desk and swivelled on her chair to face her. “He’s always been a bit of a goof.”

“Don’t worry about it, my brothers are exactly the same. Although they’re all under the age of 12.”

“Sometimes I think Clint is still under the age of 12.”

“How comes your folks didn’t come with you?” Maria asked as she moved over to her bed to sit opposite Natasha. “They working or something?”

“Uh no, they…” Natasha rolled her tongue around trying to think of the right words to say. She didn’t need pity for her family life. Yeah, it sucked that both her biological parents and her adoptive parents were dead, but life sucked and she learned pretty early on that you just sort of have to get over it. She definitely didn’t need anyone’s pity. “Clint’s all I have left. We were adopted together.” Maria nodded, clearly sensing that Natasha didn’t want to say any more about the topic. The silence was beginning to ensue and Natasha searched her brain for something to say. “So, you said you’re a boxer?”

“Yep. The middleweight champion of Vancouver.” She stated proudly. “And I do a little armature MMA.”

“Nice. I know a little Muay Thai. Nothing too serious but my foster dad was adamant that we needed to know how to defend ourselves.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you in the ring some time.” Natasha nodded at that. “So ballet huh?”

“Yeah. Been doing it since I was 9 and just haven’t been ready to give it up.”

“Don’t most people start from when they’re younger to be any good?”

Natasha gave a small laugh at that. It was exactly what her first ballet teacher had said to her when she went to her first class. “Most start at 5. But I was determined to be the best no matter what. So I became one of the best.” Natasha noted how arrogant that made herself sound and added. “The best in my classes at least.”

“I don’t doubt it. To get a sports scholarship here you have to be the best of the best.” Maria offered Natasha a large grin as though she was about to let the redhead in on a secret. “There’s a mixer going on at the campus bar later if you want to come. I’ve been told that they’re willing to turn a blind eye to any passable fake ID.”

For the first time today Natasha’s smile actually met her eyes. “Good thing I’ve got a pretty legit-looking fake ID then.”

The bar was a grungy looking place; all sticky floors and dim lighting. The place was crowded with fresh faced looking undergraduates all eager to drink the cheap beer that they have on tap and impress their new cohort. Natasha really did hate these kinds of things. She was never good at socialising and people always said she gave off a cold, emotionless expression. Which to be fair, was probably a result of years of misplaced trust in those around her. Still, she had to give this a chance, she’d promised Clint and Laura that she would at least try and make friends. And Maria seemed nice enough.

Natasha had offered to buy the first round of drinks, if anything just to delay having to socialise with the people hovering around their table. She was making her way back with Maria’s whiskey lemonade and her own vodka soda when she noticed Maria talking with a guy at their table. The first thing Natasha thought when she saw him was Adonis. He stood at least 6ft tall, muscular stature, luscious blonde hair and eyes so blue that Natasha felt herself struggling to look anywhere else.

“Hey Natasha.” Maria waved the redhead down, drawing her gaze away from the blonde mans eyes. “This is my roommate Natasha. Natasha this is Steve.” So the Adonis goes by a different name. “Steve is a soccer player.”

“Oh cool.”

“Well, I technically still have to try out for the team.” A blush was creeping up Steve’s neck and Natasha noted that this guy clearly wasn’t used to being so heavily subjected to the female gaze. “I was the centre-forward on my high school team so I’m hoping I’ll smash try-outs on Friday.”

“Yeah, and then you and me can be the stars of the college team.” A muscular arm came wrapping around Steve’s neck as a familiar looking face appeared beside him. “You chatting up the ladies without me roomie?”

“Ha uh, ladies this is…”

“Bucky?” Natasha asked as familiarity struck her. “Bucky Barnes?”

“Shit! Tasha, is that you?” Natasha instantly threw her arms around Bucky, pleased to see a familiar face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I go here now dipshit, what do you think I’m doing here?”

“Wait. Hang on. Bucky?” Steve questioned trying to bite back a laugh.

“It’s a stupid nickname I had in middle school. I haven’t heard it since then but something tells me I’m going to be hearing it more often.”

“So how do you two know each other?” Maria asked, evidently feeling a little awkward and out of the loop.

“Bucky and I were in the same class since kindergarten.” Natasha explained. “Until I had to move away.” Bucky must have been able to see the distant look in her eyes as he gave her small smile airing on the side of sympathetic that would irk her if it was anyone but him.

“How's Clint these days?”

Natasha cleared her throat, pleased to skip over to a happier topic. “He’s good. Great actually. He’s married now with a kid on the way.”

“Someone agreed to marry that guy?” Bucky asked in disbelief. “And have his kid? This calls for some shots. Wanna help me grab them, Tasha?”

Five rounds and a few embarrassing childhood stories later and Natasha was beginning to feel a little more at ease with this group of people. She never had a large friendship group as a kid and never really felt like she needed one. It was pretty much her and Bucky from kindergarten to middle school. And then they moved away after Phil died and that was when she met Matt. Matt who was her closest friend at a time when she felt like she had no one else and always had her back. Matt who said he always would and then decided to cut all ties with her and follow Elektra Natchios to Stanford- misplaced trust and all that. A small group of friends was definitely something she could handle.

They were just about ready to leave when a large figure stumbled into their table. If Steve was Adonis then this man was definitely a God. He was at least three inches taller than Steve and had shoulders almost twice as broad. His long golden hair was tied up into a man bun that on anyone else would probably draw away from the image but for him, it just amplified the look.

“Friends! I could use your aid.” His bellowing voice was far too loud to be standing this close and his breath stank of booze. “I appear to have consumed too much alcohol and cannot currently tell where I am.”

“Dude is that… is that Thor?” Bucky asked Steve with a star-struck look on his face.

“As in the God of Thunder?” Natasha questioned in disbelief as she shoved the large blonde from her shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding me right?”

“He’s the quarterback for the College Football team. He’s like an absolute legend!” Steve explained.

“Aye! And I would be forever indebted to you if you were to aid my return to my quarters.”

“Come on Bucky. You take his right arm, I’ll take the left.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at the nickname but followed Steve’s lead nevertheless and hoisted Thor up with one right arm slumped over his shoulder.

Natasha and Maria took that as their queue to leave and made their way back to their dorm room. “So you and Steve looked like you were hitting it off back there.” Natasha said as they walked through the campus grounds.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”

“Really?”

“He kept staring at Bucky the entire night.” Natasha had noticed that but thought nothing of it, now it seemed to make more sense. “Speaking of which, are you gonna go for that?”

Natasha snorted in disbelief. “Me and Bucky? God no.” Maria quirked an eyebrow towards the redhead. “I mean don’t get me wrong, puberty has done him a ton of favours but I’ve known that guy from when he used to pick his nose. That would be far too weird.” Natasha didn’t dare add that after Matt, she had a strict ‘no dating’ rule.

“So you’d be cool if I did?”

“By all means, knock yourself out.”

~*~

Bruce opened the door to his new apartment room, holding his last box of belongings from his aunt's house in Dayton. Tony had insisted that they needed a new apartment to mark the next stage in their academic careers and had insisted that he would pay for it despite Bruce stating that it wasn’t necessary. Finally fed up with his nagging, Bruce had conceded with the one exception that Tony didn’t spend too much. In retrospect, Bruce should’ve known that Tony didn’t quite know the meaning of not spending too much. The room was twice as big as the one they shared during their master’s degree and he had this all to himself. The bed was still single, which didn’t bother him much seen as it would just be him in it; a bitter thought that he tried not to dwell on too much these days.

There was a desk with a brand new custom-made Stark Industries computer- a feature that made it’s way into Bruce’s room at the start of every academic year. Bruce had tried to send the first one back as an unnecessary expense but Tony had insisted that he needed new tech for each year and that these were prototypes in need of testing before they went on the market. The technology in the room wasn’t limited to a new computer, there was also a TV on the wall opposite his bed that would no doubt be going to waste, a new Stark-pad was on the desk next to the computer and a brand-new Stark phone next to it. All of which Bruce will try in vain to return.

The only point Tony seemed to have listened to him on is that they have separate rooms, which Bruce was incredibly grateful for. The last thing he needed is to hear Tony doing, well, being Tony, with one of his many ‘special friends’. The past six years of being Tony’s roommate had been spent spending hours hanging around in the lab or library to avoid walking in on Tony in an unfavourable position- which had happened on one too many traumatising occasions. At least now he can rest easy knowing that there are two doors and a bathroom between him and Tony’s antics.

The room was also exceptionally tidy. Bed readymade, clothes hung up in the wardrobe- new clothes too, even his socks were knotted together in the draws. So Jarvis had stopped by at some point and done his unpacking for him. Bruce can’t say that he’s not grateful for it. He’d had so much to handle in Dayton with getting the house in order for the buyers that he was dreading having to come back here and sort all of his stuff.

Bruce put his box down on his desk chair and collapsed back on his bed, one arm over his eyes. The last few months had been beyond stressful. His breakup with Betty had been hard enough but then his Aunt Susan passed away and it all started to really go to shit. Tony had offered to fund the funeral and put him in contact with the company that arranged his parents funeral four years ago and though he’d usually refuse he didn’t have a clue what he was doing or a penny to his name so he was grateful for the help.

To be honest, for all his quirks Tony really was the greatest friend he could ask for. When Bruce had mentioned he couldn’t stand the thought of living in his Aunt’s house without her there, Tony had insisted he move in with him and would not take no for an answer. Three days later there was a moving van outside the house ready to take the stuff to Tony’s New York apartment with Jarvis waiting to meet it on the other end. Bruce had sent Tony a cheque when the house sold but instead of cashing it for himself Tony had invested it in SI stocks in Bruce’s name. Which was doing quite well if the weekly reports that Bruce was getting was anything to go by. He wasn’t sure whether that counted as inside trading or not, but Bruce wasn’t going to question it.  

Tony burst into his room, reminding Bruce that separate rooms didn’t necessarily mean privacy. “Hey Buddy! Welcome back.” Tony slid into the desk chair and swivelled around a few times before he stopped to face Bruce who had sat up. “What do you think of the new place?”

“It’s nice. But I’m pretty sure I said to keep things modest.”

“This is modest!” Tony said as he flailed his hands about. “I wanted a whole lot more but I had you in mind Brucey.”

“Clearly.” Tony gave Bruce a hurt look. “It’s great Tony. I’m sure the TV will be put to good use.”

“I knew it would. Now, get your best corduroys on. We’re going to a to a mixer tonight.”

“Aren’t those things for undergrads? Not happening, Tony.”

Tony waved his hands in disbelief. “Come on. You could use a drink.” Tony walked out of the room and Bruce knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. It’s never that easy with Tony. When he re-entered the room he was holding a box which he dumped on Bruce’s bed. There was a letter on top and Bruce instantly recognised the handwriting. “Betty sent that 3 weeks ago. The letter came last week.”

Tony didn’t hang around to see Bruce open the box so that probably wasn’t a good sign. He opened the letter and stared at the words for a long time not really taking things in. After a few scans of the letter he finally started to take the words in.

Dear Bruce,

You wouldn’t take any of my calls or respond to my texts or emails, which I don’t blame you for, so I’m left with the old-fashioned means of communication.
I’m really sorry to hear about your Aunt Susan and want you to know that even though we may be over I’m still here for you if you need anything. The box of stuff was poorly timed and had I have known about your Aunt I wouldn’t have sent it yet.
I don’t regret ending things, you have a lot of stuff that you need to work through and I don’t think us being together was helping with that. But I want you know that if you need anything I am here for you. The end of our relationship isn’t the end of our friendship; unless you want it to be.

Don’t be a stranger.

Love Betty.

Of course those would be her last words. Of course she would leave it to him to try and salvage something from their relationship. He did want to be friends with Betty, but he didn’t think he could handle just being friends. How does anyone end a five-year relationship and come out of it as friends?

Well for one thing, Tony was right, he could definitely use a drink. Bruce changed into one of the new pairs of jeans and a purple button-down shirt that Tony had brought him- which he noted fitted a lot more snugly than any of his other clothes. He walked across the bathroom to Tony’s room, ashamedly checking himself out in the mirror as he went through. He had to admit, they did look better than his old clothes.

“I am not doing any shots.”

Tony threw his fists in the air in celebration and grabbed his jacket from his desk chair. If Bruce was being honest with himself, he did love the campus bar. The carpets were sticky, the beer was watered down and the whole placed smelt like mould, but it had been their old haunt from their first year of college and he was always a sucker for nostalgia. Bruce tried to ignore the fact the bar was packed with first-year undergrads. At least he and Tony were the same age as the few first-year masters students that were dotted around the place so they weren’t that old.

Tony kept Bruce entertained with his tales over the summer, sharing stories from his travels across South East Asia. Bruce’s eyes drifted around the room, taking in the fresh, eager faces. One face in particular stuck out. That belonging to a petite redhead a few tables over. There was something about the look on her face that drew his attention. The smile that didn’t quite meet her hazel eyes and the distant look that those eyes held reminded him of himself. He couldn’t quite bring himself to draw his eyes away, even when he saw her go to the bar with a tall, muscular guy he saw her embrace a few minutes ago.

He finally drew his eyes away when he felt a hand land on his shoulder. “You okay buddy?” Bruce hadn’t realised how long his attention had gone but in that space they had been joined by a blonde woman and a brunette.

“Uh hi.”

“Bruce, this is Rebecca.” Tony said pointing to the blonde. “And this is Sarah.”

“Stacey.” The brunette corrected.

“Yeah right. They’re masters students.” Tony said as he waggled his eyebrows.

Bruce had to do his best to supress his eyeroll, he was definitely not up for this kind of socialising. After a few more rounds and a polite decline to see Stacey’s new dorm room, Bruce made his way back to his apartment. He’d forgotten all about the box of belongings he had abandoned on his bed. He pulled the tape off the cardboard and stared into the box that contained the remains of his five-year relationship with Betty Ross. A few photos, a sweatshirt of his and some other mementoes from their years together was all that remained. And the expensive bottle of bourbon that Bruce had brought to celebrate Betty graduating from her undergraduate’s degree.

He examined the bottle for a long while, mind rolling over the words in Betty’s letter. The more he thought about her words the angrier he got. And the irony of that was just too sweet given his anger was the reason they broke up in the first place. Sitting in this room alone with his thoughts wasn’t going to help so Bruce picked up the bottle and let his feet guide him through the campus grounds.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed the woman walking a few feet in front of him until the voice drew his attention back to earth.

“If you’re stalking me be warned, I do know self-defence.” He didn’t realise who it was until the redhead from the bar turned on her heel to face him. “You’re the creep from the bar. I have a knife you know.”

Bruce was so confused he barely even noticed the knife the redhead was holding and the defensive stance she had taken. “I’m sorry, creep?”

“I saw you staring. If you’re planning an attack or something then you’ve picked the wrong person.”

“What? No. I wasn’t staring.” Bruce was so confused by the situation. What had he walked into?

“Oh really? Then what would you call looking at someone for a prolonged period of time?”

Well she had him there. “Okay, maybe I was staring. But not like that.” That seemed to do nothing to ease the redhead’s defensive position. “Look, how about you don’t stab me and I’ll share this bottle of bourbon with you?” Bruce said holding the bottle in the light for her to see.

The redhead pointed her knife towards him. “How do I know it’s not roofied?”

Bruce rolled his eyes and couldn’t help the smile that crept its way on his face. “I’ll take the first few swigs.” That seemed to quell her concerns as she shrugged one shoulder and put her knife back in her pocket. Bruce walked the few steps between them so they were walking side-by-side and led the way to his favourite spot on campus. “Do you normally walk around campus threatening to stab innocent guys?”

“Do you usually walk around campus offering random women bottles of alcohol?” She shot back.

“Only on days ending with a y.” Bruce deadpanned and the redhead snorted with laughter. “Seriously though, why do you have a knife?” He asked once they got to the fountain in the middle of campus. It was Bruce’s favourite place to stop by on his nightly walks; always calm and quiet when it’s usually the centre of the busy student life during the day. Usually the perfect place to come and think. And now it seems the perfect place to drink expensive alcohol and pray this petite woman doesn’t decide to stab him anyway.

“Why have you got a bottle of Bourbon?”

Okay, so getting information out of her wasn’t going to be easy. Bruce sat with his back to the fountain and opened the bottle, peeling away the plastic wrap and placing the cork on the side of the fountain next to him. He took a swig and grimaced as the alcohol burned his throat. He was going for cool but all hopes of that were dashed away with the face he made at the second swig. He noticed the redhead fighting back laughter behind her hand.

“The roofie makes it taste funny.” He said as he handed the bottle over to her as she sat next him on the fountain’s edge.

She took a swig before handing the bottle back to him. “That stuff is disgusting.”

“Tell me about it,” Bruce said with another swig. “I don’t even drink the stuff. I brought it for my ex to celebrate her graduation and she sent it back with a box of my stuff.” There was a bitter note to his voice but he didn’t bother to reign it in. He was allowed to be angry. Surely anyone in his position was allowed to be angry and thinking about Betty’s letter only added to that anger. “She said it was up to me if I wanted us to still be friends. Think she just said it to clear her conscience.” He said with a bitter laugh and a shake of his head. He took another swig of the bottle and handed it to the redhead beside him.

She eyed the bottle for a while. “At least you got that.” She took a long gulp from the bottle. “I didn’t even get that much. One minute we’re planning to stay together throughout college, next minute it’s radio silence. I found out two weeks ago that he’s at Stanford shacking up with the head of the cheerleading squad.”

“Isn’t that what you kids call ‘ghosting’?”

“Oh please, you are not old enough to use the phrase ‘you kids’”

Bruce took the bottle from the redhead and took a long swig. “22.” And man did he feel old saying that figure aloud.

“Master’s student?”

“PhD first year.” The redhead gave him a questioning look. “I was kind of a child genius. Got a full scholarship when I was 16.” He said with a shrug. “I think that would be better. Complete silence. A clean break.”

“Maybe. Maybe I got lucky I guess.” She shrugged a shoulder before stealing the bottle back. “Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

“Well the guy’s an idiot. You know self-defence and have a knife. That guy must have a serious death wish or something.” She laughed and gave him one of those smiles that he saw back at the bar. The smile that reminded him of himself so much. “See, that’s why I was staring at the bar.”

“What?”

“That practised smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. I’m sort of an expert in those smiles so I recognise them pretty easily on other people.”

“I didn’t know MCU offers PhDs in fake smiles studies. They really do offer everything here.” She deadpanned, placing the bottle in the gap between them on the fountain’s edge. “Maybe that’s a conversation for another day’s late-night drinking session.”

“Okay but you’re charged with bringing the alcohol. Unless you want another night of drinking crappy liquor.” Bruce indicated towards the half-empty bottle of bourbon and the redhead nodded with a smile. “Wait, should I be promoting underage drinking? Does that make me an accomplice to the crime?”

“You assume I’m under the age of 21?” She raised a questioning eyebrow at him and Bruce felt himself sweating slightly under the scrutiny of her gaze. Finally she relented and said. “It’s cool, I’ve got a pretty legit looking fake ID.”

“Oh god. I really am an accomplice aren’t I?” The redhead gave him one last smile before she stood up and began to make her way back the way they came. “I would offer to walk you home but I reckon I’d probably benefit from you walking me home.”

“That’s why you should get yourself a pocket knife.”

It wasn’t until the redhead was at least 20 metres away that he realised he forgot to ask her name.

“I’m Bruce by the way.” He called out to her back.

“Natasha.” She called back over her shoulder.

Bruce poured the rest of the bourbon down the drain and dumped the bottle in the recycle bin. Maybe this year wasn’t going to be too bad.

~*~

To say Steve was feeling nervous about starting college would be a massive understatement. He was beyond nervous. To the point where he was sweating so much, he had to change his shirt twice this morning and he was already starting to sweat through this one. His mum had tried to calm his nerves and tell him that it would all be okay, but somehow her reasoning that Steve ‘was a great guy and everyone would love him’ just didn’t quite settle his nerves, parents are supposed to say that stuff whether its true or not.

Steve took a deep breath and braced himself as he opened the door to his dorm room, thinking of all the conversation starters he had come up with earlier on. As he opened the door however, all his thoughts left his mind and he was at a genuine loss for words as he stared upon the tall, dark and handsome that was stood in his room.

“Woah buddy think you’ve got the wrong room. This dorm is for athletes not models.” Steve’s pretty sure he’d never been caught dumbstruck before, not until this moment at least. Stood in the doorway of his new dorm room, mouth agape at the compliment- did his new roommate just call him a model?- all Steve could do was blink and stare. “Too forward for an introduction? Okay, we’ll go with the formal: James Barnes, what’s your name?”

Steve blinked for a few seconds, staring at the hand extended towards him. Finally, Steve took hold of it and gave it a firm shake. “Steve Rogers. Sorry, first day nerves.” He said self-consciously.

“Don’t worry about it. I probably would’ve been the same, I’ve just got the upper hand of having been here for a few hours already.”

“Oh, Stevie this place is so lovely!” Steve’s mum came bursting through the door and Steve had to stifle a groan at the use of his nickname. They had discussed this on the drive over but it seems his mother had opted to ignore his pleadings that she doesn’t use his nickname. “Oh hello, you must be Stevie’s new roommate.”

“James Barnes,” James said with a nod and a hand extended out to her. “And you must be Mrs Rogers.”

“Ms Rogers, but you can call me Sarah.”

“Well, I can see where Stevie here gets his good looks from.” James winked at him as he said that. Or at least Steve thought it was a wink, it could’ve just been a twitch. And at least he thought it was at him, it could’ve just as easily been towards a camera behind him because he was pretty sure he was being pranked right now. “That or he was injected with some kind of superhuman serum.” Okay so James was definitely a charmer, but Steve couldn’t quite tell if he was genuinely flirting or if this was just part of his personality.

“Oh please.” His mum said modestly. “He’s clearly not the only one.”

“Ma!” Steve whined and he saw James grin from ear to ear. And- and did he just flex his muscles. Surely Steve was just imagining all this. “Ma shouldn’t you get going, you know before traffic hits or something.”

“Stevie don’t be rude. James and I are talking.”

“Ma!” Steve’s eyes were wide, trying to indicate to his mother that she was well and truly embarrassing him now.

“Oh alright, I’ll get going.” His mum started to head towards the door and Steve followed behind her. “It was lovely meeting you, James.”

“You too Sarah,” Bucky said with a wave.

“He’s very handsome.” Steve’s mum said in a tone that was intended as a whisper but was just as loud as her regular voice and judging by the laugh coming from behind him, James heard the comment. Steve widened his eyes again, trying to display the message to his mother. Steve’s mum had always done that with every woman they met that was around Steve’s age and when Steve came out to her a few months ago, well the only change in his mother’s behaviour was to point out every good-looking guy instead. As much as he appreciated his mum’s acceptance of his sexuality, he wasn’t quite ready to be so open about it, especially when he was trying to figure where he stood for himself. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

“Drive safe, let me know when you get in.” He gave his mum a tight squeeze and felt her place a kiss on his cheek. “Love you ma.”

“Love you too Stevie.” She brought a hand up to his cheek and patted it softly. “And I’m so proud of you.”

He watched as his mum walked down the hallway and gave her one last wave as she turned to start down the stairs. Turning back to the room he noticed James was still wearing that charming grin that he had on since Steve walked into the room.

“Sorry about my Ma. She doesn’t realise she’s being embarrassing half the time.”

“You thought that was embarrassing? You have no idea. I have three older sisters and an Italian mother.” James joked. “The whole reason I got here early was so they’d be gone by the time you got here.”

“Well, I’ll have to make sure I am here the next time they stop by to get some payback.”

“Stevie, you’re a fool if you think you can handle my sisters?” Steve laughed as he began to empty the contents of his box of belongings. He unloaded his football signed by Eric Cantona and the shirt he had signed by Ole Gunnar Solskjær - they were two of his most prized possessions and there was no way he was leaving them behind. “I’m gonna hope you’re just an admirer of the players and not an actual United fan,” Bucky said with a disapproving look.

“Some of the greatest players of all time and the greatest team of all time. How could I not be a fan?” Steve’s eyes scanned James decorations and noticed the red and white scarf with the cannon emblem that only meant one thing. “Better than supporting a team that hasn’t won the league in 14 years.”

“Well, when you have a squad that was invincible then you kind of have to let other teams give it a shot.” Bucky fired back.

“Tell you want, get back to me when you guys win the Champion’s League.”

“Ooo low blow Rogers. You play as well, or just a fan?”

“Centre-forward,” Steve said proudly.

“Looks like we’re made for each other then Stevie.” Steve had that dumbstruck look on his face again and he cursed the gods that be that James was able to do this to him. “I was left-wing in my old squad. So if your game is better than you taste in team we could be a good pair.”

“We have to make it through try-outs first.”

“I have no doubt we will Stevie.” Steve would usually frown at someone other than his mother using his nickname but somehow it just sounded right coming from James. “You draw?” He asked indicating to the sketch pad that Steve had placed neatly on his desk along with his charcoals and pencils.

“Nothing too serious.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Steve nodded and indicated towards the book. He wouldn’t usually share his drawings with strangers but he figured James would just look when Steve wasn’t around, especially given it would just be sitting there. Steve felt his ears go red with every whistle of approval that James made. “These are amazing! You taking some art courses here?”

“A few,” Steve answered around his embarrassment. He never was good with receiving compliments. Eager to change the topic Steve blurted out. “I’ll buy you a drink.” At James’ questioning look he corrected. “There’s a mixer going on that I was gonna check out. If you want to come with, I’ll buy the first round.” He could feel the flush in his skin from head to toe and willed it to go away.

“Now that’s a deal!” James said with an eager grin.

The bar was an interesting place, to say the least. Steve had never been to a bar like this before; truthfully he’d never actually been to any kind of bar before. He wondered if all bars were as grungy as this one. At least there was a good vibe to this place; great music, nice people and cheap alcohol, what more could you want?

Bucky had gone to the toilet when Steve went to find them a table. He felt someone stumble into the back of him and nudge him forward landing half on top of an unsuspecting brunette. “Oh god, I am so sorry!” He could feel the red at the top of his ears in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not every day a good-looking guy falls into my lap.” That certainly didn’t help the blush that was now creeping up his neck. “My name’s Maria.”

"Steve. And uh, sorry again.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. I’m a boxer so I used to getting a little bruised.”

There was a coy smile on her face and again Steve found himself unsure of whether someone was flirting with him again.

“Soccer.” He blurted out. “I play soccer.”

“Very cool.”

Maria waved down a redhead who she introduced as Natasha and he immediately felt as though he was under the spotlight with the two women. He wasn’t used to this feeling. For most of high school, he was a scrawny little kid who barely got a second glance from anyone. And then he got his growth spurt and started working out and had all manner of people trying to flirt with him and catch his attention. Just like these two women and he really didn’t know how to cope. Where was James when you needed him?

Luckily someone heard his prayers as he felt James’ arm slink over his shoulder. He had a brief moment of relief until he realised that James- or should he say Bucky – and Natasha were old friends and from what it seems were well on their way to rekindling that friendship. Steve felt a pang of jealousy surge through him when the two of them went off to the bar.

“So they’re pretty cosy aren’t they?” Steve said the words before he could even think to stop himself. He sounded like a jealous ex and he had no grounds to. He’d literally known Bucky for all of four hours and now he’s jealous of someone who he’d known for almost all his life. And judging by how close the two of them are, Bucky wasn’t even gay.

“Looks like one of us is going to be kept up all night.”

“Lucky us.”

As jealous as Steve was feeling, the drinks were quite pleasant. Natasha and Maria seemed pretty cool and he got to hear a load of stories about Bucky from his preschool days. It was all going well until Thor- one of his favourite college football players of all time literally crashed their gathering. Steve and Bucky were left to carry the large blonde to his dorm which turned out to be on the other side of campus. It was a good thing the two of them were in pretty good shape.

They deposited Thor on his bed with a bottle of water and made sure he was laying on his side before they left to begin their walk back across campus.

“Man that guy is literally the definition of beauty,” Bucky exclaimed. “I have literally had a crush on that guy from the moment he came on the college football scene.”

“Uh yeah.” Was that Bucky’s way of coming out to him? Or maybe he knows Steve’s gay and is showing that he’s okay with it. Steve was so confused he didn’t quite know what to say at this moment. “Speaking of beauty. Natasha’s pretty, well pretty.” Steve said nervously. “Are you and her gonna…”

“Me and Tasha? God no! That would be so weird.” Well, that at least made Steve feel a little better. “But Maria. Now that would not be weird. I was gonna say actually, you two looked like you were hitting it off back there. So if you were interested in her I’ll back off.”

“Uh. No. No, she’s not my type.”

“What is your type then?”

Steve felt his whole face go red. What was he supposed to say? He was pretty sure he didn’t have a set type but if he had to sum it up it would be Bucky. But he couldn’t exactly say that.

“Uh, I don’t really have a type.” He said nervously.

“So how do you know Maria isn’t your type?” Steve simply shrugged at that. “What about Natasha, she’s everyone’s type.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Maybe he could just go on a few dates with Natasha. Just until he’s ready to come out. Or until the ground swallows him up.

This was going to be a long year.

Chapter Text

Bucky had always looked back at his youth with fondness. He remembers when he first met Natasha back in kindergarten. This small redhead with long curls that one kid thought he could pull. Natasha had him face down in the sandbox in no time and Bucky was captivated from that moment onwards. They had been virtually inseparable until Natasha had to move away after Phil’s murder. They had tried to keep in contact but it was never the same. So Bucky was truly over the moon when he bumped into her at the mixer last night and had texted her as soon as he woke up this morning, inviting her out for coffee and a much-needed catch-up.

Bucky had ordered them both a black coffee and waited for Natasha to arrive. Even when he saw her walk into the shop he still couldn’t believe that he was seeing her again after all these years. He swamped her in a tight hug as she approached the table.

“God Tasha, I can’t believe you’re really here.” He said once he finally let her go.

“I know, it’s weird.” Natasha took her seat at the table and emptied three sugar packets into her coffee before giving it a stir and taking a long sip of the warm bitter liquid. “Thanks, by the way, I really needed this.”

“You and Maria stay late last night?” He asked as he took a sip of his own coffee.

“Nah, we left not long after you and Steve. I couldn’t sleep so I took a walk around campus. Wound up staying up late drinking with some guy.”

“Oh?” Bucky waggled his eyebrows and asked suggestively, “just drinking?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yes, just drinking.”

“Sure.” He said in disbelief. “Anyway, how have you been lately? It’s been years since we had a proper catch-up. You said Clint was married?”

“Yeah, do you remember Laura?”

“The short brunette?”

Natasha nodded as she took another sip of her coffee. “Yeah, well they got married two years ago and I guess now they’re having a kid.”

“That’s great!” Bucky said with absolute sincerity. He always liked Clint, not only was he a funny guy but Bucky knew just how much Clint had stuck up for Natasha when they were in foster care and Natasha saw him as a big brother. And as far as big brothers go, Clint was one of the best you could ask for. So to know the guy was finally getting a happy ending that he truly deserved was genuinely great news. “And what about you? What have you been up to? You still dance?”

“Yeah, I’ve got the auditions for the Christmas production of the Nutcracker coming up on Friday.” Natasha stared intensely at her coffee as she stirred it. Bucky could tell that there was something bugging her but the best way to get anything out of Natasha was to just wait her out. If you try to push her she’ll just retreat and you’ll never know. “I’m just… trying to make Phil proud; you know.”

Bucky reached over and took hold of her hand. “You already have.” He didn’t know Phil well whilst he was alive, but from the few times Bucky had met the man he could see the pride the man held for his daughter. “If he was here today he’d tell you exactly that.”

Natasha gave him a small smile before shaking it off and shutting down her emotions, something the redhead had been doing since as long as he could remember. “What about you, huh? Somebody looks like they got hit by the puberty bus.”

“Well you know,” Bucky made a show of fixing his hair and flexing his muscles. “I do work out quite a bit.”

“Yeah, I bet you get all the attention because of it.” Natasha joked.

“What can I say, people love me. Speaking of which, your roomie Maria, what’s her deal?” Natasha raised a questioning eyebrow at him. “Is she single? Do you think I’m her type? Is she even into guys?”

“From what I know she’s definitely straight, she’s definitely single and she’s definitely into you.”

“Really?” Bucky leaned back in his chair trying to play it off. “Well then, maybe I’ll ask her out. And whilst we’re on the topic of dating…” Natasha rolled her eyes but Bucky continued on. “Steve is thinking of asking you out.”

Natasha nearly choked on her drink. “He is?”

“Uh huh. Asked if there was anything between you and me.”

Natasha pulled a face in disgust. “Why does everyone think that?”

“I know right!” Bucky said in joint disbelief. “But if he asked, would you go out with him?” Natasha made another face. “Are you kidding? What’s wrong with Steve? He’s literally perfect.”

“Oh, I know. That man is literally Adonis reincarnate.” Natasha said in all seriousness. “I’m just pretty sure I’m not his type.”

“Nat, you’re everyone’s type.”

“Not if you’re gay.”

“Yeah but Steve’s not…” Bucky stopped himself. He was pretty sure Steve wasn’t gay. He’d thought so at first, but after testing the waters with a few lines to get the blonde to open up he just assumed he was wrong. He started to think over the interactions he had with Steve and it all started to make sense. He’d shown no interest in any of the women at the bar last night, got pretty nervous whenever Natasha or Maria complimented him and was blushing head to toe when they helped Thor back to his room; particularly then he whipped off his top and jeans and crawled into bed. Wow, he had completely failed to connect those dots. “Well shit, now that you’ve pointed it out, it is pretty obvious.”

Natasha leaned back in her seat and gave him a smug look over her coffee mug. “Maria and I also happen to think he’s got quite the crush on you.”

“What?”

“He seemed pretty interested in you and you alone last night.”

“That’s just first day nerves.” Bucky offered as some kind of explanation. Steve had been pretty nervous and Bucky was a somewhat familiar face, it was only natural and Steve would cling to him like he did last night. “He seems like a pretty shy guy.”

“Or, he’s got a massive crush on his roommate that he won't act on because he’s buried himself deep in the closest and is too scared to come out,” Natasha said as she finished the last few dredges of her coffee, swirling the mug and using her finger to scoop up the sugary deposits at the bottom. “Maybe you could help him feel more… comfortable with his identity.”

“That’s not my job Nat.” Bucky sighed. “Maybe he is gay and maybe he does have a slight crush on me but he’s obviously not ready to come out for whatever reason and it’s not my place to force someone to come out.” He’s done it in the past and it did not work out well for him. “Look, all I know is he’s probably gonna ask you out the next time he sees you so can you just let him down easily.” Natasha nodded. “And maybe don’t mention anything about me knowing he’s gay. He’ll tell me when he’s ready." Bucky checked the time on his phone, it was 10:20 and they had 15 minutes to get to the introduction talk on the other side of campus. "Come one, we're gonna be late for this talk."

Bucky was getting very bored. Dean Fury’s introduction talk had been going on for over an hour now and he had definitely had enough of hearing about the disciplinary measures for misconduct on campus.

“Can this guy get any more intimidating?” Steve leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“I know right! He’s already the guy that can get you kicked out of college; does he really need the eye patch?”

“Don’t forget the bald head that makes him look like a Bond villain?” Steve joked and Bucky’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Like seriously, what’s up with the all-black suit and the long leather jacket?” Bucky let out a bark of laughter and had to cover his mouth to hold back further laughter as all eyes turned to the direction of the noise.

“Do you two want to shut the fuck up?” Natasha leaned over to whisper from her seat behind them. “It’s bad enough that I have to listen to this bullshit without you two sniggering throughout the whole damn thing.”

“You’re just jealous because Maria won't snigger with you,” Bucky replied smugly.

“Some of us would actually quite like to know how not to get kicked out of college,” Maria responded with a mock scowl.

Bucky gave her a smug look as an idea popped into his head. “I tell you what, I’ll stop talking…” He turned back around to face the stage. “If you agree to go out on a date with me.”

“Really Bucky, you’re using bribery as a pickup line?” Natasha teased. “No wonder you’re single.”

Maria didn’t reply for a while and Bucky had to stop himself from turning around to face her in his attempt to play it cool. Bucky leaned over to Steve again. “Do you think he has a wooden leg to match the eyepatch?” Steve started to snigger behind his hand.

“Maria please just say yes; we’ve got another hour left of this.” Natasha pleaded.

Maria still didn’t reply so Bucky continued. “Maybe the hand is a prosthetic and he has a hook in his office.”

Steve snorted and Maria finally seemed to have enough as she conceded. “Fine.”

“I’ll pick you up for dinner at 8,” Bucky said as he turned to give Natasha a smug smirk.

Natasha slapped the back of his head. “You’re gonna shut the fuck up now right?”

Bucky turned back to face forward, maintaining the smug look on his face and let his mind wander for the rest of the talk.

He’s not sure how much time had gone by before he mentally checked back in. Steve had his sketchpad out drawing a rather detailed depiction of Dean Fury on a pirate ship. Natasha was lightly snoring behind him, evidently still tired from her late-night drinking session with the random guy- he really needed to get more of a scoop on what happened there. Maria, as expected, was focusing intently on whatever Dean Fury was talking about now; something about proper conduct in lectures.

“You’re missing the parrot on his shoulder,” Bucky whispered as he eyed Steve’s drawing. Steve’s shoulders shook in silent laughter as he began to add in a parrot to the doodle. Bucky started to think back to his conversation with Natasha this morning. It wasn’t his place to force anyone to open up about their sexuality, but maybe he could let Steve know that it’s okay to be himself. “You know, college is sort of the time to reinvent yourself.” Steve looked up from his drawing, confusion written all over his face. “Sometimes people can’t really be who they want to be in high school. But college is a chance for a fresh start. To be who you wanna be.”

“Did you get that from a fortune cookie?”

“Maybe.” Bucky laughed. “But still, my point stands. This is your chance to be whoever you want.”

“Hey! The deal was Maria agrees to go out with you and you shut the fuck up.” Natasha said as she slapped him on the back of his head again.

“Jesus! You’re worse than my mother!”

“Damn right I am. Now shut up or next time it’ll be my fist.”

Bucky turned back around to face forward again, he knew Natasha would always make good on her threats and having been punched by the redhead before he really didn’t want to go through that again. Besides, he didn’t want to have a black eye on his date tonight.

"How do I look?" Bucky asked as he exited the bathroom, running a hand through his hear one last time and praying that the product in it would hold for the duration of this date. "Too much?"

"No, you uh... you look good," Steve said as his eyes wandered up and down Bucky's image, taking in the white shirt, black skinny jeans and denim jacket. "You look great."

Bucky tried to ignore the wondering looks he was getting from Steve as he dabbed some aftershave on his neck and wrists. He knows it must be hard for him, discovering yourself was hard enough but having to do it whilst juggling a crush on your roommate must be even harder. And as much as Bucky wanted to be there for him, he wasn't exactly going to sit around and pass up the opportunity to go out with a gorgeous woman while Steve worked out his feelings.

"Hair down or tied back?" He asked as he did one last mirror check. "I'm thinking tied back."

"You don't think you're trying too hard?" Bucky gave him a look as he pulled his hair into a ponytail and then let it fall back down to demonstrate the options available. With a sigh, Steve finally decided "down".

"Cheers, bud." Bucky grabbed his phone and wallet before doing a final mirror check and heading for the door. "Don't wait up." He made his way across the campus grounds to Maria's dorm and arrived at the building just in time to see Maria enter the lobby. "Perfect timing." He held the door open for her and took in her outfit, the summer dress that just grazed her thighs coupled with a leather jacket and ankle boots to combat the September chill. Her wavy brunette hair was bouncing at her shoulders and he could see the shine on her lips from freshly applied lip gloss- in short, she looked amazing. "You look great."

"Thanks, you don't look so bad yourself." she said bashfully. "So, where are we off to?"

"I know of this little Italian place down the street."

"Bit risky taking an Italian to an Italian restaurant."

"Don't worry, this place is legit." He said smugly. "Their marinara sauce makes my own Ma's taste like shop bought crap."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, but don't ever tell her I said that, and the tiramisu is to die for." Bucky held out his elbow for Maria to take as he led the way towards the restaurant. "What part of Italy is your family from?"

"My grandma's side are from Vittoria."

Bucky's eyes widened in surprise. "No shit. My family's from Gela."

"My Ma has always said she wants me to settle down with a nice Scillian boy." Maria may have been joking but the pressure of that joke made him feel incredibly nervous. This was only their first date for christ sake. Maria was evidently able to sense Bucky's nerves. "I'm joking by the way. Well no, my Ma does want that, but I'm not expecting that to be you."

Bucky released a heavy sigh as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. They reached the small Italian restaurant, aptly named Little Italy and were promptly shown to the corner booth Bucky had reserved for them. "Well, as a fellow Scillian you're gonna love the food here. The chef is from Palermo and I know their cooking is usually a little commercialised but this guy knows what he's doing." Bucky ordered for the two of them and ordered a bottle of Chianti Classico for the table using the more than passable fake ID that Natasha had made him way back when they were in Middle School. Back then it had only been a thing that the redhead did for laughs, a small way to rebel against the system. But Bucky had recently found himself more and more grateful for Natasha's gift of forgery. "So, where's the rest of your family from?"

"Quebec. My parents moved to Vancouver when my dad joined the army." Bucky nodded along, intrigued to know more about the beautiful woman sat opposite him. "Though he got reposted a few times when I was a kid."

They spent most of the meal chatting away about their families and their upbringings. Maria spoke about what it was like growing up in a military family and Bucky told her what it was like to be the only guy in an all-female household. They had a lot in common and the night flowed without a hitch- well almost if you discount the heated debate about the quality of the tiramisu served at Little Italy. Bucky covered the cheque whilst Maria was in the bathroom, much to her annoyance, and insisted on walking her back to her dorm, despite Maria's mentions of her Middleweight Championship title.

For the entirety of the walk, Bucky was toying with the idea of trying for a kiss at the end. If it went well then all was good but if not then it would put their newly formed friendship group in a very awkward position. They had arrived at the door to her building and Bucky took a brave step forward. "I uh, I had a really good time tonight." His eyes flicked down towards Maria's still glossy lips and his mind wondered what they would taste like.

"So did I." Luckily, being the bold individual that she was, Maria made the decision for him as she crashed her lips to his.

"We should do this again sometime." He said dumbly once they broke away.

"Or, we could admit that neither of us actually want to get into a relationship in the first week of our first year at college and just skip ahead to the part that everybody wants," Maria said matter-of-factly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Natasha's gone out for a run which means I have an empty room for about an hour." Maria swiped her ID badge to open the main door. "And as much as I love the sight of you in those skinny jeans I'd much rather see you out of them." Bucky was genuinely dumbstruck for a moment, had Maria really just propositioned him? "So we could either call it a night now, go on a dozen more dates that set us both into a relationship that means we're tied down for what's supposed to be the best part of our lives. Or we could go upstairs and have some real fun. The choice is yours." She finished with a shrug.

"You're a lovely gal and I'd really love to get to know you more." He wasn't sure which way he was going to play this so he mentally flipped a coin which predictably landed on the same side as most of his bloodstream. "But I have a semi right now that would most definitely benefit from some attention."

Bucky's sly smirk quickly matched Maria's own as the two rushed up to Maria's bedroom.

~*~

Steve couldn’t exactly say he was jealous of Bucky and Maria; what right did he have to be jealous? Bucky didn’t even know he was gay let alone interested, no one knew. How would they when he refused to tell anyone? It’s not that he was afraid to come out. He knew that society had become far more accepting of different sexualities. But how could he tell people if he didn’t truly know himself. He knows he has a preference, but he can’t say that he’s entirely uninterested in women; he does find some of them attractive… just not as attractive as Bucky. Dammit! He had to get Bucky out of his head! Bucky’s currently in their room with Maria and he’s sat here in the quad drawing, trying to kill some time until they’re done.

At least the campus grounds inspire some artistic inspiration. The large oaks and the redbrick buildings really were something else. At the very least he had his art to draw his mind away from whatever was happening in his room between Maria and Bucky. He can lose himself in his art, in the shades of the pencil and the smudges of the charcoal. His mind goes to a different place when he’s drawing. Which is probably why he barely even noticed when Natasha sat by him on the bench.

“You’re good at that.”

Steve felt his heart nearly thump out of his chest when the redhead spoke. “Christ! You’re a sneaky one.”

Natasha merely shrugged as though she heard that all the time. “Maria and Bucky going at it again?” She asked, drawing his mind back to the very reason why he was sat out here in the afternoon heat. Steve nodded, casting his gaze back down to his sketchpad. “Those two are like rabbits.”

“I’ve learnt to give it a couple of hours before I head back up there.”

“Learnt that the hard way huh?”

“Definitely scarred for life,” Steve said with a chuckle. “What brings you out here?”

“Thought I’d get a decent run in whilst the weather’s good.” Steve finally noticed her get up; leggings and a tank top, a light glaze of sweat on her forehead. “s'posed to rain later.”

“You’ll have to let me know next time.”

“Maybe I will.” Natasha bumped his shoulder lightly with her own.

This seems like as good a time as any to ask her out. “Sounds like a date.” He could feel the blush creeping up his neck as he awaited her response and watched her from the corner of his eye.

“You’re sweet Steve.” A smile spread across his face as he turned to look at her. Maybe asking girls out wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. “But I tend to prefer guys who are actually into women…”

Steve’s face dropped and his eyes went wide. “What- I’m not-“ By the look on Natasha’s face there was no fooling her, she knew. “How did you know?”

“Call it a females intuition… Or Maria’s perceptiveness.”

“Right… so that’s a no on the date?”

“Afraid so.” She bumped his shoulder again and gave him a small smile. “Besides, I’d be too much for you.”

“You’re probably right,” Steve said, reciprocating her small smile. Silence ensued and he knew she was waiting for him to say something. “I’m just not sure I’m ready to…” He flailed his hands about trying to look for the words. By Natasha’s nod, he could tell she understood what he was trying to say. “Not until I figure it out for myself.”

“I get it, you’re trying to figure out who you are for yourself before you start telling other people.” She was quiet for a moment. “But you know it’s only going to be harder for you, living in secret.”

“I know.” He sighed deeply. He did know. He’d been living in secret for years now but he still wasn’t ready. “But until I figure myself out… Once I know who I am I’ll be ready to...” He shrugged not really knowing how to finish his sentence.

“Well, when you do figure out who you are” Natasha placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll all be here for you.” Steve nodded his thanks and Natasha stood, stretching her legs to restart her run. “Oh and when it’s safe to enter your room again tell Bucky we have a party to go to tomorrow.”

“Whos party?”

“That football player that crashed into us the other night. He’s having a party tomorrow and invited us to thank us for looking after him.” She shrugged a single shoulder. “It’s free booze and there’s a beer pong tourney. Should be fun.”

“Sounds good. I’ll let him know.”

Natasha gave him one last nod before putting her headphones in and jogging on.

“Friends!” Thor bellowed from across the room. “I am so pleased that you could make it to our gathering. I’m glad to see our good friend Natasha informed you all of your invites.”

It’d be wrong to say Steve hated parties; he didn’t, he just wasn’t used to them. In high school, when he was just a scrawny little kid, he barely got invited to them. Sharon, his only friend for the first few years of high school, tried to get him invited to a few of the parties that she always got invited to, but nobody wanted the sickly kid with asthma to ruin their party. It wasn’t until he got his growth spurt and made it onto the soccer team that people started to invite him. And that wasn’t until the last few years of high school so he really wasn’t used to them at all. So now that his college life seemed to consist of a party every other night, this really was a new life for Steve. The others, however, seemed to be right at home in the party scene, and at least their comfortability was helping him somewhat.

“Yeah well, she said there was free booze and beer pong so how could we refuse?” Bucky said as he helped himself to one of the beer cans on the table covered in a banquet of booze.

“Of course! Plenty of alcohol for those who aided me when I was not able to do so myself.” Thor plucked up several cans of beer and handed one to each of them. “Come, I would like to introduce you to some of my fellows.”

“Has this guy stepped out of a Shakespeare play?” Natasha joked as she leaned in to whisper to Steve.

“Apparently his parents are rich Swiss bankers. Thor and his brother were sent to a boarding school in England. Hence the accent.”

“And the theatrics?” Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow.

Steve shrugged. “A by-product of being in the public eye?”

“A by-product of being a twat more like.”

“It’s free booze.” Steve pointed out. “Do you really have a problem with that?”

Natasha raised her can in salute. “Touché Rogers.”

“Friends, allow me to introduce you to my love, Jane Foster.” Thor gestured towards a petite brunette with glasses, the very definition of the ‘science type’. “And her friend Darcy.” He pointed towards an even smaller woman with dark brown hair, bordering on black with glasses that dominated the most part of her face. “Jane, Darcy, these are the ones that helped me return to my quarters after a night of much drinking and laughter.”

“Ah, so you’re the ones I should thank for saving my boyfriend,” Jane said as she curled herself around Thor’s muscular bicep, slightly protective of her boyfriend when in the presence of other beautiful women. “Sorry, Thor tends to get a little wild during the pre-game season.”

“Yeah, if I were you guys I would’ve just left his sorry ass where I found him,” Darcy added.

“Ah Darcy, I am forever touched by your words. Come now, the beer pong is about to start.”

Bucky insisted that they split the four of them into boys versus girl, thinking that he and Steve would have the edge over the two girls and thus win. When Steve had pointed out the competitiveness in both Natasha and Maria as they threatened to kick both of their ass', Bucky merely shrugged it off as mind games. So Steve had to refrain himself from saying the words "I told you so" when the girls beat them by an embarrassing margin.

"Boys, grab us a few drinks will ya. Looks like we'll be here for a while." Natasha teased as the next round was set up.

Natasha and Maria had a pretty impressive streak, managing to win five games before they were narrowly beaten by two basketball players. One of which Steve noticed was flirting with Natasha for the duration of the game and for a long time afterwards. Which is why Steve wasn't very surprised when he went to top up the drinks only to turn around and see Natasha and said basketball player in a full-on lip-lock. It wouldn't be so bad but just as his luck would have it, Bucky and Maria had left the party half an hour ago to pursue other activities. Which meant Steve was now stranded at this party. Alone.

Steve stared at the drink selection for a long while, mulling over his options before a small tumbler glass was thrust in his vision. "Here, you're gonna need something a lot stronger to deal with the heartbreak." The voice belonging to the arm said.

Steve took hold of the glass. "What? I'm not heartbroken." He said dumbly as his eyes met the large brown ones in front of him belonging to a short goateed man. "What're you talking about."

"That redhead over there making out with the absurdly tall basketball player." The guy said, using his own tumbler to point in the direction of the two, who had momentarily stopped to come up for air. "You keep looking back over to them. So what is it? You tried talking to her and she rejected you, only to start making out with that guy?"

"What? No. We came as a group. She was supposed to stick with me when the other two left but now she's a little preoccupied." Steve took a sip of the brown liquid and grimaced immediately as the alcohol burned a pathway down his throat, leaving a mark of its presence on everywhere it had been.

"Yeah, that'll put some hairs on your chest." The guy laughed as Steve attempted not to spit up the drink. "Well, it looks like Red has other plans. She's well and truly ditched you."

Steve turned just in time to see Natasha leaving with the basketball player as a text came through on his phone: Something's come up ;) have to go.

"Well looks like I've lost my last friend at this party."

"Looks like you're in need of a new one, and you're in luck." the guy stuck out his hand for Steve to shake. "Tony Stark."

"Steve Rogers."

"Right Steve." Tony reached an arm around his shoulder. "Fuck your other friends. Tonight, I'm going to teach you how to live. What're you into? Girls, guys, both, neither? Doesn't matter, we'll work it out."

Tony definitely seemed to have a case of verbal diarrhea, which Steve couldn't really complain about, he wasn't much of a talker so it helped to let Tony take the lead on conversation. And it definitely helped to make the party a lot more enjoyable to have Tony around.

Steve knew he was good at soccer, not that he liked to brag about it much. But he was a decent player before he got his growth spurt and once he did and was finally fit enough to play on the highschool team... Well there was no stopping him really. He quickly became the teams top goal scorer and after their previous captain endured a tragic injury that had him out for the rest of the season, Steve was made Captain. Which he didn't think he was suited for but after a few outstanding results from the squad, it was clear he was a natural.

Still, he was pretty nervous that he wouldn't make it on to the squad. Only the best of the best got chosen for the first team and the guys he was training with were pretty good.

"Stop worrying." Bucky said as he slapped his arm around Steve's shoulders. "We impressed during the drills so now we just have to try and stand out during the game."

The drills were relatively simple. The dribbling drills and shooting drills went by with flying colours though Steve was pretty sure he messed up a fair bit with the tackling drill, going in a bit heavy at times forgetting that he was a lot bigger than he used to be. A by-product of recently beefing up a fair bit.

"Yeah, you're right Buck." Steve squirted some water on his face before offering Bucky the bottle to do the same.

"Also, we've got company." Bucky pointed over to the seats wear a tiny looking Natasha was sat watching, only noticeable by the curly red hair that stood out at such a distance.

"Alright you maggots! I want a fair game, no dangerous tackles" Coach Phillips yelled looking directly at Steve. "I don't want any injuries right before the season starts. Rogers, Wilson. You two are captains."

Steve went to join the coach at the halfway line. The coach flipped and coin and decided that Steve's team would kick off first. After shaking hands with the other captain, the coach blew his whistle and the game kicked off.

By halftime they were losing 2-1 with Steve scoring the only goal for their team. Bucky hadn't had much of a chance to get into the game and Steve knew if he didn't do something to change that Bucky wasn't going to get chosen for the first team.

"Okay team" Steve called the team together for a huddle. "Their right back is pretty weak so I think we can exploit that. Get the ball to Bucky on that left wing and I'm pretty sure we can get back into this game." With the plan set they got ready to get the second half underway.

Steve had intercepted the ball from a sloppy pass from one of the midfielders and could see Bucky making a run down the left side. He crossed the ball over to Bucky who took a touch to edge into the box and took a shot at goal. The keeper managed to get a hand to it and the ball bounced back into Steve's path. As much as he wanted to help Bucky shine a bit more he couldn't really pass up this opportunity, there was only 5 minutes left on the clock and this might be the last opportunity they have to equalise.

Steve made up his mind and took a shot first time, sending the ball hurling towards the top corner and well out of the keepers reach, bringing the score to 2-2.

The match ended with a draw and the players began a cool down whilst the coach deliberated over the first team.

"You did good Stevie." Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll definitely make the squad."

"I sure hope you do. We're gonna need a goal scorer like you on the team." The other captain said as he came to join the two guys. "Sam Wilson."

"You weren't so bad yourslef" Steve shook Sam's hand and then introduced the two of them.

"Right, those that made it to the first team are as follows" the coach began to reel off a list of names and with each name that wasn't Rogers or Barnes, Steve began to get more nervous. "Wilson, O'Donoghue, Smith, Rogers" Bucky nudged Steve in a supportive gesture but he couldn't relax until he knew that both of them had made it. "Jones, Davies and O'Brien. Rogers, I want you as team captain. You guys are expected to attend training three times a week and be available for weekend matches. The rest of you will be on the reserves and will still need to attend the training sessions." Steve's face dropped and he saw Bucky physically deflate. "I'll see you guys Monday."

"Shit. Sorry man." Sam offered in condolence.

"Maybe I can talk to the coach." Steve suggested. If he's captain then maybe he could put in a good word for Bucky.

"Don't worry about it." Bucky tried to play off as nonchalant but Steve could see that it bothered him. "Well done you two, you guys did good. I gotta go, I promised Maria I'd meet her after tryouts." He said as he turned to leave the football field.

"I'll uh, I'll see you later then." Steve yelled to the retreating figure of Bucky, who simply put a hand up to wave rather than turn around. Steve had no idea how to make this right but he was certain he was going to get Bucky on the first team one way or another.

 
~*~

Natasha’s phone went off again and she groaned as she saw another text message. She rolled her eyes and turned her phone over so that the screen was facing downward on the table.

“Well someone’s popular,” Bucky said as her phone went off again. “That’s the fourth time that’s gone off.” Natasha’s phone went off for the fifth time and she groaned again before she put it on silent. “This got anything to do with that guy Steve saw you hooking up with at the party the other night?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I don’t get what he didn’t understand about ‘casual hook-up’.”

“Maybe he wants more,” Bucky suggested with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Oh please. I’m good but I don’t think I’m that good.”

Bucky smirked at her. “What’s wrong with him? Crooked dick?” Natasha snorted with laughter. “Not that good? Did he have an embarrassing O face?”

“He was okay.” Which was a bit of an overstatement really. “Don’t think I’ll be signing up for round two.”

Bucky nodded but didn’t look as though he was intending on dropping the topic. “So why not?”

“I’m just not looking for anything serious at the moment.” Bucky raised a questioning eyebrow and Natasha sighed deeply. “I had a bad breakup at the end of high school and I’m just, I dunno.” She shrugged. “I’m just looking to have some fun I guess.”

“Well, you might want to tell him that.” He said as he nodded towards her phone.

“I’ll leave him to stew for a while.” Natasha shifted in her seat. “So you and Maria seem to be hitting it off quite well. Steve is practically living in the quad these days.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, think we’re just gonna keep things casual for now.”

“Bit hypocritical of you to question me about getting into a relationship isn’t it?” If she was being honest, she was somewhat grateful about that. If the relationship between the two of them went sour then that would really make things awkward for their little group. “So the two of you are just traumatising poor Steve then.”

“We do try to give him fair warning. How’s he taking it?”

“As well as anyone with a secret crush on their roommate could.” She remembers seeing him moping around the party when Bucky and Maria left early. “Think he made a friend at Thor’s party.” Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Not that kind of friend. But it’s good for him. To not just have you.”

Bucky nodded in understanding. “Yeah maybe.” Natasha could’ve sworn he looked a little jealous at the thought of Steve having other friends, but it's only momentary before his expression changed again. “Speaking of new friends.” Natasha groaned; she should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy. “You’re drinking buddy from the other night? Wanna tell me a bit about that?”

“I would but…” She picked up her phone and her gym bag from the floor. “I have an audition to get to. Good luck with try-outs.” She called over her shoulder as she headed in the direction of the dance studio.

The dance studio was brand new, state of the art studios recently refurbished, part of the main reason why she chose MCU in the first place. She entered the locker room filled with other hopefuls and the icy attitude of her fellow ballerinas was a welcomed familiarity. There was no friendship amongst ballerinas. Each of them were determined to be the best and if you wanted to be the best you couldn’t waste time being friendly.

Natasha couldn’t complain about the individualist attitude of ballerinas. She too wanted to be the best, though not for her own ego. No, she wanted to be the best because Phil thought that was what she was capable of, and she’d be damned if she was going to let Phil down. So she too would put on the icy exterior and focus on her own stretches and not get to know the other girls lining up on the barre.

“Ladies, in a line!” A tall blonde woman in a slick grey skirt and suit jacket entered the studio. “Now ladies!” Her accent was thick, laced with Russian, and it reminded her of her mother’s, or at least what she vaguely remembers of her mother, but in a harsher tone. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun matching the ones worn by the other girls in the room and she carried with her a long stick which she tapped on the floor with every command uttered.
After having the group demonstrate the basics: 1st through to 5th and a few uncomplicated sequences, the instructor commanded them to line up on the barre.

“Ladies, I am Madame B. I am the ballet instructor here at Marvel City University.” Madame B used her stick to straighten one of the girl's backs and made a slight noise that gestured disapproval. “Today I shall be assigning roles for the University’s production of the Nutcracker.” She used her stick to correct another girls posture. “Should you be chosen to feature in the production you will attend rehearsals twice a week, every week in the weeks leading up to the performance.” Madame B stopped as she walked past Natasha but she wasn’t worried, her posture was nothing short of perfect so she wasn’t surprised when the woman gave a curt nod and carried on walking.

After a few more demonstrations as a group, Madame B called them up one by one to display a set sequence of movements. Madame B wasn’t a very expressive woman, her facial expressions remained neutral throughout each performance, yet you could still distinguish the girls who impressed her and the ones who did not. Those who impressed her received a nod, those who didn’t received nothing. The few who really impressed were given a longer sequence of moves to recite.

Natasha expected to be one of the few to impress, what she didn’t expect was for Madame to continue shouting instructions for her. It started off simple, a pirouette here and an entrechat there, but then they became more complicated as Madame began calling out for Natasha to perform a grand jete and a tours en l'air. Natasha executed each move perfectly, ending the sequence back in 1st and remaining perfectly still. Madame said nothing, nor did she nod, simply called the next girl forward and Natasha returned to her position on the barre with the other girls.

She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. The girls who got no response at all seemed to display nothing special, not lacking in talent but lacking in finesse. Natasha had received no response but she refused to believe it was because of her performance.

When the last girl returned to the barre Madame B began to call individuals to come forward, the first few were given minor roles in the performance; trees and winds. The next batch received slightly bigger roles; mice and owls, bunnies and angels. The roles were dwindling fast and Natasha had still not been cast. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t starting to feel a little nervous, she couldn’t afford to not get a role, her scholarship was dependent on her participating in at least two university performances each year. But she didn’t let it show on her face, her face remained calm and neutral.

“Romanova!” It struck Natasha to hear the Russian pronunciation of her name, she hadn’t heard it since they left Russia all those years ago. Natasha ignored the reminder of her early years and stepped forward. Keeping her posture straight and her face neutral. “Clara.”

Natasha stopped herself from sighing in relief, she would celebrate later, for now, she simply nodded and returned to the barre, as expected of her. She could feel the eyes on her, the scowls of the girls who thought themselves better than her. That’s fine though, they’re allowed to think as they please, many girls in the past had thought themselves better than her but Natasha proved them wrong; she always proves them wrong.

She held her head high when the auditions were over, they may hate her but their hatred didn’t make them better than her and her performance proved that. She didn’t gloat though, nor did she celebrate in front of the other girls; Phil had always taught her to be humble. She’ll wait until she’s far enough before she calls Laura to celebrate.

She found a quiet spot near the soccer field where she could see Bucky and Steve practising for their try-outs. Laura will be at home and Clint should’ve finished work by now so she can call them.

She stared at the blank screen as she waited for Laura to pick up the call. It may have only been a few days since they dropped her off here but she’d more than missed the two of them. Clint used to always take her to rehearsals after Phil died and Laura made a point of attending every one of her performances.

Clint’s face filled the screen having answered the call on behalf of his wife and a smile instantly spread across Natasha’s face at the sight. “What, you miss us already?”

“Yeah right, I don’t think I’m ever coming back.” Natasha joked.

“Oh please” Laura appeared beside Clint; the screen filled with the two faces. “I’ll drag your ass back here myself if I have to!”

“I wouldn’t want to mess with her if I was you.” Clint gestured to his wife. “Pregnancy has made her scary.” He mock whispered, earning him a solid whack up the back of his head. “What’s up?”

“Just finished auditions for the Christmas performance.”

“How did it go?” They both asked at the same time.

Natasha shrugged, pretending as though it wasn’t a big deal. “Well, you know… I got the lead part.” Loud squeals came from her phone and she had to turn the volume down so the people a few rows over couldn’t hear. “Okay, okay, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not a big deal? Are you kidding me? This is a massive deal! Laura tell her this is a massive deal.”

“This is a huge deal baby, we’re so proud.” Natasha felt the content spread through her, Laura and Clint always acted like proud parents whenever she told them of her achievements. “When is it? Can you get us tickets?”

“To early to get tickets but I think it’s on the 15th of December.” Clint’s face dropped when she said the date. “What’s up?”

Clint ran a hand through his short blonde hair. “I was gonna make it a surprise but it looks like I’ve just fucked up instead.” Clint left the view of the screen, leaving Natasha and Laura to wonder what he was talking about. He returned holding two tickets. “I booked us a short trip. Thought it’d be nice to go away for a few days before Natasha comes back for Christmas. Figured it’d be a while before we get some time to go away just the two of us.”

Laura gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. But we can’t miss her performance.”

“I know, I’ll call up tomorrow and see if I can get a refund.”

“No. You two should go.” It hurts her to say it but she knew the two of them needed this. They’d been there for her since Phil passed and now that she’s gone they’ve only got a few months before the baby arrives and they’re back to taking care of someone else. “You guys have been to every one of my performances. You can miss this one.”

“Nah uh. Not happening.” Clint said firmly. “We’re gonna see you twirl around in the… What was it called?”

“The Nutcracker, dipshit.” Natasha rolled her eyes. She’s not sure why Clint bothered to turn up to her performances. He usually fell asleep in the first 15 minutes leaving Laura to wake him up at the end to clap in time. “Look, you two deserve to have some time away. I’m sure I can fill the seats with some friends.”

“Nope, I’m not having it. No way I’m not going to see my baby’s first University performance.” Natasha rolled her eyes again. Laura had referred to her as ‘her baby’ from the first few times they had met. Natasha had hated it at first, mistook it as a patronising term opposed to the endearment it was supposed to be. But after a while she had grown to appreciate the affection, after a lifetime of few people showing the level of care that Laura had shown her, it was quite nice to hear. “We’ll get an earlier flight back.”

“No. You guys are gonna go and enjoy your holiday. I’ll send your pictures to security and make sure they don’t let you in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, they’ll be other performances.” Natasha gave the couple a wide smile. “You’ll just have to make it up to me with an awesome Christmas present.”

“Okay, well make sure you go out and celebrate. You still got that flask I gave you?” Natasha dug into her gym bag to find the flask that she’d packed, she figured it would come in handy regardless of the result of today's audition. She held it up to the camera for Laura to see. “Atta girl!”

“Make sure you stay out of trouble,” Clint warned.

“When do I ever?” Natasha gathered up her things and started to leave the soccer field. It didn’t look like the boys were gonna be done anytime soon so she may as well head back to her room to wait them out. “I’ll call you guys soon.”

After several congratulations and goodbyes, Natasha ended the video call and began making her way back across the campus grounds. The boys might not be finished for a while but Maria should be done in an hour or so; some kind of boxercise training.

She was walking through the quad when she heard a familiar voice.

“You’re not gonna threaten to stab me again are you?” She turned around to see the shabby haired guy she was talking to the other night. “cause that’s not how I planned to spend my evening.”

“So you really are stalking me,” Natasha said as she joined Bruce by the fountain.

“Uh, I think you’ll find I was here first.”

“Well, I was minding my own business before you called me over here.” She countered.

“As was I” Bruce indicated towards the book he was reading; a worn copy of Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Dork. “If I recall correctly, it was your turn to bring the booze."

Natasha gave him a small smirk as she reached for the flask in her bag. “You’re in luck. We’re celebrating.” She uncapped the flask and took a long swig. She always had loved vodka, Clint said it was to do with her Russian blood. “And it’s good stuff too.” She handed the flask over to Bruce.

“It’s not roofied is it?” He joked as he took a swig, his reaction was exactly the same as with the bourbon, evidently not someone used to drinking alcohol without a mixer. “So what are we celebrating.”

“You’re looking at the new Clara in the University’s Christmas production of the Nutcracker.” The smugness that she couldn’t display earlier seeped through a little.

“Congratulations, I did not peg you as a ballerina.” Natasha raised a questioning eyebrow. “Aren’t ballerina’s supposed to be gentle, the first time we met you threatened me and told me that you know self-defence.”

“Well, Phil did want us to be well-rounded individuals.” Natasha stole back the flask and took another swig. “He gave us the option of what sports we wanted to do. Clint wanted to do archery and I wanted to do ballet. Phil made it happen.”

“He sounds like he was a great guy. What happened to him?” Natasha gave him a curious look; she’d never said he was dead. “You talk about him in the past tense.”

“He died five years ago. Was killed actually.” Her throat caught around the words, she rarely talked about Phil to anyone. She didn’t tell Matt until two years after meeting him and they were good friends by then, verging onto being more than friends. So she’s not entirely sure why she’s telling Bruce, this man that she’d only met once before. “Stabbed through the heart during an attempted robbery.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

“It was. You’d think I’d be used to that sort of thing by now but…”

“It never gets easier.” His voice mirrored the grief carried in her own. “My mom was murdered when I was 9. Thought death would be easy after that. But then my Aunt Susan passed.” A silence fell over them where the conversation had gone from humorous to depressing in a matter of minutes. She couldn’t seem to think of a way to move the conversation on to a more light-hearted topic, luckily for her, Bruce seemed slightly more socially adept than she is. “So I take it the other ballerinas weren’t too pleased about not landing the leading role. You might have to use that knife yet.”

Natasha gave a snort of laughter, slightly amazed by Bruce’s ability to lighten the mood so easily. “There will definitely be a few of them who are out for my blood.”

“So are you able to stand on your toes then?”

“It’s called en pointe.” Natasha rolled her eyes at him. “That’s sort of basic in ballet.”

“I think I’m gonna need a demonstration.” He said smugly as he took another swig of the vodka, his reactions less dramatic as he became accustomed to the strong liquid.

“I’ve got the leading role in a ballet production and you’re questioning my abilities?”

“What can I say, I’m a man of science.” He offered as his defence. “I need things to be proven before I can believe them.”

“Fine.” She stood tall and lifted herself en pointe. She shouldn’t do it without the proper footwear but she’d been doing it since she was a kid, trying to mimic the ballerinas she saw in the movies. “Satisfied?”

“Is that all I get?”

“Well, I’m not gonna start doing pirouettes in the middle of campus am I?”

“I guess I’ll just have to come to see the show then,” Bruce said matter-of-factly.

Natasha watched him smile smugly at her, a small smirk playing on her lips. The sound of her phone going off brought her focus back. She looked at the caller ID and groaned, this guy really wasn’t getting the message. She was going to have to spell it out for him.

“I should probably get this.” She ignored the slightly disappointed look on Bruce’s face. “Any advice on how to make a guy understand that you’re not interested?”

“With all of my experience?” Bruce joked. “Go easy on him. He’s probably gonna be heartbroken.”

Natasha gave him one last small smile before collecting her stuff and heading back towards her room. She dare not think about the implications of Bruce’s comment, or the look on his face when she left. Afterall, she had a heart to break.

Chapter Text

 “You have a formidable throw.” The ball had been kicked pretty far from the post and Thor had braced himself for the long jog to retrieve it. Yet he was saved the journey when the ball was returned to him when he was at least a good 60 yards away, and there was still a fair bit of heat in the throw as he caught the ball. “Exceptional accuracy too.”

 “There was a reason I was a Quarterback for my home team.” The woman said with a shrug. “Though I think your team may need a new kicker.”

Chapter Text

 3 years old

Natasha loves it when her mama tucks her in at night. Papa reads the stories better, especially when he does the different voices, but momma always sings a song and Natasha loves her mama’s singing the best.

 She could usually coax her mama into singing another song before she drifts off but tonight it doesn’t seem to work, even when Natasha pulls the sad face that never fails with her papa.

 "You need to sleep now, baby. We have a big day tomorrow.” Her mama said as she tucked her fluffy bunny under her arm.

"I don’t wanna go, mama.” Natasha hugged her bunny tighter. “Why can’t we stay here?”

 "Because your papa has a new job; a better job.” Her mama smoothed her red curly hair back away from her face using her thumb to wipe away one of the tears that had fallen down little Natasha’s cheek. “Our life will be better in America.”

Chapter Text

 “I dunno, I mean aren’t we a little old for the whole dress-up thing?” Bucky asked as he held a sausage skewered on a fork at the precipice of his mouth, his other arm draped across the back of her chair in a slightly possessive gesture. It was one of the few actions Maria allowed as she continued to draw out the parameters of their non-relationship relationship. “I haven’t worn a costume since like what, 6th grade.”

 “When you came to school dressed as a pirate?” Natasha teased.

Chapter Text

Steve awkwardly hung around outside Peggy’s apartment, hoping that she was still up for coming to Thor’s game. He’d completely forgotten to get her number and only told her that he’d pick her up outside her apartment at 2. So he’d gotten here 15 minutes early and eagerly waited, hoping that she’d remember and actually turn up.

He was put out of the misery of waiting when Peggy emerged from the foyer, a large smile on her face and looking just as breath-taking as he remembered.

“Hey, you remembered.” Steve began to go in for a hug but stopped halfway, remembering that he’d only just met this woman a few days ago and that a hug at this stage may not be entirely appropriate. Which was a fatal error as it meant he was now stood awkwardly close. He was luckily saved by Peggy meeting him halfway, giving him a one-armed hug and kiss on the cheek. Her lips her incredibly soft and he so desperately wanted to know what they’d feel like pressed against his own. He quickly drew himself away, worried that he may actually do something that he may wind up regretting. “I forgot to get your number and I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers for the future.”

Steve’s face lit up. That was practically confirmation that they would be meeting up again. Another occasion where he’d get to be around this amazing woman. When did his luck change so drastically?

“Yeah, definitely.” Steve fumbled around in his pocket and dug out his mobile, handing it over in exchange for hers so that he could put in his number. “Uh feel free to text me anytime.”

“I may just hold you to that one.” The smile Peggy offered him made his stomach flip. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I'd come representing the home country.” Peggy undid her jacket to reveal the white polo underneath, the rose emblem emblazoned just above her left breast. “It’s an England rugby shirt. You can’t brainwash me with your Americanised version of the sport.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve said through his laughter. They soon arrived at the football ground where a crowd of their friends where sat together – all minus Natasha and Bruce. “Hey guys, this is Peggy. Peggy, this is Maria and Bucky, and you’ve already met Tony.”

“I have indeed,” Peggy smirked as she waved a quick hello at the three of them.

“Glad to have some more female representation in our group,” Maria said, luckily distracting Peggy from Tony who had mouthed the word  nice  and gave him a waggle of his eyebrow.

“So how did you two meet?” Bucky asked quizzically.

“Tony introduced us actually.”

“Yeah, he was uh, playing his game of  have you met Steve? ” Steve awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Luckily this one didn’t wind up with either of us getting punched.” It’d almost happened at Thor’s first party when Steve first met Tony, and he was quickly learning that getting punched was a potential hazard when hanging out with Tony.

“Where’s Nat and Bruce.”

“They went to get drinks.” Well isn’t that interesting, once again the two of them were off together. Maybe he was inflating the situation, or maybe there was something there. “I can text Nat your order if you want something,” Bucky offered.

“Or you could have some scotch.” Tony manifested a flask from only God knows where and held it out to them.

“Nah I’m good.” He was definitely not up for embarrassing himself in front of Peggy by trying to drink alcohol straight. “I’ll just have a beer.”

“I’ll put in an order for a beer but I’ll definitely take up the offer of scotch,” Peggy said as she reached out for the flask, taking a swig of the liquor and not even flinching at the taste and man was that cool, Steve would’ve been sputtering all over the place. There was definitely no way he was having some now. Peggy let out a content hum of approval. “It’s hard to find good scotch in this country.”

“I get this stuff imported from the Scottish Lowlands.”

“That can’t be cheap!”

Tony shrugged. “Worth it.”

Steve was no longer surprised by Tony’s outlandish spending habits. He’d quickly learnt that the guy was filthy rich, but not because Tony was one to brag. Sure he liked to do things like import scotch from Scotland or buy the latest sports car but he was also incredibly charitable. Steve had quickly learnt that if you were ever down on your luck or in need, you didn’t even have to ask Tony, he probably already knew and was already signing a cheque book to sort it out. Not that Steve would ever want to take advantage of that. It was just nice to see. Tony had expensive taste but he also liked to know that his friends were alright, which was a rare trait to find in people, let alone incredibly rich people.

Natasha and Bruce arrived a few minutes before the game got started, carrying several bottles of beer for each of them, deciding that it was best to stock up than to keep having to go back and forth.

“Those two make an adorable couple.” Peggy whispered two him.

Steve looked over in the direction Peggy was looking in, noticing Natasha with her elbow propped on Bruce’s shoulder, speaking closely into his ear. “They’re not a couple.”

Though he had to admit, she wasn’t wrong.

“Oh. Well, he wants them to be.”

“What makes you say that?” Steve had thought that Bruce may have had feelings for Natasha but he wasn’t so sure. But to hear someone else thought the same thing made him think that maybe he was right.

“You can see it in the way he looks at her.” He could see the smile playing at the corner of Bruce’s lips as Natasha explained some aspect of the game to Bruce, as he’d also been doing for Peggy.

“D’you think she’s into him?”

“I’m not too sure about that one. She seems like a hard nut to crack.”

“That’s a massive understatement.” Getting blood from a stone would be easier than getting Natasha to open up. But that wasn’t gonna stop him from trying.

“Right, so explain to me what’s going on here,” Peggy demanded, referring back to the game.

The crowd had erupted in cheers as Thor began to run with the ball toward the endzone. “Thor’s gonna try take the ball to the end for six points. If he can pull this off then that’s another six points for us. Not to mention it’ll be pretty impressive.” Sure enough, Thor managed to make it to the endzone, twisting and turning to avoid being tackled and bringing the ball safely into the endzone. “Surely this isn’t that different from rugby.” Steve had a quick google of the sport last night and the rules seemed pretty similar to him.

“It’s not entirely different,” Peggy admitted. “But there’s much more contact and our players don’t bother with so much extra padding and protection.”

“Jheeze. The English sound tough!”

“We are.” She stated proudly. “Except for the football players. Or soccer, whatever you Americans call the sport. Those boys will go down for anything.”

“Oh, now that’s just plain offensive,” Steve said, pretending to be genuinely hurt by her words. She wasn’t wrong about that; he’d seen guys roll on the floor for the smallest tap on their ankle. Sometimes it was downright embarrassing. “I’ll have you know I play soccer and I rarely go down for anything.”

“Well yes but that’s because you’re a noble man, Steve.” Steve couldn’t help but blush a little. “Not to mention you’re built like a tank.” Peggy softly punched his arm for emphasis. “Not much could take you down.”

“I’d like to think we play more of an honest game than what you’re used to over in England.”

“I’d have to see that to believe it.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to come down to catch one of our games.”

“Well you have my number,” Steve’s stomach flipped again as Peggy gave him another soft smile. “You’ll have to text me the details.”

“I will.” Steve couldn’t help smiling back. He couldn’t help but do nothing but smile whenever Peggy was around.

“What the hell are they stopping for now?” Peggy yelled as she turned her attention back to the game and Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. Yeah, he’d definitely be texting her some time. 

Steve liked Bruce. He was one of the quiet types but once you got to know him, he could be very confident and funny. He just didn’t seem that good around large groups of people, particularly people he didn’t know too well. Maybe that was why Steve had taken to him, because he reminded him so much of himself.

Perhaps another reason was because of something else Steve recognised they had in common- the fact that they were both head over heels with someone they thought they’d never get to be with.

He’d noticed the way he looked at her, with pure awe and adoration. And he’d definitely noticed how deflated he looked when he found out she had hooked up with Sam at the Halloween party. He’d also noticed the way Natasha seemed far happier whenever she was around him; though he couldn’t tell if it was because the redhead had feelings for Bruce. Deciphering that woman’s true feelings was a task he knew he wasn’t skilled enough to complete.

But Natasha had become one of his closest friends over the past few months and so if Bruce made her truly happy then the least he could do was try to facilitate that. Maybe not set them up completely, Lord knows he certainly didn’t have the level of skill (or experience) to do that. But he could at least encourage the scientist to take a step forward and make his feelings known.

He seized his opportunity when Bruce went off to the bathroom, using the same excuse to follow the scientist away from the group.

“You know Bruce, we have a lot in common.” He said as the two of them exited the bathroom.

“Oh yeah, how so?” Bruce asked quizzically.

“Well for one, we both don’t do so well around crowds.”

Bruce let out a chuckle. “Doesn’t take a genius to see that I’m more than a little socially awkward.”

“We both seem to do fine once we get to know people and in smaller groups.” Steve shrugged and dug his hands deep into his pockets. “but I guess large crowds provide too many people that might notice us.” His reason for not wanting to be noticed may be completely different from Steve’s own but they both understand the desire to not want to be under the spotlight. “But there’s another major thing we both have in common…” Bruce’s brow scrunched in confusion. “we both know what it’s like to have feelings for someone we think is completely unobtainable.”

“What. I, I don’t know what-“

“I’ve seen the way you look at Natasha.” Bruce began to spout a denial but Steve raised his hand to stop him. “You’re subtle, but it’s a look I’m pretty familiar with so I can kinda tell.”

Bruce stopped a few rows from the one their friends were sat in, far enough that they were still out of earshot but close enough that they could clearly see their group. And the redhead that was the topic of their conversation.

“D’you think she knows?”

“No. Well, I think she might do deep down. Not much gets passed that one.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Bruce let out a small laugh.

“I think you two would be good for each other.”

Bruce shrugged. “What does it matter? Natasha’d never be interested in a guy like me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Bruce's face turned bitter. “You’ve seen the guys she hooks up with. They’ve all been chiselled to perfection. D’you really think I can compete with that?”

“Admittedly you’re not physically the type of guy she’s gone for in the past.” Bruce’s shoulders slumped down in defeat making Steve feel bad for affirming his self-conscious opinion. “but how many of those guys has she seen more than once.”

“Sam.”

“Doesn’t count. He never left.” And thanks to that Maria never left his room, which meant he was stuck crashing in Tony’s room for the past few days. Good thing that guy had a couch in there. “And those are never the kind of guys she’d have a relationship with.”

“That’s because she doesn’t want a relationship. She told me that herself.” Bruce looked down at his shoes for a long time, and when he finally looked back up at Steve he could see the look of helplessness in the other man's eyes. “and I don’t think I could handle being just another one-night stand.”

“Look, Bruce,” Steve placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe she’s not looking for a relationship. But she’s definitely looking for something and I’m not saying it’s you. But I think you might be able to bring her closer to whatever that is. And to be honest, what have you got to lose?”

“The friendship that I have with her, which may be the closest that I ever get to what I want. You apparently know what I’m going through. You must be able to understand that.”

Steve looked over to their group where he could just about see Bucky laughing and joking with Maria and Tony. He could also see Peggy, the woman that had brought him so much confliction over the past few days. Yeah, he really did understand that part.

“I do. And I also know that you’ll hate yourself if you don’t try.”

“And risk coming off as the creepy older guy who can’t have a friendship with a woman without wanting to turn it into something more?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders and offered Bruce a sympathetic smile. “That part I can’t relate to I’m afraid.” Bruce gave him a small smile in return. “But I’m just thinking about my friend and I like to see her happy. And you make her happy Bruce, she’d said as much herself.”

Bruce’s face instantly lit up. “She did?”

“She did.” Steve nodded, thinking back to the conversation he’d had with Natasha whilst the others were playing football. “I don’t know about either of your pasts but she said you guys have a lot in common. She also said you make her laugh and I haven’t seen her laugh as much as when she’s with you.”

“So what, you think I should ask her out or something?”

Steve shrugged and figured the best advice he could give was the very advice Natasha gave to him. “You’ve got two options. You either subtly ask her out and hope she says yes  or  kiss her and hope she doesn’t punch you for it. But be warned, she’s a fighter so if she isn’t into it then she probably will punch you.”

“She’s definitely a fighter,” Bruce said with a chuckle. “So what about you then? You gonna heed your own advice?”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “That one’s a little more complicated.” And boy was that an understatement.

After finding out that Bucky maybe wasn’t as far out of his league as he thought, he was even more confused about what he should do. He could ask Peggy out, and he’s pretty sure that he wants to, but what if that ruins his chances with Bucky? Complicated didn’t even begin to cover the situation he was in. 

~*~

 “There she is!” Bucky yelled as he and Maria approached her. “Look what the cat finally dragged in.”

“Fuck off Bucky! It’s not my fault you two were hauled up in your room all weekend.”

“Says the one who was hauled up with Sam all weekend” Maria retorted.

She hadn’t planned on it but Sam had wound up staying in her room the night of the party, and the next night after that, only leaving around midday on Sunday when Natasha finally decided that she needed some space and actual sleep, and he needed a change of clothes. Not to mention Sam had long overstayed his welcome. Don’t get her wrong, the sex was great. Actually great was an understatement, it was easily the best sex she’d had in her very short life. But Sam was becoming a bit too familiar in her presence and she didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. She had no intention of their time together extending beyond a few hours but it definitely would not be extending beyond the past few days.

“Whatever. Where’s Steve?” Natasha asked, noticing that the tall blonde wasn’t with them. Not entirely surprising given that he probably hadn’t been able to enter his own room given that Bucky and Maria had been occupying it. And that was only because she and Sam had been occupying her room, resulting in Maria having to find somewhere else to spend the weekend.

“He’s gonna meet us there. Said he’s meeting someone.” Natasha raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Dunno who, but they’re coming to the game. Nice hickey by the way.” Bucky reached over to pull back the part of her sweater that she thought had been doing well to hide most of the bruise. “A parting gift from Sam I take it?” Natasha rolled her eyes and batted his hand away.

“So you gonna tell us about it or what?”

“It was a good lay, what more can I tell you?”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it. You two were hauled up for like almost 60 hours, we’re gonna need details.” Oh, boy was Bucky gonna regret that statement.

Natasha gave him a challenging smirk but Bucky didn’t seem to be backing down. “Fine, it was the best sex of my life and I came like a train. Does that satisfy you?”

“Ew, no I did not need to know that!” Bucky said over Maria’s: “It clearly satisfied you.” jab.

“You asked for detail.”

“Hey, what’re you guys talking about?” Bruce asked as he and Tony came to join them.

“We’re teasing Nat about her hook up with Sam,” Maria informed them, much to Natasha’s dismay. She definitely didn’t need Tony joining in on the teasing.

“The guy she hooked up with at the Halloween party,” Bucky explained to both Bruce and Tony’s confused looks. “And then spent the entire weekend with.”

Tony got an excited look on his face whilst Bruce looked more hurt if anything, though she couldn’t be sure as to why.

“Please tell me there’s a video!” Tony squealed. “Or pictures. My imagination is doing great things but I want more.” Bruce gave Tony a whack on the arm to warn him to knock it off. “What? Don’t get jealous just because everyone here spent the weekend getting laid whilst you spent the weekend in the lab.” Bruce gave Tony a thoroughly pissed off look but he didn’t seem to care much. “Brucie here just gets jealous when he hears about other people having sex.”

“For Christ’s sake, no I don’t Tony.”

“Drinks, we could use some drinks,” Natasha said, sensing an opportunity to get her and Bruce out of this teasing frenzy. “Bruce, should we go and get some drinks?”

“Oh god, yes please,” Bruce said dramatically, evidently as eager as she was to get out of there.

After taking everyone’s drink orders, which mostly consisted of beer apart from Tony who requested scotch- predictably starting a debate between him and Bruce about the chances of the  beer  stand selling scotch- Bruce and Natasha headed towards the stand and away from the running commentary of teasing that was coming from their friends.

“It’s funny that. You’re getting teased because you didn’t get laid and I’m getting teased because I did.”

“It’s almost like they’ll tease us no matter what happens.” Bruce joked. “Why are we friends with them?”

Natasha shrugged. “I’ve known Bucky since I was a kid and Maria’s my roommate. The real question is why are you friends with Tony Stark?”

Seriously, that friendship just didn’t add up in her book. Tony was out there and all in your face with his fast quips and sexual jokes, whilst Bruce was calm and caring, his humour a mix of self-deprecation, dark cynicism and sarcasm. They were definitely the weirdest pairing she’d ever come across.

Bruce tugged at the hairs at his nape. “He’s been the one stable character in my life for the past six years.”

Natasha couldn’t help the pang of pity she felt for Bruce just then, which she instantly chided herself for. She hated it when people pitied her for her upbringing but she couldn’t help it, because no matter how crappy her family history was, she still had Clint and Laura. Bruce on the other hand, as far as she knew, had no one. She knew his mum died when he was just a kid and given that he doesn’t talk about his dad it was pretty clear he wasn’t in the picture, which just left his Aunt Susan- the lady who had raised him since he was a child and passed away over the summer. Bruce was officially without any living family and all he had was those he chose to call family, currently only consisting of Tony.

“Well, you’ve got us now.” She smiled at Bruce as he gave a confused look. “We’ve got four years here and I don’t intend on going anywhere.” A warm sensation settled in the pit of her stomach when a small smile flittered across Bruce’s lips. “The others might be teasing pricks but I think I’m pretty great.”

“You are,” Bruce said in a voice that was barely there, assumingly unintentionally as he immediately skipped over his comment. “So Sam...” Natasha let a loud groan, she expected teasing from the others but not from him. Bruce held his hands up in a show of peace. “You don’t have to answer any questions about him if you don’t want to.”

“Tell that to the others.”

“I’m sure they mean well.” Natasha gave him a blank stare. “Okay maybe your friends do, Tony’s just seeing how many inappropriate jokes he can make before you punch him.” Natasha let out a small chuckle. Tony was definitely edging close to that moment. “I, well, it’s just. I mean, I don’t know the guy or anything. But I wouldn’t think you’d spend a whole weekend with someone that you didn’t want to pursue anything with.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and let out another groan. “Why is everyone trying to force me into a relationship with Sam?”

“That wasn’t my intention.” Bruce quickly defended. “We can uh, we can drop it.”

“I know.” Natasha sighed and ran a hand through her short red curls. “It’s just since the start of colleague Bucky has been pestering me about getting into a relationship or something. And I know he’s just making fun or whatever but…”

“But you don’t want that?”

Natasha shook her head. “I don’t know what I want. I just know that I don’t want to go through what I went through with Matt again.” As much as she likes to pretend that she’s tough and made of ice, those wounds were still fresh and she was pretty certain she’d be bearing the scars of Matt for a long time coming.

“For what it’s worth, I meant it when I said that guy was an idiot.” Natasha began to give him one of her practised smiles but gave up halfway. Bruce was able to see through those so where was the point in even trying. “Any guy would be lucky.”

“He clearly didn’t think so.” This conversation was getting a little too heavy for her likings, as conversations with Bruce often seemed to do. She rarely opened up to anyone and yet with Bruce it seemed all her innermost thoughts would just spill out of her and before she knows it she’s told him things she’s never told anyone before. She definitely needed the spotlight off of her. “What about you, you telling me that even with all the help from Tony Stark that you haven’t managed to find you a nice girl to read  The Theory of Everything  with?”

“One- I think Tony may actually be a deterrent if anything.”

“I’ll say.”

“Two- you do realise us nerds have sex the same way you cool kids do right.” Natasha let out a snort of laughter, a sound Bruce seemed to be able to draw out of her so easily. “To be honest, there is someone I’m starting to get feelings for but I think it would just make things too awkward.”

“You should go for it!” Natasha noted the slight hypocrisy in her statement and amended, “If you’re really into her that is, or him.” She added with a shrug. “it’s always worth a shot.”

“Her. I dunno. I mean I’d like to think we’re really good friends and I don’t really want to ruin that.”

Natasha tried to think who it might be, and the only name that seemed to pop up in her head was Jane. Bruce mentioned that he met Thor through Jane when he was tutoring her for one of her physics classes. It would totally make sense if Bruce had developed feelings for her but didn’t act on them because of his friendship with Thor. But she distinctly remembers seeing Thor and Jane in a pretty heated argument at the Halloween party so maybe that was Bruce’s chance. His way in, so to speak.

“You might as well ask her out. You’ll never know what will happen if you don’t give it a try.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.” 

“You not playing either?” Natasha asked as she sat next to Steve.

“Nah, big game next week. Cant really risk getting injured. You?”

“Same. Madame B would kill me if I broke my leg a few weeks before the performance.”

Thor had joined them after the game, high off of victory and eager to celebrate his win, and after finding out that neither Bruce nor Peggy knew the basic rules of football, he was insistent that they take to the field and give the game a go. Natasha would usually be up for that sort of thing but given that the Christmas performance was only a few weeks away, she couldn’t risk sustaining any kind of injury, so she was forced to watch from the side-lines with Steve.

Not that they had the worse end of the deal. Steve was pretty good company and they had the stash of beer with them, as well as Tony’s scotch (turns out that guy never goes anywhere without a flask of the stuff). As they sat there watching their friends try their hands at the sport- some proving to be better than others- Natasha tracked Steve’s eyes as they seemed to be fixated on the latest addition to their gang.

“You like her don’t you?” As expected, Steve went bright red from her question and attempted to sputter around a denial. “It’s okay to like her  and  like Bucky you know.”

“Who said I…” Steve shook his head and let out a small laugh. “It is impossible to hide anything from you; isn’t it.”

“Pretty much.” Natasha shrugged. “So I was right wasn’t I. You do like her.” She nodded over towards where the others were playing on the fields, specifically at Steve’s new friend Peggy.

Steve ran a hand through his short blond hair. “I don’t know. I mean I think I do. But I didn’t really think that I was into women all that much.”

“You might not be.” Steve gave her a confused look. “It might just be  her . Does it even matter to you that she’s a woman?” Steve gave her a helpless shrug causing Natasha to sigh deeply, as much as she loved Steve’s innocence and naiveite this kid really didn’t know anything about much. “Does part of your attraction to her include the fact that you like her breasts or are those just two sacks of irrelevance?”

Steve’s face switched to a darker shade of red. “God, you’re intent on embarrassing me aren’t you?”

“We’re two grown adults Steve. We can talk about boobs and not get embarrassed by it.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “My point is, is part of your attraction to Peggy because she’s a woman and has things like breasts that you find attractive, or is her gender and thus breasts irrelevant to you?”

“I dunno. I mean I guess they’re nice but I wouldn’t say they have anything to do with why I like her.”

“Okay.” Finally, they were starting to get somewhere. They might not be able to get to the bottom of Steve’s feelings today but at the very least they could get him to a stage where he was no longer embarrassed to talk about sex and attraction. “And same for Bucky. Do you like him because he’s a guy or is that just secondary?”

“I think it’s secondary.”

“Well then maybe you’re attracted to people regardless of gender,” Natasha said with a shrug. “Maybe you’re pansexual.”

“Maybe.” Steve nodded along in thought. “But I don’t really wanna go putting a label on it. I mean, who’s to say this isn’t just me overinflating a minor attraction that I have to someone because I know the guy I’m really crazy about won't ever be interested in me in the same way?”

Man, this guy was complicated. For someone who portrayed the image of having everything all put together, there really was a lot going on in Steve’s head. “Do you really think that’s what’s going on here?” Steve shook his head. “Do you like her the same way you like Bucky?” He nodded. “Well, then I don’t think you’re overinflating anything. And what makes you think he wouldn’t be interested?”

“The fact that he’s fucking Maria and any other girl he can with any chance he gets. The fact that he’s not even gay. The fact that-"

“Whoah whoah whoah, slow down there. You know Bucky’s bi right?” Steve jerked his head back, shocked by the revelation. Which was pretty surprising to her, Bucky had never hidden his sexuality from anyone. Though he also never felt the need to explicitly tell anyone either. She’d only found out he was bisexual because one day in 8th grade he’d told her that he’d kissed Nora Casey under the oak tree only to tell her, just as casually, that he’d kissed Christoph Hendry the next day. “You really are young and naïve. Also, I wouldn’t completely write him off as someone who wouldn’t be interested in you.” In truth, she suspected Bucky to have a slight crush on his roommate that he just wasn’t entirely aware of himself. He was always flirting with the tall blond and would always be giving him a string of compliments beyond what was normal behaviour for Bucky. But he’d been so caught up in the idea of not wanting to make Steve feel uncomfortable as he discovered his own sexuality that he’d blinded himself to his own feelings. Or at least that was her working theory. “But until such a time comes, if you have feelings for Peggy you might as well take the shot.”

“What do I even say to her?”

Natasha shrugged. “You’ve got two options. You either subtly ask her out and hope she says yes  or  kiss her and hope she doesn’t punch you for it. But be warned, she looks like a fighter so if she isn’t into it then she probably will punch you.”

Steve nodded “I guess if it goes wrong I can also ways just blame you.” They both let out a short laugh. “Speaking of you.” Natasha groaned, readying herself for another round of mocking about her weekend activities. “You gonna tell me what’s going on with you and Bruce?”

“What?” well she really hadn’t been expecting that. “No, where’s Sam? How was sex with Sam? When are you and Sam tying the knot?”

“Oh please. Everyone knows you and Sam would never work.” That was definitely true. “But I’ve seen you and Bruce together.” Natasha’s brows scrunched in confusion. “The other night after you left the party. I saw you and Bruce sat at the fountain whilst you were supposed to be off with Sam. You looked happy Nat, like genuinely happy.”

“Okay for the record I was with Sam and did go back to Sam. And also nothing is going on between me and Bruce. We’re just good friends.” Steve gave her a hard stare. “He makes me laugh and we have a lot in common. What more do you want me to tell you?” Seriously, Bruce was great and all but they were just good friends and nothing more. “Is a girl not allowed to have male friends that she doesn’t want to sleep with?”

“Yeah, for sure. Only you don’t have male friends of that kind.”

“You, Bucky,” Natasha counted on each finger. “Tony, Thor.”

“Okay we both know Bucky and I don’t count as that kind of male friend. And would you even count Tony as a friend?” He had a point there. Tony was more like that annoying kid in class that you’d hate to be paired with in science class but occasionally says a funny joke that you begrudgingly laugh at. “And are you telling me that you  don’t  want to sleep with Thor?” Natasha thought about it for a moment. “If the offer was on the table to have sex with Thor, would you turn it down?”

“Okay point proven. But that doesn’t mean anything is going on between me and Bruce.” When she looked at Bruce all she saw was a friend, not someone who’s bones she immediately wanted to jump. Not that he wasn’t a good-looking guy. Perhaps not in the same way that someone like Steve or Thor were so glaringly attractive, but Bruce’s attractiveness was much more subtle, something that could easily be looked over but when it was noticed it became much more obvious, particularly as you got to know the man himself. The sweet and gentle geek content with the simple things in life. But just because she could appreciate his physical beauty as well as his inner beauty, didn’t mean she wanted to sleep with him or anything like that. “But if I did have feelings for him then I wouldn’t sit on them, I would tell him.”

Steve laughed one of his full belly laughs. “Maybe you would. But I’m pretty certain he has feelings for you.”

“What?” Natasha looked at Steve and then looked toward the field where Bruce was passing the ball between himself, Thor and Tony. He turned to look towards the two of them and gave her a dopey grin along with a wave. Natasha tentatively waved back, something warm settling in her stomach as she watched him interact with her friends. Tony, obviously not noticing that his friend wasn’t paying attention, threw the ball his way anyway and hit Bruce square in the head, knocking him to the ground. Natasha’s breath caught momentarily but she was put at ease when Bruce hopped back up and gave her a thumbs-up before finally turning back to continue with his less than impressive throws. She had to stop herself from laughing at his less than stellar athletic capabilities. She couldn’t deny that he made her happy. He was incredibly funny and was one of the few people that could actually understand her. She just didn’t think she saw him in that way. But apparently, he saw her in that way. “What makes you say that?”

Steve shrugged. “Call it a hunch.” Shit, and she’d just gone and told him that he should take his shot with the woman he had feelings for. She may be starting to regret all the love advice she’s dished out today. “I’m not trying to push you into anything, if you don’t have feelings for him then that’s fair enough. I just think the two of you would be good for each other that’s all. I don’t really know Bruce that well, hell, I don’t even know you that well-”

“No, you don’t.”

Steve frowned at her, making her regret her harsh tone. “Look, you can forget I said anything. As we can tell I obviously know next to nothing about dating and relationships and what not... but it’s something to think about.”

Now wasn’t that an understatement. She’s gonna have to think about just how she was going to let Bruce down without breaking his heart after she was the one who unknowingly told him to ask her out. That was gonna suck. 

~*~

“You don’t even like football!” Tony stated, and he wasn’t wrong. Bruce not only despised the sport, but he also didn’t know the first thing about it. The points system didn’t make sense, the constant stop/start was disruptive and the tackling was brutish. But Natasha had invited him along with the promise that they would get to hang out and he would be damned if he was gonna miss that opportunity.

“Look do you wanna come or not?”

“Is Maria gonna be there?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, if there was any doubt that Tony only had one thing on his mind at all times, it was just erased. “You know she’s not gonna sleep with you right?”

“That’s what you think my friend.” Tony snagged his jacket from his closest and headed for the door.

Bruce couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to this game. Maybe not the football side of things, but the promise of time with Natasha had him counting down the days to this afternoon.

Though hearing about the time she’d spent with that Sam guy over the weekend left him feeling more than a little deflated. And then her encouragement to ask out the woman he liked, whilst unknowingly encouraging him to ask her out- well that just left him more than a little confused. He was sure she wouldn’t have said that if she knew she was talking about herself.

Bruce decided to shrug off all of those thoughts and focus on just getting to spend time with the redhead.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Thor caught the ball at the end of the pitch and Bruce would be lying if he said he had any idea of what was going on right now.

Natasha could evidently see the confusion on his face. She propped an elbow on his shoulder and leaned in close and it took all that Bruce had not to breathe in the scent of her perfume. God, she smelt amazing. “Everyone’s cheering because Thor caught the ball in the endzone,” Natasha explained. “That’s six points for us, taking us clear into the lead by 18 points.”

“Technically that’s not a ball,” Bruce smirked at her as she rolled her eyes. “A ball is either spherical or egg-shaped. That’s an oval.”

“And technically, you’re a dork.” A few more minutes went by of repetitive play. One team would run the ball to one end of the field, the other team would try to tackle them to the ground and do the same. God this was such a boring sport! How did people enjoy this? At one point the losing team (they had some kind of ridiculous name that Bruce didn’t care to remember) set the ‘ball’ down and one guy got ready to kick it, confusing Bruce further about the rules of this game. He was saved having to ask Natasha when she pre-emptively explained, “They’re gonna attempt for a field goal. They’re trying to claw back some points but it’s no use, I’ve seen their kicker, he’ll put it wide by about 10 yards or so.”

“Wanna bet?” Tony asked as he turned to face the two of them.

“Put your money where your mouth is, rich boy.”

“A drink of your choosing. Top shelf liquor included.”

“Done.” Natasha stretched out her hand to seal the deal with a shake.

Sure enough, Natasha was right and the kicker put it wide of roughly 11 yards. Natasha simply smirked at Tony, raising a singular eyebrow to celebrate her small victory. But the smirk Tony gave in response filled Bruce’s stomach with dread. He’d seen that smirk several times over.

“Fine. You, me, tomorrow evening. I’ll buy you all the top-shelf liquor you can handle.” Tony said with a waggle of his eyebrow. Bruce wasn’t sure how much more he could take of Tony flirting with Natasha. He knew his friend had a certain appeal, and the thought of Natasha actually going with it made his stomach turn. But her next words brought him some kind of relief.

“Urgh, dream on Stark. Anywhere I go with you would have to be during daylight hours and at least have Bruce there.” That definitely put a smile on his face. At least that was one less person Bruce had to worry about Natasha sleeping with.

“That’s no way to treat the guy helping you pass Dr Pym’s class.”

“You don’t think I could pass that class without you?” Natasha challenged.

“I don’t think you’d even turn up to that class if you didn’t have me there.”

“Tony’s got a point.” Bruce chimed in. “Him being there was the only reason I ever turned up to that class.”

Natasha shrugged, offered some kind of grunt in agreement and drew her attention back to the game where Thor was yelling a sequence of numbers that just made no sense to him. Though as Natasha explained, he was apparently calling out a play that the rest of his team were to follow.

Eventually, though apparently unsurprisingly as the team they were playing were known for having not won a single game in the entire football season so far, Thor’s team won by more than 20 points. A victory that apparently required much celebration according to Thor.

He’d come over to join their little group after he had changed, bringing with him Jane, Darcy and even his brother Loki. Which was a massive surprise because all he knew about Loki was that the guy was pretty much goth and didn’t leave his room except for when he had class. Though according to Jane, she and Thor had plotted to set Loki up with Darcy at the Halloween party and it had evidently gone pretty well. That was a pretty interesting pairing if you’d ask him. Darcy was much more outgoing than Loki and very bubbly. Though he figured the whole yin and yang thing must be true.

After finding out that neither he or Steve’s friend Peggy knew the slightest thing about football, Thor had insisted that they all take to the field and learn some of the basics of the sport, much to Bruce’s dismay. He didn’t have a single athletic bone in his body and he really wasn’t looking forward to Natasha seeing that.

“Go on, you should go join them.” Natasha encouraged with a nudge of his shoulder.

“I think I’m gonna save us all the embarrassment and say no.”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad.”

“No actually, I’m worse,” Bruce said with a chuckle, though he wasn’t exactly exaggerating.

“Have you ever tried to play football?” Natasha asked and he knew from the look on her face that no matter his answer, he was gonna find himself on that football field. Bruce tentatively shook his head. “Well, then how do you know that you’re bad at this?”

“I can draw a reasonable hypothesis based on previous data.” Bruce retorted; his fate might’ve been sealed but he wasn’t gonna go down without a fight.

“But you’ve never tried to play football. So your past data could be useless and your hypothesis null until you actually give it a go.” Bruce opened his mouth for another retort.

“Face it, Banner, you’re butt is winding up on that field whether you like it or not.” Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a sly smirk, one that he found incredibly sexy and couldn’t help but match.

“Fine, but only if you come.”

“No can do Banner. I may be strong, but if I get tackled by one of you guys and wind up breaking my leg Madame B will kill me.”

“Ah right, the Nutcracker. Already got my ticket for that.” Natasha laughed, evidently thinking he was joking, but little did she know he’d brought his ticket the moment they went on sale two weeks ago.

“Whatever dork. Go and show off that impressive throw of yours.”

“Less than impressive.”

Bruce made his way down to the field, joining Thor and Tony in their little game of catch and throw. This he could handle, though his throws lacked the power required to reach them, forcing them to close the circle a bit more. He just hoped Natasha wasn’t watching. Lucky for him, she was engrossed in conversation with Steve.

“Bruce, I’m sorry I didn’t get to see much of you at the Halloween party.” Thor apologised. “I’m afraid I had some personal matters to attend to.” Well, that was an understatement. Bruce had heard about him and Jane’s argument and the subsequent makeup from the other party-goers.

“That’s alright. It was a good party.” Bruce caught the ball Tony threw his way and he’d wished that Natasha had seen that one. That ball was coming in quite fast.

“There were plenty of beautiful women there. Did you get the opportunity to talk to any of them?”

“Are you kidding?” Tony asked incredulously. “I introduced him to pretty much every chick there!”

Yeah, but the one woman he did want to speak to had already left. “They weren’t really my type.”

“Perhaps you should consider someone in our friendship group?” Thor suggested and Bruce nearly choked on his own breath. “Both Maria and Natasha are incredibly beautiful and single as far as my knowledge tells me.”

“Beautiful doesn’t even cut it!” Tony exclaimed and he wasn’t wrong there. Natasha was breathtaking. “Those are easily two of the hottest women I’ve ever met.”

“Tony, perhaps you shouldn’t objectify our friends so much.” Bruce was glad Thor had stepped in to say something because he was pretty sure his head would explode if he heard Tony make another crude remark about Natasha.

“I think that’ll be a little weird.” Bruce turned to look back at where Natasha and Steve were sitting, having what looked to be a rather unpleasant conversation. He smiled and waved when Natasha looked over, leaving him unaware of the ball that Tony had just thrown his way which consequently hit him right in the head.

“Shit! Sorry, bro.” Tony said as Bruce got himself up and dusted himself off. He sent a quick thumbs up to Natasha and Steve before throwing the ball back to Tony. “I know Red’s hotness is distracting but you gotta stay focused.” Bruce glared at Tony, and his best friend held his hands up in surrender. “Last one, I swear.” 

Chapter Text

“Again!” Madame yelled as she smacked her stick on the floor. 

Natasha sighed internally but didn’t dare let it show. They had been running over this sequence for the entirety of the rehearsal. Madame insisting that they do it over and over until she was satisfied. 

She could handle the intensive rehearsals, had been pushing her body to the limits for years now, but the others were evidently growing weary. And that weariness was beginning to affect their performance. Not ideal for the night before the recital. 

Natasha returned to her starting position, standing in first as she waited for the music to start. 

It was when one of the mice tripped and fell that she finally decided to call it. 

“That’s enough!” The room fell silent. All eyes on Madame wanting to see how she’d react to the sudden outburst. No one had dared disobey Madame – and the look on Madame’s face certainly confirmed that. “It’s enough,” Natasha said more calmly, standing her ground but trying to reflect the respect she holds for the older woman. 

Madame remained quiet for a few beats, staring into Natasha’s eyes – though it very much felt like her soul. Finally, she turned to the rest of the room, “Leave us.” Natasha took a few moments to still her now racing heart, not daring to move a muscle. She could very well have thrown away her scholarship all thanks to one little outburst. Once the last girl had left the room, Madame finally spoke. “You think me too harsh.” 

Natasha shook her head slightly. “You’ll break them.” 

“Only the breakable ones.” That had already been true for some of the girls. Madame’s rehearsals had been brutal from day one. Some girls hadn’t returned after that first rehearsal. One girl had run out halfway through a rehearsal in a fit of tears after having a thoroughly brutal assessment from Madame. The truly breakable ones had already been broken in Natasha’s eyes, but that didn’t mean those who remained were not at risk. “I need them to be perfect. Like marble” 

“They will be.” 

“I need you to be perfect, Natashenka.” 

“I will be.” 

Madame eyed her for a moment before nodding towards the door for Natasha leave. 

She let out a slight sigh as she exited the studio. Perfect was certainly what she was going to be. She wouldn’t let herself be anything less that was for sure. 

“I’m just saying, Steve has been spending a lot of time with her and we barely even know her.” 

“Bucky, Steve is allowed to hang out with other people. And he doesn’t have to tell us about it.” 

“Is he bitching about Peggy again?” Natasha asked as she entered her room just in time to hear Bucky moaning about Steve’s friendship with Peggy… Again. “You do realise this is exactly what you did right?” 

“Yeah, but Maria and I are sleeping together. Steve and Peggy are just friends.” Bucky defended. 

“Are you sure about that?” 

Bucky gave Maria a pointed look. “Of course I’m sure. Steve would’ve told me.” 

“You really think your crush would tell his former crush that he’s sleeping with his new crush?” Natasha asked teasingly. She and Maria had been making jokes about Bucky having feelings for Steve ever since Bucky’s constant bitching started a few weeks ago. 

“For fuck sake, I do not have a crush on Steve!” 

“Aww, beau. You know I don’t mind.” Maria rubbed Bucky’s back in support. “Steve’s cute. I’d be down for him joining us.” 

Natasha let out a snort of laughter, much to Bucky’s dismay. 

“If you two are just gonna tease me all night can we at least do it over a beer?” 

After a promise that they would stop teasing, Bucky brought a few rounds and the beer was definitely helping Natasha to take her mind off of the performance. Bucky could probably see that there was something on her mind, but he knew better than to pry straight away. 

He waited until Maria went up for her round on the pool table before he attempted to find out what was bugging her. 

“So, are we gonna sit here in silence whilst your brain ticks at a thousand thoughts per second, or are you gonna tell me what’s up ?” 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Natasha’s mouth before quickly deflating. “I’m just thinking about this performance.” 

“Really? That’s it?” Bucky asked in disbelief. “Tasha, you’re like the greatest ballerina on campus. I don’t know how anyone makes money from ballet but if they can then you probably will. How can you be bugging out about the performance?” 

“I’m not bugging out about my performance, dipshit. I just...” God, she hated talking about this shit. But Bucky was her only option these days. 

Steve really did spend a lot of his time with Peggy – though good for him she thinks. Clint and Laura have enough on their plate with the baby due in a few weeks and they thoroughly deserve their holiday. And Bruce, well Bruce wasn’t really an option anymore. Ever since Steve told her that he likely had feelings for her and she had unknowingly advised him to ask her out, she’d been trying to avoid conversations with Bruce that went beyond “How’re your classes going?” or “The canteen’s serving mac ‘n’ cheese today.” She didn’t want to cut out talking to him altogether, she actually really liked Bruce. He had very quickly become one of her closest friends – which was exactly why she was avoiding long conversation with him. He hadn’t asked her out yet but if he ever did work up the courage to then she was not looking forward to having to let him down. That was one conversation that she definitely did not want to have. 

She tried not to dwell on the fact that he hadn’t tried to ask her out yet, or that it bugged her a little. She just focussed on counting her blessings that it hadn’t happened. 

But all that meant that the only person she could talk to right now was Bucky. Not that he was a bad option, she could certainly do a lot worse than hashing out her feelings to her oldest and best friend. 

Natasha ran her hand through her hair and let out a deep sigh. “I’ve just never done a performance and not had Clint and Laura… or Phil there.” Bucky looked at her expectantly. “Clint and Laura can’t make it. And at the time I thought I’d be okay with it but now…” 

“But now you’re bugging out a little knowing that no one will be there to see it?” 

Natasha let out a little snort. It sounded far more ridiculous out loud. “It’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid Tasha. It makes perfect sense. And if it means that much to you then I’ll come to watch and record it so Clint and Laura can see. Hell, I’ll Livestream it for them. When is it?” 

Natasha bit her lip and stared into her beer. “Tomorrow.” 

“Shit Tasha. Any chance of getting tickets still?” Natasha shook her head slightly. “Shit.”

“I’ll be fine. It was bound to happen eventually.” 

“You should’ve told me sooner,” Bucky said pointedly. 

“It’s fine. Just a few hours on stage and then it’s done. Anyway, you’ve got other things to worry about.” Bucky’s eyebrow scrunched in confusion. “Like how’re you’re gonna tell Steve that you have feelings for him.” 

“Seriously? I’m your attentive ear then once you’re done with me you go back to abusing me?” Bucky rolled his eyes at Natasha’s cunning grin. She really did love the nature of their friendship. One minute they’re teasing the shit out of the other, the next they’re having DMCs – though she preferred the teasing. “How many times do I have to say I do not have a crush on Steve.” 

“As many times as it’ll take to actually make it true. Which is practically impossible.” 

“I don’t even know why you and Maria think that – and I’m a little weirded out by Maria thinking that.” 

“Let’s present the evidence shall we – “ 

“Oh for fucks – “ 

“ – Since you and Maria agreed to sleep with other people, how many other people has she slept with? 3. How many people have you slept with? None.” 

“That has nothing to do with Steve. And besides, you haven’t slept with anyone since Sam. Does that mean you have a crush on Sam?”

No, it certainly does not. “I’m not the one in the spotlight right now.” It’s not that she hasn’t had the opportunity, she just hasn’t really been feeling it at the moment. Between stressing out about the performance and stressing out about Bruce, she hadn’t really been in the mood for that type of socialising. “You constantly compliment his appearance – “ 

“I’m naturally flirty.” 

“ – All you do is talk about Steve and Peggy – .” 

“Because he hangs out with her all the time!” 

“ – not to mention the fact that you’ve had these feelings for Steve since the semester started but you’ve shoved them down and ignored them and now they’re bubbling up and you don’t know what to do about it because Steve has found a new friend.” Bucky looked at her a little stunned. “Am I right?” 

“No” Bucky grumbled, knowing full well that she was on to something. 

Natasha rolled her eyes at her friend. He knows she’s right; he just doesn’t want to admit it. But that’s fine. She’s still got a week or two before they go home for Christmas break, plenty of time to make Bucky realise the crush he has on his roommate. 

~*~

Bruce checked himself out in the mirror. Once, twice, and then a third time. He hadn’t understood why Tony had stocked his wardrobe with a new suit at first but now he found himself grateful for the addition. He’d never been to the ballet before but from what he understood they were formal events, spectators dressing themselves to the nines and the performers dressing even better, for the performance and afterwards. So he polished his good shoes, tried to tame his unruly curls and put on the slim fit suit Tony had supplied him with. 

He thought he looked okay; the confirmation of his image as passable came from Tony’s wolf whistle from the open bathroom door as he stood just before the threshold of the two rooms. “Where are you off to dressed like that?” 

“The ballet,” Bruce said sheepishly. 

“What, on a date?” 

“No not on a date.” 

“So you’re going to the ballet by yourself?” Tony asked with a raised eyebrow. “Well if you’re going to the ballet then you need a tie.” Tony disappeared off to his room and remerged holding a sleek black tie. “Here.” He held out the tie to him but after a few seconds of Bruce’s deliberating Tony tied the tie around his neck himself. 

“I don’t need a tie, Tony.” He attempted to pull away but Tony’s firm grasp around the ends of the tie held his neck in place. “Seriously. A tie is not necessary.”

“Show of hands, how many of us have been to a ballet?” Tony raised his own hand knowing full well that Bruce’s own hands would remain by his side. “Right, so I’ll just carry on then.” 

Tony finished tying the knot and smoothed down the lapels of his jacket. “So, how do I look?” Bruce asked arms spread out wide as if presenting himself in front of a judging panel. 

“You look good.” Tony flashed him a thousand-watt grin. “You look like there’s a girl.” 

“What? There’s not… there’s no girl.” Apart from the redhead that he had adored since the first day of term but he’s not exactly going to admit to that. Not when he knew she was way of his league. Tony gave him a look of disbelief. “Honestly, there’s no girl.”

“Right, and I don’t have a hot date with a busty blonde tonight.” Tony winked at him before he retreated back to his own room, but not before he called back over his shoulder, “If you need condoms, the top drawer of my bedside table.” 

“You’re despicable Tony,” Bruce yelled back. There was no point entertaining such foolish fantasies. He’d have to be deluded to think Natasha would ever be interested in a guy like him. 

Bruce shook off all thoughts of the possibility and started the short walk to the auditorium where the performance was being held. Quite the crowd had gathered outside the auditorium, the performance being a lot more popular than he had expected. Bruce was finally ushered to his seat where the programme awaited him, the name Natasha Romanoff plastered on the front page in all its glory. As it should be, he thought to himself. 

He flicked through the programme, reading through the acts and noting when Natasha will appear on stage. He got so lost in reading the plot that he hadn’t realised the lights being turned down and the curtain being raised. He was mesmerised by the lights and the intricate detail of the stage design but when Natasha took the centre stage he was entirely captivated by her. By the fluidity of her movements, the grace in the extension of her arms. Her display both bold and beautiful; like she is. 

He bought a rose during the intermission. Ditched it before he returned to his seat. 

The second act was just as beguiling as the first and he found himself standing with the rest of the audience with the final curtain call. 

~*~

The performance went better than she thought it would. Which made her, even more, bummed out that Clint and Laura weren’t there to see it.  

She was eager to chat with them and let them know how it went. But first, she had to endure the crappy drinks reception, which she couldn’t even get served at because all the bar staff knew that she was a fresher, making the reception even more crappy. 

It was when she was surrounded by esteemed members of the audience all wanting to congratulate her on her performance that she spotted him. Stood off to the side, watching her from the distance. 

He’d scrubbed up very well. The fitted suit was doing wonders and the sleek black tie made him look more put together than she’d ever seen him. 

When he smiled at her, she couldn’t help but smile back. 

She also couldn’t help the warm feeling settling into her stomach as she sauntered over to him. She remembers him saying that he was coming to see the show, but she’d thought he meant that as a passing joke. She didn’t think he’d actually come to see it. 

She swiped his champagne glass and finished the contents in one swoop. Not once taking her eyes off him. 

If he was going to make his move, now was the chance. And the waiter that accidentally bumped her into him certainly helped make that decision for him. 

She was surprised that he went for action over words. But she was even more surprised to realise that she didn’t want the kiss to end. And she barely even believed the words “take me back to your place” came from her own lips. 

But they must’ve done. Because one minute she’s got her tongue down his throat in the middle of a ballet reception and the next minute she’s stripping him down in his apartment room. 

~*~

He waited for her after. There was a small drinks reception for the cast and a few guests. He managed to convince the security guard that he was a member of the production team to gain access. He spotted Natasha across the room inside a circle of adoring fans looking more stunning now than she did on stage, her hair flowing in loose curls around her shoulders, the dress she had changed into shimmering in the light of the room. 

He felt like a creep, watching her from across the room. More so when she noticed him. But the small smile that she gave him as she excused herself from the group ratified his staring. 

“You came.” She swiped the glass of champagne he had forgotten he was holding, finishing the remnants of the glass. 

“I said I would.” He smiled at her sheepishly. “I did buy you a rose but I uh, thought it was a bit lame.”

“I tend to ditch them anyways.” She said with a shrug. “So what did you think?” 

“It was beautiful.” It’s the one word that’s stuck in his head since the beginning of the performance. A waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes bumped Natasha, nudging her closer to him, close enough that he can smell her shampoo; the light fragrance of her perfume and he’s overwhelmed by her beauty. “You were beautiful.” He whispered, wanting to her to hear the words but not entirely brave enough for her to know they came from him. “You are beautiful.” She stared up into his eyes and he’s lost in the bright green orbs that look up at him. Whether it’s the intoxication of her beauty or the champagne that gave him the courage he’s not sure, but he leaned down, closing the small distance that remained between them. 

Her lips were softer than he imagined, but he doesn’t let himself indulge for too long. The gravity of his actions has him pulling back and ending the kiss almost as quickly as it started, leaving him to stumble around an apology that he just couldn’t seem to formulate. 

Natasha stopped any apology he attempted to make with her lips, her hand gripping the back of his neck keeping him in place. He felt her tongue slide against his chapped lips and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped him when he granted her tongue access, all knowledge of the public around them entirely forgotten.

They separate breathlessly, Natasha’s hand keeping him close when she says, “take me back to your place.” In what sounded like a mix between a question and demand and Bruce’s only answer is, yes. 

He gave her his jacket as they walked through the campus, the December chill catching up with them. They walk close together, sharing their body heat. He contemplated taking her hand in his own. Thought better of it and pocketed them instead. 

The walk back to his apartment is filled anticipation. He doesn’t know what to expect, hadn’t planned on this happening, so he doesn’t expect anything. Even as he unlocks his door and invites her in he doesn’t expect anything. 

Wants. Hopes. Desires. But doesn’t expect. 

“This place is a bit big isn’t it?” Natasha folded his jacket and set it on the back of his desk chair.

Bruce mentally chided himself for not tiding his room before he left. His aunt's teachings came to mind at that moment; always keep a tidy home, you never know when you’ll have guests. He wonders what his aunt would think of his use of her teachings. “Yeah, Tony doesn’t really do modest.” 

“I can tell.” Bruce kicked a pile of clothes under the bed and threw his abandoned food wrappers in the bin. “Does Tony fund everything for you?” 

Bruce didn’t know how to respond, lucky for him he didn’t have to because Natasha’s lips were pressed against his own the moment he turned to face her. Natasha pulled his tie loose and threw it in the vague direction of the chair where it just falls short and winds up on the floor. Tony wouldn’t be impressed. Actually no, Tony would approve. 

He had her pressed against the wall, burying his hands in her hair. She started undoing his shirt buttons with a hurried sense of urgency but he quickly took over, pulling the shirt over his head. He turned his attention to getting her dress off and was grateful that it’s a simple zip and doesn’t have any clasps to contend with. He’s a smart guy but his brain is preoccupied with other matters, like how his trousers have wound up around his ankles. 

He stepped out of them as she stepped out of her dress and he would love to marvel at the sight but he barely got a chance before her lips were back on his, hot and heavy and wanting. He felt a leg lift and he got a firm hold of her thigh to keep her in place. He pressed himself firmly against her, feeling the heat of her centre against him. 

Natasha broke away from his lips and pressed her mouth into the crook of his neck and Bruce seized the opportunity to fill his lungs. “Condom?” Natasha asked breathlessly. 

Shit. 

His head fell onto her shoulder as he realised this could only go so far. It was too good to be true. 

Natasha ran a hand through his hair, gripping the ends and using it to yank his head up. He was about to admit defeat when he remembered Tony’s crude comment from earlier, bedside table, top draw. 

Bruce dashed across the bathroom and into Tony’s room grabbing what he needed and returning back to see that Natasha had lost the bra and panties in the short time that he’d been gone. 

“I was really hoping I’d get to do that.” Bruce breathed out. 

“D’you want me to put them back on?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. Bruce shook his head, thought never, as he kicked off his boxers. “Hey there big guy,” Natasha smirked at him as the blush crept up his neck. He barely had time to feel self-conscious as she wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down on top of her. 

He usually falls asleep after but he tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he can, enjoying the view of Natasha sweaty and sated and riding the comedown of an orgasm, her head cushioned on his chest. To say he couldn’t believe his luck would be an understatement. Even when he could feel her body resting against his own he didn’t fully believe it to be real. He fought sleep a little longer, memorising the image, it might not be here when he wakes up. 

~*~

Clint felt a hard kick in his shin that quickly woke him from his deep sleep. This getaway had been exactly what he and Laura needed and the sheer amount of sleep they’d been getting done proved that. 

Sure it was a bit of a dump – the curtains were stained and the windows weren’t draft proof. But it had a very efficient little fireplace, plenty of blankets and a scenic view of the lake. He definitely would’ve gone for something a lot fancier had he known he was going to get the job promotion and even considered cancelling and booking somewhere nicer. But after a lecture from Laura about spending and saving and the costs of raising a kid, they’d decided to stick with the crappy cottage instead. Well, Laura decided. He just did as he was told. 

Still, it was exactly the kind of stress-free getaway that the two of them needed. 

Clint felt another hard kick in his shin and quickly turned on the bedside lamp to see what was going on.

“What was that for?” 

“Well, two things have possibly happened.” Laura signed. “Either you’ve wet the bed. Or my water’s broken.” 

Clint suddenly noticed the sheets were wet and his pyjama bottoms were distinctly dry. “Fuck.” For the first time in his life, he really did wished he’d wet himself. Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen for at least 3 more weeks. They hadn’t prepared for this in any way. Shit, they hadn’t even finished buying all the baby stuff. Shit. “Okay, what do we do?” 

“First you put your hearing aids in because if I have to sign another fucking word I might-“

“Yep. Okay. Calm down.” Laura gave him a stern look and another hard kick to the shin. “Okay so calm down is maybe not the right words to say to a woman in labour. Hearing aids going in.” Clint scrambled for his aids and quickly fitted them in his ears. “Okay now what?” 

“Get the car keys, find the nearest hospital and get me there as quick as you can.” Yep, that sounded like as good a plan as any. “And text Nat.” 

“On it. Shit Laura, we’re having a baby.” Clint said with excitement and a hint of panic, but mainly excitement. 

“Yes, we’re having a baby. Now get a fucking move on before we wind up having the baby in this shithole.” 

“You said you like it.” 

“Clint,” Laura warned sternly.

“You said it has character.” 

“Clint.” A slipper came flying past his head that he just managed to dodge. 

“Okay okay, I’m getting a move on.” 

~*~

She knows she should leave. The sex was great but the consequences that will arise when he wakes won’t be. Euphoria is one thing, awkward conversations another. 

But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying herself right now. Listening to his heartbeat slow to a normal pace under her ear. Hugging her naked body to his. She just can’t bring herself to leave and allows his heartbeat to lull her into sleep instead.

She wakes before him. Considers making a quick exit whilst she can unnoticed, but when she heads to the bathroom wearing the shirt that still smells like him, she realises that all she wants to do is crawl back beside him. 

Lucky for her, he’s awake by the time she comes out, and they both seem to have the same idea of how to spend the morning. 

When he questions how this happened she diverts him with a joke, but deep down she’s not entirely sure herself. It may have had something to do with the fact that she was feeling vulnerable and needed the companionship. Or because of how good he looked in that suit. Or maybe it was because she hadn’t spent the last few weeks dreading him asking her out knowing she’d have to turn him down, maybe it was because she knew she’d say yes. 

Because as much as she wants to believe that she doesn’t have feelings for Bruce, as much as she likes to tell herself and everyone else around that she’s not interested in a relationship anytime soon, that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. Well, maybe she didn't want a relationship with Bruce, she'd definitely take the sex and cuddling again - whatever shaped package that came in.

He makes her laugh like no other, makes it easy for her to talk about things she never usually would and ultimately, he understands her – something no one other than Clint has been able to do. She’d just been either too blind or too far in denial to realise it. God Bucky would find that hilarious. 

~*~

He’s not surprised to find her gone when he woke, had expected her to come to her senses and make a mad dash for the exit. He didn’t expect to see her exit the bathroom wearing nothing but his shirt from last night, her red curls sleep mussed but no less perfect. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw her. 

“Good morning.” She sauntered back over to him leaning down for a slow, languid kiss. 

Bruce couldn’t resist and encircled her in his arms pulling her back down to the bed, still not believing she’s really here. 

“I thought you’d be gone.” He admitted his insecurities to her, his filter not at its best so early in the morning. 

“I was gonna slip out last night but you were so cosy.” She gave him a playful smirk as she settled back into his bed, half on top of him. 

“Oh, so you’re just using me for comfort?” 

“Amongst other things.” 

“I still can’t really work out how this happened.” He still wonders if this is just a dream that he’ll soon awake from, he hoped not.

Natasha ran a hand through his hair, the physical contact confirming her presence. “I’m sure that genius brain of yours can figure it out, Doc.” She pulled his head back and crashed her lips to his own. 

He smiled against her lips. “I’m not a doctor yet.” 

The moment is interrupted by a loud voice and someone entering his room. “Bruce, let me tell you about a busty blonde called Bernice.” Tony stopped at the door as he finally noticed that Bruce was not alone and he couldn’t help but feel like he’s 16 again and his aunt had just discovered the condoms in his room. “I knew there was a girl!” Tony said, accusation clear in his voice. 

“Tony, you’re supposed to knock!” Bruce yelled. 

Natasha quickly gathered her things from the floor and exited to the bathroom, mumbling something about this being her queue to leave. 

“You’re supposed to put a sock on the door.” 

Bruce doubted a sock would deter him. “Pass me my trousers.” 

“You didn’t say Red was the girl.” Tony waggled his eyebrows at him. 

“Can you not?” Natasha exited the bathroom wearing her dress from last night and managing to look just as beautiful. Bruce followed her to the door, unsure of what to do but when Natasha gave him a slow kiss goodbye he could feel his confidence kick back in. “I’ll uh I’ll text you later.” With one last kiss goodbye, Bruce shut the door and turned to see Tony grinning from ear-to-ear. “No!”

“Ah come on. You gotta give me details.” 

“No Tony.” Bruce spun him around and pushed him towards the door. 

“Just one question,” Tony whined. 

“Goodbye Tony.” 

~*~ 

Natasha returned to her own apartment, mildly annoyed, very frustrated, and incredibly confused. 

“Same dress as the night before? Someone got laid last night.” Bucky said with a wink as soon as she entered the room. 

“Hmm, yeah.” Natasha barely glanced up at him and Maria. Her phone battery had died since last night and she wanted to make sure it was charged for when Bruce did text. God, she felt like a schoolgirl again. 

“Oo tell us everything!” Maria mock squealed. “What’s his name? Do we know him?”

“What does it matter, we won't ever meet him. Was he any good?” Bucky asked, evidently having not learnt his lesson from the last time he asked such a question.

Natasha barely registered the questioning. As soon as her phone switched on she had a sudden flurry of messages from Clint. 

“I need a ride to the train station.” 

~*~

“Are you seriously not gonna tell me anything?” Tony asked for what he was certain was the 150th time. 

He’d been trying to get information out of his best bud ever since he burst into his room this morning and found him in bed with Natasha. Making out. Naked. And for some reason – being the ever so annoying prude that he was – Bruce was giving him nothing.

“Jheeze Tony, can you stop asking about it already. I’m not telling you anything.” 

“Yeah see that’s not gonna fly with me bud. That’s going against the bro code.” 

“What bro code?” Bruce asked in exasperation. Tony could sense he was wearing him down. Just as few more minutes away from sweet sweet redheaded gossip. 

“I believe it’s subsection 19 paragraph 8 part c that states; should a bro who has not had sex for a total of two weeks or more successfully have intercourse with a woman who is undoubtedly one of the hottest women on campus he must proceed to tell his bro everything once said woman has left.” 

“Err Mr Stark?” Peter interrupted from his desk in the corner, almost giving Tony a full-on heart attack. He’d completely forgotten Peter was in the lab. “Should I go?” 

“No Pete, stay. In fact, why don’t you weigh in on this.” Tony smirked at Bruce. “If one of your mates slept with a super-hot chick, wouldn’t you expected him to tell you everything about it? Particularly parts about what kind of freaky shit she likes in bed.” 

“Peter, don’t answer that!”

“No, Peter. Do.” 

“Err Mr Stark, I’m only fifteen.” Tony turned a confused look to Peter. “Most of my friends barely even know how to speak to a girl.” Oh dear god, was everyone around him a lost soul? Right Bruce first, then he’ll fix Peter’s inability to speak to the opposite sex. 

“I’m just saying, you can’t have me walk in on you and the world’s sexiest redhead and expect me not to be curious about how it happened, when it started happening and how long it will continue to happen for.” 

“That was the first time it happened Tony.” Bruce finally relented. “And we’re gonna have to have a serious conversation about you knocking.” 

“Really?” Tony asked in complete shock. “Because that kiss I saw didn’t look like it was a first-time thing.” In fact, it very much looked like the type of kiss you’d give someone you were dating. Definitely not a one-night stand. “So you’re telling me you went to the ballet, watched some hot women twirl around on stage and then managed to sleep with one of them? And that one just do happened to be Natasha?” 

“God, can you maybe not make it sound so crude. It’s not like I went there planning to sleep with just anyone.” 

“So you were planning to sleep with red? You like her don’t you ?” 

“That’s not what I said, Tony – “ 

“No no no, you definitely like her. Kid, he likes her doesn’t he?” 

Bruce groaned as he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“Sorry Mr Banner, but it doesn’t seem like you like her,” Peter said sheepishly. 

Bruce let out a loud sigh. “Fine, I like her.” 

“Ah-ha! I knew it!” Tony snapped his fingers. Really he had no idea about his best buds feelings towards the feisty redhead. “So you bought tickets to the ballet, sought her out and then banged her.” 

“No Tony. I went to support a friend in their show, who I happened to like. I took a shot and kissed her and then she led the way with the rest.” 

“Ah, so red sought you out, banged you, ditched, and now you’re moping around because she hasn’t responded to your text?” 

“It’s only been a couple hours.” 

“So you have texted her. Explains why you keep checking your phone.” Tony sauntered over to his best bud and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Rookie error my friend. You always leave it a day or two if you’re gonna be the first one to text. Or you just don’t text first. That’s one’s for you too, kid.” Tony yelled back to Peter, who was trying to busy himself with some equations. 

“Tony she’s not just some women that I slept with and am sort of interested in. I really like her.” 

Tony was at a loss for things to say. He’d never been good with relationship advice – mainly because the longest relationship he’d ever been in was about 4 ½ weeks and calling that a relationship was a bit of a stretch.

When Bruce first started dating Betty he didn’t have a clue what advice to give his best bud. Luckily for him, Betty had been the one to make all the moves and all Bruce had to do was follow her lead. 

When they broke up, the best Tony could do was ensure that there was a solid supply of alcohol available to Bruce 24/7 which seemed to do the trick. But now with Natasha, not only is he only just learning of these feelings after the two had already slept together, but he knew full well that his best friend had fallen for a woman who had become known for her opposition to relationships. Which could only really result in heartbreak for his best friend. 

“Tony can we just drop this,” Bruce said with one last sigh. “I think I’ve cracked the coding error for Ultron’s movement but I need you to finish with the wiring on his arm before I can update the software.”  

Tony considered his friend for a moment. He could push the subject further but ultimately he was way out of his comfort zone. Probably best to crack on with the things he’s good at – Science. 

“Sure thing bud. Hey kid, come over here and lift this arm will ya.” 

“Hey, Mr Stark. Have you ever consider the impact of naming this robot after the God of War?” Tony looked at Peter, then to Bruce who merely offered a smirk and a shrug, and then back to Peter again. “Well, it’s just that Ultron is meant to be a symbol of the future of green energy right. A symbol of peace and sustainability.” Tony did not like where this was going. “And we know about the potential military applications and all that… But you have named it after a God of War and I just kinda think you might be tempting the military into seizing and adopting it for more sinister purposes.” 

“Almost sounds like someone should’ve tried to talk you against the name in the first place,” Bruce said smugly.

“Well, what was I supposed to call it?” 

“How about not a variant of Mars Ultra?” 

“How about Jarvis then?” Tony said with an air of frustration. It was bad enough having Bruce and his constant objections to his AI, but now that he and the kid were ganging up on him, it was close to unbearable. 

“You’re gonna name your AI after your family butler?” 

“No. It stands for.” Tony racked his brain for what it could possibly stand for. “Just A Rather Intelligent System.” 

“Really?” 

“No, you know what, fuck you all. Ultron is staying named Ultron and that’s it. Now we either get back to the science or I start asking questions about what Natasha’s like in bed.” Bruce held up both hands in surrender, just as Tony expected. “Kid, this arm isn’t gonna hold itself.” 

Tony had to admit, he did quite like the days where the three of them worked together in the lab. Sure it was a pain in the ass when both Peter and Bruce started bitching about Ultron. But once you got past that and into the nitty-gritty science of it all, it made for a pretty fun time. 

Not to mention it also helped take Bruce’s mind off of the whole Natasha situation. So much so that Bruce barely even noticed when his phone finally did buzz with a text from the redhead. 

Tony waited until the early hours of the morning, when Happy had taken Peter home for the day and Bruce had fallen asleep at his desk to seize his opportunity to check the message – you have to prepare for all potential scenarios and if his science bro was about to have his heart ripped out of his chest, Tony needed to know. And really, with a passcode of 1234, Bruce was sort of asking for it. Honestly, the man was a literal genius and yet he couldn’t come up with a better password. 

Tony braced himself for the potential rejection but was thoroughly surprised to see what Natasha had sent: 

11:07 Bruce: Last night was great. Sorry about Tony. 

23:42 Natasha: *Picture of Natasha holding a very tiny, very pink baby swaddled in a blue blanket*

23:42 Natasha: Sorry for the late response. Seems we’ve had an early addition to the family. This is Cooper :)

23:45 Natasha: Enjoyed last night. Shame Tony interrupted this morning but I’m sure we can make up for that another time ;)

Well, would you look at that? Sure he may have been an accidental cockblock earlier, but he can definitely take credit for Bruce getting laid next time. You’re welcome bud.

Chapter Text

Maria let out one last moan of pleasure as they both found their release. She collapsed on top of Bucky, desperately trying to fill her lungs with air. She and Bucky might not sleep with each other as much as they did before their new Halloween agreement, but whenever they did, she was instantly reminded of why they began this little agreement in the first place. 

“Are you two decent?” Steve’s voice at the door completely disrupted her enjoyment of the afterglow. 

“Ah, shit, perfect timing as always,” Bucky whispered as he scrambled for his jeans. “Just a sec Steve.”

“At least he knocked this time” Maria retrieved her bra from where it was laced over Bucky’s laptop. She flung on her top and gave Bucky a check over before opening the door. “Hey, Steve, what’s up?” 

“Well, this room definitely doesn’t smell like sex.” Steve mocked as he entered the room. “Sorry to interrupt.” 

“Nah, you’re good. We were done.” Steve began peeling off his shirt to change into a new one and Maria couldn’t help but stare at his beautifully defined abs. Steve really was a specimen. And it seemed someone else was having similar thoughts. Bucky was definitely staring too. That was until he noticed her notice him staring and he quickly averted his gaze. “Er, Steve, fancy hanging out?” 

“Yeah, Bucky and I were gonna go grab a drink. Wanna join?” 

“Ah, thanks but I’m actually meeting Peggy in about 30 minutes.” Steve had stepped out of his jeans to switch into a pair of chinos. Did this guy not realise what effect he was having on the two people in this room right now? “Can I take a rain check?” 

“Why am I not surprised?” Bucky muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” 

“All you do is hang out with Peggy. Maybe fancy hanging out with your other friends from time to time?” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Steve demanded. 

“Every single day you hang out with Peggy. You have other friends you know, maybe you should acknowledge them from time to time instead of hanging out with some girl all the time.” 

“What so it’s alright for you to hang around with Maria all the time but the moment I find a friend to hang out with there’s suddenly a problem?” 

“Maybe everyone should just cool off for a bit.” Maria tried to intervene. Things had escalated pretty quickly and she’s not even sure how. “Before someone says something they don’t mean.” 

“Yeah because I actually had a shot with her.” Bucky retorted.

“Like that.” Maria had never seen Steve this angry before. Hell, she’d never seen Steve angry at all. Nothing ever seemed to bother him but it looks like this has actually struck a nerve. This was not good. “Bucky, maybe you should apologise.” 

“You don’t even have the guts to ask her out. Like fucking hell Steve, get a grip!” 

“Why don’t  you  get a grip, Buck. Sorry that I want to spend time with the girl I like and not you.”

“Oh so now you grow some balls and can say out loud that you like someone? Why don’t you hurry up and ask her out so she can reject you and we can have our friend back?” Bucky spat out. And from the look on his face, he instantly regretted it. Steve was stunned into silence, and admittedly, so was she. “I didn’t mean that.” Bucky tried to instantly take back his venomous words.

“You know what? Fuck you.” Steve turned and stormed out of the room. Slamming the door shut on his way out. 

Maria could not believe that turn of events. It only took a few seconds for that to escalate way out of control and Maria knew exactly why it did. 

“Nice going, Bucky.” 

“Oh don’t you start.” 

“No, you know what? I am gonna start.” Maria turned to face him. Bucky was being a complete dick and he needed to hear this. “That was totally uncalled for and you know it.” 

“Well someone needed to tell him he was being an asshole and you and Tasha sure as hell wasn’t gonna do it.” He defended. 

“Well, you’re being an asshole now. So I guess I’ll take up the opportunity to tell you.” Maria said furiously. She’d frankly had enough of Bucky’s shit lately and today was the tip of the iceberg. “You spend all your time bitching about how much time Steve spends with Peggy and have the nerve to mock him for only just admitting to us that he likes the girl when you’re too chicken shit to even admit to yourself that you like Steve, let alone us.” 

“For the love of-“ Bucky punched the wall beside him in fury. Not enough to put his fist through it, but enough to leave a dent. “Will you stop fucking saying that!” 

Maria was stunned looking between Bucky, his fist, and the fist-shaped dent. She quickly regained herself after the initial shock. “Feel better?” Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Good, because you need to hear this. That rage that you’re feeling, it’s called jealousy. And you’re gonna keep feeling it because guess what? Steve is allowed to hang out with whoever the fuck he wants to hang out with for however long he wants to hang out them.” Maria kept her voice calm as she watched the anger rise up and through Bucky again, his fists clenching, jaw tightening, but he really did need to hear what she had to say next. “And until you decide to tell him how you feel, it’s gonna stay that way.” 

“What are you even still doing here?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I don’t know what you’re still doing here,” Bucky spoke calmly but Maria could still see the anger on his face, clear as day. “You came, we finished, we’re done for the night, aren’t we? See you when my turn comes back around after, what? The third rotation?” 

“Fuck you Bucky.” Maria grabbed her jacket from Bucky’s chair and flung it on as she made for the door. “I hope your fist doesn’t hurt too much. You and it are gonna become very acquainted with one another ‘cause we’re done.” 

~*~

Steve was fuming. He’s pretty sure he’d never been this angry in his entire life. Bucky had no right to be such an asshole. He definitely didn’t have a right to try and control who he spent his time with or for how long. 

He was allowed to hang out with anyone he wanted and if he wanted to hang out with Peggy all the time, well he was going to do just that. And there wasn’t a damn thing Bucky or anyone could do to stop that. 

Well, maybe Peggy. But he was relatively sure that she wasn’t going to any time soon. They had met up pretty much every night so far, so long as he didn’t have training or a game. And even then she’d usually come along to watch. They’d often just waste the time away together, talking about everything and nothing at all and Steve thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it. 

Steve made his way through the campus grounds about to head past the quad when he spotted Bruce sat by the fountain reading a book as he often does. Only this time he wasn't accompanied by Natasha who could usually be spotted sat with the scientist. 

“Hey, no Natasha tonight?” Steve called out as he neared the fountain. 

Bruce offered him a confused look. “Huh?” 

“Nat, she’s usually out here with you.” 

“She went home a couple days ago.” 

“Huh?” It was Steve’s turn to offer a confused look. 

“Her brother and his wife had their baby,” Bruce explained. “It was sorta unexpected. Nat said he wasn’t due for another few weeks.” Bruce took out his phone and showed Steve a picture of Natasha holding an impossibly tiny baby swaddled in blue blankets. “Cooper.” 

Steve couldn’t help but melt at the sight. Though he was a little confused as to why Nat had sent Bruce that pic. Sure they were friends and all but surely Steve would come higher up in the ranking of ‘people to send a pic of me holding my newly born nephew’. Though then again, he had been so preoccupied with Peggy he hadn’t even realised she’d been gone for the past few days. 

“Maybe I have been a shitty friend,” Steve said quietly to himself. 

“What was that?” 

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. “Nothing”

“Your advice worked by the way,” Bruce said, cutting into Steve’s thoughts. “From the football game.” Bruce clarifies. “About Natasha.” Steve’s brow furrows a little in confusion. “Ask Natasha out or kiss her.” 

“Right. Yeah, I remember.” Natasha’s own advice worked on her, who woulda thought. “So you asked her out?” 

“I sorta accidentally went for the second option.” Bruce let out a nervous chuckle as he scratched at the hairs at the back of his neck. “And she was into it. Like  really  into it.” 

This would explain the texts. Steve can’t say that he was entirely surprised. Natasha may keep everything locked away and out of sight but even she couldn’t hide the smile and laughter that irradiated from her whenever she was with Bruce. He really was happy for her. And for Bruce too of course. 

“Well, congrats man.” Steve patted Bruce on the back. “So d’you think it was just a one-time thing or…?” 

Bruce shrugged, a little unsure of himself. “Honestly, I don’t know. She said something to me the morning after that made me think maybe,” 

Morning after? Why would they’ve seen each other the morning after if they just kis…  oooooh.  They slept together. Wow. Natasha really was  really  into the kiss. Steve snapped himself away from his thoughts to focus on what the other guy was saying. 

“And we’ve been texting back and forth since. So that makes me think maybe. But then you never can tell with Nat.” 

Well, ain’t that the truth. “I’m sure she wouldn’t jeopardise one of her closest friendships for a one-night stand.” 

“I guess we’ll see,” Bruce said with a shrug. “Well, now that you know your advice works, you gonna take it?” 

Steve thought about it for a moment. But his mind was made up when he saw Peggy across the quad. She wasn’t wearing anything particularly special. Nothing form-fitting or figuring hugging. In fact, she was wrapped up warm, prioritising keeping the chill away as opposed to anything else. But yet she still managed to take his breath away. 

“Yeah. I just might.” Steve finally breathed out. “I gotta go.” Steve made his way over towards Peggy, mouth going a little dry as his brain froze a little at the sight of her. “Hey,” He called out as they got nearer to each other. “It’s a bit cold out here. Fancy going somewhere warmer?” 

“Why Steven, buy a girl a drink first.” Peggy gushed. 

Steve could feel the warmth rising in his cheeks and the tip of his ears. “I mean the café. For coffee.” He blurted out, perhaps a bit too quickly. 

“I’m messing.” Peggy slapped him on the arm playfully. “Lead the way, Mr Rogers.” 

Steve led them to a quiet little café just outside the campus grounds. Natasha had brought him here after one of their runs and introduced him to the world of independent coffee shops. Though it confused him to no end why the redhead would seek out independent coffee shops who make coffee with organic Fairtrade beans when she dumps so much sugar in it that’s all you can taste. That woman was one hell of an enigma. Bruce had his work cut out for him. 

Steve ordered for the two of them; Earl Grey tea for Peggy and a cappuccino for himself. He’s usually more of a vanilla latte guy but his coffee order was probably the one thing about him that he was intent on hiding from Peggy. 

Their conversation was light, sticking to the subject of course load and last-minute assignments that they had to do. Well, that he had to do. Peggy had all of her assignments handed in a week ago, well before the deadline. Steve, on the other hand, had handed in everything except for his art project which was due in just a few days and he hadn’t even started. The brief was pretty vague. They could use whatever tools they wanted, and whatever style they wanted but the piece had to convey “passion”. He had absolutely no clue what to do. 

Peggy tried to help him with ideas but he just couldn't find himself able to focus on his art at the moment. His mind just kept replaying his argument with Bucky. He and Bucky had never even had so much of a disagreement before – well, not if you include trashing each other’s soccer team – and yet today everything seemed to just blow up so fast without any prior notice. 

Bucky maybe had a point about Steve neglecting his friends, but he was a real ass about Peggy and there was no excuse for that. 

Peggy nudged his knee with her own from where she sat opposite him, drawing him out of his thoughts. 

“Hey, I lost you there for a moment.” She offered him a sympathetic smile. “Everything okay?” 

“I got into it really bad with Bucky earlier on.” Steve sighed. “I guess it’s just still playing on my mind a little.” 

“What about?” 

Steve sighed. “You.” Peggy’s brows knitted together in confusion causing Steve to sigh again. “Bucky doesn’t like that I hang out with you a lot.” Steve shook his head from side to side, still in disbelief about the absurdity of it all. “Surely I’m allowed to hang out with whoever I like, right?” Steve asked around a sip of his cappuccino. Peggy nodded, but added nothing further, allowing Steve to continue with his much-needed rant. “Who the hell does Bucky think he is? He doesn’t get to control who I hang out with. And he definitely doesn’t get to stop me from hanging out with someone I really like hanging out with!” Steve’s cheeks instantly went red. Oops. He did not mean to say that last bit out loud. Shit. “I. I mean –“ He fiddled with his coffee cup, not daring to look at Peggy. 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Peggy’s lips. “I like hanging out with you too Steve.” 

“Really?” Steve looked up to see the nod and smile Peggy was giving him. He couldn’t help but return it. 

“Really.” 

Steve’s face beamed. He couldn’t help it. He was so chuffed to know that Peggy actually enjoyed spending time with him. His smile stayed throughout the remainder of their time in the coffee shop. And even as they walked back towards Peggy’s dorm. 

They spent a few more minutes chatting away whilst they were stood outside the dorm building. And all the while Steve thought about his conversation with Bruce earlier. If Bruce could work up the courage to make a move on Natasha, surely he could too. 

As he pulled back from their hug goodbye, Steve found himself staring at Peggy’s glossy lips. 

They hovered for a while in a loose embrace until Steve finally worked up the courage. “I’d really like to kiss you right now.” Well, he maybe wasn’t a s  brave as Bruce. 

“I’d really like that too.” 

Oh god. This was actually about to happen. Steve’s heart was pounding in his ears and he could feel the heat in his face. 

He blocked that all out as he leaned his head down, drawing their lips closer. He hovered with their lips just centimetres apart. Their warm breath mingling in the cold December air. 

Peggy closed the last bit of distance remaining between them, bringing their lips together.

Steve could feel her smiling against his lips, and he couldn’t help but return it. 

Peggy was still smiling as they pulled away from one another. “I’ve been waiting a bloody long time for you to do that Steve Rogers.” 

Steve let out a breathy chuckle. “How long?”

“Since that God-awful Halloween party.” 

Steve let out another laugh as he leaned in again to give her another kiss. He’d been waiting since that God-awful Halloween party too. 

~*~

Bucky’s mind was reeling. He was absolutely fuming. At Steve, at Maria, but most of all, at himself. He knew he had no right to be mad at Steve, and he certainly had no right to be mad at Maria. He just didn’t know what it was about Steve and Peggy hanging out that got him so frustrated. 

Steve hung out with Natasha a lot too. Maybe not as much as he did with Peggy, but they had a regularly scheduled gym session once a week and they regularly went running together. Steve even hung out with Tony quite often. But that didn’t bother him in the slightest, so why the hell did Steve hanging out with Peggy so much bother him? 

Natasha and Maria were pretty certain that he had feelings for Steve, but surely he’d be the expert on who he had a crush on, right? 

Bucky shook off his thoughts, shrugged on his jacket and grabbed his beanie from his drawer. He needed a drink, and sure it may be cliché, but it looked like he’d be drinking on his own. 

He made his way over to the dingey campus bar, prepared to spend the remainder of his evening drinking by himself and trying to work out why he was such an asshole. 

Bucky sighed as he pushed through the bar doors, feet sticking to the carpet and making a sickly squelching noise in certain places. He walked up the bar, eyeing the poor selection of beers on tap. Deciding that he needed something stronger, Bucky ordered a whisky on the rocks and sat at the bar staring into his glass as he realised how much he missed his best friend. Natasha would no doubt agree that he was being a dick but at least he’d have someone to sit and drink with him. She’d never turn down a drink if he was buying, no matter how much of an ass he was being. 

He was about halfway through his whisky when a large hand clasped around his shoulder. 

“James! How lovely to see you.” Thor engulfed him into a hug, the smell of tequila emanating from his breath. “You must come join us; we’re celebrating.” 

Bucky looked over to see Tony and Jane sat at a table not far from the bar, their table littered with several empty shot and pint glasses. 

“Thanks, Thor, but I’m not really in a celebratory mood.” 

“Please, I insist you must join us. Term is as good as over, and so too is the footballing season. We have much to be merry about.” Bucky looked hesitant. “Tony and I are buying.” 

Bucky gave him half a smile. “Well, I guess I can’t really turn down an offer like that now can I?”  

Bucky helped Thor bring the drinks back to the table. Thor had bought four pints of beer and several shots of tequila. They had evidently been a few rounds in already as their table also housed the bars stock of sliced limes and a saltshaker.  

“We have another friend to join our celebrations,” Thor announced as they neared the table.

“Hope you don’t mind me crashing the party,” Bucky said as he took a seat between Tony and Jane. 

“Of course not Buckeroo, the more the merrier,” Tony said as he dished out the first round of shots, and lime slices then licked the back of his hand before pouring salt onto it and passing the shaker round. Once the rest had followed suit, Tony raised his shot glass for a toast. “To another term done!” 

The others all cheered to that, then licked the salt off their hands, downed the shot and sucked on the lime. Bucky had developed a pretty good tolerance to alcohol over that last year or two, but tequila shots still managed to make him regret life entirely. Luckily, thanks to Natasha’s incessant taunting, he’d gotten pretty good at controlling his gag reflex, though that didn’t mean that he didn’t feel the need to suck on the lime until every drop of juice gone. 

He wasn’t sure if he was up to the task of drinking with these guys. They still had several more shots in front of them and this was only the first round he’d joined. But then again, he’d very much rather not be sober right now. 

With that in mind, Bucky got the process started again and raised his shot glass.

“Well, someone knows how to party,” Tony commented, but raised his shot glass anyway. “What’re we toasting to bud?” 

“To making new friends.” Bucky’s toast was met with a series of boos from the other three. “What?” he asked confused. 

“That’s lame. Pick a better toast.” Jane demanded.

“Well, what d’you want me to say? To learning new things?” 

“Booorrriiing” Tony hollered. 

“Alright, fine. To the end of what’s turned out to be a pretty shitty term.” Bucky said angrily, before downing his tequila, this time forgoing the salt and lime. The alcohol burned its way down his throat and he immediately reached for his beer to numb the burn. 

“Jheeze, invite a guy for a laugh and he suddenly gets all touchy.” 

“Leave him alone Tony,” Jane said as she shot Tony a glare from across the table. “What’s up Bucky?” 

Bucky let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I really don’t want to ruin your celebrations-“ 

“Nonsense,” Thor interjected. “If something is bothering you, then you must certainly share with us. What friends would we be if we didn’t listen to the woes of our comrade.” 

“Listen to the… do you hear yourself when you speak?” Tony asked incredulously. “Go on then. Spit it out. What’s got you moping around here looking like someone’s taken a crap in your Doc Martins.” 

Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he began to recant the story of what happened. “So basically, I got into it really bad with Steve. And was a dick to Maria. And now my roommate hates me, my casual fling has been called off and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost the security deposit on my room.” 

“Wait, so Maria’s single now?” Tony asked. “Hey!” he said as Jane flung a lime slice at him. 

“Is that the only thing that’s ever on your brain?” 

“Pretty much,” Tony affirmed. 

“Maria always was single. We were just casual. Never exclusive or anything.” 

“So you don’t mind if I ask her out?” Jane flung another lime slice at Tony. “What?” 

“He’s just ended things with her.” 

“It’s fine. I’m not exactly torn up about it. Like yeah, it was great but it’s not like I was invested or anything.” In truth, Bucky was pretty sure he’d checked out of his little arrangement with Maria a while ago. Their fling ending was probably the one good thing to come out of tonight. “So your free to have a stab at her I guess. Though I gotta say, I don’t think she’s interested.” 

“Ah but I’ve never actually tried. Now that you too aren’t knocking boots, there’s nothing to hold me back.” 

“So, your problem with Steve is that he hangs out with Peggy too often?” Thor asked. Bucky nodded, recoiling a little hearing how stupid it actually sounded. “I think Steve has quite the thing for Peggy.” 

“Well, that’s glaringly obvious. You can practically hear the guy's heart flutter when he sees her.” Jane added. “And I’m pretty sure she likes him too.” 

“Really?” Bucky asked, not actually intending for the question to leave his lips. 

“Yeah, for sure. They’re pretty cute together actually.” 

Bucky’s felt his stomach knot up. He’d never even entertained the idea of Peggy liking, Steve, back, but now that thought had entered his mind, well he didn’t like that one bit. 

His head was all over the place and his stomach felt like it’d dropped to the floor. And not just from the tequila. He needed to get some fresh air. 

“I’ve got to get going.” Bucky shot up from the table, abruptly. “Thanks for the drinks. I’ll get a round next time.” Bucky gathered his jacket and hat and left the group. 

“Weird.” He heard Tony say just as he was edging out of earshot. “Anyway, guess who I caught Bruce in bed with the other day.” 

~*~ 

“Who?” Thor asked in anticipation. As far as he knew, Bruce hadn’t slept with anyone since Betty, so this really was some interesting news. 

“Tony, should you really be telling us this?” Jane asked, with a rather disapproving look.

“Hey, if I was Bruce, I’d be telling every person I knew.” 

“Yes but Bruce isn’t a deplorable man like yourself.”

Thor laughed and Tony shook off the insult. “I walked in on him and Natasha a few days ago.” Thor and Jane looked at each other with wide grins. They clinked their beer glasses in celebration. They had set their plan into motion a few weeks ago but hadn’t really been keeping an eye on how things were going between the pair. “Sorry, am I missing something here?” 

“Thor and I had a feeling Bruce liked her. So we thought we'd try and set them up.” 

Tony scratched at the hairs on his goatee. “How?” 

“We got them both to Heimdall’s Halloween party so that they could hang out together, and it obviously worked,” Jane explained. 

“Right, you do realise that Natasha wound up hooking up with Steve’s soccer buddy Sam that night. And the next two nights after that. So your plan didn’t exactly work out.” 

“Ah yes, but I also gave Bruce a push in the right direction at the football game.” Tony just narrowed his eyes at him, urging him to explain further. “I suggested that he perhaps try dating one of the women in our social group.” 

“Okay, that football game was almost a month ago. They only  just  hooked up. You two are literally the worst matchmakers ever.” 

“Actually we’re two for two,” Thor stated proudly. “We successfully managed to set up my brother Loki and Janes friend Darcy. And now Bruce and Natasha. I’d say we have quite the gift for matchmaking.” Thor smiled proudly and rested his arm on the back of Jane’s chair. 

“Maybe we should try and make it three for three.” 

“Thanks but no thanks,” Tony said. “A) I do not need any help in  that  department, and B) there is absolutely no way you’d see me get tied down.” 

Jane rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about you. Maybe we should try set up Val with someone.” 

Thor stiffened and then tried to overcompensate by relaxing a little too much. He laughed nervously into his beer. “Why would we want to do that.” 

“Well if it’s Val you want to set me up with, then I’d be more than happy to go along with it.” 

“No!” Thor said. Perhaps a little too quickly. “I mean, if we’re going to set her up with someone, it probably shouldn’t be  Tony. ”

“Wow. Buddy, I gotta say I’m hurt. Not surprised. But hurt.” 

“I just, I mean we probably shouldn't exhaust our pool of friends.” If they were gonna set Val up with someone, he certainly didn’t want to see it all the time. 

It’s not that he had feelings for her or anything. No his heart well and truly belonged to Jane. It’s just that he found Val so unbelievable attractive that he went dumb around her. He couldn’t think. And he certainly couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.

But maybe it would be for the best if they set her up with someone. Then maybe he could get thoughts of her out of his head and he could be happy with Jane. Be the boyfriend that she deserved. 

“I just think it would be nice for her to have someone to spend her time with other than you, ya know.” 

“I’m sure she has plenty of other friends.” Jane looked at him a little disappointed. He sighed but finally conceded. “Fine, we can think of someone to set her up with next.” It was probably for the best. For everyone.

~*~

Bucky sat on his bed staring at the door as he waited for Steve. 

He was a little drunk and very tired but he needed to apologise. Needed to make things right between them. 

It was a little after 11:30 when Steve finally made it back to their room and Bucky shot up instantly. Steve stopped in the doorway, before finally making his way in and shrugging off his outdoor wear. 

Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I was such an ass. I had no right to lash out at you. You’d done nothing wrong. I was an absolute dick for no reason to you and Maria. It’s no wonder she called things off with me and I wouldn’t be surprised if you decide you can’t forgive me or-“ 

“I’m sorry to Bucky.” Steve interrupted, catching him a little off guard. “You were right, I had been a shitty friend over the last few weeks.” Bucky attempted to interrupt. “I didn’t even realise that Natasha had gone home already Buck.” Steve ran a hand through his hair and came over to sit on the edge of Bucky’s bed beside him. “It just. I really like her Bucky. She’s smart and funny and beautiful, and I really like her.” 

Bucky felt his stomach drop to the floor again, only this time it definitely wasn’t because of the alcohol. He was disappointed. Steve had feelings for Peggy and that made him feel disappointed. Hurt even. But for why? 

Bucky gave him a small teasing smile. “So d’you work up the courage to ask her out?” He asked, dreading the answer, but it was worse than he could’ve imagined. 

“Sorta. I kissed her. And she kissed me back, Buck.” Steve’s eyes gleamed with joy and Bucky felt his stomach knot up again. That was like a sucker punch straight to his abdomen. 

“I’m really happy for you, Steve,” Bucky said, trying with all that he could to sound genuine. 

“Thanks. But I promise that I’m gonna be a better friend and roommate. I can’t just not hang out with you guys and expect you to not get pissed. Or punch walls.” Steve said with a smirk as he nudged Bucky’s knee with his own. “I’m gonna go grab a shower. Wanna grab a drink tomorrow?” 

“Sure.” Bucky smiled faintly. Steve smiled back, grabbed his shower stuff and turned for the door. 

Bucky’s smile fell as soon as Steve was gone. He reached for his phone to text Natasha. She may be a few hundred miles away but he knows she’ll always be there for him whenever he needs her.  So I think you may have been right. I think I like Steve. 

Her reply came almost instantly.  No shit dipshit. 

He kissed Peggy . He texted back. 

That sucks. I’m sorry. But you’ve either got to tell him how you feel or let this thing run its course.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile. Even over text, Natasha was the straight talker that he loved. She never held back from telling you how it was but it never felt mean or cold-hearted. And she was definitely right in this situation. 

Her follow up text came a minute or two later.  But whatever you decide, you need to go apologise to Maria first .

She was also right about that. 

Bucky grabbed his coat and made his way back out into the winter night again. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol but he could feel tears welling in his eyes. He was never one to cry over a crush, and yet right now he felt the urge to. 

He powered through and made his way to Maria’s dorm. 

She was in her pyjamas when she opened the door, leaning against the doorway looking rather unimpressed. Though after a few seconds her face softened a little. 

“I’m sorry.” Maria’s face softened completely, along with her whole demeanour. “Steve kissed Peggy.” Those words were all it took to allow the first tear to roll down his cheek. 

Eventually, he’d get over this. He’d get over Steve and Peggy, find a few people to sleep with over the Christmas break and come back, over it completely. But today he was going to let himself not be fine. 

In one day he’d realised that he had deep feelings for his roommate and that his roommate had found someone else. And he was allowed to not be okay with this for today. 

Chapter Text

“Hey Clint,” Natasha called upstairs “You ready to drive me to the bus station?”

The Christmas break had flown by pretty quick and she was finally heading back to campus. It didn’t feel like a month had gone by since she got that text from Clint saying that Laura had gone into labour. And yet little Cooper had turned one month old three days ago and had the lung capacity to prove it.

“Err actually there’s been a change of plan,” Clint yelled back. 

“What do you mean a change of plan?” Clint had agreed to drive her to the bus station where she’d have the joy of sitting on the bus for almost nine hours until she got to campus, which sucked. But if Clint didn’t drive her to the bus station then it was a long 30-minute walk through the snow to get to there, which would suck even more. Clint came down the stairs still in his pyjama trousers and dressing gown. “What are you doing? I’m gonna miss my bus if I have to walk.” 

“You’re driving.” Clint chucked the car keys at her and she caught them mid-air. 

“Even better, we’ll get to the station quicker.” 

“No, I mean you’re driving to campus.” Natasha raised a questioning eyebrow. “It’s yours.” 

“Are you serious?” She asked in disbelief. 

“Oh, he’s dead serious baby,” Laura said as she joined them, handing them both mugs of freshly brewed coffee. She couldn’t drink the stuff herself due to the baby but she loved the smell and would brew it constantly throughout the morning. The result of which meant that Natasha always had a mug of the steaming hot bitter liquid with a slightly sweetened edge from the three sugars that she takes with it. 

“Laura’s deemed the Wrangler unsafe for children,” Clint said with a roll of his eyes. “So consider this an early birthday present.” Natasha felt the corner of her mouth tug into a smile. She’d had her eye on the Wrangler since she got her driver’s licence a year ago and now it was hers. She was definitely looking forward to this drive. “A few rules. 1) No driving over the speed limit. I know you like to drive recklessly-“ 

“I’m not reckless, you’re just overly cautious.” 

“2)No sex in the Wrangler!” Natasha choked on her coffee and felt the burn of the liquid in her nose. “I mean it! Cum is a bitch to get out of the upholstery.” 

“You know I’m just gonna take that as a challenge right?” 

“Clint, you’re not getting the Jeep back,” Laura interjected their standoff. “Let her do as she pleases in the Jeep.” 

“You mean  who  I please” Natasha added with a smirk much to Clint’s discontent.

“And by who, do you mean that guy you’ve been texting with all holiday?”

Laura gave her a knowing smirk and Natasha knew she’d been busted. In all fairness, she hadn’t exactly been subtle, she blushed with almost every text from Bruce. 

It’d started since the day after they hooked up   and they’d been texting practically nonstop since. Sure they used to text every now and then before, but that was mainly to let the other know about a party or some kind of event, or that one-time Natasha needed help with one of her physics tests. 

Since that night though they’d been texting back and forth about loads of things ranging from Bruce’s PhD research and her paper on US-Saudi relations to texts that had less of an academic nature. And no matter the topic Natasha couldn’t help the smile that appeared and the blush that dominated her complexion whenever her phone buzzed with a message from Bruce. 

“It might do.” Just thinking of Bruce brought a smile to her face, a feeling she hadn’t had since Matt, and definitely not to this extent. “Speaking of which, I might take a detour on the way to campus.” 

“Do we get to know anything about him?” Clint asked with his arms crossed in an overprotective manner. He’d always been protective of her and even more so when it involved her dating life. 

“There might not be anything to know yet.” 

“Mmhmm tell that to the smile on your face.” 

“Yeah okay, whatever.” Natasha dumped her mug in the sink and tugged her bag up her shoulder. “I’ll text you when I get in. Give Cooper a kiss for me.” They’d only just managed to get him to sleep and she certainly didn’t want to risk waking him up again. The kid may only be 1 month old but the noise that he was already able to make would make you think otherwise.

It was pretty easy to find out where Bruce lived, she knew Tony had taken him in after his Aunt passed so all she had to do was search Tony’s name on the internet and all the info she needed was there. 

Sure the detour meant that she’d have to add a few extra hours to her journey but it was totally worth it. And yeah she sort of felt like she was coming straight out of some kind of cheesy rom-com, but she didn’t really care right now. 

After Matt, she had sworn herself off dating - casual encounters and nothing more. But Bruce was different; a sweet, caring, adorable dork that she hadn’t even realised she was falling for until he kissed her that night after the Nutcracker, and the night that they spent together was unlike anything she’d experienced before. It wasn’t just that it was good sex, it was the way he was with her. The way he looked at her with pure adoration, the way he worshipped her body, the way he put her pleasure before his own, she’d never had that before. Not with Matt, not with Sam and definitely not with the guy from Thor’s party. 

Natasha parked up in the guest parking spot of Stark Tower and noticed how out of place Clint’s-  her - busted up Wrangler looked compared to the showroom clean collection of cars parked up. She knew the Starks were rich but she’d had no idea just how rich, though the massive tower with the family name plastered on it should’ve been a clear indicator. 

She took the elevator all the way up to the penthouse apartment where she was greeted by an old man in his sixties. Trust Stark to have a butler. 

“I’m afraid Mr Stark is away and won’t be returning until tomorrow.” The man said by way of greeting and with the air of someone who’s had to say that to a lot of girls. “If you leave your name and contact information I will be sure to inform him of your visit.” 

“Ew no! I’m here for Bruce.” Natasha realised she probably should’ve made sure he was here first, for all she knew he could’ve gone back to campus already. 

“My apologies, I shall inform him of your arrival.” 

Natasha released a small sigh of relief as the man walked away and left her to marvel and the grandeur of the apartment’s foyer, she’d be intrigued to see what the rest of the apartment looked like. 

She wasn’t left by herself for long as Bruce appeared in the foyer in a crumpled-up button down and equally crumpled slacks looking like he’d just been interrupted during one of his long research stints. It’s not a sight she hadn’t seen before, it’s the look he usually sported most evenings when she’d find him in the quad. 

“Hey.” 

He gave her a shy smile that she couldn’t quite help return. 

Bruce fiddled with his hands, clearly not knowing what to do with himself. And in all fairness, she wasn’t really sure either. How do you normally greet someone who you slept with a month ago and then drove across State to see? Hug? Handshake? Kiss on the cheek? Stick your tongue down his throat?

She finally made her decision and placed a light kiss on his cheek, holding herself back from running her fingers through his hair and crashing her lips to his. She had a sudden urge to go with the tongue down throat option.

“When Jarvis said there was a woman here I didn’t think he meant you.” Natasha raised a questioning eyebrow, making him immediately flustered as he realised the implications of what he just said. “Not that women are coming here often or anything… well for Tony sometimes I guess.” 

“Sure thing stud.” He was really adorable when he got all flustered and she was finding it really hard not to tease him further.”

“How did you find out where I lived?” 

“I told you I was good with computers.” 

Bruce crossed his arms against his chest and leaned against the doorframe, his confidence returning as they eased back into their easy banter. “Always carries a knife, knows self-defence,  and  is creepily good with computers. Were you purposefully raised as some kind of spy in training?” 

“You forgot to mention amazing ability to sneak up on people unnoticed.” She said with an almost shark-like grin. She pulled her car keys out of her pocket and held them up for Bruce to see. “Finally got the Wrangler from Clint. Figured you might like a lift back to campus from someone less annoying than Tony Stark.” 

“How could I turn down such an offer? Though I haven’t packed up any of my stuff yet and I’ve got a couple experiments going at the moment.” Bruce’s brow furrowed in thought. “Fancy hanging out here until they’re done?” 

“And watch you play mad scientist for the next couple of hours?”

“Sorry, not the most exciting thing in the world…” Bruce said self-consciously.

“Sounds good to me doc. Though it’s still a pretty long drive and I’m not sure if I fancy driving through the night…” She trailed off, casting out the line and hoping that he’ll take the bait. 

“Hmm, you’re right. You can always crash here for the night.” Red coloured his cheeks as she gave him another smirk. Hook, line, and sinker. “There are plenty of spare rooms, this penthouse was designed for much more than just two people.” 

Natasha simply nodded, deciding not to tease the poor man any further. “Any chance I can grab a shower? I have been driving for a fair while.” 

“Yeah sure, just this way.” 

Bruce led her up to the second floor of the penthouse to one of the unnecessarily large bathrooms that was bigger than her bedroom at home. The shower itself was big enough for several people to stand in with plenty of space to stretch – perfect for what she had in mind. 

Natasha didn’t wait for Bruce to turn around before she stepped out of her clothes and under the spray of the shower. She could feel Bruce’s eyes on her before she even turned around, and when she did, the want in them was evident. 

She titled her head to the side and gave him a small smirk. “You gonna join me?” She saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulped. “Or are you just gonna leave me in this big ole shower by myself?” 

Bruce’s head shook slowly at first and then began to gain speed as he pulled his shirt over his head. The rest of his clothes quickly joined hers on the floor. 

He was inches away from joining her in the shower when he stopped suddenly. “I erm, I don’t think.” He stammered. “I don’t have any, er… any protection or anything.” 

Natasha bit her lip, she hadn’t accounted for this hiccup in her plan. She thought for a moment before deciding  fuck it!  “I got tested after Sam” She’d taken the necessary precautions of course but it was better to be safe than sorry. “and I’ve got another 7 years on my IUD.” Kids were definitely not something she wanted to worry about. Definitely not for the next 10 years at least and maybe not even beyond that. “I’m good if you are.”

“I haven’t been with anyone but you since Betty.” 

The smirk returned to Natasha’s face as Bruce stepped under the shower spray with her, his hands on her in an instant as she pushed her own into his hair.

Bruce had her backed up against the shower wall and began placing kisses along her neck leading up in a trial to behind her ear and Natasha couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips. She recaptured his lips with her own and enjoyed the motion of their mouths moving in unison together, tongues dancing together in almost perfect synchronisation. 

The water had gone completely cold by the time they were done, but Natasha didn’t care. Her skin felt like it was on fire. She felt like all of her sense had been dialled up to 100. 

Bruce was looking at her with hooded eyes and a dopey smile and she was again swarmed with the urge to kiss him. 

“I should probably go and check on my experiments.” 

“I should probably have an actual shower.” Bruce nodded and gave her one last kiss before stepping out of the shower. 

Natasha stood under the spray, allowing the cold droplets to cool her skin and clear her mind. She hadn’t just driven 3 hours out of her to have sex, although she really enjoyed having sex with Bruce. But she also really enjoyed talking with Bruce and hanging out with Bruce and laughing with Bruce and drinking with Bruce and she’d driven 3 hours out of her way just to do that. Just to be  with  Bruce, because she always wanted to be  with  Bruce. 

When she stepped out of the shower her clothes were gone and replaced with a pair of joggers and one of Bruce’s MCU t-shirts that were clearly two sizes too big for him and absolutely swamped her. She made her way to the kitchen using the aromatic fragrances wafting from the kitchen to guide her to the right room where Bruce was serving up two bowls of heavenly smelling food. 

“I put your clothes in the wash. They’ll be dry by tomorrow morning.” Bruce said once he caught sight of her, handing her a bowl of curry and a bottle of beer. 

Natasha sat on the island opposite from where he had set down his own bowl and quirked an eyebrow at him. “You mean you did, or the butler did?” 

“Nah Jarvis doesn’t really do that kind of thing.” Bruce chuckled. “He practically raised Tony when he was a kid and when his parents died Jarvis insisted he’d stay on to make sure Tony was doing fine. He insists on keeping some of his past duties but we’ve managed to at least convince him that he doesn’t need to clean up after us.” 

Natasha nodded in understanding and took a spoonful of curry. “If I’d known you were this good a cook I would’ve stopped by sooner.” 

“So is that really why you came?” Bruce poked around at his food, purposefully trying not to make eye contact. When Natasha didn’t respond he looked up at her through his lashes. “Shower sex and company on your road trip.” 

“Company yes. The shower sex was a nice bonus though you can’t really text a girl some of the things you do and expect her not to come round.” It was Natasha’s turn to play with her food and avoid eye contact now as she contemplated whether to add more, to tell the truth. “And” she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. If she wanted to be with Bruce, letting him know would probably be a good place to start. “maybe because I wanted to see you.” 

It was silent for a while and Natasha cursed herself for being so open. She hadn’t really thought about the possibility of rejection up until now. She knew Bruce liked her, or at least he used to. What if he’d changed his mind? She looked up at Bruce and prepared herself for some kind of embarrassing rejection but when she looked at him his eyes were soft and his smile even softer. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed by that you know.” He said as he reached over and took hold of her hand. “Maybe I wanted to see you too.”

She felt the knots in her stomach ease slightly as she took in his intense gaze and Natasha decided that was enough confessions for one day. “So, what does a dorky scientist do in a massive penthouse by himself when Tony’s away?” 

“Well, most of the time I’m in the lab or writing papers.” Bruce ran a hand through his still-damp curls. “Tony’s got a pretty sweet home cinema system so sometimes I watch movies. We could put one on if you like.” 

Bruce gave her an easy smile that made the final few knots in Natasha’s stomach unravel. “Definitely.” She breathed out. 

~*~

Yet again Bruce found himself in disbelief of the events of the night before. Even sat opposite Natasha quietly eating breakfast he couldn’t quite believe that she was here, that last night had happened, that  this morning  had happened- it was really just a little surreal. He couldn’t help but stare at her as she ideally scooped up the last of her cereal. And the smile on his face that instantly matched the one that she gave him when she caught him staring couldn’t be helped either. 

“What are you staring at?” 

Her velvety smooth voice knocked him out of his reverie as he realised he had the one spoonful of cereal at the precipice of his lips for an embarrassingly long time. He returned the spoon to the bowl and opted for holding his coffee mug instead, giving his hands something to do other than run through his hair in his moment of embarrassment. 

“I’m just… I’m just really glad you stopped by yesterday.” He said, mustering up all he could to sound cool. 

“Keep saying shit like that and we’re gonna have to delay leaving for a few more hours.” She said with another smile, this one with an evident hint of lust in it. 

“I assume that threat is supposed to be intentionally ineffective.” He questioned with an amused grin. 

He decided he was done with his cereal, the butterflies dancing around in his stomach from the suggestive smirk she was giving him making eating seem like a dangerous venture. 

He picked up her empty bowl on the way to the dishwasher and could almost see the wink she must’ve given as she said, “Looks like you’ve clocked my evil plan.” Oh, he has indeed, and it’s a plan he’d definitely get behind, would thoroughly love to get behind. 

He captured her lips on his return to his seat and consumed her surprise along with the moan she let out as she relaxed into the kiss, her hand finding its way into his curls as she seemed to do quite often whenever their lips met. Bruce was the one to pull away first, enjoying the sound of her dissatisfied moan as he did. He moved back round to his side of the island, knowing full well that if he remained on her side any longer they would most definitely be delaying their departure by more than a few hours. 

He resumed drinking his coffee as though he’d done nothing and was met with a challenging glare when he finally looked up to see Natasha, lips red and eyes dark with lust. He couldn’t help but smirk at her, savouring the fact that she wasn’t the only one that can leave the other all hot and bothered. 

He could tell that there was a snarky comment waiting at the edge of her lips but it was interrupted by the arrival of Tony, who seemed to have a knack for disrupting these kinds of situations. 

“Honey, I’m hoo- Ah shit!” his sitcom-style entrance was stifled by the sight of Natasha sat in his kitchen. “The Russians aren’t trying to spy on Stark Industries are they?” 

“I can assure you the Russians aren’t interested in an American technology company,” Natasha answered dryly. 

“Tell that to your mate Putin.” 

“You do realise I’m not even a Russian citizen, let alone a spy.” 

“That’s exactly what a spy would say.” 

“What are you doing back so soon?” Bruce interrupted their verbal spar that would otherwise go on for the rest of the morning just as Natasha mumbled some kind of threat into her coffee. “thought the convention didn’t end ‘til tomorrow.” 

“What’s wrong Bruce, wanted more alone time with your girlfriend here?” Bruce could feel his face flush bright red and didn’t dare to look over to Natasha. They hadn’t discussed whatever this was, whether it would stop here, whether they were just having casual sex, or were they actually together? Tony must’ve been able to sense the awkwardness and thankfully skipped onto a different topic “I got bored so I let Obi take over for the rest. Figured we could work on the Ultron project for a few days before we head back to campus.”

“Uh actually,” Bruce scratched the back of his neck, torn between disappointing his best friend or a beautiful redhead. Though it was an easy decision of course – always side with the beautiful redhead. Tony will get over it. Natasha might not sleep with him again and that’s a bigger price to pay. “Natasha’s got a new car so we were gonna drive back to campus today. Test the brakes and stuff.” He said with a shrug. 

“Is that why there’s a busted-up Jeep in my garage?” 

“Not all of us can afford a brand new GTR, Stark.” Natasha shot back. 

“So you’re gonna ditch me for your new girlfriend?” 

Bruce’s face reddened again at Tony’s use of the word, even more so when Natasha responded “yes” matter-of-factly, without even looking up from the phone she was now scrolling through. No confirmation with him about whether that was what she was now. Does she assume that she does?  Is  Natasha now his girlfriend? He’d have no issue but surely it’s something to discuss first. 

“What’s she got that I don’t?” Tony asked and Bruce had to stop himself from pointing out the obvious physical differences that swing in Natasha’s favour. He saw one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows raise as though on the same train of thought as him and he had to hold back a snicker as she looked down at her own breasts. “What can she give you that I can’t?” 

“Great head,” Natasha answered before he could get any words out, causing the red on his face to intensify. 

He attempted to stutter around a response but his tongue suddenly felt heavy in his mouth. Now would be the perfect time for the ground to swallow him whole.

“I could give great head!" Tony thought for a moment. "Actually scrap that, I’m pretty sure there’s no manscaping going on down there.” He nodded towards Bruce’s crotch as though anyone needed further elaboration on what was meant by  down there.

Natasha saved any sarcastic comment he could tell she has waiting to come out with and instead opted for a simple, “you’d be surprised.” 

Tony genuinely looked like he was contemplating it, which had Bruce more than a little concerned. At his resolve, he shook his head, “Nah, I don’t buy it. Could definitely give a decent handjob though.” He said with the utmost confidence. “I’ve got great wrist action” There’s about a 0.00000055% chance that a plane would hit you in your lifetime or 1 in 20 million. He’d very much like it if that could happen to him right now, though the odds aren’t exactly in his favour. “and you’ve got dainty hands.” 

“I’ve had no complaints yet, Stark. But if you’re willing to add a new dimension to the boundaryless friendship-“ 

“Boundaryless thanks to Tony,” Bruce interjected.

“-just to have a companion on your drive to campus, by all means.” She signalled over to Bruce, as though he’s hers to loan out to the highest bidder. He’s not sure why but he kind of likes that. 

For all his whining, Tony just waved her off and said “Nah you take him. He falls asleep after the first 10 minutes on the road anyway.” 

“Tony was right, 10 minutes in and you were out like a light.” 

Bruce’s eyes took a while to refocus, his head feeling a little groggy from his impromptu nap. “How long was I out for?” He asked as he straightened up in his seat, cracking his neck from where he was sleeping on it funny. 

“3 hours. You missed the entire drive through Philly.” 

“Bummer, I really wanted a cheesesteak.” She let out one of her short snorts, the ones she only releases when she finds something genuinely funny. The ones that he’s pretty sure she only lets  him  hear, though that could just be his over-inflated ego talking. “So, that conversation with Tony. Did you mean what you said?” 

“About giving great head? You tell me.”  

“You’ve got one highly satisfied customer over here.” She gave him a sideways glance and a wink but left the conversation there, left it up to him to ask what he really wanted to ask or just leave it at that. He took a few seconds to gather his thoughts, decide the best method of attack. “Tony asked if I was ditching him for my girlfriend…” he stalled a little, hoping she would step in and ease him of some of the awkwardness of this conversation. She seemed to be offering no such help. “You answered yes…” another stall, still no help. “And seeing as we haven’t really spoken about it, I was just wondering if you meant to do that. To assume the title that answering “yes” implies.” 

“ Assume the title  - fucking hell Bruce, you’re not dictating part of a thesis. Is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?” 

A playful smirk formed on her face, refuelling his confidence. “And if it were?”

She looked as though she was genuinely contemplating her answer, flipping a coin in her head maybe. Finally, she answered, “I’d say grow a pair and ask me properly.” 

“I thought you weren’t into relationships and that sort of thing?” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. He’d meant to just ask her to go out with him, but he just couldn’t help himself from asking. Natasha was very vocal with her anti-relationships message. 

“I’m 19 Bruce, I don’t exactly have a solid handle on what I want, do I?” Bruce had obviously said the wrong thing and Natasha was not impressed. He may have fucked this up entirely. “I don’t know if I want the romantic crap and all that. All I know is I like it when we hang out and I like it when we fuck and I think I’d like it if we could do those things regularly.” Bruce was very glad that Natasha had the road to focus on, at least the glare she was giving the road wasn’t directed at him. “Like Jesus fuck Bruce, I drove 3 hours into the city just to come see you for Christ sake!” 

Well, that was true. 

Bruce made a sound like a  humph , nodded his head and said, “can we pull over at the next service station? I could do with a toilet and a stretch.” 

He watched her grip tighten on the steering wheel, her jaw set in annoyance, anger setting in momentarily before her jaw relaxed and her grip slackened. Resolve washing over her as though the disappointment was to be expected. 

He was pretty sure she missed the first service station on purpose. Though he doesn’t ask, just points out the next one when it comes up. 

He left her at the Jeep, stretching over the hood as she texted away on her phone. No doubt telling Maria or Steve or Bucky about what an asshole he was. Or texting all 3 at once. There’s probably a “Bruce Banner’s a dick” group chat up and running already. 

Or maybe he thinks he occupies far more of her headspace than he actually does. Part of him sort of hopes that he’s infuriated her to that extent. The other part reminds himself that she probably won’t think twice about the topic of their earlier conversation. 

Still, he made his purchases and returned to the Jeep where she waited. Wilted poinsettia in one hand, Mars bar in the other. 

“This was the closest variation of flowers and chocolate that I could get in there.” He offered with a shrug to her look of confusion. “I’m glad you don’t want the romantic crap ‘cause I’m not really good at that.” Bruce held up the poinsettia and Mars bar “Case and point. But I like it when we fuck too. And I really really like hanging out with you. And I’d be very happy to know that I was the only guy you were doing that with. The fucking part, you can hang out with whoever you want, I’m not possessive or anything,” Natasha let out a snort of laughter. “So,” He took a deep breath. “Natasha, will you be my girlfriend?”

“You’re such a dork” The smile that spread across her face made the tense silence from moments ago feel worth it. Particularly as she collected the offerings, set them on the hood and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.  

“Is that your way of saying yes?”

“And if it were?” she said as she pulled back in time to see the smirk spread across his lips. 

“I’d say grow a pair and answer me properly.” 

The rest of the drive was charged with tense sexual energy, a clear desire to return to campus as quick as possible evident in the force that Natasha applied to the accelerator. The remaining 2 hours of their journey was easily being whittled down to 1 with Natasha cruising down the fast lane without care for normal highway etiquette. 

The conversation was light, topics revolving around science and ballet, elements of coding thrown in on Natasha’s part. Yet the growing desire between them was more than evident. The tension in their voices and the blush creeping up Natasha’s neck as anticipation pooled in their stomachs pointed to the shared desire.

He briefly considered telling her to pull over so they could just fuck in the back seat just to relieve some of the tension. It would certainly make driving much safer. It couldn’t be easy to navigate the roads when so much want was pooling in your stomach, yet she did it like a pro. 

He decided to restrain himself if anything it’ll make the end result just that much more satisfying. If she can control herself then so can he. Though he couldn’t help but wonder when the tension had amped up to this extent. Somewhere after their conversation at the service station this energy seemed to take over the vehicle. Perhaps a decision to mark the new step in their relationship? Whatever it was, he certainly was not complaining. 

They kept themselves contained when they took Bruce’s bags up to his room, and even when they took her stuff up to hers. 

It was only when Natasha set the poinsettia on the windowsill, in the place where a long-dead potted plant sat, that the culmination of the journey’s tension erupted. All with Bruce simply asking “so, what did you want to do?” and then they were on each other in an instant. Like they were sinners at hells gates and salvation can only be found at the back of the other’s throat. 

“I had a few things in mind,” Natasha said between breaks for air. 

“Your appetite is insatiable.” Bruce breathed out.

“I had plans this morning, but someone couldn’t contain themselves.” 

“Well, you weren’t kidding when you said great head.” And just the reminder of this morning was enough to have him aching to get things moving along swiftly. “Besides, I’d like to think I made up for that… twice.” 

“That you did.”  

His eyes flickered towards the door that neither of them had remembered to close. He’d thought about going to close it but the taste of Natasha’s tongue served well to make him forget about the open door. That was until the sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway brought his mind back into focus as the two of them broke apart. 

“Mum, Dad, this is Natasha” Maria stood in the doorway with her parents, her mum a petite looking woman, dwarfed by the large muscular man in uniform - evidently Maria’s army general father. “And this is Bruce.” 

“My boyfriend.” Natasha supplied as though the statement would take away some of the embarrassment of the situation. 

“Nice to meet you.” Bruce held out a hand and was met with a cold stare as the general’s eyes drifted downwards to Bruce’s open fly. “ Shit.”  He could see Maria mouthing the word  boyfriend  to Natasha in surprise as he scrambled to put himself to rights and thought it was about time he got out of there before the situation became anymore embarrassing for him. He turned to Natasha with a quick “I’ll see you later.” Opting out of giving her a peck on the cheek given the extreme amount of PDA they recently displayed. With one last “Pleasure meeting you” to the still unimpressed parents, Bruce left with what he can only assume would be a permanent look of embarrassment on his face. 

~*~ 

“Boyfriend?” Maria said as soon as her parents were out the door. 

She’d rushed through their lunch just so she could get back to her room and quiz Natasha on the recent developments. She had no idea that Natasha even found Bruce attractive. And she was pretty sure Natasha was the last person to ever want to get into a relationship. And yet one month away from college and not only did she now have a boyfriend, but that boyfriend was Bruce. 

What the hell had happened in the past month? What had she missed? 

“Yeah, so that’s a thing.” Natasha shrugged nonchalantly. 

Nu-uh. That was not gonna cut it. “Spill. Now.” Maria demanded as she sat on her bed opposite Natasha, who was currently more interested in painting her toenails than she was in having this conversation. 

“Dunno what you want me to tell. Bruce asked me out. I said yes.” 

“Yeah see that just doesn’t really make sense though does it?” Natasha looked up at Maria confused. “Like you’re both really hot don’t get me wrong. You in a more obvious sort of way. Bruce is in a kinda sexy professor that you’ll happily fuck even if its not for extra credit sorta way.” Natasha raised a challenging eyebrow at her. “Right sorry, I’ll steer clear of talking about hypothetically wanting to sleep with your boyfriend.” 

“Appreciated.” 

“It’s just.” How could she say this without it being weird? Or rude for that matter. “Well, you haven't exactly been pro relationships or anything. Plus, literally the last day you were on campus Bucky and I caught you at the end of a walk of shame and-“ 

“I was coming back from Bruce’s” Natasha stated matter-of-factly. Maria stared at her dumbfounded. Well, that would sort of start to explain it. “Did I not tell you that?” 

“No. No, you did not.” 

“Huh.” Natasha shrugged. “Musta forgot with all the drama going on.”

“Right so you sleep with Bruce and then what? Next morning he asks you to go out with him and you say yes?” 

“No. I slept with Bruce, then rushed back home the next morning cos Laura was giving birth. Bruce asked me out on the drive up here.” 

“Nat there’s a whole month gap between those events.” This was like drawing blood from a stone. “This would go a lot easier if you just told me how this happened. Why can’t you be one of those girls that gets a crush on a guy and then never stops talking about it?” She was starting to understand why Bucky avoided having to do this often. Finding out information from Natasha was hard work. 

“Okay, first of all, neither of us are that type of girl and I think we’re pretty happy about that.” Maria let out a small laugh in agreement. Natasha wasn’t wrong there. Maria dreaded those moments with her friends from high school where one of them would start swooning over the latest boy they had a crush on. There were certainly more interesting conversations to have. “Second of all, I don’t just have a  crush .” 

“Well, then how come this is the first I’m hearing about this?” 

“Because I…” Natasha let out a long breath and ran a hand through her hair. She looked as though she was suddenly about to open up but then a small smirk played on her lips and she changed tactic. “We don’t usually do this, do we?” 

Maria couldn’t help but answer her with a smile. “No we don’t, but Steve won't be back on campus for a few more days and we can get Bucky round here but he thinks he’s in love with Steve so he isn’t exactly much fun to be around these days. And you’re not getting out of this that easily.”

She’d skyped with Bucky a few times over the Christmas break and every time he would go over the same line, that he was stupid for not realising how much he liked Steve and now Steve isn’t interested and he’s found someone else and yadda yadda yadda. Don’t get her wrong, she really did feel bad for Bucky, he was now crushing hard for his roommate. But she couldn’t help but feel if he had listened to her and Natasha in the first place then maybe he wouldn’t be in this well of heartbreak and misery. 

“Worth a shot.” Natasha shrugged again. “That day when we all watched Thor’s football game when we first met Peggy.” Maria nodded along. “Steve told me that Bruce had a thing for me and was probably gonna ask me out. And I was dreading it because we have so much in common and he’s a really good friend and I didn’t want to have to let him down or anything like that. And then he kissed me after my Nutcracker performance and I guess I realised that I wanted to kiss him back.” 

Natasha paused but Maria didn’t dare to intervene. Allow the deer to walk into the clearing at its own pace and you might be able to catch a glimpse of it. Don’t make any sudden movements otherwise you’ll scare it away. 

“And even when I woke up next to him, I knew should probably leave but I realised that I didn’t want to. I really liked sleeping next to him. And even as I was driving to his place yesterday I told myself it was just for the sex but really I knew I just wanted to see him again.” 

“Wait, you drove out of your way just to see a guy?” Maria teased, offering the chance to lighten the mood. 

“I swear to god, if you make fun of me I will never tell you anything again,” Natasha said, trying and failing to hold back her laughter. “I dunno, Bruce and I… It just sorta makes sense. Like it didn’t at first when Steve mentioned it, but then after really thinking about it, it just does.” 

“And the sex is pretty good, right?” 

“ Soo good.  Like multiple orgasms good.” 

“Urgh, I envy you.” Maria joked, the final remnants of the heavy atmosphere that had built up finally dissipating. 

Of all the things she expected 

to happen when she got back to college, Natasha Romanoff being in a relationship was not one of them. 

Chapter Text

The knock on Bucky’s door came a few minutes after he’d returned from his shower. Topless and hair still damp, Bucky made for the door pleased by the sassy comment that greeted him once it was open.

“Jesus Bucky, put some goddamn clothes on, will you?” Natasha said, barging into his room, a bottle of vodka in one hand and two shot glasses in the other. She dropped herself into his desk chair, kicking Steve’s out for Bucky to join her. Bucky eyed her as she poured out two shots and held one out to him. “Na Zdorovie!”

Bucky chugged the shot back, wincing as the vodka burned its path down his throat and through his stomach. Natasha was unsurprisingly unperturbed by the potent liquid.

“Wanna explain what’s happening here,” Bucky asked as he grabbed a shirt from the closet and sat in the chair opposite her.

Natasha shrugged as she poured out two more shots. “A lot’s happened since we last did this. You’ve realised your feelings for Steve, you and Maria stopped doing each other–“

“You’re seeing someone.” Bucky interrupted, a smirk playing across his face, eyes glued to Natasha waiting to see her reaction, searching for any flicker of a sign on her face to suggest he was right.

She almost fooled him with her stoic expression. Her facial features kept neutral and focussed. But her thumb had started to skim the rim of her glass to give her away.

Natasha cleared her throat, sitting straighter in her chair. “What makes you say that?”

Bucky’s smile grew wider. “You were texting the entire time we were at the bar yesterday. And you were smiling the whole time too.” Not to mention that Maria may have hinted something to him. Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled a little. “So? Who is he?”

“How badly d’you wanna know?” Natasha nodded towards the shot glass and Bucky felt his insides recoil.

He knew that this game wouldn’t work out well for him – it never did. But Natasha would very rarely disclose information without the addition of alcohol and very rarely not in this form.

 “Alright then. Same rules as always?”

“Of course.”

The game was simple really, he’d make a statement and if he was right, Natasha would drink. If he was wrong, he’d drink and it would be Natasha’s turn. Questions could be asked, but you’d have to do a shot and forfeit your next go so they had to be worth it. The game would end when they either had their desired answers or had passed out, whichever came first – though, for Bucky, it was usually the latter.

“He’s someone from back home,” Bucky stated with some confidence.

“Eesh! Wrong on the first go.” Natasha laughed and all the confidence drained out of him, particularly given the fact that he didn’t know what she was asking him about. Probably Steve which he was not looking forward to. Natasha waited until he had fully recovered from the second shot before taking her turn. “You’re nervous about Steve finding out.”

“Well, that’s a pretty obvious one,” Bucky said as he refilled the cup and shot it back, the third not as difficult to handle as the first two – though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“Why?” Natasha asked sincerely.

“You really wanna give up your go that easily?” Natasha merely shrugged and downed her shot. Bucky sighed deeply. “I completely ignored his feelings for me, probably made him feel like shit and flirted with him excessively. And now that he’s seeing someone else-“

“-She’s going to Paris for the semester then moving back to England.”

“Doesn’t matter. Now I go and confuse things just when he thinks he has it all figured out. He’d be pissed.” 

“You have met Steve right? He doesn’t exactly get pissed”

“Still, he wouldn’t exactly be happy about it. Besides, he’s over me now so it’ll just make things awkward.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair and thought of his next question. “He’s from the Uni,” Natasha said nothing. Just refilled her shot glass and swallowed its contents in one go. Now they were getting somewhere.

More than half a bottle of vodka later and all Bucky had deduced was that the guy Natasha was seeing went to MCU, was a few years older, new most of their friends and did not belong to any of the sports teams. Whilst Natasha had thoroughly probed Bucky on his feelings for Steve and his plans of telling – or better yet not telling Steve about the way he felt.

“When did you meet this guy?” Bucky asked, slurring his words more than a little. Then, deciding that the answer to the first one was unimportant he quickly changed his mind. “Wait no, when did you hook up with this guy?”

Natasha laughed at Bucky’s obvious drunkenness. “First day on campus and the night of the Nutcracker.” She may have been slurring a little, but far less than he was.

“Oh, so new beau was the one-night stand?” Bucky vaguely recalled not being too concerned with the name of the individual she’d spent the night with at the time. Now he deeply regretted not pressing her for more information.

“I answered two of your questions so it’s only fair I get this one for free. You gonna start dating again?”

Bucky sighed deeply. “I dunno Tash.” And he really didn’t. A part of him thought he should start dating around as a way to move on from Steve, but another part of him held onto a hope that Steve might still have feelings for him. From what he heard from Natasha, Steve had been crushing on him pretty hard and those kinds of feelings don’t exactly disappear overnight. And long-distance relationships never worked out, right? So he and Peggy were bound to break up at some point. “I mean, if I don’t start seeing other people then I’m obviously just waiting for him to break up with Peggy and that makes me a shitty friend. But I don’t think I want to fuck my way outta this one.”

Natasha obviously heard the sadness in his voice but she didn’t press him further on this. Simply accepted the statement for what it was and moved on with her go. Which Bucky was immensely grateful for.

After about another half an hour of the game and Bucky was well and truly drunk. He was pretty sure he’d poured his heart out to Natasha one hundred times over by now and had told her everything. On the other hand, he was no closer to finding out who Natasha was dating than he was when they started the game.

Sure he had asked her more questions and she’d revealed more about the guy, but he was so drunk he’d started asking the same questions over again. And Natasha, not being one to take pity on his drunken idiocy, kept answering them as if he’d never asked them before.

It wasn’t until he was falling asleep in his chair that Natasha finally decided to call an end to their little drinking game and helped Bucky to bed, laying him on his side and tucking him in at his request. She may have a funny way of showing it most of the time, but Natasha really was a big old softy and would always take care of the people she loved when they needed her most.

Her phone went off just as she was tucking him in. He didn’t see whose name was on the screen – mainly because he was seeing everything in doubles – but when she answered the phone, her voice took on a soft tone, softer than he’d heard before, and a smile spread across her face. It must’ve been the guy.

“Hey Bruce.” Bruce? Why was Bruce calling her at… he glanced over to his alarm clock, at 2 in the morning? Or was it 22:00, he couldn’t really tell and trying to focus on his clock long enough to work it out was making him feel sick. “I’m just leaving Bucky’s.” Surely, she wasn’t going to meet Bruce out by the fountain at 2 am in the middle of winter. “Fancy ordering a pizza. I just need to swing by mine and pick up some overnight things. ‘kay, see you soon.”

Overnight stuff. Seeing Bruce at 2 am. Holy shit. “It’s Bruce!” Bucky said, pointing at Natasha from where he lay.

Natasha picked up one of the abandoned, half-filled shot glasses and finished off the contents, giving him a wink as she backed out through the door.

“Night Bucky.”

“Love you, Tash.” He said just as the door was closing, hearing her faint “love you too” as it finally closed.

~*~

Thor was incredibly happy to be back at MCU for another term. Sure, skiing in the French Alps with his parents and his brother Loki was great fun, but Jane had spent the holiday in New Mexico working on one of her projects. Which was fantastic. Jane was working on some ground-breaking stuff out there and he was pretty certain that women was well on her way to winning a Nobel Prize someday soon.

But that did mean that he had to spend 4 weeks without her, which was always a bummer. Yeah, skiing was fun, but without Jane there, nothing was ever truly fun. Not to mention Loki was just as moody being separated from Darcy for so long. Which was like double the moody Loki usually displays when hanging out with Thor and their parents. At least now they could both be reunited with their beloved girlfriends in a mere matter of moments.

Thor eagerly barrelled down the halls as he headed towards the dingy campus bar, Loki trailing close behind.

“Must you walk so fast?”

“Apologies brother.” Thor slowed down to allow Loki to catch up with him. “I am indeed excited to see my beloved Jane after so long. And surely you must be to see Darcy.” Thor swung his arm over his brother’s shoulder, which Loki immediately shrugged off.

They may have gotten closer since Loki and Darcy got together but they certainly couldn’t be considered friends. But still, Loki was willingly hanging out with him and he’d definitely count that as a win.

“Thor!” Jane waived them down as they entered the bar having arrived before them and already ordered a round.

Thor picked up his pace once again, eager to hold Jane in his arms once more.

Thor engulfed her in a tight hug. “Jane my love. Oh, how I have missed you.” Thor kissed her lips tenderly.

“I missed you too. How was skiing?” Jane asked as they sat back at the table.

“It was incredibly enjoyable. Though I regret that you could not join us. I hope the research in New Mexico proved to be insightful.”

“Are you kidding? It was insane. Jane like, discovered a star or something.” Darcy chimed in once she had thoroughly greeted Loki.

“Darcy did you not read my notes at all?” Darcy merely shrugged, causing Jane to roll her eyes. Despite often joining Jane on her numerous science expeditions, Darcy had absolutely no interest in her projects. Thor supposed she only tagged along each time to have an all-expenses-paid trip, the only catch being that she had to help Jane from time to time. “We were studying the December Solstice. Nothing to do with discovering stars.”

Thor’s face lit up. “In my culture, it is customary to burn a Yule log on the hearth to honour the Norse God, Thor – whom I was named after.”

“Thor, must you bore everyone with your tales of Swedish folklore?” Loki moaned. He’d always been embarrassed by the traditions of their ancestors for reasons Thor could never quite deduce.

“Oh, I dunno, our cultural traditions to be quite fascinating.” Said Val as she walked by their table. “Norse Gods. Vikings. Kulning. ABBA. I’d say we have a lot to boast about.”

“Val, my dear friend!” Thor stood to give her a hug in greeting. “It’s so good to see you once again.”

Jane cleared her throat with a soft cough, reminding Thor of her presence and that of everyone else at their table.

“Yes, Val, how lovely to see you.” Thor could tell that Jane’s words weren’t genuine. Nor was the smile plastered on her face.

“Val, I must introduce you to my dear friend, Darcy and my brother, Loki. Loki, Val is also from Sweden. She is here on her exchange year.”

“And what makes you think I would be interested in that fact, brother.”

“Loki.” Darcy elbowed him in the rib cage. An action that would, for anyone else, result in an angry tirade from his brother, but for Darcy, resulted in a polite sorry dear and a smile. Darcy really was having a positive impact on his brother. “You’ll have to excuse Loki, he’s a real grumpasauras but once he’s had a second pint, he’s a lot nicer.”

“Please Val, come join us. I’ll get you a chair.”

“Oh, I’m sure Val has better things to do with her evening.”

Once again, Thor could hear that her comments were not at all genuine. Though he knew she truly did hope that Val had other things to do with her evening. And by the look on Val’s face, so did she.

“Actually, Jane’s right. I do have other plans. I’m here with a friend.” Val pointed over to a table in the corner where a woman Thor vaguely recognised was sat. If he remembered correctly, it was Carol – the head of the women’s athletic team.

“Ah, well we shouldn’t keep you from your friend,” Jane said with a curt smile. “Have a lovely evening.”

Val gave a short bye and left to join Carol, who had stood to greet her.

Thor couldn’t but feel a little peeved at Jane’s shortness with Val.

“Jane, I do not understand why you are so dismissive of Val. Has she not been anything but pleasant towards us?”

“Yeah, a little too pleasant to you more like,” Jane said into her drink, causing Loki to snigger.

“And what do you mean by that?” Thor asked.

“You know exactly what I mean by that. She’s extra friendly towards you.”

“Guys, maybe we shouldn’t do this hear.”

“Have I not always been loyal to you?” Thor demanded, ignoring Darcy’s attempt to stop the beginnings of a very public argument. “Do you not trust me?”

“How can I? With the way you look at her – the way you look at her breasts! The way you refuse to hear any discussion of trying to set her up with someone. Like you don’t want her off the market or something. It doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re attracted to her!”

“She’s an extremely attractive woman! Of course, I have noticed her beauty.” Thor exclaimed and that was definitely the wrong thing to say. He wished he could take those words back instantly, but it was way too late for that. The damage had already been done. “But Jane I –“

“No.”

“Jane, that doesn’t mean I find her more beautiful than you.”

“Save it, Thor. I don’t want to hear it.” Jane stood abruptly, collecting her things and storming out of the bar.”

“Jane!” Thor stood, intending to go after her.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Darcy said. “Probably better if I go. She’ll just wind up screaming at you again.” Darcy kissed Loki goodbye and followed after her best friend. Leaving Thor and Loki alone at the table.

“Well, I say dear brother. You really did make a mess of that didn’t you,” Loki said snidely.

“Choose your words carefully from here on brother. I will not go light on you.” Thor snarled through gritted teeth.

“Charming.”

He certainly wasn’t in the mood for Loki’s snide remarks. Not now.

Jane had no reason to be so jealous of Val. So he had made friends with an attractive woman. And so maybe his eyes lingered on her a little longer than they should. But he would never act on such a basic attraction. And certainly not while he was seeing Jane. He would never do that.

And yet Jane behaved as if he would sleep with any woman, he could the moment her back was turned. It was absolutely ludicrous!

Thor gulped down the last of his beer and raised the empty glass. “Barkeep, another!”

“Well, this isn’t going to end well.” Loki made eye contact with the bartender and shook his empty glass a little, indicating their desire for another pint. Which, as much as Loki’s presence right now was aggravating him, was ultimately a good thing. Thor was going to need someone to rant to.

~*~

“Hey ma, have you seen my blue sweater?” It was the last day before Peggy was flying back to England before heading to Paris for the second semester of her study abroad programme and Steve had the whole day planned out for them to make the most of it, starting with brunch. A brunch he was going to be late for if he didn’t find his sweater and get out of the door as soon as possible. “Ma?” Steve called again.

“Stop yelling.” His mum called back.

“Ma I’m gonna be late.” Steve rolled his eyes, which he had to quickly suppress as his mum popped her head around the door.

“Is this for your date with Peggy?” Sarah asked with just a hint of teasing.

“Maaa” Steve whined.

“I know, I know. But how did you expect me to react when my son got his first girlfriend or boyfriend.”

His mum had been so excited when he told her that he and Peggy had kissed. Granted, she was a little bit confused. But after a long talk about attractions – he always had been able to speak to his mum about that sort of thing – she had been absolutely overjoyed.

“Ma, we’re not a couple or anything.” He said as he took his blue sweater from her. “And besides, Peggy goes back to England tomorrow, so it can’t really work out.” His words were shrouded with more than a little bit of sadness.

He hadn’t really processed the fact that Peggy was leaving. He just repeatedly pushed it aside and focussed on the time that they had together. But that time was coming to an abrupt end and he knew he’d have to face this day eventually. Which was why he was intent on making their last day a great one.

“Well whatever you are, I think you’re adorable.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes again. “Is it cool if I take dad’s Harley?” His mum gave him a stern look. “Please.” He pleaded.

“Fine. But be back by 10 and no going over the speed limit.”

“You’re the best. Thank you!” Steve shrugged on his jacket, kissed his mum on the forehead and headed down to the small garage of their apartment complex.

There in bay 15 was his dad’s old 1984 Harley Davidson XLS 1000 Sportster. It had been sat there collecting dust for 14 years before he’d finally convinced his mum to let him fix it up. And then it took another 4 years for her to let him ride it every now and then. They’d now managed to get to a point where he got away with asking to ride it quite often – of course with the exception that he brought it back home before 10 and never went faster than 30mph. But at least he got to ride it.

He loved the feel of the machine, the roar of the engine, the way it glided across the roads, the world zooming past him in a blur as he drove through the city. And he knew Peggy was going to love it too.

He pulled up outside the hotel she was staying at and leaned back on the bike, waiting for Peggy to emerge from the foyer.

When she did, his breath caught a little in his throat as it hit him, this would be the last time they’d get to do this; the last time he’d pick her up for one of their dates. And that really sucked.

As Peggy drew closer, he naturally moved towards her, pulling her into his arms. As he kissed her lips, he couldn’t help the sadness that washed over him.

“Don’t do that,” Peggy said sternly. “Don’t make today a sad one.”

Steve managed to put on a semblance of a smile. “Okay.”

“Nice wheels.” Peggy let out a whistle of approval as she inspected the bike. “Is this a vintage Harley?”

“Sure is.”

“Can I drive?”

“Haha.” Steve’s laughter bubbled through him. “No chance. My mum would kill me and then you, and then me again if anything happened to this bike. It was my dad’s. I’ve only just managed to convince my mum to let me take it out and under some very strict rules.” Steve handed her the spare helmet. “But you do get to ride shotgun. Mon chéri.” He held out his hand to help her onto the back of the bike. “Hold onto my waist, try to lean with the bike.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll see.” Steve winked, flipped down the visor on his helmet, and took off.

Luckily, traffic was good, and they were at the café in less than 20 minutes; the pint-sized French café which brought Southern France to Soho. He’d seen someone post a picture of the quant little café on Instagram and that’s when it hit him, the whole theme of their last day together - petit Paris. He’d planned a French-themed day. After brunch, they were heading to the MoMA to see their modest Monet collection, then checking out a little French boutique he’d discovered on Pinterest, finished off with dinner and a walk through Central Park.

The whole day was planned to be perfect, and it absolutely was. Until the end when the inevitable goodbye had to happen. They’d walked around the whole of Central Park and were slowly making their way back to the bike and Steve was dreading what came next. Hence his stalling and sudden desire to listen to the violinist performing by the lake.

“I had a really great time, Steve.” Peggy’s gloved hand brushed against his and he latched onto it instantly. 3 months ago, he never would’ve had the guts to take her hand, but ever since he and Peggy had embarked on this… thing – whatever it was – he’d felt much more confident. “Not just for today. But for the whole last term. I was so lucky to meet you at that Halloween party.”

“And to think, we never would’ve met if Tony wasn’t such a brazen asshole.” Steve tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I really wasn’t looking forward to this part.”

“I know. But we both knew it would come eventually.”

“It just sucks that eventually eventually came round.”

“Steve,” Peggy took both of his hands in hers. “I know it sucks that I’m going, but we knew this was happening and we should be happy that we got to meet each other in the first place.”

“It doesn’t have to end. We could try something long-distance.” Steve said hopefully. “FaceTime technologies have come a long way in the past few years.”

“Steve, we haven’t even officially been dating. You’ve never actually asked me out.”

“Fair point. Peggy, will you go out with me. Over Skype?” Peggy laughed and hit him playfully on the chest. “What? Too late? Yeah, the time difference would be hard at first, but we can work something out. I can come visit you in Paris”

“You and what money Steve?”

“I’ll get a job.” Peggy let out a laugh in disbelief. “I’m serious. I can get a job on campus, save up and come and visit you during spring break.”

“And what about when I move back to England?” Steve’s shoulder’s sagged as he deflated. “It wouldn’t work Steve and you know it. And I don’t want us, what we have to be soured by the tricky terrain of a long-distance online relationship.”

Steve sighed deeply. “I know.”

“We can still Skype Steve. All the time. No matter what happens I still want us to be friends.”

“So I guess this is the end of us then.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“I really wish I’d kissed you sooner than I did.”

“So do I.”

“I guess I’ll just have to make this one great.” Steve drew in closer, there lips only inches apart.

He was just about to seal the kiss when Peggy pulled back slightly.

“This is the sad part.”

“It is.”

“I don’t want to end things with a sad kiss goodbye.”

“So what do suggest?”

“I just mean that I don’t want us to look back at our last kiss with sadness. And it will be because of the very fact that it is our last kiss.”

“So?” Steve said confused.

“So let’s not. I have a whole cache of happy moments with you. I don’t want a single sad one.”

“So we don’t ruin what’s been an amazing past few months with one sad moment?” Peggy nodded. Although he did want to kiss Peggy – he always wanted to kiss Peggy – he was quite into her idea. The past few months had been some of the best in his whole life, why taint them with a sad finale? “So we just end here?”

“Well, it’s late, dark and below 0, so I was hoping to get a ride back home.” Steve chuckled. “But yes, we end here.”

“I guess I can give you a lift back.”

“Can I drive? Seen as we want to make this a perfect day and all.”

Another full belly laugh rolled through him. “You want to make it to Paris alive, don’t you?”

Steve opened the door to his dorm room only to be greeted by a sorry state. The blinds were drawn, the room was dark, stale vodka hung in the air, and Bucky was still in bed.

“Bucky, it’s 3 in the afternoon. What are you doing still in bed?”

Bucky let out a rough groan as he attempted to burrow further into his pillow. “Do you have to be so loud?”

Steve’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene. They finally landed the culprit of the stale smell – a ¾ empty bottle of vodka, two shot glasses and numerous vodka splashes across Bucky’s desk, drawing Steve to the one obvious conclusion.

“Natasha was here?” Bucky’s second groan confirmed his suspicions. “And of course, she out drank you.”

“Don’t play drinking games with Natasha, they’re rigged for her to win.” Bucky pushed himself up to face him and Steve knew exactly what was coming next. “How were things with Peggy yesterday?”

Steve sighed deeply as he took a seat at Bucky’s desk, mindful not to dip his elbows in any vodka. “It was great, and it sucked, and she left for Paris today. We can Skype I guess, but things are over between us.”

“Sorry man.”

Steve shrugged off the apology. Eager to change the subject he asked, “why were you playing a drinking game with Natasha anyway?”

“She lured me under the pretence of catching up. But I think she just wanted to get me drunk so she could tell me she’s seeing Bruce.”

“She didn’t tell you that they slept together last semester?”

“You knew?”

“Bruce told me after it happened.” Bucky got a sudden protective look on his face. “Not in a braggy way, he was just. Well, you know he’s liked her for months now.”

“He better. Natasha actually came to tell me about this. She must be pretty excited. I just wish she didn't have to get me so drunk to do it."

“Well, you know the best hangover cure, right?” Steve held up the vodka bottle causing Bucky to groan again and Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, I’ll get rid of the bottle.”

“If you get rid of all traces of last night, I promise to make the next semester the best of your life.”

Steve chuckled and gave a genuine smile, the first since his “non-goodbye” with Peggy.

Peggy may have been gone, but at least he had Bucky.

~*~

“Hey, Mr Stark?”

“Jesus, kid! You scared the shit outta me!” Tony exclaimed, a hand over his chest feeling his heart rate go at a million beats per minute. “You know you can just call me Tony right?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Peter pulled at the hairs on the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thank you. You know, for letting me come back this semester and work with you and Mr Banner, I know you didn’t have to.”

Tony bit back a slight smile. Fury had offered to give him a new intern for this semester, one that would fit his ‘age requirements’ as outlined during their lengthy discussion at the start of last semester. But the truth was, Tony had grown quite fond of Peter over the last few months. Sure it was annoying as hell when he and Bruce would gang up on him and lecture him about scientific ethics and that crap. And sure Peter was constantly bouncing off the walls and acting all jittery which constantly meant Tony was at risk of having heart palpitations at any minute. But the kid was smart, funny, and best of all thought Tony was a scientific God. Which meant he was pretty fun to have around.

“Don’t sweat it kid.”

“No really, Mr Sta- uh Tony. This means a lot. The kids in my class think I’m pretty cool cos I work for Tony Stark.” Tony was relatively used to hearing that, his parents dying meant that he was the new face of Stark Industries and that level of wealth and status meant that you were constantly brandished across People’s magazine or US Weekly for something or the other. And as much as Tony complained about the invasion of his privacy, he quite enjoyed his newfound celebrity status and the envy that came with it. “Flash is pretty jealous and MJ” Peter blushed with the mentioning of her name. “Well MJ think’s you’re entitled so she doesn’t really care.”

“Woah, MJ? Who’s MJ?”

“Uh, she’s just a girl in my class.” Peter pulled at the loose thread on his sleeve nervously.

“Wow, kid what’s this about. You just said her name, it’s not like she’s here.” Tony joked as he walked towards Peter and leaned back on the desk to face him. “So you’re crushing on this girl pretty hard aren’t you.”

Peter’s eyes went wide, his face turning bright red. “What? No, I don’t-“

“You know you’re not fooling anyone.”

“Well, I mean she’s pretty.” Peter went back to fiddling with his sleeve. And pretty much anything else he could get his hands on. “I wouldn’t say I like her.”

“Right, sure kid. And I wouldn’t say I have an affinity towards blondes but the evidence proves otherwise. You ask her out yet?”

Peter shook his head. “She wouldn’t want to go out with me.”

“So you have asked her out?” Peter shook his head again and Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He was about to make fun of the kid when he suddenly thought of something. “You ever had a girlfriend before?” Peter’s head shook. “Asked a girl out? Been on a date?” His head shook again. “Right. You ever kissed a girl before?” Peter didn’t answer. “Okay, we got a lotta work to do.”

“Mr Stark you really don’t ha-“

“Oh, I think I do kid. You’re what? 15?”

“I’m 16 in 2 months,” Peter said eagerly.

“Yeah, that really doesn’t help your case,” Tony said disapprovingly.

“Mr Stark,” Tony glared at him. “Uh, Tony… No chick wants to date a science nerd.”

Tony’s eyes widened in complete shock. “That’s bullshit and you know it kid. Case!” he exclaimed as he pointed to himself. Bruce walked into the lab just at that moment, a stack of journals in one hand a flask of what he could presume, based on his scruffy hair and the dark circles around his eyes, was coffee. “And point.” He said, pointing to Bruce.

“Huh?” Bruce looked up, pushing his glasses further up his nose with the hand holding the coffee cup.

“Chicks love science nerds!” Tony explained though the confusion on Bruce’s face didn’t clear. Tony waved him off and turned his attention back to Peter. “I can confirm that I am a science nerd and I have no issue with the ladies.” He said proudly. “And Brucie here has bagged himself a top-class hottie.”

“Okay, Tony can we not-“

“I mean, look at those circles under his eyes”  Tony continued. “Someone obviously didn’t sleep much last night and we can only assume that’s all thanks to a red-haired beauty with amazing-“

“Tony can you not talk about my girlfriend like that!” Bruce said sternly, the annoyance evident in the glare he was now giving Tony, who’s hands were frozen in an obscene gesture over his chest.

“Sorry, bud, just trying to teach Pete a valid lesson here,” Tony said softly, regaining his confidence only when he saw Bruce’s face ease up. Given his mild-mannered demeanour, Tony would often forget about Bruce’s propensity to get a little riled up from time to time. “The point is kid; I have sex like all the time and I’m a science nerd.”

“I think that has more to do with you being rich and famous than your science prowess,” Bruce muttered under his breath, making a small smile return to Tony’s lips. Sure his best bud could be quick to rile up, but he was just as quick to simmer down.

“And Bruce hear is the biggest science nerd you could ever meet and he’s got a pretty smoking new girlfriend.” He turned to Bruce. “Unless you’re gonna tell me that’s not because of your nerd brain.”

“No, I think Natasha might just be insane.”

“Either way kid,” His attention was now back on Peter. “We’re both science nerds and we’re both doing fine.”

“Yeah but, girls like sporty guys and-“

“- Bruce isn’t sporty. Have you seen him try to throw a football?”

“And funny guys-“

“Tony’s not funny. Have you heard him try to make a joke?” Bruce said without missing a beat.

“And good-looking guys.” Peter pressed on. “And I’m none of those things.”

“Kid, who’re you tryna fool? You look like you’re in good shape. Yeah okay, maybe you’re not that funny. But you’re smart and not bad looking. This MJ chick would probably be into you if you just asked her out.”

“I dunno,” Peter scratched at the back of his neck. “How did you ask your girlfriend out Mr Banner?”

Bruce let out a small laugh as Tony turned to Bruce, eager to hear the story. “Yeah Bruce, how did you ask Natasha out?”

“With a wilted poinsettia and a Mars bar.” Tony and Peter stared at him in wide-eyed fascination. His best bud was officially hopeless. “That was all they had at the service station,” Bruce said with a shrug and an attempt at a justification.

“Okay, don’t listen to him. He’s obviously just got a magic penis that Red can’t resist.”

“Again with the obsession with my genitals,” Bruce muttered as he busied himself sorting his desk.

“Confidence Pete, chicks love a guy with confidence. You gotta schmooze her, compliment her, make her laugh.”

“I dunno, Mr Stark. MJ’s not like other girls. I don’t think she’d be into that.”

“Never know until you try kid. Give us your best pick up line.”

“Oh uh. No, I don’t think…” Peter turned red again and Tony did feel momentarily bad for the kid. Only momentarily though, the kid needed to learn and Tony needed to hear what he was working with. “I mean I don’t really-“

“Tony, leave the poor kid alone.” Bruce intervened.

“He asked for help.”

“Uh, actually Mr Stark, I didn’t.”

“If you’re done embarrassing everyone in the room Tony, I think I’ve found the solution to Ultron’s spontaneous combustion problem.”

Well that certainly sparked his interest. As much as he’d like to get to the bottom of Peter’s girl trouble, finding the solution to a problem that would see a multimillion-dollar piece of equipment spontaneously combust after 2 hours usage was far more important. That would not be good.

“Hit me.” Tony peered over Bruce’s shoulder at the journals he was currently laying out. Multiple articles on the same topic looked back at him and suddenly he was on the same wavelength as Bruce.

“We’ve been overcomplicating things.”

“Bruce I fucking love that brain of yours,” Tony said, kissing the top of Bruce’s head, much to Bruce’s chagrin.

“Uh, does someone wanna explain to me what you guys are thinking?”

“Kid, what do you know about superconductivity?”

Realisation spread across Peter’s face and Tony knew they were in for some serious science today.

“The cooling system.”  

Chapter Text

Bucky put down his plate in the empty space next to Steve, waiting for Maria to finish what she was saying so he could ask, “where’s Tasha?” 

Maria shrugged her shoulders, causing Bucky to roll his eyes in response. “At ballet class.” Steve supplied. 

Bucky checked the time on his phone. 19:23. Which gave them another hour until the redhead would be done. Perfect. “Great! So, it’s Tasha’s birthday next week and I was thinking we could throw her a party or something.” 

“What like a surprise party?” Steve asked. 

“Please don’t tell me you think it’s a good idea to have everyone jump out at Natasha – that’s not gonna end well for anyone involved.” 

“No of course not. I think she’d kill me.” His best friend wasn’t exactly jumpy, but she was often on edge waiting for something or  someone  to try and hurt her. Which, given the upbringing she had, Bucky couldn’t really blame her for. But it did mean that an actual surprise party was way out of the question. “We’ll just get a few people together, get a couple kegs in and that sorta shit. I was thinking we could maybe do a theme but I’m not really loving the thought of one.” 

“I don’t really peg Nat as the dressing up type. Even if she did do it for Halloween.” 

“Not dressing up.” Bucky rolled his eyes again, though more playfully this time as it was directed towards Steve. As bad as he felt about it, since Peggy left for Paris, things between him and Steve were really good, and they were back to how they were pre-Peggy. Which meant that he could playfully roll his eyes at his roommate without it being laced with any hint of annoyance. “She’d take one look at you in hula skirt and lai and walk straight out.”

Steve chocked on his mouthful of food, causing Maria to laugh and Bucky to grin widely. “We’d hang around to observe though.” Steve’s faced turned bright red. “Maybe take a few pictures to store away for later.” 

Bucky started to go a little red himself, getting a little hot under the collar from picturing the outfit. He cleared his throat and any lasting images of Steve. “No, let’s forget a theme. Just get some mates in for a cracking party.” 

“Yeah, sounds like a plan to me. Nat does love a good party.” Maria said, leaning back in her chair and contemplating the idea. “Dunno if we’ll be able to keep it much of a secret.” 

“Honestly, it’s like that woman lives inside everyone’s head. Like, how does she just know everything?” Steve asked him.

“I know it’s spooky right.” Bucky couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. “Hey, Bruce.” He called out when we spotted the physicist weaving his way through the crowded canteen. “Come sit.” 

Bruce looked at his watch, then the container of food in his hand and finally at the three of them. Perhaps deciding if he was willing to endure a conversation with the three of them without Natasha around. Or perhaps just deciding if he had enough time. The guy always did seem to have somewhere to be. 

“Yeah. Sure.” He finally settled on sitting with them, taking the seat next to Maria. 

“It’s Tasha’s birthday next week.”

Bruce’s head whipped up from where he was staring at his food. “Shit! Is it?” 

“Yeah, next week Friday,” Bucky answered sceptically. “Did she not tell you?” Bruce shook his head. “Oh. Well, we were thinking of throwing a party for her. Some booze and beer pong. Nothing too special. Wanted to check-in to make sure that didn’t conflict with any plans that you made. But I guess we don’t really have to worry about that…” Bucky trailed off a little. 

“Uh, yeah. No, sure that’s fine. I can work around that.” 

“Great, reckon you and Tony could cover booze?” He asked, making note of the physicists growing agitation. 

“Hm? Yeah. Sure.” Bruce packed up his container and stood quickly. “Just text me whatever you need. I gotta run.” And with that, he left giving them a short, half-hearted wave as he went. 

"Well, that was brief."

“I’m not sure if I feel bad for telling him, or bad that he’s only just found out?” Bucky said as he ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. "Either way, I feel bad.” 

~*~

“Red’s not gonna like any of those,” Tony commented, leaning over Bruce’s shoulder as his friend sat only inches away from the screen. He’d lost Bruce’s attention a while ago and the engineer had a feeling it was because he was still panicking over what to get his new girlfriend for her birthday.

“Jesus Tony!” Bruce jumped from his seat, almost falling out of it. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?” 

Tony moved to sit on the edge of Bruce’s desk. “I didn’t sneak. I’ve been here the whole time.” Tony waved around the space. “This is my lab-“

“No, it’s the Uni’s lab. You just hired it out for the next few years.” Came Bruce’s snarky reply.

“Regardless,” Tony waved him off. “Red will hate all of those.” He nodded towards the page Bruce was scrolling through which displayed a basket of several things he had shortlisted. “When have you ever seen her wear a hat? Or something pink?” 

“Tony, you know you’re really not helping me right now.” 

“Oh, I never said I was here to help.” Bruce glared at him. “Alright, alright. I can help if that is what you so require.” Bruce turned his attention back to the screen. “Though I don’t know why you’re getting so panicked.” 

“Because Tony, it’s her birthday in two days and I have no idea what to give her. I haven’t even so much as narrowed things down to a type of gift. Not to mention I have no idea what she would even want.” Bruce said frantically. 

“What, birthday gifts never came up all those nights when you two were flirting by the fountain.” Bruce groaned and dropped his head down onto the keyboard. “I know one thing you can give to her.” 

“Tony.” Bruce groaned.

“I mean, sure you’ve given it to her already but-“ 

“Tony.” 

“She keeps coming back so I guess she’ll appreciate getting it again.” 

“Tony, make one more joke about me  giving it  to Natasha and I swear to god.” Bruce threatened, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. And he even saw the hint of a smile crack at the corner of his bud’s mouth, which meant he had officially fulfilled his role. 

“Did you want my help or not?” Tony asked, returning Bruce’s smile. “Okay, why don’t you just treat her to a good time. Not like that.” He corrected when Bruce groaned again. “Jesus Brucie get your mind outta the gutter. Why don’t you take her out for a nice meal or something? Mon Plaisir has a cracking wine selection.” 

“There’s no way I could get a table there. You have to book 6 months in advance for that place.” 

“You do.” Tony scratched his goatee. “Unless your name’s Tony Stark.” He grinned once Bruce finally looked at him again. “I can make a call. Hell, I’ll even pay. Consider it my treat for the new couple.” 

“Tony that’ll be great,” Bruce said with genuine thanks in his voice. “But I’ll cover the bill.” 

Tony couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “I’ll put the call in now.” He pushed off the desk, heading over to his own to retrieve his phone.

“Oh, and Tony?” 

“Hm?” 

“Any chance happy will be available?”

“I like the way you think Brucie.” 

~*~

“Clint, I’m calling her now.” 

“Hang on, hang on. I’m nearly done.” Clint cleaned up the last of the mess and reached for a fresh diaper. “You really are a smelly kid you know, that right?” Cooper’s expression barely changed, his eyes wandering around in amazement, taking in the sights of the room he’s frequented often but probably still can’t comprehend. “I literally changed you like,” Clint briefly glanced at his watch. “like 2 hours ago. How is that possible.” Cooper’s eyes finally settled on him and the small baby’s lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re not fooling me with that one kid. I know your game.” Clint scooped his child up into his arms. “Come on, let’s go wish your auntie Nat a happy birthday.” 

Clint carried the small child into the living room where Laura was sat in front of the desktop waiting for Natasha to answer the Skype call. 

“Did you get my handsome boy all cleaned up?” Laura asked as she reached out for the baby, kissing his head as soon as he was placed in her arms. “Are you nice and clean for mummy?”

“And all it took was nearly half a pack of baby wipes,” Clint muttered as the call connected and Natasha’s blurry image came into vision. “Hey, kiddo! Happy birthday!” 

“Happy birthday baby!” Laura said once the video cleared up. “Cooper, d’you wanna say happy birthday to your auntie Natasha? Yes, you do.” She held the baby up higher so that Natasha could see him clearer. 

“Oh my god, he’s so cute. Are you sure he’s Clint’s?” 

Laura snorted with laughter and Clint flipped them both off, granting him a slap on the arm from Laura. 

“Ow. What was that for?” 

“Don’t swear in front of the baby!” 

“He doesn’t understand what that means yet.” Clint protested. 

“When this kid's first words are: son, of, a, and bitch-“ 

“Then we’ll know for sure that he’s Clint’s.” Natasha finished granting her another snort from Laura. “Wait, is he smiling at me? Your aunt Nat’s pretty funny isn’t she Cooper.” 

“Don’t get all excited. He’s just passing gas. Kid’s been doing it all day long.” 

Natasha made a face of disgust. “Your kid then.” 

“No, I think he’s actually smiling. I didn’t feel him pass wind. And with what he’s been producing lately, I think we’d smell it.” Laura angled her head to better see their son still smiling happily. “Are you smiling for your auntie Nat?” 

“So, he can smile for you but not for the guy that feeds him at 2am in the morning?” Clint said grudgingly, only half-joking. 

“I guess he just likes me more.” Natasha shrugged. 

“What are your plans for today?” Laura asked. “Doing anything fun?”

“Bruce has made us dinner reservations and then Bucky has planned a party for after.” 

Laura’s “Oo, where for?” came at the same time as Clint asked, “who’s Bruce?” 

Natasha chose to answer Laura’s question and not his. “Not sure where. He just texted me to say it’s for somewhere fancy.” 

It was then that Clint noticed that she was wearing Melinda’s earrings – Phil had given them to her when she had passed, and Clint was just as grateful as Natasha was. They weren’t supposed to be the type of kids that had heirlooms passed down to them. As far as he knew, kid’s with no biological family didn’t get things to pass down from generation to generation. And yet one day he would be passing down Phil’s pocket watch to Cooper, and Natasha would be passing Malinda’s earrings down to her child, should she ever have one. 

Natasha also had more makeup on than she would usually wear, and he noticed the fitted black dress she was wearing. 

“Is Bruce the guy you drove down to see?” Clint asked sternly. 

Natasha merely rolled her eyes at him. “Maybe.” 

“How’s the Wrangler treating you?” Laura asked, trying to steer them away from the topic of this Bruce guy, much to Clint’s dismay. 

“Running as smoothly as she can.” Natasha checked her phone for an incoming message and judging by the way she smiled, Clint knew it was this Bruce fella. “I should finish getting ready. Talk to you guys later?” 

“Of course, baby. Have a lovely birthday.” 

“Bye Cooper. See ya, Clint.”

“Yeah, see ya, kiddo. Stay safe.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes again. “I always do.” She said as she ended the call. 

“Clint, how many times do I have to tell you not to pry in Natasha’s dating life?”

“I just asked who he was! What’s so wrong with that?” 

“You know she’ll tell us about him when she’s ready to.” 

“Yeah, ‘cos that’s exactly what she did with Matt. Oh, wait no, she didn’t tell us about him and the next thing we know, she’s getting suspended from school because of that jackass and getting her heart broken.”

“I know you want to protect her, but not every guy is gonna be like Matt.” Laura shifted Cooper to her other arm and placed her free hand on his thigh. “And some guys will be like Matt and you won’t be able to protect her from them either. But she’s gonna figure that out for herself and when she does, she’ll need you to be there for her.”

Clint sighed and took hold of his wife’s hand. “You’re right.”

“I always am. Now, I think Cooper wants some daddy time.” Laura shifted the baby into his arms. “He definitely needs changing again and I am 100% pulling the labour card on this one.” 

Clint recoiled in disgust when he got a whiff of what was sitting in Cooper’s diaper. “I swear it is not normal the amount that this kid shits.”

~*~

“Wow!” Bruce breathed out as Natasha met him by the car. “Nat you look amazing.” He suddenly felt very undressed, despite Tony reassuring him that his jeans and navy blue button-down were acceptable for the restaurant. “Happy Birthday, Nat.” Bruce leaned in to hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek. 

“I’m also freezing!” She said, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. “Please tell me the heating’s on in that thing.” 

“What happened to Russian genes?” Bruce mocked as he opened the door for her, granting him a glare from Natasha. “Ready when you are Happy.” He said to the driver once the door was shut behind them. 

“You hired a driver for tonight?” 

“More like borrowed. Happy is Tony’s driver.” Bruce explained. 

“And bodyguard.” Happy amended. 

“Right, of course. And bodyguard.” 

“Sorry, Tony Stark has a driver/bodyguard on campus?” Natasha asked in mock surprise. 

Bruce shrugged. “The driver side of things is mainly to take Peter home if we’re working late in the lab.”

“So he’s Peter’s personal driver then?” Natasha joked. 

Bruce caught Happy’s scowl in the rear-view mirror and whispered, “Don’t let Happy hear you say that. He’s not Peter’s biggest fan.” 

“The kids a pain in my ass.” Happy said, causing both of them to burst out laughing. 

“So, do I get to know where we’re going?” Natasha asked once their laughter died down. 

“That would just ruin the surprise.” Bruce gave her a coy smile, enjoying the easy banter he has with her. 

“I thought I told you I hate surprises?” 

“You didn’t tell me that.” Bruce’s smile faltered, but only momentarily as Natasha gave him a shark-like grin. “Well, you’re gonna hate tonight then.” Bruce knew Bucky wouldn’t be too impressed with him ruining the surprise, but he liked hearing Natasha laugh and knew that would definitely get something out of her, which meant it was more than worth it even if it was at the cost of pissing Bucky off. 

“No surprise there. I already knew there was a party planned later.” Natasha said coolly.

“How does nothing get passed you?”

Natasha shrugged her shoulder. “You all have tells.” Bruce raised an eyebrow in question, encouraging her to expand. “Steve’s ears go red when he’s lying, Bucky always eagerly talks about anything and everything he possibly can to distract from the lie. Maria’s the hardest one to read but she eventually bites her lip.” 

“And me?” 

“You?” Natasha gave him a seductive smirk that never fails to make his stomach do somersaults. He started to wring his hands, nervous under her gaze. “You do that,” She nodded towards his hands, which he immediately stilled in his lap. “whenever you’re nervous. And you always get nervous when you lie.” 

“Those childhood spy classes coming in handy once again,” Bruce commented in jest, earning him a playful slap on the thigh from Natasha. 

“If you two are done flirting, we’re here.” The car pulled up to the curb and Happy climbed out to open the door for them. “Text me when you’re finished, and I’ll drive back round.” 

“Thanks, Happy.” Bruce climbed out and held his hand out for Natasha.

“There’s no way you managed to get a table here?” Natasha said in disbelief. 

“I guess the surprises just keep on coming.” Bruce offered her his elbow, which Natasha held on to as they entered the restaurant’s foyer. “Hi, I have a reservation. Under the name of Bruce Banner.” 

“Okay, one moment please.” The maître d' scanned the computer at his station. Bruce caught Natasha staring between him and the maître d' with suspicion in her eyes, perhaps waiting for him to tell her that this is all a joke or something. “Ah yes, Mr Banner. Mr Stark has requested his usual table for you this evening. Right, this way.”

“Ah, and now things make sense,” Natasha whispered as they followed the maître d' towards their table. “A birthday dinner curtsey of Tony Stark.” 

“Where’s the point of having a celebrity best friend if I don’t lean on him for a favour from time to time?” The maître d' led them to a table with an uninterrupted view of the live pianist. He pulled out Natasha’s chair and ushered Bruce into his, before waving down a waiter who was bringing over a bottle of champaign and two glasses. “Although I fear I may regret my decisions.” Bruce eyed the bottle, mentally trying to guess how much that was going to cost him. 

“Mr Stark has requested our 5-course set menu for you this evening. We start with a selection of canapes and hors devours, followed by a lobster bisque-“

“That sounds great. But maybe we could just order from the menu instead.” Bruce wasn’t too impressed, and judging by the look on Natasha’s face, neither was she.

“Certainly.” The maître d' produced two menus and left them to it.

“Oh thank god.” Natasha breathed out. “What even is lobster bisque?”

“I don’t know. And I’m not really sure I want to find out.” 

As much as he begrudged having to ask Tony for favours, he was pleased with his decision this evening. The food was delicious, and the live pianist provided great ambience. But for Bruce, the highlight will always be Natasha; spending time with the wonderfully funny, quick-witted, sarcastic redhead. It was just a shame they had to end this portion of the night and head over to the party; the part of the evening that Bruce was not looking forward to but at least Natasha would enjoy it. 

“Can we get the cheque please?” Bruce asked once the waiter cleared away their table and brought over their final drinks order. 

“Actually sir, the cheque has been covered.” The waiter said. 

“What? By-“ Bruce sighed as he realised. “Tony.” He grumbled. He was gonna murder Tony when he saw him. 

“I’ll have to thank Tony for my birthday treat.” Bruce knew Natasha was only teasing, but he struggled to go along with this one. “Hey, it’s okay. Tony Stark covering your bills doesn’t make you any less of a man or anything.”

Bruce let out a small laugh. “It’s not that. It’s just.” Bruce started to wring his hands, then suddenly stopped when he recalled their conversation on the drive over. “I didn’t know what to get you for your birthday, so I figured I could pay for a fancy meal or something. If Tony covers this then I technically didn’t get you anything.” 

Natasha let out a sharp laugh before suddenly regaining herself. “Bruce, we’ve been dating for like 2 ½ weeks, I had no expectations on you to get me anything.” Natasha shrugged. “You’re already doing better than Matt. He always forgot my birthday and we dated for over 2 years.” 

Bruce felt a wave of anger wash over him. “Why did you date that guy? He sounds like a real jackass.” 

Natasha shrugged her shoulder, twirled her thumb around the rim of her glass; her tell, not that she’d ever believe him if he told her that. “He was my first…” She looked at him through her lashes. “My first everything.” 

Bruce reached for her hand. “It may sound really cheesy. Not as cheesy as driving across state to see me, but” Natasha laughed and playfully slapped his hand away. Bruce immediately reached back for her hand. “But I will be better than that guy.” Natasha deserved to be treated like a queen and he would do exactly that.

~*~

Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve continued to retell the story from their soccer practice earlier that day.

“So, Bucky gets clear on goal right. Like no one spots him lurking in the box and our game plan is to usually cross the ball into the box so Wilson can get a head on it.” Steve could barely get his words out he was laughing so hard. “But I think, well Buck’s right there so I’m gonna pass to him. All he’s got to do is tap it in, what can go wrong?” He heaved in a breath as he got to the punch line. “And he kicks the ball into his own foot and out of play.” 

Steve was now heaving with laughter, and so was Maria, much to his annoyance. 

“And that’s why coach won’t pick me for the team.” He mumbled. 

“Nah don’t worry about it, Buck,” Steve said once he stopped laughing, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve messed up in front of goal plenty of times. And I’ve certainly done way worse than that.” 

“It’s fine, Bucky’s ego can always do with being taken down a peg or two.” 

“If I drink every time you two gang up on me, I could turn this into a pretty sick drinking game,” Bucky said as he poured himself another drink. His eyes scanned around the room and landed on Natasha and Bruce dancing away in the corner. Well, Natasha was dancing. Bruce was just shuffling around awkwardly. “Did anyone see this coming?” 

Maria shrugged. Steve answered, “I did.” 

“Bullshit.” Came Maria’s reply. 

“Honest. I knew Bruce liked her and had a feeling she felt the same way.” Steve said with sincerity. “I’m not as clueless as I seem.”

“That remains to be seen,” Bucky said, nudging the tall blond with his shoulder.

“It’s sorta remarkable how sexy people just sorta find their way together,” Maria said as she stared off at the couple who were now stealing kisses every now and then. 

“You find Bruce sexy?” Bucky asked.

“You don’t?” Maria retorted.

“Not particularly” Bucky tilted his head and squinted as he analysed Bruce’s features from afar. “Though now I’m not so sure. What do you think Steve?” 

When he turned to his attention to Steve, he could his roommate’s face had gone bright red and he was spluttering around his words. “I don’t. I’m not. I don’t think.” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’d say he’s attractive. I dunno if I’d say he’s sexy.”

“What are talking about?” Tony asked as he meandered over to the group.

“Sexy people,” Maria said. 

“Like yourself?” 

Maria rolled her eyes. “Tony, how many times do I have to say  I’m not gonna sleep with you  until you finally get the message?” 

“Who said anything about sleeping together?” Tony held both hands up in defence. “I never mentioned anything of the sort. It’s obviously been on your mind.” 

“No chance.” 

“We’re talking about Bruce.” Bucky intervened, knowing that without it, the two of them would go on a constant back and forth. “Sexy or not?”

“Are you kidding? 100% sexy. You should see him with his shirt off.” Tony said rather flamboyantly. “You know who else is sexy, us. And I think it’s time for us to start scoping out the talent in this room.” 

Steve let out a loud groan. “No Tony.” 

“What? We’re all single. You tellin' me you don’t want to meet a nice girl? Worked out well for you last time.” 

“I need another drink.” 

“Good thinking, refuel and then we do the rounds,” Tony said as he followed behind Steve. 

“So, you two are getting on quite well,” Maria said once the two were out of earshot. 

“Yeah, Tony’s annoying but he can be pretty funny. And he provides good booze.” 

“You know I meant you and Steve.” Bucky frowned a little. “Gonna ask him out? Or are you just waiting for him to realise he still has feelings for you?”

“Or, I can just ignore all of this and enjoy the party?” 

“Yeah, ‘cos that worked so well last term.”

“Oh look, beer pong’s set up.” Bucky turned and made his way over to where Natasha and Bruce were standing, eager to escape all conversation of Steve right now. “Yo Tasha, beer pong’s set up. You ready for a rematch?”

~*~

Bruce led the way to the common room where the party was being held. 

“Okay, just remember; you know nothing about this party and it’s all a surprise okay.” 

“I know how to pretend, Bruce,” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. 

“That’s a worrying statement.” Bruce half-joked. 

He took a deep breath, readying himself for the party. He really didn’t want to go in, but it was Natasha’s birthday, and she enjoys a good party. He could endure a few hours of awkward socialising for her. 

They opened the door to a round of cheers as people greeted the guest of honour. 

“Happy birthday, Nat!” Bucky said as he brought over beers for the two of them, giving Natasha a hug as he handed one to her. Bruce laughed to himself slightly, remembering the unjustified jealousy he felt when he first saw the two embrace at the start of term. If only he’d known how things would play out. 

“Jheeze Bucky, I had no idea. You really pulled out the stops for this.” Natasha said with an alarming amount of faux sincerity in her voice. “This is amazing.” 

“Oh please.” Bucky bumped Natasha’s shoulder with his own. “There’s no way Bruce didn’t tell you about this.”

Bruce’s cheeks went a little red as Natasha smiled back at him. 

“It’s not his fault. You’re all terrible at hiding things.” 

After an hour or two of socialising and dancing (Natasha had forced him and he was quickly learning he had an inability to say no to her), Bucky called over to Natasha. “Yo Tasha, beer pong’s set up. You ready for a rematch?”

“Well, how can I say no to such an easy opportunity to make you losers drink.” 

“Before you ask, yes she probably means you too,” Bucky answered Bruce’s questioning look, causing him to chuckle. “Stevie, we got an opportunity to kick the girl’s asses. You in?”

“Buck, you made this mistake last time, and we got our asses handed to us,” Steve said as he set down his beer.

“Here hold this.” Natasha handed Bruce her beer and gave him a peck on the cheek. “This won’t take long.” She sauntered over to the beer pong table with Maria, evidently confident in their ability to beat the boys. Her confidence wasn’t misplaced, and she and Maria had cleared Bucky and Steve’s cups in an impressively quick time. Natasha directed a challenging smirk his way. “Looks like you’re up. Where’s your boyfriend?” 

“Oh, we in a threeway thing now?” Tony asked as he lobbed an arm around Bruce’s shoulder, a tumbler of scotch in his hand as he swayed slightly. “With red and this sexy beast? Sure thing.” 

“Tony,” Bruce whined. “Are you in any state to play this game?” 

Tony instantly sobered up. “I’m as sober as they come.” 

“This is gonna be easy.” Natasha shared a laugh with Maria. “You can have the first throw.” She winked over at him, making the familiar butterflies flutter in his stomach. 

Bruce flapped around trying to catch the ping pong ball she threw his way, causing her to laugh more. He analysed the tabled for a while, working out how to go about this. He was starting to wish he’d gone to more parties.

“It’s just physics, bro.” Tony leaned over to whisper in his ear. 

“Huh” 

“It’s physics. Angles, force, terminal velocity. The ball weighs what, 3 grams, tops.” 

Bruce’s brain started to complete the equations in his head – the acceleration needed to propel the ball across the table, the amount of force needed, the angle he needs to throw it at. He bit the edge of his thumb as he thought and mentally completed the final equation.

“Okay, I’ve got this.” He aimed the small ball and released it, missing the far-left cup by less than an inch. A feat he thought to be rather impressive. Though Natasha and Maria’s giggles suggested that they thought otherwise.

Natasha collected a ball handed to her by Steve and coolly threw it into the cup closest to her side of the table. “You’re overthinking it.” She said as Bruce drank the contents of the cup. 

“That’s what you think,” Tony said as he took his place in front of the table. His attempt was much more successful than Bruce’s and he managed to get the ball into one of the cups. “Science never fails.” 

The score remained quite close, taunts and ping pong balls flying back and forth. A miss from Maria gave Bruce the chance to take them level, with it coming down to the final cup on each side. 

Bruce readied himself for his throw, blocking out Natasha’s teasing which only intensified when the ball hit the rim and bounced away from the cup. Natasha showed no mercy when her ball landed in the last cup on Bruce’s side, winning them the game. 

“You didn’t miss that last one on purpose, did you? Just to let me win?” Natasha asked as she rounded the table to stand with him.

“I would never dream of robbing you of a legitimate victory.” 

“Good. I do not accept pity wins. Shit.” Bruce followed Natasha’s gaze across the room to land on the tall, muscular man Steve was talking to. “So, you know how you said you’re not the jealous type or anything." Bruce nodded, intrigued to know where this was going. “Well, that guy Steve’s talking to might just happen to be Sam. As in the guy from the Halloween party.” 

“I see.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think they’d invite him.” 

“Hey, Nat it’s fine. You don’t have to warn me about exes or people you’ve slept with.” He really didn’t care about that sort of thing. Natasha’s past was her past and he had no right to ever get annoyed about that.

“Oh, that’s good, ‘cos I slept with Tony,” Natasha said deadpan, causing Bruce to freeze momentarily. Natasha could only hold the look for so long before she burst into laughter. 

“That is so not funny.” Bruce gave her a kiss to quickly halt her laughter, confident enough to show his affections towards her when surrounded by all their friends. “What do you feel like drinking?” 

“Surprise me.” Natasha gave him another kiss. 

Bruce headed over to the drinks table, scanning the selection before him. He could vaguely overhear a rather crude conversation two guys were having. An incredibly crude conversation that was starting to aggravate him the longer it went on, particularly when he heard the description of the women their remarks were about; a description that seemed to fit Natasha to a T.

“Honestly bro, I would do anything to have that bitch riding on my-“ 

“Excuse me?” Bruce couldn’t help himself from stepping in. His blood was starting to boil, and his fists had clenched on their own accord. 

“The fuck d’you want?” The shorter guy said, puffing up his chest a little.

Bruce let out an angry scoff. “I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you were having about my girlfriend.” 

“Girlfriend? You’ve gotta be kidding me. There’s no way you’re fucking that bitch.” The taller guy replied.

Bruce stilled himself; took a deep breath to calm down. “Please don’t call her a bitch.” 

“Hey, everything alright?” Natasha asked as she came over to them. 

“This twerp is claiming he’s fucking you.” 

Bruce could see the angry instantly flare in Natasha’s eyes. “What does it matter to you who I’m fucking?” 

The taller guy laughed. “It’ll matter to me later on when you’re bouncing on my-“ 

Bruce saw red in an instant. Unable to control his anger, he sunk his fist into the guy’s face. His vision was obscured by anger and the next thing he knew, he was being held back by Steve and Bucky, while Thor was holding back the other two guys. Natasha was standing in front of him, alternating between checking on him and hurling insults back to the guys. Bruce shook himself free of their hold and stormed out of the room, too angry to hang around any longer. 

“Bruce!” Natasha called after him. 

“Nat, please, just don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” she asked as she caught up with him. 

“Just.” He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Look I’m sorry, I just… I saw red when they were saying that stuff and…” He sighed again. “I’m sorry but I should really go.” 

“I’m coming with you.” She said in protest.

“No. Stay.” He reached for both her hands. “I didn’t mean to ruin your party. But please stay. It’s your birthday, you should enjoy it.”

It’s not that he didn’t want her with him. It’s just that he was still pretty angry and he really didn’t want Natasha to see him this way. 

“Bruce, I’m not gonna leave you when you’re-“ 

“Nat, please.” He pleaded. Natasha reluctantly nodded her agreement. “Thank you. Happy birthday Natasha.” Bruce kissed her forehead and turned down the hall.

~*~

Madame’s stick crashing to the floor signified that she had fucked up; again. The music stopped abruptly, and Madame B demanded that they return to starting position. Natasha could hear the harsh words coming from the other dancers present. The words “whore” and “bitch” were thrown out. Which, after last night, successfully managed to get under her skin. 

Natasha shook it off and returned to first. She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. 

The music began and Natasha began to flow through the routine, moving to the music with expert grace and precision. She followed the routine flawlessly, until the second fouetté, which tripped her up again, this time literally. 

Natasha fell to the floor with a less than graceful slump. A series of giggles erupted behind her. The glare that she shot back silenced most of them; the disapproving scoff from Madame silenced the rest. 

Madame came to stand over her, casting her gaze down at Natasha who couldn’t remember the last time she felt this small. “Up,” Madame said in an icy tone. Natasha stood immediately, bowing her head slightly but maintaining eye contact as a show of respect. “You do not think this rehearsal important enough to grace us with your full attention, Natashenka?” 

“I’m sorry. I just have-“ Madame’s raised eyebrow told her that the older woman didn’t really want to know. She didn’t care that Natasha was distracted. She didn’t want to hear that Bruce hadn’t returned any of her calls or texts or that she was worried about him. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

“Leave.” Madame B said sharply. 

Natasha was about to protest, but the look on Madame’s face suggested that wouldn’t be a wise decision. She nodded and turned quickly out of the room, collecting her coat and duffle from the changing room and stormed across campus. Her worry was now edging towards anger. 

She didn’t bother stopping by her room or changing out of her leggings and leotard. She headed straight for Bruce’s room.

Natasha knocked on his door a third time waiting for him to open it. Finally, on the fourth knock, he answered the door and Natasha was taken aback by the sight. Any anger that was growing quickly dissipated. She’d seen Bruce looking more than a little rumpled over the past few months, dark circles around his eyes and a 5 o’clock shadow on his jaw, but this was worse than what she’d seen before. His hair was a mess, he clearly hadn’t shaved since yesterday and his eyes were sunken into his skull.

“Bruce?”

“Nat?” His voice was laced with tiredness and he could barely meet her gaze. He almost looked as though he couldn’t register her presence. “What’re you doing here? I told you to stay at the party.” 

“I did stay.” Natasha searched his eyes but all she saw was exhaustion. “Bruce, the party was yesterday.” She took in the sight of him, noticing that he was still wearing the same clothes from the night before. “Have you not slept?” 

His head shook; a guilty look spreading across his face. “I just. I lost track of time ‘s’all.” 

“C’mon, I could do with an early night.” 

Natasha gently coaxed him into bed, Bruce so exhausted he could barely protest even if he wanted to. She kicked off her ballet pumps and climbed in after him, hugging herself to his back to be the big spoon. She waited until he fell asleep before she began to let herself drift off; waited until his breathing had completely evened out and she felt his body relax underneath her.

She couldn’t help but feel responsible for him somehow. She hadn’t done anything to cause him to get into this state. Yet she couldn’t help but feel if she had just left the party with him, if she had said no when he told her to stay and just came back with him, then maybe he wouldn’t’ve got like this. 

She wasn’t aware that she had drifted off until she was suddenly awoken by Tony bursting into the room spouting about Chinese takeout options. 

Natasha jumped out of bed, shooing Tony into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her so quickly that he barely had time to finish his sentence. “Shhh. I only just got him to sleep.” She opened the door slightly, peeking through to check that Bruce was still asleep. Luckily, he barely even stirred. “Where the hell have you been?” 

“I’ve had back to back classes all day,” Tony said, clearly irritated by being spoken to so harshly for no reason. His eyes scanned her up and down, eyebrows raising and mouth twitching into a smirk. 

“Not now, Stark.” She cut off whatever inappropriate comment he was about to make. 

“What has you all angry and ready to murder someone?” 

“Did you know Bruce hasn’t slept?” 

“We’re PhD student’s red, none of us sleep.” 

“As in he’s been awake since yesterday morning.” Tony’s demeanour softened as realisation hit. “He didn’t know what day it was.”

"Shit." Tony pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Did anything happen at the party yesterday, after I left? Anything piss him off?”

“He got into a fight with some guys.” Tony sighed again and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Natasha joined him. “Has this happened before?” 

“Bruce can get angry from time to time. Not all the time.” Tony quickly soothed when he noted Natasha’s concern. “Sometimes, when things are too much or… actually that parts for him to tell you not me. But if he ever loses it – which is rare by the way – but when he does, he tends to get into a bit of a stupor.” 

“You mean he doesn’t sleep.” 

“Doesn’t sleep, eat, shave, wash. Not intentionally or anything. I think he just gets scared and throws himself into his work and just sorta forgets about everything else. I’m fairly sure that’s how he managed to write such an incredible undergrad thesis.” 

“Scared?” Natasha questioned.

“Again, that’s for him to tell you, not me.” Tony waved her off.

“So how often should I expect this to happen?” 

“In an ideal world, never again. But Bruce,” Natasha could tell Tony was considering his words carefully, something uncharacteristic for the billionaire. “Bruce is a complicated man sometimes. But it just makes him the great guy that he is.” Natasha could see the comment for what it was, an attempt to lighten the mood and put her at ease somewhat. She offered him a small smile in return, and he offered her one back. “If he’s not slept then he probably hasn’t eaten anything either. I usually leave protein bars in his room for these occasions, but this hasn’t really happened since Betty left him so I just sorta stopped.” Tony stood and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll order some stuff.” 

“Hold off for now. I want him to sleep a bit more.” 

“Alright. Just come shout me when you’re ready.” 

“Thanks, Tony.” Natasha offered him one last smile before returning to Bruce’s room. Bruce stirred as she entered, turning over to face her as she closed the door. “Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Sorry.” His voice still sounded sleepy.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” 

Bruce was quiet until she settled back into bed, then he asked in a small voice, “Did I mess things up between us?” 

Natasha felt her stomach drop. “No” She encircled him in her arms once again. “You didn’t mess anything up. I’m not gonna be scared away that easily Bruce Banner. If not sleeping, eating,” She rubbed at the scruff on his chin. “or shaving is the best you’ve got then this is gonna be easy.” 

Bruce let out a small chuckle and a bigger yawn as he nuzzled into her chest. “I’m sorry that I ruined your party.” 

“Hey,  you didn’t ruin my party,” Natasha lifted his chin so that he was looking at her, and smoothed back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, revealing the big brown orbs brightened by the moonlight streaking through the partially closed blinds. “those assholes ruined things okay.” Bruce nodded his head. “But dealing with assholes like that is kind of my speciality. I don’t need you to punch every guy that makes a derogatory remark towards me. And if you did, then that’s a sure-fire way to break a knuckle or two.” 

“Sorry,” Bruce said again, his voice sounding like that of a small child who had just been scolded by their mother. 

“I do appreciate it though.” Bruce gave her a tired smile and blinked his eyes shut. Natasha kissed him softly on the forehead and allowed herself to drift off with him. 

She certainly wasn’t going to be scared off that easily. 

Chapter Text

5 years old

Bruce knew his dad was a troubled man. Even at the young of five, he knew that a person didn’t drink as much as his father did if they weren’t fighting with some pretty troubling demons. 

He hadn’t always been like this, or at least not from what he remembered. He has some good memories of happier times when his father didn’t scare him, or constantly smell like whisky. Times when his mother didn’t wander around with a black eye, using the guise of clumsiness to explain her bruises. Times when they would laugh and play together as a family, the three of them enjoying the company of one another. 

Those times seem like a distant memory to Bruce. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t flinch when his father stepped towards him, or the last time his mother was able to fall asleep without crying. 

He’s not sure what happened that made his father become so angry all of a sudden. But something had occurred in their lives that made his dad turn to alcohol and violence, setting them all on a path of abuse, emotional and physical.  

He’d never had his dad hit him before. His mother would often bear the brunt of his father’s physical abuse, whilst Bruce often got the emotional side of things; subjected to ridicule and teasing, having words such as monster or freak thrown his way. 

He’d cried the first time, thinking that there was nothing worse than his own father calling him the very names the kids at school would call him. But then his father gave him something to really cry about. 

He didn’t mean to break the vase. He and his mom had been playing astronauts out on an intergalactic space mission to save the world from an impending asteroid, Bruce, obviously, the pilot of the ship and his mom playing the role of his ever-dutiful assistant. But then his mom decided to change roles - as she often did during their games - and became an evil alien that had snuck onboard the ship and wanted to take over the controls, allowing Earth to be destroyed by the oncoming asteroid. 

Bruce had been attempting to flee from his mother’s capture, knowing full well that if he were caught, he would be subjected to a whole manner of torture – tickles to be precise. He thought he’d left enough space to get past the table on which his father’s precious vase sat - it had been passed down when his grandmother had died and was one of the few valuable items that they owned. He’d very almost made it past without bumping into the table, but then his elbow nipped one of the legs and caused the table to wobble. 

Bruce couldn’t do anything but watch as the vase tipped over and rolled towards the edge in what felt like slow motion. His mother had tried to catch it, and she very nearly did. But her reflexes weren’t quick enough, and the vase had fallen to the floor, shattering into hundreds of tiny ceramic pieces. Bruce felt a sudden wave of fear, and the look on his mother’s face told him he was right to feel it. 

His mom knelt in front of him, gripping both his arms. “You listen to me, baby. I want you to go to your room and play with your toys, okay? If your daddy asks, you don’t know what happened to the vase, d’you hear?” She shook him a little to get his attention. “Bruce, sweetie, d’you hear?” Bruce nodded slowly. “Okay, good boy. Go off to your room now, Mama will be there soon.” 

Bruce could hear the yelling before he even got halfway up the stairs, and the sickening thud of his mother being struck a blow quickly followed. He could hear his mom pleading with his father, but from the sound of the heavy footsteps getting closer to his room, he could tell that the pleading was no use. 

Bruce hurried to his toy box and took out the first thing he could find, pretending to be fully engrossed in his game by the time his father opened the door, but it was no use. 

“What the fuck did you do you little freak?” His father stormed in, grabbing him by his upper arms with a grip so tight Bruce was certain he was going to burst through his skin, the strong stench of whisky hitting his nostrils with every venomous word his father spat out. “You broke my vase didn’t you, you little shit.”

Bruce shook his head rapidly. “No.” 

That was when his father’s backhand connected with his left cheek, in a blow so hard that it had Bruce stumbling sideways, knocking his glasses to the floor. “Don’t lie to me you little shit! D’you know how much that vase was worth?” 

“Robert, leave him alone! He didn’t do anything!” His mother came rushing in, blood gushing from her busted lip and her right eye swollen with a dark bruise forming already. 

“Stay out of this, Rebecca!” His father spun round, the back of his hand swinging round and catching the side of his mother’s face, knocking her to the ground. “This little freak needs to be taught a lesson!” 

Bruce went to school with a black eye the next Monday. His mother had told him to tell the teachers that he’d fallen off his bike when trying to learn how to ride it, and that’s exactly what he said. She’d told him that his father didn’t mean to hit him and that he’d never do it again, and he really did believe her. He wanted to believe her. But he did do it again, and again, and again. 

The excuses he told the school got more and more creative, and once the school started to wise up a bit more, his father got more and more creative at hiding the bruises. The face became out of bounds to avoid detection, which Bruce was incredibly grateful for, but that just meant that the midsection was free rein. 

His father was certainly a troubled man, but Bruce was starting to learn that the demons he was fighting weren’t in his head. No, they were real, and they were in the form of his five-year-old son. 

8 years old

Bruce walked into the large courthouse. What felt like hundreds of pairs of eyes were all plastered on him. All bearing the same look. Since that terrible day, everyone who looked at him held that same look in their eyes. 

His hand gripped tighter onto the social worker that was leading him towards the stand when he spotted one set of eyes that looked nothing like the others. The eyes belonging to the very man that this whole thing was about – his father. 

His father’s eyes held no pity in them. They showed no remorse or sympathy. They didn’t even hold the same anger that Bruce had become accustomed to. No, his father’s eyes showed something he hadn’t seen in them in a very long time – peace. His father actually looked at peace, and that made an anger pool at the bottom of his stomach.

Bruce could feel himself shaking with nerves. Despite the various adults explaining things to him, he had no idea what was going on. He hadn’t had any idea what was going on since that terrible day. His father’s eyes tracked him as he walked to the stand, and Bruce could’ve sworn he saw a smile tug at the corner of his lips. He sat in the chair that had been raised higher, though he could still only just about see over the edge. 

“I’m going to stay right here, Bruce.” The social worker said as she sat just on the other side of the gate. “If at any point you want to stop, you just tell me okay.” 

Bruce nodded, pushed his glasses higher up his nose, and gazed around at the courtroom. He could see his Aunt Susan sitting in the crowd, her eyes red and cheeks puffy. There were dozens of photographers up in the gallery, taking pictures and eagerly jotting notes. The press hadn’t left them alone since it happened, always lurking outside his aunt’s house, yelling questions to him and his aunt, desperate for something that they could put in their papers to keep the story alive. 

“Robert Bruce Banner.” The booming voice of the orderly caught Bruce’s attention. “Child of the victim and defendant.”

“The prosecution has the floor.” The judge announced.

“Thank you, your honour.” The young woman slowly stood and walked over towards Bruce. Her braids were tied back in a ponytail, and her charcoal grey dress was neatly pressed. From a distance, she looked like every other cold-faced professional lawyer he had seen in the courthouse, but she had kind eyes. Kind eyes that felt reassuring when she had told him that she was going to get justice for his mother. The woman gave him a small smile, just between the two of them. 

“Bruce, I’m going to ask you a few questions. You can say as much or as little as you like, alright?” Bruce nodded tentatively. “Has your father ever yelled at you before?” Bruce nodded again. “Does he get angry at you?” Another nod. “Has he ever hit you?” Bruce’s eyes darted to his father. “Don’t look at him,” she said softly. “Look at me. Has he hit you before?” He nodded again. “Did he ever hit your mother?” 

“Yes.” The one-word answer barely passed his lips. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes over the memories. 

“Did he hit her that day?” Bruce was silent. Scared to answer the question. After a few more seconds, the lawyer coaxed, “The day your mother died?” 

Bruce nodded his head slowly. “Yes.” 

Bruce swallowed hard, the weight of the question pressing down on him like a stone. The courtroom seemed to hold its breath.

“Can you tell us what happened that day, Bruce?” the lawyer asked gently.

He looked down at his hands, then back up, meeting her kind gaze. “My mom was scared. Dad was angry… really angry. He hit her.” His voice wavered, but he continued, “Then he hit me when I tried to stop him.” The tears welled in his eyes. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. He wouldn’t stop. And mom - ” A choked sob escaped him. “and then mom wouldn’t move.” He couldn’t hold back the tears any longer; the rest of his words were lost to his sobs.

The judge cleared his throat. “Thank you, Bruce. You may step down.”

As Bruce returned to his seat beside the social worker, the room filled with murmurs. His heart hammered in his chest as his tears continued to flow.

After the prosecution and defence presented their cases, the courtroom fell silent once more. The judge adjusted his glasses and looked directly at Bruce’s father.

“Robert Bruce Banner,” he began in a steady voice, “your pattern of violence, both emotional and physical, has caused irreversible harm to your family. For the assault on your wife, which resulted in her death, and for the abuse inflicted upon your son, this court hereby sentences you to life imprisonment.”

Bruce’s breath caught. His father’s face remained unreadable—no anger, no remorse, just an eerie calm.

Aunt Susan reached out, squeezing Bruce’s hand gently. Tears streamed down her face as the gavel struck.

13 years old

At thirteen, Bruce felt like he was carrying the weight of the world on his small shoulders, though no one else seemed to notice. His sharp mind had become a beacon that drew unwanted attention. The other kids didn’t understand his love for books or the way he could solve problems faster than anyone else in class. Instead of admiration, it earned him sneers and whispers in the hallways.

“Hey, freakbrain, what’s it like being a little monster?” one sneered as he shoved Bruce against the lockers.

The words echoed painfully in Bruce’s mind—words he’d heard before, at home, but from someone who was supposed to love him. His father’s voice would thunder in his ears: “You’re a freak. A worthless little freak.”

The taunts from his classmates felt like a cruel mirror of the insults his father had thrown at him when Bruce was younger. The same feelings of shame and helplessness welled up inside him, twisting into anger.

Bruce stumbled but kept his footing, swallowing the sting of the blow and the embarrassment. He tried to ignore them, to pretend their words bounced off him like raindrops. But the teasing didn’t stop. Day after day, it got worse. The whispers became shouts, the shoves became pushes, and then—one afternoon—the taunts crossed a line.

“Your dad’s a monster,” the boy said, voice low and cruel. “You’re probably just like him, waiting to snap.”

The words hit Bruce harder than the shove. That same old fear surged through him—the fear he’d always carry inside: that anger, like a shadow, was lurking just beneath his skin. That he was no different from his father.

Something inside Bruce broke. His fists clenched without thought, his breath quickened, and before he knew it, he was throwing punches back. The fight was quick and messy—knuckles scraped, noses bumped, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. He stumbled back, heart pounding wildly, suddenly terrified at what he’d done.

Bruce sat in the principal’s office, head down, as the suspension letter was handed to him. Three days off school for fighting.

“I know you’re angry, Bruce,” the principal said quietly, “but this isn’t the way to handle it.”

Bruce didn’t respond. How could he explain the storm inside him to someone who’d never seen his nights, his fears?

That night, Aunt Susan found him sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the bruises on his arms. The house was quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock.

“Bruce,” she said gently, sitting beside him. “I heard what happened at school.”

He didn’t look at her. “I’m just like him,” he whispered. 

Susan pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. “You’re not your father, Bruce. You’re so much more than that.”

“I’m broken”, he stated, voice shaking. “The anger… It’s always there. When Dad got mad, he couldn’t stop. Sometimes I feel it too—the rage building up inside me, like a storm ready to break.”

She stroked his hair softly. “It’s okay to be angry. What matters is how you choose to use that anger. Fighting isn’t the answer, but there are other ways to let it out—ways that don’t hurt you or anyone else.”

Bruce looked up, tears glistening in his eyes. “Like what?”

Susan smiled, a small, patient smile. “Talking to someone, writing your thoughts down, even something physical like running or punching a pillow. It’s about finding your own path to calm, and I’ll help you find it.”

Bruce looked up, tears glistening in his eyes. “But what if I’m just waiting to snap, like him? What if I’m the same monster he was?”

Susan smiled gently, a patience in her eyes. “That fear shows you care. You’re not your father because you want to be better. You’re not doomed to repeat his mistakes unless you let that anger control you. And you won’t.”

He nodded slowly, unsure but willing to try. “I don’t want to be like him. I want to be stronger… but not like that.”

Susan hugged him again. “And you will be. I’ll help you find a way to let the anger out safely—whether it’s through words, or running, or even punching a pillow. You’re not alone in this.”

16 years old

Bruce hesitated in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the room. It wasn’t the tiny, claustrophobic cell he’d imagined during restless nights of worrying. No cramped bunk beds squeezed into a space barely big enough to turn around. Instead, the modest dorm was bathed in warm afternoon light streaming through a large window, casting long shadows across the scuffed wooden floor.

Against one wall stood a neatly made single bed, its navy-blue blanket tucked in just so. Opposite it, a cluttered desk held a scattering of books, papers, and a half-assembled model airplane. The faint hum of distant voices echoed down the hall — this was real. This was college.

Before Bruce could take another step, a voice broke through his thoughts. “Hey! You must be Bruce, right?”

He turned to see a boy around his age, maybe a head taller, with tousled dark hair and an easy grin that spread across his face like sunshine breaking through a clouded sky. His eyes sparkled with bright curiosity and a restless energy that filled the room.

“Tony Stark,” he said, offering a hand.

Bruce blinked, momentarily thrown. “Stark? As in… the genius inventor?”

Tony laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made the tension in Bruce’s chest ease just a little. “Yeah, that’s my dad. Big shoes to fill, but I’m trying.”

The boy’s confidence was magnetic, a stark contrast to Bruce’s quiet reserve. For a moment, he wondered what it was like, carrying the weight of a name like Stark.

“So, early entry, huh?” Tony said, gesturing to the room like a tour guide unveiling a secret treasure. “You’re one of the few who got in at sixteen.”

Bruce swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Me and you, I guess.”

Tony’s grin widened. “Looks like we’re the lucky ones.”

Bruce managed a small smile, the unfamiliar feeling of belonging stirring inside him. “I guess. It’s just... different.”

Tony’s eyes softened, understanding flickering in their depths. “I get it. It’s a lot to take in, all at once.” He reached out, patting Bruce’s shoulder. “But you’re not alone. We’re in this together.”

Bruce glanced around the room again, taking in the scattered textbooks and the blueprints pinned haphazardly on the wall. “What are you studying?”

“Engineering and mechanics,” Tony said proudly, his voice tinged with passion. “I love figuring out how things work — building machines, gadgets. If it moves or makes a noise, I want to know how.”

Bruce’s heart quickened. “Physics,” he replied softly. “I want to understand the world — the laws that hold everything together.”

Tony’s eyes lit up, and he threw an arm around Bruce’s shoulders in a friendly, almost brotherly gesture. “Looks like we’re going to make a great team. Brain and builder.”

For the first time in a long while, Bruce felt a spark of hope flicker within him. Here, in this unexpected little dorm room, a new chapter was beginning — one where he didn’t have to carry the weight of his past alone.

18 years old

Bruce walked into the bustling university library, the scent of old books and brewing coffee a comforting embrace. He was on a mission: to find a rare textbook on gamma radiation, a topic that fascinated him to no end. He navigated the labyrinthine shelves, his fingers tracing the spines of countless volumes, until he finally located the section he needed. Just as he reached for the book, another hand, slender and graceful, reached for it at the same time.

He looked up, startled, into a pair of warm, intelligent eyes. A small, apologetic smile played on her lips. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

Bruce felt a blush creep up his neck. He wasn’t used to such close encounters, especially with someone so… captivating. “No, no, my fault. I was a bit… focused.” He gestured vaguely at the shelves.

She chuckled, a soft, melodious sound. “Gamma radiation, huh? Fascinating stuff.” She extended a hand. “Betty Ross. I’m a biology major, but I dabble in a bit of everything.”

“Bruce Banner,” he replied, shaking her hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm. “Physics. And, uh, a bit of everything too, I guess.” He managed a small, awkward smile. He noticed the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, and the faint freckles dusted across her nose.

“Well, Bruce Banner, it seems we have a shared interest,” Betty said, her gaze lingering on the textbook. “How about we share it? There’s a great coffee shop downstairs. We could discuss the intricacies of gamma radiation over a latte?”

Bruce’s heart did a strange little flutter. A coffee shop? With her? He hadn’t anticipated this. His usual routine involved solitary study sessions and hurried meals. But the genuine warmth in her eyes, the easy invitation, was hard to resist. “I… I’d like that very much, Betty Ross.”

As they walked towards the coffee shop, Bruce found himself talking more freely than he had in years. Betty was a brilliant listener, asking insightful questions and offering her own perspectives. He discovered she was passionate about genetics and had a keen interest in how radiation could impact living organisms. They spent hours discussing theories, sharing ideas, and even debating some of the more controversial aspects of their respective fields. The conversation flowed effortlessly, a stark contrast to the stilted interactions he usually had. He found himself laughing, a genuine, unforced sound that surprised even himself.

By the time they parted ways, the library was closing, and the campus was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. Bruce felt a lightness he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He had met someone who saw beyond his quiet demeanor, who was genuinely interested in his mind, and who made him feel… seen. As he walked back to his dorm, a new kind of energy buzzed within him. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his chest, that this was the beginning of something important.

It was that moment he would often think about when things started to go south between them. When things seemed so easy and natural. He wasn’t sure when things started to go wrong, well, that wasn’t exactly true. He always knew his anger would be the thing that stopped any and all of his relationships in their tracks. It was just a matter of time before he was proven right.

Chapter Text

Natasha approached the grand, imposing doors of the university auditorium, a familiar knot of anticipation and steely resolve tightening in her stomach. Today was different. Today, she wouldn’t allow herself to be derailed. The last practice had been a disaster, a blur of missed cues and faltering grace, all because her mind had been miles away, tethered to the unsettling silence emanating from Bruce Banner. In her defense, her worry had been entirely justified. Who knew how long he would have spiralled, lost in his own quiet torment, if she hadn’t practically kicked down his door and forced him back into the land of the living? The thought still sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of frustration and a fierce, protective instinct.

She’d been meaning to corner him about it, about the way Tony had spoken of Bruce’s ‘episodes’ with a casualness that suggested they were a regular occurrence. And the way Tony had mentioned Bruce being ‘scared.’ Scared of what? The question gnawed at her, a persistent itch she couldn’t scratch. It was a conversation that needed to happen, a deep dive into the murky waters of Bruce’s inner world, but it would have to wait. Today, her focus had to be absolute, her performance flawless. She took a deep, centring breath, exhaling the lingering anxieties about Bruce, about everything, and pushed through the heavy doors, determined to prove her commitment.

The cavernous space of the dance studio, usually a sanctuary, felt charged with a different kind of energy today – a silent, judging hum. Madame, a formidable figure even in repose, caught her eye the moment she stepped onto the polished floor. The older woman’s gaze was a sharp, assessing blade, following Natasha as she moved to a quiet corner, beginning her own rigorous stretches. Every muscle in Natasha’s body screamed for release, but she pushed through the familiar burn, a silent prayer for focus echoing in her mind.

As the other dancers began to trickle in, a nervous energy rippled through the room. Madame’s voice, crisp and authoritative, cut through the low murmur, instructing them to line up at the barre. Just like the first rehearsal, the ritual began: one by one, they were called forward to perform a solo sequence. Natasha moved with precision, every arabesque, every pirouette, a testament to years of gruelling discipline.

She was perfect. She knew it.

Her lines were clean, her extensions soaring, her technique impeccable. But unlike the last time, there was no nod of approval, no further instruction, no additional sequence to follow. Natasha finished, returned to the barre, and the next girl stepped forward. A cold dread began to seep into her bones. This was not a good sign.

The Spring ballet of Giselle was more than just a performance; it was her lifeline. A spot in this production was crucial for her scholarship, a non-negotiable requirement. If she didn’t secure it, her last chance would be the summer show, and that was cutting it far too close for comfort, a gamble she couldn’t afford to lose. The weight of her future, of years of sacrifice, pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating.

But as the last few roles were allocated, the harsh reality of the situation dawned on Natasha with a sickening lurch. She was not getting a part. Not even a minor role.

Shit.

The final role was announced, and Madame waited for everyone to return to the barre, her expression unreadable, before issuing instructions for the rehearsal schedule. And then, just like that, they were dismissed. Natasha stood frozen, the words echoing in the sudden silence, unable to comprehend the finality of it. It was probably why she hadn’t noticed everyone else filing out, their hushed whispers and rustling bags fading into the distance, until Madame’s sharp, deliberate clearing of her throat jolted her back to the present.

“Yes?” Madame’s voice was a silken whip, cold and precise.

Natasha’s gaze darted around the empty studio, landing everywhere but on the ballet instructor’s piercing eyes. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat, forcing her chin a little higher, a defiant tilt against the crushing disappointment.

“I just wanted to confirm… I didn’t get a part?” she asked, her voice even, almost casual.

Almost.

Madame arched a perfectly sculpted brow, a silent judgment. “That is correct.”

Natasha nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t break. Just kept her shoulders square, her jaw locked tight, a fortress against the rising tide of despair. “Can I ask why?”

Madame looked her up and down, a slow, deliberate assessment. It wasn’t unkind, but it held that clinical detachment she reserved for dancers who were disappointing, but not entirely irredeemable. “You have natural talent, Natalia. Discipline, control, even a touch of flair. But your performance hasn’t been your priority.” She stepped closer, her arms folding across her chest, a subtle shift in her posture that commanded attention. “Not consistently. Not recently.”

“I had one bad rehearsal,” Natasha blurted out before she could stop herself. The words came out sharper than she’d intended, tinged with something that felt dangerously close to desperation, a raw plea for understanding.

“One bad rehearsal,” Madame echoed, her voice devoid of emotion, “can be forgiven. But it wasn’t just that. Your focus has been elsewhere for weeks. You arrive on time, yes. You complete the movements, yes. But the artistry? The presence? The soul?” Madame shook her head, a dismissive gesture. “Absent.”

Natasha pressed her lips together, a hot, prickling sensation at the corners of her eyes. She refused to blink. Refused to give Madame the satisfaction of seeing her vulnerability. “If I’m not giving enough, then tell me what I need to do,” she said, her voice taut, strained. “I’ll work harder. I’ll stay late, come early. Whatever it takes.”

But Madame was already turning away, collecting her clipboard from the mirrored ledge, her movements signalling the end of the conversation. “It’s not about the hours, Natasha. It’s about intention. And right now, your mind is somewhere else entirely.” She gave a small, final nod, her back to Natasha. “Come back when it isn’t.”

Natasha stood frozen, her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. The studio was utterly empty now, save for her and the fading echo of Madame’s heeled footsteps receding down the hall. She didn’t cry. That wasn’t her. Tears were a luxury she couldn’t afford, a weakness she refused to indulge. But something coiled tight in her chest—a hot, bitter anger. Not just at Madame, for her cold, clinical assessment.

She shoved her water bottle into her bag, the plastic scraping against the fabric, and slung it over her shoulder with more force than necessary, the strap digging into her skin. The pain in her chest didn’t budge.

The performance building doors slammed shut behind Natasha with a sharp, resounding clang that echoed down the steps and across the quad, a punctuation mark on her crushing defeat. She barely registered the sound, her mind a whirlwind of frustration and simmering rage. Her jaw was tight, her hands still clenched at her sides, every muscle in her body screaming with the effort of holding it all together.

She hadn’t cried. Wouldn’t give Madame the satisfaction. But her throat burned with unshed frustration, a raw, aching knot of disappointment.

No part. Not even a chorus role. The words replayed in her mind, a cruel, mocking refrain. The chill of the late afternoon air bit at her exposed skin, her thin tights doing little to ward off the cold as the sky overhead deepened to a bruised purple. The gym was calling to her – its punching bags, the satisfying thud of leather against her gloved palms, the familiar ache in her shoulders that came after a solid, brutal round. That was what she needed now – sweat, motion, something to quiet the riot in her chest, to burn off the corrosive anger that threatened to consume her.

But just as she crossed the paved path by the library, a voice cut through the gathering dusk, echoing her name. “Miss Romanoff!”

Natasha paused, her steps faltering, and turned. It was Dean Fury. He was standing at the administrative building’s front steps, a formidable silhouette against the building’s imposing facade, waving her over with a gesture that brooked no argument. She swore under her breath, a low, guttural sound.

Not now. Not when she was a hair’s breadth away from exploding. Still, she adjusted the strap of her bag, a practised movement of composure, and jogged over, her curiosity prickling despite herself. “Dean?”

“I’d like to see you in my office. Now, if you’ve got a moment.” His voice was gravelly, a low rumble that carried an undeniable authority.

She hesitated, her mind racing. “Am I in trouble?”

A ghost of a smile, fleeting and almost imperceptible, tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s call it an opportunity. And I’m not in the habit of asking twice.”

Natasha followed him inside, the heavy doors swinging shut behind them, sealing her into an unexpected encounter. She’d never been summoned to Dean Fury’s office before. It wasn’t the kind of room people just… wandered into. It was reserved for top-level decisions – or top-level problems, which she’d tried her best not to be.

Fury walked in first, the unspoken assumption that she would be following close behind him. He took the seat behind his massive desk, a throne of dark wood and polished leather, and gestured towards the one on the other side. She dropped into the leather chair across from him, the soft sigh of the cushions the only sound in the room. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Fury didn’t like wasting words, and Natasha, for once, found herself appreciating the quiet.

Finally, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled. “You’ve made quite an impression.”

Natasha blinked, her mind still reeling from the ballet audition. “If this is about ballet, you’ll have to get in line.”

Fury snorted, a rough, dismissive sound that was hard to decipher – amusement? Annoyance? “Not ballet. I’ve been reviewing access logs. Systems diagnostics. Internal patches that somehow got pushed through without ever crossing my IT department’s desk.”

She kept her expression neutral, a carefully constructed mask. “Sounds like a ghost in the machine.”

“Or a very bored, very capable student.” His gaze was unwavering, piercing, as if he could see straight through her carefully constructed facade.

Her posture stayed relaxed, but her heart beat a little faster, a frantic drum against her ribs. She thought she’d been subtle – just tweaks here and there, cleaning up sloppy coding in the student portal, bypassing firewalls to fix the dorm Wi-Fi during midterms. Nothing harmful. Just efficient. MCU’s IT infrastructure was just so poor, so clunky, and frankly, unbearable to use. It had been an irresistible challenge, a puzzle she couldn’t help but solve.

“I could use someone with your… initiative,” Fury continued, his voice a low, deliberate rumble. “Security on the university site’s a mess. You know that.” He paused, letting the unspoken words hang in the air, carrying the full weight of his meaning. “I want a lockdown — internal scans, new encryptions, vulnerability sweeps.”

Natasha stared at him for a moment, her mind whirring, processing the unexpected proposition. “You want me to do your IT department’s job?”

“I want you to do it right.” His answer was simple, direct, and utterly uncompromising.

She almost laughed, a bitter, humourless sound. But instead, she stood, tightening her grip on the strap of her bag, the leather digging into her shoulder. “That’s generous. But it doesn’t matter. I didn’t get cast in the spring recital. That’s a strike on my performance record. Without this show, it all hinges on the summer show, or my scholarship’s done. And I’m not sure I like my odds.” Madame’s scathing assessment of her, her cold dismissal, gave her little hope of a spot in the next show, and something told her the older woman wouldn’t care if she expressed the financial implications of that decision to her. “So unless you’re offering a time machine, or a huge wad of cash, there’s not much reason for me to stick around.”

Fury didn’t flinch. His expression remained impassive, unreadable. “You do this, and I’ll make sure the scholarship stays.”

That pulled her up short. The words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown into a churning sea. “You?” she asked, a flicker of disbelief in her voice.

“I’ve signed off on every scholarship on this campus,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact, leaving no room for doubt. “Trust me, if I want you to stay, you’ll stay.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, a familiar wariness creeping in. She was unsure whether to believe him or bolt, to trust this unexpected offer or to dismiss it as another trap. “And why would you want me to stay?”

“Because talent like yours doesn’t come around often. Not just on stage — up here.” He tapped his temple, a precise, deliberate gesture. “You think three steps ahead. You see patterns most people miss. That kind of mind is rare. And I don’t like wasting rare things.”

There was a long pause, filled only by the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant murmur of campus life. Natasha weighed his words, turning them over in her mind, searching for the hidden angles, the unspoken caveats. But there was none. Just a blunt, almost brutal honesty.

Then Natasha slowly sat back down, the leather chair sighing beneath her. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

Fury opened a folder, its contents crisp and new, and slid it across the desk. “Start here. Code access, breach reports, old schematics. There’s a server in the library basement we use for backups — I want it iron-clad by the end of the month.”

She opened the folder, her fingers tracing the edges of the first page. The technical specs came alive in her mind, a complex tapestry of logic and code, like a puzzle she hadn’t realized she’d been aching to solve. The frustration from the ballet audition began to recede, replaced by a familiar thrill, the intellectual challenge she craved.

She looked up again, her gaze meeting his, a hint of a challenge in her eyes. “And the scholarship?”

He leaned back, picking up his coffee mug, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Handled. Welcome to your new elective.”

~*~

The lab hummed with a familiar, almost comforting energy. Blueprints, half-crumpled and ink-stained, littered the tables like discarded thoughts. Wires, a tangled spaghetti of copper and plastic, snaked across workbenches, leading to various half-finished contraptions. The faint, rhythmic buzz of a half-assembled motor echoed through the cavernous space, a mechanical heartbeat in the quiet afternoon.

Tony Stark, ever the restless genius, found himself observing Bruce Banner.

Bruce was hunched over a circuit schematic, his brow furrowed in a concentration so intense it seemed to physically weigh him down. Yet, Tony could tell he hadn’t actually processed a new line of code or a fresh diagram in at least five minutes. His pencil hovered in mid-air, a silent sentinel, unmoving, as if caught in a temporal eddy.

With a practised push of his foot, Tony sent his wheeled chair gliding across the polished concrete floor, the squeak of the casters a minor symphony in the otherwise hushed lab. He nudged his chair beside Bruce’s, the proximity a silent invitation. “You’ve been stuck on the same page for ten minutes, Banner. That schematic isn’t going to solve itself by staring at it. Unless you’ve discovered a new form of telekinetic engineering, which, frankly, I wouldn’t put past you.”

Bruce blinked, his eyes slowly focusing, clearly pulled from whatever internal labyrinth he’d been lost in. A faint flush crept up his neck. “Sorry. Just… distracted.” His voice was a little rough, as if unused.

Tony leaned back, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He knew that particular brand of distraction. “Let me guess—red hair, sharp wit, and terrifying fouettés that could probably decapitate a lesser man?”

Bruce offered the faintest of smiles, a fleeting ghost of amusement. “Something like that.” The admission was quiet, almost a whisper, but it was there.

Tony tilted his head, letting the smirk linger for a moment longer before softening his expression, the playful facade dropping to reveal something closer to genuine concern. “Look, you’ve been… off. Ever since Natasha’s birthday. You gonna talk about what happened? Or should I just guess that it involves you working yourself ragged, not eating, and a guilt-ridden ballerina showing up at your door like a guardian angel?”

Bruce’s shoulders, already slumped, seemed to sag even further, as if the weight of Tony’s words was a physical burden. “She showed up because she was worried. And… she was right to be. I didn’t even notice how far gone I was until she… stepped in. It’s like she broke through this fog I didn’t know I was in. A thick, suffocating fog.” His voice was low, laced with a vulnerability Tony rarely heard.

Tony’s smirk had completely vanished, replaced by a look of genuine, unvarnished concern. He understood that fog. He’d lived in similar ones himself. “That’s not nothing, Bruce. That’s… significant.”

“She didn’t run,” Bruce added, his voice barely audible, as though he needed to speak the words aloud to truly believe them. “She made me eat. Sat with me while I rested. Stayed until I fell asleep. She just… stayed.” The last word was imbued with a quiet wonder, a profound disbelief that someone would simply stay. "I don't think Betty ever did that."

“Yeah,” Tony said quietly, his gaze fixed on a loose wire, giving Bruce space. “That sounds like Nat. She’s… tenacious. And fiercely loyal, even if she doesn’t always show it with hugs and rainbows.”

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, a weary gesture, letting out a long, shuddering breath. “But I haven’t talked to her properly since. I don’t know how to explain it. The anger… the pressure. It builds until I can’t breathe. It’s like a dam ready to burst, and I’m terrified of what happens when it does. What if she thinks I’m—”

Tony cut in gently but firmly, his voice a steady anchor in Bruce’s turbulent thoughts. “Like your dad?”

Bruce flinched, a subtle recoil, but didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken history and shared understanding.

“You are not your father, Bruce. You know that, right?” Tony leaned forward, his voice steady, unwavering, his eyes holding Bruce’s gaze, demanding to be believed. “You’re nothing like him. You’re a good man, Bruce. A brilliant man. And you fight for control every single day. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

“I’d like to believe it,” Bruce said, his voice rough with emotion, a raw confession. “But sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. The way the anger creeps in—it scares me, Tony. It scares me more than anything. And I don’t want to scare her. Not Natasha.”

“Then talk to her,” Tony said, his voice firm, practical. “Be honest. Give her a chance to know what’s really going on. She’s not fragile, Bruce. She can handle it. More importantly, she deserves to know.”

Bruce finally looked up at him, his eyes tired but sincere, a flicker of hope in their depths. “You really think she’d… stay? After knowing?”

Tony met his gaze evenly, a rare moment of unadulterated seriousness. “I think she already has, Banner. You just haven’t caught up to that part yet. She’s not going anywhere.”

He let the silence hang for a moment, long enough for the words to settle, for Bruce to absorb the weight of them. Then, with a sharp clap of his hands, Tony broke the spell and stood, the chair squeaking in protest. “Alright, that’s enough emotional vulnerability for one afternoon. Any more and I might start crying into the soldering iron, and that would be a waste of perfectly good tech.”

Bruce huffed a laugh, a genuine, if weary, sound. Tony considered it a win. A small victory in the ongoing battle against Bruce’s inner demons. Time to move on.

Tony swivelled toward the main workbench, tapping the side of a sleek, half-finished prototype motor with a wrench. The metal rang with a clear, resonant tone. “Speaking of things with unstable energy signatures—let’s talk Ultron.”

Bruce straightened up slightly, the mention of their shared project pulling him back into the familiar comfort of science. “Still not convinced it’ll hold at high-speed rotation. The last test pushed the core well past thermal tolerance. We nearly melted the housing.”

“Yeah, and it also held together longer than either of us predicted, didn’t it?” Tony countered with a triumphant grin, a flash of his usual bravado. “You’re too cautious, Banner. Sometimes you gotta push the envelope. That’s where the magic happens.”

“I like my lab intact,” Bruce muttered, a familiar refrain, reaching for the detailed specs, his fingers already tracing the complex diagrams. The caution was ingrained, a necessary counterpoint to Tony’s boundless ambition.

Tony watched Bruce glance at the prototype—still wary, still calculating, but the spark was back in his eyes. The kind that said this wasn’t just a machine. It was a possibility. A challenge. A problem waiting to be solved. The kind of spark that made Bruce, well, Bruce.

“You think the arc stabilizer will hold with the new housing?” Bruce asked, his voice already taking on the focused intensity of a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough.

“Only one way to find out,” Tony said, tossing him a pair of sleek, polarized goggles. “Time to make some sparks fly, Banner. Literally.”

Bruce caught the goggles with an easy, practiced motion, and Tony saw the smile breaking through. Quiet, but real. A genuine smile that reached his eyes, chasing away the last vestiges of his earlier turmoil.

A few hours later, the sun had dipped low behind the campus skyline, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. Long, distorted shadows stretched across the floor of the engineering lab, transforming familiar equipment into strange, alien shapes. The hum of tools had finally quieted, replaced by the soft click of keys and the occasional murmur of conversation. Bruce adjusted the stabilizer ring one last time, his hands steady, precise, his focus absolute.

Tony, meanwhile, tapped rapidly on the keyboard of a nearby console, his fingers flying across the holographic interface, scanning the diagnostics, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Alright, initiating sequence… now.”

The motor, a marvel of their combined ingenuity, spun to life with a low, resonant whir, a sound that vibrated through the floor. The arc stabilizer, a delicate lattice of glowing blue energy, pulsed steadily at its core, a miniature star contained within their creation. Tony held his breath, his eyes glued to the readouts, a familiar thrill coursing through him.

“Voltage is holding,” Bruce said, his voice calm, eyes fixed on the monitor, his own tension masked by scientific detachment. “Thermal output’s within predicted range. No anomalies.”

“Torque’s stable. Energy flow optimal. We’re in the green, Banner!” Tony’s voice cracked upward with excitement, a triumphant shout echoing in the quiet lab. “We did it! We actually did it!”

The whir of the motor leveled into a smooth, almost silent hum. Clean. Balanced. Perfect. The culmination of weeks of relentless work, of countless failed attempts, of arguments and breakthroughs.

Tony let out a triumphant laugh, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy, and held up his hand, palm out. “Genius meets genius, baby! Give me some skin!”

Bruce high-fived him, the clap echoing through the lab, a punctuation mark on their shared success. 

The door creaked open, and a head of perpetually messy brown hair poked through the gap. Peter Parker, looking mildly alarmed, peered into the lab. “Why does it sound like you two just won the Nobel Prize in here? Did you finally invent a self-cleaning coffee mug?”

Tony turned dramatically, a showman in his element. “Peter Parker, welcome to the future. Behold—Ultron’s core drive: stable, scalable, sexy as hell. And yes, it probably could clean a coffee mug if we programmed it to.”

Peter stepped in, his eyes wide with awe, taking in the humming motor, the glowing arc. “That’s the motor? I thought you said it was months away. Like, next semester away.”

“Deadlines are merely suggestions, Peter,” Tony said with a dismissive shrug, a glint in his eye. “Especially when genius is involved.”

Bruce chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound. “We’ve still got more tests to run, Peter, a lot more fine-tuning. But… it’s a start. A very promising start.”

Peter nodded, clearly impressed, his gaze still fixed on the motor. “So… what now? You build the rest of the body and take over the world? Like, with a giant robot army?”

“The world of green energy, Peter,” Bruce corrected gently, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sustainable power. Clean, efficient, and hopefully, world-changing in a good way.”

Tony leaned casually against the workbench, a picture of relaxed confidence. “Speaking of energy… how’s your mission going, kid?”

Peter blinked, caught off guard. “Mission? What mission?”

“You know,” Tony said, raising his eyebrows suggestively, a playful glint in his eyes. “Operation: Girl You Can’t Stop Talking About. What’s the sitrep? Is she still just a ‘friend’?”

Peter flushed instantly, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks, and rolled his eyes with an exaggerated groan. “She’s my friend, Mr. Stark. Just a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony replied, drawing out the sound with dramatic flair, clearly unconvinced.

Bruce, ever the empathetic one, added gently, “That’s not a bad thing, Peter. Friendship is important. Sometimes it’s even the best foundation for something more.”

“It’s not,” Peter agreed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “We talk all the time, hang out after class. She even helped me finish that chem write-up, which was a nightmare.”

“So why do you look like you’re confessing to a felony, kid?” Tony asked, his tone laced with amusement.

Peter hesitated, his gaze dropping to his sneakers. “I guess… I don’t want to mess it up. Things are good, you know? Easy. Comfortable. If I say something and it’s not mutual—what if I lose what we do have? What if it makes things awkward? I don’t want to risk it.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “I get that, Peter. The fear of disrupting a good thing. But you’ll never really know unless you talk to her. Unless you take that leap.”

“Exactly,” Tony added, elbowing Peter playfully. “Take it from two certified geniuses who are totally qualified in the field of romance. We’ve got, like, decades of experience between us. Mostly bad, but still experience.”

Peter gave a dry, skeptical laugh. “Sure. Bruce, maybe. You? I’m not so sure, Mr. Stark.”

Tony clutched his chest in mock offense, a theatrical gasp escaping him. “Ouch, Parker. Wounded. Deeply wounded. But I respect it. Honesty is key, even when it’s brutal.”

~*~

Bruce hadn’t meant to be walking this way. He was just taking the long route back from the lab—clearing his head, letting the rustle of spring leaves and the low hum of student chatter calm something restless inside him. The quad was still damp from the morning rain, the grass soft under his shoes. He took a slow, deliberate breath. The air tasted clean, sharp, and invigorating.

He was halfway across the paved path when he saw her.

Natasha.

She was a blur of motion, her familiar blue hoodie a vibrant streak against the verdant green of the quad. Earbuds firmly in place, she ran with a steady, relentless pace, a kind of focused intensity he envied. Her ponytail swung with each powerful stride, precise and fierce, like everything else she did. There was determination etched in the sharp line of her jaw, in the rhythmic pump of her arms. But today, there was something else, too. A tension. A sharpness. It sat differently in her shoulders, a subtle rigidity that spoke of an inner battle.

She slowed as she noticed him, pulling to a jog and then a complete stop, breathing hard but steady. Her cheeks were flushed, a healthy glow, and strands of hair, damp with effort, clung to her temples. Still, she managed a small, warm smile, a genuine curve of her lips that reached her eyes.

“Bruce.” She pulled out one earbud, letting it dangle against her chest, the faint thrum of music still audible. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Her voice, low and a little breathless, tugged at something deep inside him. Guilt, mostly. A heavy, familiar weight. But also something gentler—a surprising comfort, perhaps. The relief that she didn’t seem angry. That she was even speaking to him, after everything.

“Hey,” he said, lifting a hand awkwardly, a half-wave. “Yeah. Me neither, honestly.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Not quite. But it buzzed with the weight of things unsaid, a palpable tension that stretched between them. Bruce shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the gravel crunching softly beneath his sneakers, then finally exhaled, the sound a quiet surrender.

“I’ve been meaning to call,” he began, his voice a little rough. “I just… I didn’t really know what to say. How to explain.”

She looked at him properly now, her eyes steady, unflinching. That gaze of hers—unbothered by silence, seeing too much, understanding more than he was comfortable with—still threw him. It was like she saw straight through his carefully constructed walls.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft, reassuring. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He took a step forward, hesitating only briefly, and then, almost without conscious thought, opened his arms. Natasha didn’t pause. She leaned into him, her arms wrapping around his back, her face resting briefly against his shoulder. It was a brief embrace, but grounding, solid. A silent anchor in his turbulent world.

Bruce closed his eyes for a second longer than he meant to, letting himself sink into the moment. She smelled faintly of sweat and the light, clean, citrusy scent of her shampoo, and somehow even that familiar aroma settled his frayed nerves. She’d come to find him at his lowest, at his most vulnerable, and now here she was again—real, solid, and not pulling away. Not running.

“I was embarrassed,” he murmured, still holding on, not quite ready to let go. His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “About the state you found me in. I didn’t mean for you to see that. To see… me, like that.”

Natasha eased back slightly, her hands resting lightly on his arms, her touch a gentle, steady pressure. Her eyes, usually so guarded, held a surprising softness. “Bruce, I don’t care about that. I care that you’re okay.”

He looked at her—really looked this time—and his stomach twisted with a fresh wave of guilt. Her eyes were sharp, yes, but there was something tired in them. Worn. Like the weight she carried had shifted, and not for the better. The usual vibrant spark seemed dimmed.

“You alright?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern. “You seem… different.”

She gave a short, controlled breath, a small, almost imperceptible sigh. “I didn’t get a part in the spring recital.”

His eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. “What? But… you’re amazing. You’re the best dancer in the program. I thought you needed that for—”

“My scholarship,” she finished, her voice clipped, a sharp edge to it. “Yeah.”

“Did she say why? Madame, I mean.”

“She said I was…” Natasha paused for a moment, her gaze drifting past him, as though contemplating her next words, choosing them with care. “Distracted.”

He froze. The guilt returned, full-force, a cold, sickening wave washing over him. “Were you distracted because of me?”

“A little,” Natasha admitted, her honesty stopping the spiral of his self-recrimination in its tracks. “But I should’ve known better. Distractions aren’t an excuse. Not in front of Madame. Not when it matters.”

Bruce’s heart sank, a leaden weight in his chest. He couldn’t breathe past the crushing realization. She had one shot. One. And instead of resting, or practicing, or focusing on her own future, she’d sat beside him, making sure he ate, making sure he didn’t disappear into that dark place completely. All because he couldn’t keep himself together.

He stared down at the cobblestones, jaw tight, the shame burning a hot path up his neck. “I’m so sorry, Nat. I didn’t mean to… to mess things up for you. I didn’t think…”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, cutting him off, her voice firm, unwavering. “I made the call to go see you. I’d do it again, too. Every single time.”

He met her eyes again, surprised by how steady she was, by the fierce loyalty shining in their depths. He wasn’t sure he deserved it. That unwavering loyalty. That incredible grace.

“So what now?” he asked quietly, the question heavy with unspoken concern. “About the scholarship? About… everything?”

She exhaled, a long, slow release of air, and a faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her shoulders. “Dean Fury offered me another option. Help tighten the school’s online security systems. Use my computer skills to earn credit toward the scholarship instead.”

His eyebrows lifted, a genuine flicker of surprise and relief. “That sounds… kinda perfect? For you, I mean. You’re brilliant with computers.”

She gave a half-shrug, a small, almost dismissive gesture, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “Yeah. Maybe. But I didn’t come here to hack school websites. It wasn’t part of the plan. It’s… different.”

Bruce gave a small, crooked smile, a rare, genuine expression. “Maybe not, but it’s still your way forward. Doesn’t change your goal—just the path to it.” He reached out, his fingers hesitating for a moment, then brushed them lightly over hers, a tentative, comforting touch. “And if it keeps you here, and on track, then it’s worth it.”

Natasha looked at their hands, his fingers lightly touching hers, then up at him. Her expression softened—just a little, a subtle shift that spoke volumes. “Maybe you’re right.”

They began walking together, the rhythm easy, comfortable, despite the emotional weight that had just been laid bare between them. Their shoulders brushed occasionally, a comforting contact, and Bruce felt himself breathe easier just being beside her, the tension in his own body slowly easing.

After a while, as they walked in companionable silence, he cleared his throat, the sound a little rough. “What happened the other night… after your birthday… it’s… complicated.”

She looked at him sideways, her gaze sharp but patient, saying nothing, just waiting.

Bruce took a deep breath, gathering his courage. This was it. The truth. “Sometimes when I get angry, I just… shut down. It’s like everything inside builds and builds until it crashes. And when it does, I don’t always notice until I’m too far in. Until I’m… gone.” He paused, searching for the right words, the ones that wouldn’t scare her away. “It’s not just anger, Nat. It’s… fear.”

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “My dad… he was a violent man. He hurt my mom. He hurt me. When he got angry, he became… someone else. Someone monstrous.” His voice was barely a whisper, raw with old pain. “And when I feel that anger building inside me, that pressure, that loss of control… I’m terrified I’m just like him. That I’ll become him. That I’ll hurt someone I care about.”

His gaze met hers, pleading, vulnerable. “So I retreat. I pull away. I try to contain it, to keep it from hurting anyone. I try to disappear before I can become… that.” He gestured vaguely, helplessly, at himself. “That’s why I shut down. Because I’m so scared of what I might do if I don’t.”

Natasha’s expression was unreadable for a long moment, her eyes searching his, absorbing his confession. Then, slowly, she reached out, her hand covering his clenched fist, her touch surprisingly gentle, firm. “Bruce,” she said, her voice soft, but clear, unwavering. “You are not your father. You are nothing like him. You fight it. You try to protect people.” He stared at her, a fragile hope blooming in his chest. He nodded, reassured by her words. “Is this something I should expect from now on? Something I need to be prepared for?” she asked, the question laced with a desperate need for honesty.

“I think I’ve got it under control,” he said. “Mostly.”

She watched him for a moment longer than was comfortable, her expression unreadable. But then she nodded.

Bruce felt a wave of relief so profound it almost buckled his knees. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding his breath until he finally exhaled, a long, shuddering sigh. She hadn’t run. She hadn’t flinched. She was still here. And she was offering to stay.

He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. The shame was still there, a faint echo, but it was overshadowed by a burgeoning sense of hope, of acceptance. He had told her. And she had stayed.

~*~

“Yes, go to him! Come on! Go to him!” Bucky howled at the screen, his voice raw, urging his boys in red to close down the United midfield. They were surging forward, a relentless tide in white, rapidly making their way down the pitch and towards the Arsenal goal. Bucky was on the absolute edge of his seat, knuckles white where he gripped the armrest, as the Arsenal defender, a rookie with more heart than sense, drew closer to the attacker. “Easy. Easy! Don’t dive, you idiot, just hold your line!”

“Ref! That’s a penalty!” Steve yelled, his voice booming from beside him, a sudden, righteous roar as the United attacker was brought down to the ground by a particularly reckless tackle. The whistle hadn’t even blown yet, but Steve was already on his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at the screen.

“Bullshit! That was perfectly fine tackle!” Bucky disputed, even as a small, nagging voice in the back of his head admitted that had such a tackle been against his team, he would definitely be lobbying the referee for a penalty, probably with more theatrics than Steve. “One hundred percent ball, Stevie! You blind?”

“That was a dangerous tackle, Buck, and you know it,” Steve countered, shaking his head, his eyes still glued to the replay. “Could’ve broken his ankle. You’re just mad because it was your guy.”

Bucky grunted in annoyance, a low, frustrated sound, as he awaited the ref’s decision, his gaze flicking between the crumpled player and the referee’s hand. Sure enough, the ref blew his whistle, a shrill, piercing sound that cut through the stadium roar, and pointed unequivocally to the penalty spot. Bucky threw his head back against the sofa cushions, a groan escaping him.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. To no one’s surprise, the United penalty taker, a smug bastard with a ponytail, found the back of the net with a clinical precision that made Bucky’s stomach churn. The score flipped, United taking the lead, 2-1.

“COME ON UNITED!” Steve howled, a triumphant, almost feral cry, cracking himself another beer to celebrate the goal. He practically vibrated with glee, a golden retriever who’d just found his favorite squeaky toy.

Bucky scowled at the screen. Steve, meanwhile, whooped beside him like the world had just ended and been reborn in red, his face flushed with victory.

“Alright, calm down,” Bucky muttered, slouching further into the sofa, grabbing his own beer and taking a long, resentful swig. “You’d think you were the one who scored the bloody goal.”

“I feel like I did!” Steve grinned, practically glowing, his enthusiasm infectious despite Bucky’s foul mood. “FA Cup, man. You know how it is.”

Bucky shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. As much as he hated watching United score, especially against his team, there was something kind of nice about having a Saturday night this easy. Beer, football, and a bit of shouting. No assignments looming, no pressure from classes, no existential dread about the future. Just him and Steve, yelling at a screen like idiots, comfortable in their shared, ridiculous passion.

The front door opened then, a soft click, and Maria strolled in, looking vaguely amused at the cacophony emanating from the room. She dropped her bag onto a nearby chair with a thud, her eyes already assessing the scene.

“You two sound like you’re trying to summon a demon in here,” she said, her voice dry as desert sand, but a hint of a smile played on her lips.

Steve, still buzzing from the goal, gestured wildly at the screen with his beer bottle. “Knockout round, Maria! It is kind of a blood sacrifice, if you think about it.”

Maria walked over, folding her arms across her chest, her gaze sweeping over the darting figures on the screen for a moment. “Who’s winning this… ritual?”

Steve grinned, a wide, triumphant flash of white teeth. “United. Just went up 2-1. Told you it was gonna be a good one, Buck!”

“Tragic,” Maria said, her tone utterly devoid of sympathy, then turned to Bucky with a raised eyebrow, a silent question in her eyes. “So. You talked to Peggy yet?”

Bucky nearly choked on his beer. He looked up from the match, his interest piqued, a subtle shift in his posture. His eyebrows rose—just a little—and Maria caught it immediately. She flicked her gaze to him and quirked a brow in silent commentary, her lips twitching like she was trying very hard not to smirk. He ignored her, taking another long, deliberate drink of his beer, pretending to be engrossed in the game.

Steve shrugged, a casual, almost dismissive gesture. “Yeah. Spoke last night, actually. She’s having a good time in Paris. I think we might be good at this whole 'long-distance friends' thing.” 

Maria, the picture of innocent curiosity, settled onto the edge of Bucky's bed, nudging Steve’s leg with her foot. “You two looked cute together. All that… old-fashioned charm.”Maria perched herself more comfortably, her head tilted at the game, a faint frown on her face. “I still don’t understand how you guys can watch this sport. Or play it, for that matter. They’re all just running in circles, chasing a ball. It’s like a very aggressive game of fetch.”

“That’s called strategy, Maria,” Steve said patiently, leaning forward, his eyes alight with the intricacies of the game. “Watch this next play—it’s gonna be good. See how they’re drawing the defense out?”

Just then, the front door opened again, and Natasha strolled in, tying her sweatshirt around her waist, her movements fluid and economical. She looked freshly showered, her hair still damp, and suspiciously pleased with herself, a faint, knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“Well, well, well,” she purred, grabbing a handful of crisps from the bowl, her eyes sweeping over the scene. “If it isn’t the testosterone club, in their natural habitat.”

“Look who’s decided to grace us with her presence,” Bucky said, tipping his beer in her direction, a playful challenge in his eyes. “Thought you’d forgotten about us, Romanoff.”

“Been a minute, Nat,” Maria added, her tone light, but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “I was starting to think you’d moved into Bruce’s place permanently. Are you, like, officially cohabiting with the lab equipment now?”

Steve grinned, a wide, innocent smile, eager to join that usual banter. “You two joined at the hip now, or do you take scheduled breaks for, you know, personal hygiene and stuff?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but the smirk on her face widened, unfazed by their teasing. “Jealous I’ve got better company? And a much quieter living situation, I might add. You guys sound like a pack of hyenas.”

Bucky leaned back, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Better company or only company? Don’t think we’ve seen you outside of science corner all week. ”

“I’m not the one yelling at a screen and crying over men in shorts,” she shot back, settling cross-legged on the floor, perfectly comfortable amidst the chaos. “At least my passions are productive.”

“True,” Maria said, nodding sagely, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’re just busy playing lab assistant-slash-girlfriend. Very noble.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a silent dare. 

Steve chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Didn’t think we’d need to file a missing persons report. We were starting to worry you’d been abducted.”

“Seriously,” Bucky said, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “We get it. Banner's hot. The sex is great. You don’t have to rub it in.”

Natasha popped another crisp into her mouth, chewing slowly, then smirked, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “At least I’m getting laid, Barnes. Can’t say the same for some people in this room.”

There was a beat of stunned silence, followed by Maria cackling, a loud, uninhibited sound that nearly made her spill her drink. Steve’s face turned a shade of crimson that rivaled Arsenal’s jerseys, and he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Alright, fair,” Maria managed to gasp out between laughs, wiping a tear from her eye. “Not a problem I’m having, either, for the record.” She gave Bucky a pointed look.

Bucky gave her a dry, exasperated look. “Subtle, Maria. Real subtle.”

Maria just smiled sweetly, utterly unrepentant. “Never claimed to be.” 

Steve tried to steer things back to safer territory, clearing his throat. “I just got out of something, okay? I’m on a break. A relationship sabbatical.”

All eyes, including Natasha’s, turned to Bucky, a silent, collective question.

He blinked, feigning innocence. “Why is it always me? What? I’m just… focused on more important things. Like this riveting football match.” He gestured vaguely at the screen, where the players were now just a blur of motion. Maria and Natasha exchanged a knowing look, a silent conversation passing between them that spoke volumes. Bucky groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can we please talk about football again? Or literally anything else?”

Steve chuckled, eyes back on the screen, a genuine smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Buck. Arsenal’s falling apart. That’ll cheer you up. Look at that defense!”

Bucky leaned forward, muttering under his breath, “Only thing falling apart worse than Arsenal is this conversation.”

The girls laughed again, a chorus of easy, familiar mirth, and the noise of the match rose around them—but underneath it all, the easy comfort of friendship settled back into the room like a familiar rhythm. 

As the others fell back into cheering and teasing over the match, Bucky found himself only half-watching the screen. His mind kept circling back to what Steve had said earlier—about him and Peggy. Steve had sounded resigned, not upset. Like he really was fine with things being over between them. Bucky knew his best friend well enough to hear the truth in that. Still, it stirred something in him. A small, cautious flicker of hope he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. Not that he was going to act on it. That would be stupid. Dangerous, even. 

He shook his head, forcing himself to refocus on the match, but the thought lingered—quiet, persistent, and just dangerous enough to matter, a tiny ember glowing in the back of his mind.

Chapter Text

“So,” Bruce fumbled with the cap of the vodka bottle, his fingers, usually so precise with delicate instruments, feeling clumsy and oversized. He settled onto the cool stone bench beside the campus fountain, the familiar gurgle of water a soothing backdrop to the late-night quiet. Their schedules had been a bit out of sync this semester, a frustrating dance of conflicting classes and lab hours, and he and Natasha hadn’t been able to see much of each other during daylight. These stolen moments by the fountain, under the cloak of darkness, had become their sanctuary.

“Madame’s letting you into rehearsals?” he asked, the question a little tentative, knowing how fraught things were in Natasha's dance world presently.

“Not that she’s happy with it, but,” Natasha shrugged, a fluid, effortless movement that belied the duffle bag slumping to the ground beside her. She relieved Bruce of the vodka bottle with a practiced ease, taking a quick, unapologetic slug with barely a flinch. He watched the bob of her throat, the way her eyes, even in the dim light, seemed to sharpen with the burn. He still flinched, every time. “There’s nothing explicitly against me rehearsing with them. Even if she’s not gonna let me in the show.” Bruce nodded, accepting the bottle back from his girlfriend – a word that still sent a jolt through him, a quiet, almost disbelieving thrill, knowing he could use it to describe Natasha. It was a privilege he still hadn’t quite processed.

“How’s the teaching going?” she asked, her voice laced with a genuine curiosity that always disarmed him.

“Pretty badly,” Bruce admitted, letting out a long, heavy sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the entire semester. He took a generous swig from the shared bottle. Unlike his girlfriend, he did flinch, a sharp intake of breath, though less than the first time they’d done this. The burn was still there, but it was becoming a familiar companion. “I just don’t think I’m cut out for teaching,” he confessed, the words tasting bitter. He’d picked up a few extra teaching classes this semester, a way to supplement his research grant, and things weren’t going as well as he had hoped. “Between the incomprehensible lesson notes I get given, the barely interested undergrads who look at me like I’m speaking ancient Greek, and the fact that half of them think mitochondria is some kind of Italian dish, I’m starting to think this whole thing might’ve been a mistake.” Bruce took another swig, the vodka warming his chest, a fleeting warmth that wasn’t quite enough to dull the persistent sting of frustration. “I thought I’d be better at it. Or at least… less shit.”

Natasha leaned back against the cool, smooth edge of the fountain, her legs stretched out in front of her, the bottle now resting loosely in her hand, a casual extension of her arm. “Teaching’s like ballet,” she said after a moment, her gaze fixed on the shimmering surface of the water. “Looks easy when you’re watching someone else do it. All grace and effortless movement. But when you’re the one up front, under the lights, and everyone’s watching, you realize how hard it is not to fall flat on your face. How much work goes into making it look easy.”

Bruce huffed a small laugh, a dry, self-deprecating sound. “Great. So I’m just waiting for my metaphorical ankle to snap, then. Or for the entire class to collectively decide that the powerhouse of the cell is, in fact, a delicious pasta dish.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said, nudging his shoulder with hers, a small, comforting gesture. “You’re too good not to be. You just need to stop expecting perfection from people who are mostly hungover and texting through lectures. And who probably haven’t slept more than four hours in a week.”

He looked over at her, studying the soft edge of her profile in the moonlight, the subtle curve of her lips. Her words carried weight, a quiet authority that cut through his self-doubt.

There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds, filled only by the gentle splash of the fountain and the distant hum of the city. Bruce reached for the bottle again, taking a slow sip, his gaze drifting down to the dark, rippling water of the fountain, reflecting the scattered campus lights like fractured stars.

“You know,” he started, a bit hesitant, the words feeling clumsy on his tongue, “it’s February 14th on Thursday…”

She side-eyed him, a faint, knowing smirk playing on her lips, already suspicious. “Wow. When I started dating a genius, I had no idea one of the perks would be getting regular updates on the date. Groundbreaking stuff, Banner.” Bruce gave her a sheepish smile, feeling the heat creep up his neck. “Got any other completely obvious facts for me? Like, the sky is blue, or water is wet?”

He chuckled, playing along. “Well, that also happens to be Valentine’s Day…” Natasha raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge, but said nothing, letting him squirm under the weight of her amused silence. It was a game they played, a delicate dance of teasing and vulnerability. “I know you said you’re not into romance,” he continued, pushing through his nerves, “and I totally respect that. I really do. I was just wondering if… I don’t know… there was anything you wanted to do? Anything at all?”

“You trying to make a dinner reservation or something, Banner?” she teased, her voice a low purr, a hint of laughter in her eyes. “Candlelight, violins, the whole nine yards?”

“I could, yeah. I mean, if you wanted. I just thought it might be nice to do… something. Something special.” He felt his cheeks flush again, but he held her gaze.

Natasha paused, then took another slow sip from the bottle, the liquid glinting in the faint light, before passing it back to him. “As nice as it is to dine on Tony Stark’s dime,” she said dryly, a faint roll of her eyes, “I’m thinking we do something more… chill? More us?”

Bruce felt the tension leave his shoulders all at once, a sudden, profound release. “Yeah? Really?”

“Yeah. Order a pizza, watch movies—” She leaned in a little closer, her voice dipping with a playful, almost conspiratorial edge, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “—fuck.”

Bruce nearly dropped the bottle, his hand jerking reflexively. The heat climbed his neck like a wildfire, a sudden, overwhelming rush, and he tugged at his collar, trying to release the sudden constriction in his throat. He could feel his ears burning, a ridiculous, adolescent reaction.

“But if you’ve got your heart set on something special,” Natasha continued, far too amused by his reaction, a triumphant glint in her eyes, “then please, go ahead and set it up. Don’t let my… practical suggestions… deter you.”

“N-no,” he stammered, still recovering, his voice a little hoarse. “Your plan sounds perfect. Absolutely perfect. Pizza and movies and… yeah. Perfect.”

“Great.” She stood, a graceful, economical movement, grabbing her duffle and hoisting it over her shoulder. “I finish class at four.”

“Sounds good,” he managed, still a little dazed.

“Good.” She leaned down, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his lips, a fleeting brush that left him breathless. “I’ll see you then.”

Bruce, emboldened, reached out, his hand finding the back of her neck, pulling her back for another, longer kiss, smiling into the touch, the taste of vodka and her unique scent filling his senses. “No horror movies though,” he murmured against her lips, a playful plea.

Natasha grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light, as she turned to leave. “We’ll see about that, Banner. Don’t tempt me.”

And as she disappeared down the path, her silhouette fading into the campus shadows, Bruce sat back with the bottle in his hand, still grinning like an idiot, the warmth of her kiss lingering on his lips, wondering how in the world he’d gotten this lucky. How had this incredible, terrifying, utterly captivating woman chosen him?

He sat there a moment longer after she left, still tasting her kiss, still feeling the ghost of her smirk warming his skin. The bottle of vodka was half-forgotten at his side as he leaned back on the bench and let out a slow, contented breath. His heart was doing that thing again - too fast, too tight in his chest. Not panic exactly. Just… intensity. A vibrant, overwhelming awareness of being alive, of being seen, of being loved. He still didn’t quite know how to handle it, this overwhelming surge of emotion.

He’d never had anything like this with Betty. Not like this. Not with her. Their relationship had been comfortable, predictable, safe. This was… exhilarating. Terrifying. Real. For someone who wore armour like a second skin, Natasha had this way of slipping past his defenses like they were made of paper. One comment. One look. One gentle touch. And suddenly he wasn’t hiding anymore. He was just… there. With her. Unfiltered. Unafraid.

He looked down at the bottle, gave it a lazy spin on the stone ledge of the fountain, the ripples in the water mirroring the ripples in his own heart.

Pizza and movies. And, well, that. That was their Valentine’s plan. And somehow, it was perfect. Not because of the sex, though, okay, he was not complaining, not by a long shot—but because it was them. It was simple and grounded and real. He didn’t need candlelight or string quartets or whatever commercialized nonsense the day usually demanded. He just wanted to be with her. Watch something stupid. Laugh until his sides hurt. Eat too much pizza. Fall asleep with her curled up against him, her quiet breathing a lullaby. That was enough. More than enough.

He stood slowly, still feeling the slight buzz from the vodka, a pleasant warmth spreading through him. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, the cool fabric a welcome contrast to the heat in his cheeks, as he wandered back to his building. The night air was crisp but not unpleasant, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and blooming spring. Somewhere overhead, a few stubborn stars fought through the city haze, twinkling like distant promises.

She called him a genius. Teased him about it. But in truth, Bruce wasn’t sure he’d ever figure her out. What she saw in him. Why she stayed. Why she didn’t run from the darkness he carried. But whatever the reason, she was here. And on Thursday, she would be here again. And that, for now, was all that mattered.

~*~

Clint tugged nervously at the cuff of his shirt, the starched fabric feeling alien against his skin. He'd arrived first, heading straight to the restaurant after he'd finished work, the cool air conditioning a stark contrast to the nervous heat prickling his neck. He glanced down at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. They weren’t late, not by any conventional measure, but time had taken on a weird kind of elasticity lately; measured not in hours but in feedings, nappy changes, and the rare, glorious moments of uninterrupted sleep. Every second away from Cooper felt both stolen and precious.

He hadn’t worn a button-up shirt since before Cooper was born, and this one, a dark, almost forest green, felt tighter around the shoulders than he remembered. A subtle constriction, a reminder of how much his body had changed, how much everything had changed. But Laura had smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile, when he’d put it on, her eyes crinkling at the corners. So he kept it.

The restaurant door swung open, a soft chime announcing her arrival, and there she was.

She wore a deep green dress, the color echoing the subtle flecks of hazel in her eyes, making them sparkle even in the dim light. Her hair, usually pulled back in a practical ponytail, was loosely styled, framing her face, and there was a soft shimmer to her cheeks, a hint of subtle makeup. She looked like herself again—not the version of her who was running on two hours of sleep with spit-up on her collar, perpetually exhausted and radiant in equal measure, but the Laura he remembered from their early days, the woman who made everything else in the world fall away, the one who could make him forget his own name with a single glance.

“Hey,” he breathed, the word escaping him like a sigh, blinking as if she’d just materialized out of thin air and knocked the wind out of him. She still had that effect.

She smiled, that slow, fond kind of smile that said she knew exactly what he was thinking, what he was feeling. “Hey yourself.” Her voice was a warm caress, familiar and comforting.

The restaurant was a sanctuary of calm. Dimly lit, it hummed with soft, unobtrusive jazz music and the gentle flicker of candlelight. The tables were spaced out enough to give the illusion of privacy, a hushed intimacy that felt foreign and wonderful. The air was rich with the scent of good food, something expensive and tantalizing, a world away from warmed baby formula and microwaved leftovers. It had taken two weeks of calendar juggling, three favors called in from long-suffering friends, and a very generous babysitting shift from their neighbor’s surprisingly competent teenage daughter to make this happen. A small miracle, really.

Clint held out her chair, a gesture that felt both natural and strangely formal after months of hurried meals. He sat across from her, trying not to fidget, his hands clasped under the table as the waiter, a phantom in the dim light, poured sparkling water into their glasses.

“This feels… surreal,” Laura said, her gaze sweeping around the elegant room, a faint wonder in her eyes. “I almost don’t remember how to have adult conversation. I think my vocabulary has shrunk to ‘goo-goo-ga-ga’ and ‘did you poop, little man?’”

Clint chuckled, a genuine, unforced sound. “Yeah, last time we had a proper dinner, we were also singing lullabies and heating bottles. And I’m pretty sure I had a burp cloth draped over my shoulder.”

“And changing nappies in shifts, in the dark, by the glow of a phone screen,” Laura added, her eyes twinkling with shared memory and exhaustion. “Those were the days.”

Their food came—something with actual seasoning, a perfectly seared steak for him, a delicate salmon for her, and no need for a microwave. They tucked in gratefully, savoring each bite, the flavors a revelation after weeks of bland, hurried meals. Conversation came easy, as it always did with the two of them, flowing like a familiar river. They caught up on things they hadn’t had time to share in passing—funny student stories from her classes, the absurdities of academia, Clint’s gripes about redoing rotas at SHIELD, the endless bureaucracy, little memories from Cooper’s early days that felt worth retelling now that they weren’t in survival mode, now that they could laugh about the sleepless nights and the projectile spit-up.

Halfway through his steak, Clint caught himself just… watching her. Not in a creepy way, but in a quiet, appreciative way. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound. The soft, elegant way she reached for her wine glass, her fingers slender and graceful. How easily her hand, almost instinctively, found his across the table, her thumb tracing lazy circles on his knuckles. It was a silent conversation, a reaffirmation of their connection.

And for the first time in months, he didn’t feel like a dad on borrowed time, perpetually waiting for the next cry, the next feeding, the next crisis. He felt like a husband again. A partner. A man on a date with the woman he loved, the woman who was his anchor in a world that often felt like it was spinning too fast.

“I missed this,” he said quietly, the words heartfelt.

Laura met his gaze, her smile fading into something tender, her eyes reflecting the candlelight. “Me too. More than you know.”

They finished their meal, splitting a rich chocolate lava cake, a dessert they were both too full to justify but too happy to turn down. Each spoonful was a shared indulgence, a small act of rebellion against the demands of parenthood. As they stepped out into the crisp night air, the city lights a soft glow around them, Clint instinctively shrugged out of his tailored coat and draped it over her shoulders, the warmth a small comfort against the chill.

She leaned into his side as they walked, her head resting against his shoulder, her presence a comforting weight. “So, when we get home,” she said playfully, her voice a soft murmur against his ear, “you think Cooper’s still gonna be asleep? Or is he going to be waiting up for us, ready for his next meal?”

Clint laughed, a low, rumbling sound, sliding his hand into hers, their fingers intertwining. “Let’s not jinx it, Lau. But if he is, I’m thinking we open that bottle of wine we never got to on New Year’s. The good stuff.”

Laura bumped her shoulder against his, a silent agreement. “Look at us. Real grown-ups again. Having a date night. Drinking wine. It’s almost like we have a life outside of baby duty.”

He smiled, holding her hand tighter as they headed back through the quiet, tree-lined streets, the sounds of the city fading into a gentle hum. And despite the inevitable chaos waiting at home, the diapers, the sleepless nights, the endless demands of a newborn, Clint felt like—for tonight at least—they’d carved out a little space for themselves again. Just the two of them. A reminder of who they were, and who they would always be, together. It was a perfect night, a perfect reminder, and a perfect promise for all the nights to come.

~*~*

The waiter, a young man with an air of practiced solemnity, had just placed dessert on the table—two molten chocolate cakes, their centers promising a rich, dark indulgence; a plate of delicate lemon tarts, already earmarked for the inevitable squabble between Jane and Loki; and a towering sundae, a veritable mountain of whipped cream, cherries, and sprinkles, that Darcy had apparently ordered just to see if she could finish it herself. The clinking of silverware, the soft murmur of other diners, and the gentle hum of jazz music created a cocoon of warmth and contentment around their table.

Thor was content. Deeply, profoundly content. His stomach was pleasantly full, a satisfying warmth spreading through him from the exquisite meal. Jane, his brilliant, beautiful Jane, was laughing softly beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his under the table, sending sparks through his veins. And Loki, his perpetually brooding brother, had yet to start a full-scale verbal war with anyone, a minor miracle in itself. By all accounts, this was a successful Valentine’s Day.

Darcy, ever the instigator, scooped a massive, gravity-defying spoonful of sundae into her mouth, a dollop of whipped cream clinging to her nose, and pointed the spoon, like a tiny, sugary scepter, at Loki. “You know, for someone who mocked this whole evening, who called it a ‘frivolous human ritual of forced affection,’ you’re surprisingly well-behaved. Almost… charming.”

Loki, without looking up from the lemon tart he was meticulously dissecting, arched a single, elegant brow. “I contain multitudes. Your limited perception merely struggles to grasp the full spectrum of my magnificence.”

“He’s on his best behavior,” Jane added with a teasing smile, her eyes sparkling with mirth. She leaned closer to Thor, a conspiratorial whisper. “We’ve even got photographic evidence of him voluntarily socializing. I think I’ll make it my phone background.”

“I suspect you’ll frame it,” Loki replied dryly, finally taking a delicate bite of his tart, a faint dusting of powdered sugar clinging to his lips. “Perhaps next year’s Christmas card? A testament to my suffering?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Jane grinned, her eyes dancing. “I’m already thinking of the caption.”

As Jane laughed beside him, her fingers brushing against his under the table, a quiet ache of guilt, sharp and unexpected, settled in Thor’s chest. How had he been foolish enough to even entertain thoughts of Val - however fleeting they were, when he had this? When he had Jane, brilliant, fierce, and unfailingly patient with him, a beacon of light in his often-turbulent existence. The idea that he could have risked what they’d built, even momentarily, over a passing crush, a fleeting fancy, now seemed utterly absurd, a monumental act of self-sabotage. He was lucky that she hadn’t seen more in that moment than he’d meant to give. Because what he had with Jane wasn’t just real, it was everything. It was his universe.

Thor leaned in, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. “You’re especially radiant tonight, my love. More so than the brightest star in the Universe.”

She smiled at him, a soft, genuine warmth radiating from her, squeezing his thigh under the table. “You’re just saying that because I let you order the second bottle of wine, you big oaf.”

“That,” he countered, pressing a tender kiss to her temple, inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her hair, “and because I find you endlessly enchanting. Every moment with you is a new discovery.”

Darcy groaned loudly from across the table, breaking the intimate bubble. “If you two get any more sickeningly adorable, I’m demanding separate tables next time. Or a hazmat suit.”

“You say that,” Loki said, not looking up from his plate, his voice a low, amused rumble, “but you haven’t moved once. You’re practically glued to your seat.”

“Yeah, well…” Darcy shrugged. “Your brother’s got great taste in wine, and you have a surprisingly decent face. I’m not giving that up for a little bit of PDA. I have standards, you know.”

Loki smirked, a rare, genuine curve of his lips. “The highest of praise, indeed.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she added, popping a bite into her mouth. “It was a moment of weakness. I’ll be mean again in five minutes. Probably less.”

“Good,” Loki said, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth in his tone. “I find your insults oddly soothing. A familiar comfort in this chaotic world.”

Jane gave an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes playfully. “You two are exhausting. Like a bickering old married couple.”

“Exhausting? Darling, I’m a delight,” Darcy shot back, grinning, her eyes sparkling. “Loki, on the other hand…”

“I am a rare and exquisite blend of charm, intelligence, and existential dread,” Loki said, sipping his wine with an air of profound self-importance. “A masterpiece of complex emotions.”

“Exactly,” Darcy nodded, her expression deadpan. “Like if Oscar Wilde and a thundercloud had a baby. A very dramatic, very well-dressed baby.”

Thor chuckled, a deep, booming sound that filled the space. “That is disturbingly accurate, Darcy. I shall never unsee it.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said, beaming, reaching across to brazenly steal one of Loki’s remaining lemon tarts. “I do my best to provide accurate, cutting commentary.”

“You’re lucky I find your audacity… endearing,” Loki muttered, a faint blush rising on his pale cheeks, but he didn’t stop her. He merely watched, a flicker of something akin to affection in his eyes.

“Or you’re just scared of me,” she countered, popping the tart into her mouth, her eyes wide and innocent.

“That too,” he said, and Thor could’ve sworn he saw the corner of Loki’s mouth twitch upward, a ghost of a smile that quickly vanished.

Jane tapped her spoon lightly on her plate, drawing their attention. “This is actually really lovely, isn’t it? All of us, together.” Her gaze swept over them, warm and encompassing.

Thor nodded, setting down his glass, the clink of crystal a soft punctuation mark. “It truly is, my love. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”

“Agreed,” Loki said, a little too quickly, a hint of genuine sentiment in his voice that he quickly tried to mask with a theatrical cough.

The group went quiet after that, but not in an awkward way. It was the kind of quiet you could only have with people you loved; when the food had satisfied, the wine had softened everything at the edges, and the air was warm with shared comfort, a silent understanding passing between them. The hum of the restaurant, the distant city sounds, all faded into a gentle background drone, leaving only the quiet rhythm of their breathing and the unspoken bonds that tied them together.

Eventually, Darcy stretched, a languid, cat-like movement, and said, “Right. I’m officially declaring this date a success. My stomach is happy, my soul is nourished, and I’ve successfully annoyed Loki. Who’s paying for this grand feast?”

Everyone, as if on cue, turned to look at Thor, a collective, expectant gaze.

“What? No, come now—” Thor began, a familiar dread creeping in. He knew this game.

“You invited us, darling,” Jane said sweetly, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “And you did say it was your treat.”

“You said ‘my treat’ when we got here, brother,” Loki added, his voice laced with feigned innocence. “I believe your exact words were ‘Tonight, I shall be the generous and benevolent god of love, and all shall feast upon my bounty!’” Darcy grinned, a wide, triumphant smile.

Thor groaned, a theatrical sound of defeat, and reached for his wallet, pulling it out with a flourish. “I truly regret my commitment to theatrical declarations. They always come back to haunt me.”

“But you make such a good Cupid, Thor,” Jane whispered, leaning in close, her breath warm against his ear. “A very handsome, very generous Cupid.”

Thor forgot about the bill entirely for a moment. Forgot about the teasing. Just looked at her. Her nose was slightly red from the wine, her eyes soft and luminous in the candlelight, her smile just for him. It was a look that promised endless possibilities, a future he hadn’t dared to fully imagine.

Yes, he thought, watching Darcy laugh at something Loki murmured to her, a rare, genuine sound of mirth from his brother, and Jane brush his knuckles with hers under the table, a silent, comforting touch - this was exactly where he wanted to be. 

~*~

Rain lashed down in sheets, a relentless, icy assault drumming against the pitch with a furious rhythm. It soaked through every layer of Steve’s kit, plastering the heavy fabric to his skin, clinging cold and insistent. His boots squelched in the muddy turf with every desperate stride, the ball a heavy, slick orb underfoot. Every movement was a battle of balance and breath, a fight against the elements as much as against the opposing team.

The scoreboard still glared, a stark, digital beacon through the downpour: 1–1. The numbers seemed to mock him, a silent countdown to the end of their season. Well, final minute of this competition. Final minute of stoppage time. Everything hinged on this.

Steve spat the rain from his mouth, the taste of mud and exertion bitter on his tongue, and pushed forward again. His lungs burned, a fiery ache spreading through his chest, and his legs screamed in protest, heavy as lead. His vision blurred, not just from exhaustion, but as the relentless water ran down his face, stinging his eyes. But he didn’t need perfect sight to know where Bucky was. He never did.

He always knew where Bucky was. It was an instinct, a sixth sense.

Bucky had only come on halfway through the second half—a last-minute substitution after O'Brien’s ankle went sideways in a sickening twist. No warm-up, no fanfare, just a rain-soaked hoodie peeled off on the sideline, revealing the familiar lines of his athletic frame. A quick, intense nod to Steve as he jogged on, a silent promise of support. And now, here he was, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his forehead, muscles taut as a bowstring, every fiber of his being locked in on the same desperate moment Steve was praying for.

The midfield, a swirling vortex of bodies and mud, turned over the ball. Steve, fueled by a surge of pure, desperate adrenaline, darted in, a blur of motion. He wrestled it loose with a clean, perfectly timed tackle, the satisfying thud of boot on ball echoing even through the roar of the rain. Then, he surged forward, a primal burst of energy. He dodged one defender, a feint and a pivot, then another, his heart pounding a frantic, deafening rhythm against his ribs—a drumbeat of more than just exertion. His cleats barely held traction, skimming precariously over the waterlogged pitch as he carved a desperate path through the chaos.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of movement. He saw Bucky break wide left, a perfectly timed run, a silent communication passing between them that transcended words.

Steve didn’t think. He didn’t calculate. He just sent the ball. It was pure instinct, a leap of faith.

A low, curling pass, a thing of beauty, split the defenders, hugging the grass all the way into Bucky’s stride. It was a perfect delivery, a silent invitation.

Bucky took it with one deft touch, a masterclass in control despite the treacherous pitch’s puddles and divots. A quick step, a subtle shift of weight, a feint that sent the keeper leaning the wrong way, and then—he struck. The ball sliced through the rain, low and fast, a blur of white, zipping past the keeper’s outstretched fingers and hitting the back of the net with a satisfying, definitive thud that resonated deep in Steve’s bones.

For a moment, everything was still. The world held its breath. The rain seemed to pause. The roar of the crowd was a distant, muffled hum.

Then the whistle blew. A long, piercing shriek that cut through the silence, echoing the finality of the moment.

Game over.

2–1.

The pitch erupted. A wave of sound, a cacophony of cheers and shouts, washed over Steve. He barely had time to throw his fists in the air, a raw, triumphant roar tearing from his throat, before Bucky was on him—a whirlwind of muddy kit and ragged breath. Hands gripped his shoulders, hard, almost painfully tight, and Bucky’s face, streaked with rain and sweat, was inches from his own.

And then, without warning, Bucky kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was impulsive, raw, charged with the electric current of adrenaline, the cold sting of rain, and the simmering, unspoken tension of months of something neither of them had dared to acknowledge aloud. Their lips met, a sudden, shocking collision, and for a split second, the world narrowed to that single point of contact. Steve’s mind, usually so orderly, exploded into a kaleidoscope of sensations: the cold wetness of Bucky’s skin, the surprising softness of his lips, the taste of rain and victory, the dizzying rush of something entirely new and terrifyingly familiar.

But as soon as their lips met, it was like Bucky realized what he’d done. The realization hit him, Steve could feel it, a sudden stiffening, a subtle withdrawal. He pulled back a fraction too fast, blinking hard, rainwater dripping down his cheeks, mingling with what might have been tears, or just the sheer force of the moment. There was a flicker of panic in his eyes, uncertainty, maybe even regret, a desperate, silent plea as though he was silently asking Steve not to make it a thing. Not to acknowledge it. To pretend it hadn’t happened.

Steve stood frozen, rooted to the spot, the echo of the kiss tingling on his lips, a phantom touch that vibrated through his entire body. His mind raced, trying to process, to categorize, to understand. What was that? What did it mean? Was it just the heat of the moment? The adrenaline? Or was it something more? Something he’d secretly, desperately, longed for?

But Bucky didn’t say anything. He just gave the smallest, almost imperceptible shake of his head, a silent dismissal, and tried to smile, a strained, almost painful effort, tried to cover it with the boisterous energy of celebration.

Then the team was on them; a tidal wave of muddy bodies, cheering, shouting, lifting them both off their feet in a triumphant surge and the fragile, electric moment was gone, swallowed by the joyous chaos. The kiss, the unspoken question, the sudden vulnerability, all of it was buried under a pile of celebrating teammates.

No one said anything about the kiss. Not a word. Not a glance. It was as if it had never happened. A secret shared only between them.

Steve didn’t either. He couldn’t. The words were stuck in his throat, a lump of confusion and longing. But it stayed with him, lingering like a phantom touch, a burning ember beneath his skin, as the team’s celebrations surged around them. When he glanced through the blur of movement and rain, he caught Bucky watching him, just for a second, a fleeting, intense gaze that held a thousand unspoken questions, before someone threw a heavy arm around Bucky’s shoulder and pulled him away, deeper into the jubilant throng.

Steve let himself get pulled into the celebration, a willing participant in the distraction. Let himself be dragged into the mess of soaking bodies and muddy cleats, the shouts of victory a welcome noise. Let himself laugh, though it sounded strange in his throat. Too high. Too stunned. Too full of a bewildering mix of elation and a profound, aching uncertainty.

He glanced sideways, through the chaos, searching for Bucky. He found him. Bucky was already hugging one of the defenders, head tipped back as he whooped up at the sky, rain streaking down his face like it belonged there, like it was part of his very essence. He looked wild, free, utterly consumed by the moment. And Steve, watching him, felt a pang that was both sharp and sweet.

Steve didn’t say anything. The questions were too big, the implications too vast. But somewhere, deep in his chest - beneath the roar of the team, the stinging cold of the rain, the fading echo of the final whistle, and the lingering ghost of Bucky’s lips on his - something had cracked open. 

And Steve wasn’t sure what would come spilling out. But he knew, with a certainty that chilled him even through the adrenaline, that nothing would ever be the same between them.

Chapter Text

Maria stood at her vanity, the soft glow of the Hollywood-style bulbs illuminating her reflection. She carefully smoothed a hand over the emerald green silk of her dress, the fabric cool and luxurious against her skin. Her gaze flickered to her reflection, considering whether her new, dangling silver earrings were, perhaps, a touch too much. Singles night wasn’t exactly high-stakes—it was more of a casual mingle, a chance to see and be seen, to escape the relentless grind. But she’d had a hell of a week, a particularly brutal one filled with late-night coding sessions and an uncooperative professor, and she wouldn’t mind turning a few heads. A little validation never hurt anyone.

She was fastening the second earring, the delicate clasp clicking into place, when the door behind her opened and closed softly. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. 

“I hope you’re not here to tell me I look too good to go out,” she called, her voice light, a playful challenge in her tone. She adjusted a stray curl, admiring the way the light caught the shimmer of her dress. “Because I’m going either way, Barnes. Don’t even try.”

Bucky’s voice answered, low and a little strained, closer than she expected. “You always look too good to go out, Maria. It’s a problem.”

Maria turned, a sarcastic retort already forming on her tongue, but the look on Bucky’s face gave her pause. All her carefully constructed lightness evaporated. His hair was still damp, dark strands plastered to his forehead, and he’d clearly only just changed out of his football kit—his jeans were still splattered with mud, and his hoodie was zipped all the way up, as if to shield him from the outside world, from any prying eyes or uncomfortable questions. His usual easy confidence was replaced by a raw vulnerability that tugged at something in her.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice softening instinctively as she crossed the room to him, her heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet. “You should be out celebrating. You guys won, right? And you scored the winning goal.”

Bucky gave a one-shouldered shrug, a gesture of dismissal that didn’t quite hide the tension in his frame. He collapsed onto the edge of her bed, the springs groaning softly under his weight. “Yeah. Should be.” His gaze was fixed on some point beyond her, lost in thought.

Maria perched beside him, side by side, a comfortable silence settling between them, an unspoken understanding. She knew Bucky. Knew when he needed to talk, and when he just needed someone to sit with him. This felt like a talking kind of moment.

“Was it the game?” she prompted gently, her voice barely above a whisper. “I heard you played great. Everyone’s talking about it.”

There was a pause, long and heavy, filled only by the distant hum of the city and the frantic beat of her own heart. Then, quietly, the words tumbling out as if he couldn’t hold them in any longer: “I kissed Steve.”

Maria blinked. Once. Twice. Her mind, usually so quick, seemed to short-circuit. “Wait—what? You… you what?”

“Right after I scored,” he elaborated, his voice a low, hurried mumble, as if saying it faster would make it less real. “He ran at me, all arms and yelling, and I just… I don’t know. It just happened. The adrenaline, the rain, the win… it was all just… too much. And I kissed him.”

Her mouth opened and then closed again, no coherent words forming. She processed the information, her brain catching up. Bucky. Steve. A kiss. On the field. In front of everyone. “Okay… and?” she finally managed, her voice a little breathless.

“And nothing,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair, a gesture of pure frustration. “Everyone else piled on, shouting and cheering. The moment was gone. Neither of us said a word. We haven’t spoken since. He just… disappeared into the crowd.”

Maria tilted her head, her gaze sharp, assessing. “Are you freaking out because you think you shouldn’t have kissed him? Or because you’re afraid of what he’ll say? What it means?”

“Both?” Bucky let out a frustrated breath, a gust of air that ruffled the stray hairs on his forehead. “I dunno. It wasn’t planned. I wasn’t trying to— hell, I don’t even know what I was trying to do. It was just… instinct. A stupid, reckless instinct.”

“Well, do you regret it?” she asked, watching him closely, her eyes unwavering. This was the crucial question. The one that would tell her everything.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He stared at his muddy sneakers, then at the wall, then back at his hands. His jaw was tight, a muscle twitching. “No,” he finally said, the word barely audible, a raw confession. “I just… wish I knew what he was thinking. If he… if he felt anything.”

Maria offered him a small, wry smile, a knowing glint in her eyes. “He’s probably wondering the exact same thing about you. Trust me.”

“I was going to head to the bar,” Bucky said, glancing down at his trainers, as if they held the answers. “The team’s all there. Steve too. I’m just not sure I can face it. Not yet.”

“Bucky.” Maria nudged him with her elbow, a gentle but firm pressure. “You can’t avoid him forever. He’s your roommate, for crying out loud! You share a bathroom. And if there’s even the slightest chance he feels the same way… isn’t it worth finding out? Isn’t it worth the risk?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, a long, drawn-out sigh that seemed to carry all the weight of his uncertainty. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess. You’re right. As always.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment longer, the quiet hum of the apartment a comforting presence. Maria nudged him again, this time with a grin, a return to their usual playful dynamic. “But if it all goes to hell, if he freaks out and you end up sleeping on a park bench, you can come join me and Tony at this singles night. We’ll drown our sorrows in overpriced cocktails and questionable dance moves.”

Bucky barked a laugh, a genuine, unforced sound that eased some of the tension in his shoulders. “Speaking of Stark—when are you finally gonna stop pretending you’re not into him?”

Maria rolled her eyes, a theatrical gesture. “Oh, please. Tony flirts with anything that moves. A lamppost. A particularly shiny doorknob. I’m not special. I’m just… in his orbit.”

“Sure,” Bucky smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “That’s why he magically ‘forgets’ everyone else’s coffee orders but brings yours with extra cream and those little cinnamon sprinkles. And that specific brand of organic, fair-trade, single-origin whatever-it-is you like.”

Maria waved him off, a dismissive flick of her wrist. “He likes to think he’s charming. It’s part of his brand.”

“And you like it,” Bucky countered, his grin widening.

She laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound, shaking her head. “He’s impossible. And annoying. And not even my type. He’s too… loud. Too much.”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, Maria. We all know how this story ends.” Bucky stood, finally, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his muddy hoodie. The decision was made. “Alright. I’m going. Gotta face Steve at some point. Might as well get it over with.”

Maria followed him to the door, her expression serious now. “Good. Rip off the bandaid. You’ll feel better once it’s out in the open. Whatever ‘it’ is.”

“Yeah.” Bucky glanced back over his shoulder, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks, Maria. For… everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, opening the door, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “Let me know if I need to break out the emergency tequila later. I’ve got a bottle with your name on it.”

He gave her a grateful, almost relieved smile, and then disappeared down the hall, the faint scent of mud and nervous energy lingering in his wake. Maria watched him go, then slowly closed the door, the click echoing in the sudden quiet of her dorm room.

“You really are a sucker for complicated men, Maria,” she muttered to her reflection, adjusting the neckline of her dress. She reached for her lipstick, a vibrant crimson, and applied it with a steady hand. The night was still young. And while Bucky’s drama was just beginning, hers was about to get a whole lot more interesting. 

~*~

Natasha skimmed through the description of the top recommended horror on Netflix, the glowing text a stark contrast to the dim glow of Bruce’s bedroom. She scrolled past, immediately deciding that a 90-minute slasher based in a small suburban town was not the right choice. Not only was it deeply unoriginal, but from the mask the assailant was wearing on the cover photo, it was a blatant rip-off of the Scream movies. The sheer lack of originality in the horror movie genre really made the mind boggle. She scoffed, flicking past an Insidious copy-cat, its ghostly figure a pale imitation of true terror.

“You know,” Bruce commented from his spot on the bed beside her, his voice a low rumble as he scanned through pizza places on his phone, the screen illuminating his thoughtful expression. “Normal people might choose to watch a romantic comedy on Valentine’s Day. Something with flowers and grand gestures and less… dismemberment.”

“Are you saying I’m not normal, Bruce?” Natasha asked, giving him a playful glare, her thumb hovering over the next arrow on the remote. A challenge, a dare, a familiar dance they’d perfected.

He looked up, a soft smile playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It should come as no surprise to anyone that I think you are anything but normal. Some may even say extraordinary.” She couldn’t help but smile at his comment, a warmth spreading through her chest, her cheeks warming slightly despite herself. He had a way of disarming her, of making her feel seen in a way few others could. “But as extraordinary as you are, perhaps we could watch something slightly less frightening than,” he gazed towards the screen, gesturing at the ghostly, ethereal image that featured in the cover art of the movie she was currently considering, “whatever that is supposed to be. My heart can only take so much suspense.”

“If you’re scared, Banner,” she teased, leaning closer, her voice a low purr, “I’m more than happy to hold your hand. Or hide your eyes. Whatever you need.”

“Jeez, thanks,” Bruce huffed out a laugh, a genuine, unforced sound, and returned to his phone, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He was so easy to fluster, and she loved it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a man of science?” Natasha questioned, genuinely curious now. “You can’t seriously tell me you’re actually scared of these kinds of things. It’s all just special effects and psychological manipulation.”

“I’m not scared,” he insisted, though his tone lacked conviction. “I just don’t appreciate the suspense of things jumping out at you. The actual premise of half these movies aren’t even that terrifying. They just build up the anticipation of something scary and pair it with some pretty loud bang and then call it a jump scare. It’s lazy writing, frankly.” He paused, then added, almost defensively, “And it’s bad for my blood pressure.”

“Bruce,” she said, her voice laced with mock concern, “if you’re worried about getting nightmares, we can watch a rom-com or something. I hear there’s a new one with Hugh Grant.”

He rolled his eyes at her jab, a familiar gesture, mumbling, “Fine, put on a scary movie. Doesn’t bother me. Just… try not to pick one with too many sudden noises.”

“Excellent.” She said gleefully, a triumphant grin spreading across her face, selecting a particularly gory-looking film with a title that promised blood and mayhem. “How’s the pizza selection coming along? My stomach is starting to protest.”

“The reviews on most of the pizza places round here are pretty poor,” he admitted, scrolling through his phone, a frown creasing his brow. “But I think this one should be okay. It’s got a decent rating for hygiene, at least.” He held his phone towards her, allowing Natasha to see the option he’d landed on, a local joint with a surprisingly high number of five-star reviews for its garlic knots.

“Mmm, yeah, looks good,” she mused, her eyes scanning the menu. “Meatfeast work for you?”

It was Natasha and Clint’s go-to pizza choice when they were growing up, a greasy, glorious mess of pepperoni, ham, sausage, and bacon. Clint’s justification had always been: if you’re gonna have something as unhealthy and greasy as a takeaway pizza, you might as well go all the way. If you’re already missing heaven by an inch, might as well miss it by a mile. Though judging by the face Bruce pulled, a subtle wrinkle of his nose and a slight shudder, he was not on board with the idea.

“You really wanna risk getting mystery meat from one of these places?” he asked, his voice laced with a healthy dose of skepticism. “That’s just asking for food poisoning. Or at least a very upset stomach.”

Natasha shrugged, unconcerned. “Never had a problem before. Besides, it’s delicious. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“Ugh, no thanks.” He pulled the phone back, scrolling through the options with renewed determination. “They’ll let us do a half and half. You can have your… gross meat monstrosity.” It was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes now, a small, amused huff escaping her lips. “And I’ll just have a veggie one.”

“Suit yourself, Banner,” she said, settling back onto the bed, leaning on his shoulder as the movie’s opening scene began, a dark, ominous shot of a deserted house. “Just don’t try to steal any of my delicious, perfectly normal slices when you’re bored of your mushrooms.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Bruce retorted playfully, his arm instinctively wrapping around her shoulders, allowing her to lean into him further, the warmth of his body a comforting anchor. His fingers idly traced patterns on her arm, a soft, reassuring touch.

By the time the pizza arrived, a steaming, aromatic box that promised greasy goodness, they had watched through one and a half truly terrible horror movies. The first, a typical demonic haunting tale, had been so cliché it was almost comical. The second, about a Satan-worshipping cult, had a lot more promise from the description than it was seriously failing to live up to. The plot was convoluted, the acting wooden, and the scares non-existent. They were more entertained by their running commentary than the actual films.

Natasha laughed as Bruce dramatically picked off the bits of pepperoni that had somehow migrated onto his half of the pizza, holding them between two fingers as if they were toxic waste. She picked up the discarded pepperonis, placing them on her slice with a flourish, and took a very satisfying bite of the greasy, doughy goodness, much to Bruce’s faux disgust. He made a gagging sound, but she could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

It was during the incredibly boring third movie – about the ghost of a scorned witch seeking revenge on the pilgrims of a small farming town that murdered her, or something like that, she wasn’t really paying attention – that Natasha’s thoughts turned from the mind-numbing plot to the slightly dozing boyfriend sat beside her. The soft glow of the screen illuminated his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his jaw, the slight tremor of his eyelashes as he fought sleep.

Her hand, almost unconsciously, brushed his inner thigh, a light, exploratory touch. His body, even in its sleepy state, reacted instantly, a subtle tensing, a quick intake of breath. She shifted, turning just so, to give her better access, her fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path up his leg. She could feel his body react to even her slightest of touches, a ripple of awareness passing through him.

It wasn’t long before they had both completely forgotten about the movie, the witch, and the pilgrims. Their attention had shifted entirely to each other, their bodies turning, their hands exploring, their lips meeting in passionate kisses that grew more needy and wanting with each passing second. The world outside the bedroom faded, replaced by the soft sounds of their breathing, the rustle of clothes, and the escalating rhythm of their hearts.

Natasha ignored the first gurgle her stomach made when Bruce helped her out of her sweater, the soft fabric peeling away from her skin. She ignored the second one as she fumbled with his belt buckle, her fingers clumsy with anticipation. It was the third one, which was accompanied by a slight burp and a sudden, unwelcome wave of nausea as she straddled his hips, that made her pause. A cold dread washed over her, replacing the heat of desire.

Bruce looked up at her, concern immediately clouding his eyes despite his dilated pupils, his brow furrowing. “Nat? You okay?”

She could feel the bile rising, a bitter, acrid taste already coating the back of her throat, and she knew she had mere seconds to make it to the bathroom in time. There was no time for explanations, no time for anything but a desperate dash.

She just about heard Bruce call her name, a worried, questioning sound, as she stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before she lent over the bowl and proceeded to empty her stomach of all its contents. The violent retching tore through her, leaving her weak and trembling.

When Natasha was finally sure she had heaved up the last of her dinner, her muscles aching, she sat back from the toilet bowl, resting her back on the cold, unforgiving tile of the bathroom wall. Her hair was damp with sweat, red curls plastered to her forehead, and she could feel the damp patches of her top sticking uncomfortably to her skin.

Bruce walked in a moment later, his movements quiet, his face etched with concern. He knelt beside her, handing her a tissue to wipe her mouth and a bottle of water, though the thought of drinking it made her want to wretch all over again. He didn’t say anything, just offered a silent, comforting presence.

“You were right,” she croaked, her voice hoarse, the words tasting like bile. “Not to trust the meat from a questionable source.” Her head lolled back to rest on the wall, her eyes fluttering closed.

“I don’t think now’s the right time to say ‘I told you so’,” he said, his voice soft, a hint of amusement despite the worry, “so I just won’t say anything.”

“You’re too kind,” Natasha said sarcastically, trying hard to focus on not puking again, on just breathing. “I think I’m camping out in your bathroom for the rest of the night. Happy Valentine’s Day.” She added dryly, a weak, self-deprecating laugh escaping her lips.

“Oh no you don’t. C’mon.” Natasha peeked an eye open, spying Bruce’s hand, strong and steady, held out to her. “I’ve got you set up out there. You’ll be more comfortable.”

“Is the pizza box still there?” Natasha asked, a sudden wave of nausea hitting her at the thought. She had two slices of her half left, and she knew just the smell of it would instantly have her returning to the bathroom.

“Okay, okay,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ll get rid of that first. And then I’m hauling you up and getting you into bed. You need to rest.”

She let a smirk grace her lips at his choice of words, a fleeting moment of her usual wit breaking through the misery. “Sexy, Banner. Real sexy.” And although her eyes were closed again, she could picture the blush making its way up his neck, a familiar and endearing sight.

True to his word, Bruce returned a few seconds later, his movements gentle but firm. He helped her up, supporting her weight, and guided her back to his room, where he’d transformed his usually cluttered space into a little sick station just for her. Complete with a fresh bottle of water, some Dramamine he’d apparently dug out from his emergency kit, and a box of tissues. His bin was even brought closer to the bed, a plastic carrier bag placed on the inside, presumably as a makeshift sick bucket for her. He’d thought of everything.

Natasha peeled off her sweat-ridden shirt, the damp fabric clinging unpleasantly, replacing it with a soft, oversized t-shirt Bruce had left on his bed for her. She climbed in, shivering slightly under the covers as she adjusted to the change of temperature, the cool sheets a welcome relief against her feverish skin.

Finally, as she settled in, feeling the comforting weight of the duvet, she looked over to Bruce, who was settling into his desk chair, pulling his laptop closer. He looked tired, but his gaze was still fixed on her, a silent question in his eyes.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” Natasha asked, her voice a little slurred with exhaustion.

Bruce swiveled in his chair to face her. “Oh, er, no. I, erm,” He fiddled with his pen and notepad, avoiding her gaze, before pointing vaguely to his laptop. “I’ve got a few bits that I need to go over for next week, some lecture notes to finalize, so I was just gonna get a jump on that. I’m not really tired.”

Natasha nodded gently, a wave of drowsiness washing over her. She knew what he was doing. He was giving her space, making sure she felt comfortable, not wanting to crowd her. It was thoughtful, and so typically Bruce. She allowed her body to relax, the soft mattress cradling her, as she let sleep, a heavy, welcome blanket, wash over her. She knew he’d be there when she woke up. And for now, that was enough.

~*~

Tony nursed his drink at the bar, a perfectly chilled gin and tonic, swirling the ice with a flick of his wrist, the clink a small, rhythmic counterpoint to the thrum of the party. His eyes, lazily scanning the room, felt like a radar, perpetually searching for anything or anyone interesting enough to capture his notoriously short attention span. The air was thick with the scent of cheap perfume, stale beer, and the faint, cloying sweetness of desperation. Clutches of people stood in awkward circles, their forced smiles barely concealing their boredom. The music thumped, a generic pop beat just loud enough to drown out any attempt at deep conversation, and the cheap pink lights pulsed against the walls like a bad, arrhythmic heartbeat.

“Remind me again why I let you drag me to this love-in-a-bottle circus?” he muttered, not bothering to look up from his glass. He knew exactly who was standing beside him.

Maria appeared at his side, a vision of effortless cool in a sleek green dress, sipping her wine like a woman with infinite patience and a secret, superior knowledge of the universe. “It was you who begged me to come with you, Stark. Something about needing a ‘wing-woman with actual wings’ and ‘someone who wouldn’t judge my questionable dance moves.’”

Tony finally turned, giving her an exaggerated once-over, a slow, appreciative sweep from her perfectly coiffed hair to her sensible-but-chic heels. “Well, I had to get you to go out with me somehow, didn’t I? My usual charm offensive clearly wasn’t cutting it.”

Maria rolled her eyes, a gesture so practiced it was almost elegant. “Right. And when exactly am I supposed to be impressed by that? Because I’m still waiting.”

He smirked, a flash of his signature confidence. “Probably right after you realize I’m the best-dressed guy in here, and I bought your drink. Which, by the way, you’re welcome for.”

“You mean the one I paid for while you claimed to have ‘accidentally’ left your wallet at home?” she countered, a dry wit that always managed to pierce his carefully constructed façade. He loved it.

Tony pointed a finger at her, a playful accusation. “It was a tactical financial oversight. A momentary lapse in judgment. You can’t rush genius. Sometimes, even the greatest minds need a little… external funding.”

Maria laughed, a genuine, throaty sound that cut through the dull thrum of the party. She nudged him with her elbow, a familiar, comfortable gesture. “Well, tactical genius or not, I’ve seen three cute guys over by the fireplace who actually look like they know how to hold a conversation, and I’m betting none of them flirt like it’s a middle school dance, so—” she downed the rest of her wine in one swift gulp, “—I’m going to go say hi. Don’t wait up.”

Tony gave a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Maria. Deeply. Irreparably.”

“You’ll live,” she winked, a flash of mischief in her eyes, as she disappeared into the swirling mass of bodies, leaving Tony leaning against the bar, momentarily aimless. The party suddenly felt a little flatter, the lights a little dimmer without her sharp presence.

He took another sip, letting the ice rattle in his glass, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the sudden, unexpected pang of loneliness. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. Maybe he should have just stayed in, tinkered with a new circuit board, or harassed Happy. But then he saw her.

Blonde. No, not just blonde. Strawberry blonde, catching the dim pink light like spun gold. Effortless. Graceful. She stood near the far end of the room, a quiet island in the chaotic sea of bodies, a delicate glass in her hand and an expression that said she was more amused by the party than participating in it. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, wasn’t angling for attention, and that was exactly what made her stand out like a supernova in a sky full of flickering candles.

Tony straightened, a jolt of something akin to purpose shooting through him. Game face on. This was a challenge he could get behind.

He wove through the crowd, a practiced dancer navigating a minefield of awkward conversations and spilt drinks, slipping into her orbit with casual precision. He approached her from the side, a non-threatening angle, and leaned against the wall beside her, a picture of nonchalant confidence. “I don’t usually do this,” he began, which was, of course, a blatant lie, but one he delivered with such conviction it almost sounded true, “but I had to come over and say… you’ve completely ruined my night.”

She looked up, her eyes, a startling shade of green, meeting his. One eyebrow, perfectly arched, rose gently. “Oh?” Her voice was calm, even, a low alto that was both intriguing and utterly unimpressed.

“I was all set to coast on my usual charm and dazzling good looks,” he said with a grin, letting his gaze linger for a beat too long, “but then you showed up looking like you stepped out of a Vogue feature on intimidating elegance and now, well, I’ve got to try. You’ve raised the bar, and frankly, it’s exhausting.”

Her lips curved, a faint, almost imperceptible movement, but undeniably amused. “That’s quite the line…”

“It’s a Tony Stark original,” he supplied, a theatrical flourish of his hand. “Patent pending. You’re witnessing history in the making.”

She extended a hand, her grip firm, professional, but not cold. Her skin was soft, her touch fleeting. “Pepper Potts.”

“Pepper,” he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue, savoring the taste of it. His smile widened, genuine now. “I like that. Memorable. Unexpected. Like a spice, but also a vegetable. Intriguing.”

“That’s the idea,” she said, tilting her head slightly, a hint of a challenge in her eyes. “And you’re Tony Stark. I’ve heard of you. Mostly… interesting things.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” he replied easily, a practiced deflection. “Some of it’s wildly exaggerated. Some of it’s underappreciated genius. Either way, I’m sure you’ve got questions. Everyone always does.”

“I do,” she conceded, her gaze unwavering. “But I also came here to relax. Not to be interrogated by a man who just used the word ‘genius’ in a conversation about himself. Twice.”

“Fair,” Tony conceded with a small, self-deprecating laugh. He appreciated a woman who could call him out. “Then consider this my official, no-pressure offer to buy you a drink and talk about absolutely nothing important. We can discuss the merits of different types of cheese, or the existential dread of Mondays. Your call.”

Pepper studied him for a beat longer, her green eyes assessing, a faint smile playing on her lips. Then she shook her head, but she was still smiling. “Not tonight, Mr. Stark. Perhaps another time.”

He blinked. “Rain check?” The words were out before he could stop them, a desperate, uncharacteristic plea.

“Maybe,” she said lightly, her voice a silken promise, or perhaps a polite dismissal. “If you behave.”

Tony placed a hand over his heart, a dramatic flourish. “I’m the picture of restraint. A veritable monk of decorum.”

“That’ll be the day,” she murmured, more amused than dismissive, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

Tony watched her begin to turn, her attention drifting back to her group of friends, the moment threatening to slip away like sand through his fingers. But he wasn’t quite ready to let it go. Not yet.

“Wait,” he said, his voice a little more urgent than he intended, flashing his most charming, most disarming grin. “At least let me get your number. For… future discussions about cheese.”

Pepper turned back, one brow lifting again with amusement, a silent dare in her eyes. “I don’t give my number to strangers, Mr. Stark.”

Tony, never one to be deterred by a little thing like social convention, placed a hand over his heart in mock offense, his jaw dropping slightly.

“Ouch. That stings. Right here.” He gestured vaguely at his chest. “But I can fix that.” He cleared his throat, then launched into a polished summary, a rapid-fire delivery like he was reading from a well-practiced PR script, or perhaps his own personal Wikipedia page. “Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy. Graduate at eighteen, co-creator of about four major clean energy patents, slightly allergic to pineapple, and currently rethinking my fashion choices tonight. See? Not a stranger anymore. We’re practically old friends.”

Pepper laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound that was music to his ears, clearly entertained despite herself. She took a small sip of her drink, her eyes sparkling with mirth, and offered him a warm, teasing smile that promised nothing and everything.

“Goodbye, Tony,” she said simply, her voice still laced with amusement, and then, with a graceful turn, she rejoined her group, disappearing into the crowd without another glance. Just like that. Poof. Gone.

Tony stood there a moment, blinking, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. Then he let out a low whistle, a sound of pure, unadulterated admiration, and shook his head with an incredulous grin. He’d been rejected, yes, but it felt less like a defeat and more like a challenge. A thrilling, exhilarating challenge.

“Well damn,” he muttered to himself, more impressed than bruised. “She might just be the one.”

He tossed back the rest of his drink, the ice clinking against his teeth, and made his way back to the bar, one eye still drifting toward her now and then, like he couldn’t help himself. A moth to a very intriguing, very elusive flame.

Pepper Potts. Mysterious, sharp, and completely immune to his usual tricks. He liked her already. Liked her a lot.

The night air was cool, a welcome balm against the lingering heat of the crowded party, and carried the distant thrum of leftover music, a faint, rhythmic pulse against the quiet of the campus. Tony tugged his jacket tighter around his chest, walking with a lazy sort of swagger through the quiet, tree-lined path, the buzz of the evening - and the gin and tonic - still fizzing faintly in his chest. He felt… lighter. Energized. A good kind of restless.

Rounding the corner near the engineering building, his personal sanctuary, he spotted a familiar figure approaching; shoulders slightly hunched, hands deep in his coat pockets, and looking, as he usually did, like he hadn’t quite slept in a few days. Bruce Banner. His favorite brooding genius.

“Banner!” Tony called, raising a hand, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Bruce looked up, blinking as though he hadn’t expected to run into anyone, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light. “Tony. Hey. Thought you’d still be at the party. Charming the masses.”

“I was. Met a girl. Got rejected. All in all, a pretty efficient night,” Tony said breezily, a practiced shrug. He raised an eyebrow, a silent question. “What’s your excuse for lurking in the shadows, Jekyll?”

“Natasha,” Bruce said simply, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture of weary resignation. “She got food poisoning. A dodgy pizza. I was fine. She… really wasn’t. It was… unpleasant.”

Tony winced, a genuine grimace. “Oof. That’s rough. Is she okay? Like, hospital-level okay, or just ‘never eating pizza again’ okay?”

“Throwing up everything she’s eaten since last week, I think,” Bruce sighed, a faint shudder running through him. “She’s sleeping now. I figured I’d give her some space and head to the lab. Get some work done. Distract myself.”

Tony fell into step beside him, the rhythmic crunch of their shoes on the gravel path filling the silence. “Classic you. Girlfriend’s practically dying, and you go tinker with robots. So romantic.” Bruce shot him a flat look, though there was no real heat in it, just a tired amusement. Tony chuckled. “Ah, romance. The sweet serenade of a soldering iron.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a beat, the night calm, the air crisp, the distant city lights a soft glow against the dark sky. 

“So,” Tony added after a second, unable to resist, “this girl. From the party. The one who just shattered my fragile ego.”

Bruce glanced at him, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “The one who rejected you? The one you’re already obsessed with?”

Tony nodded, a dramatic sigh escaping him. “The very same. Name’s Pepper. Pepper Potts. Smart. Gorgeous. Witty. Basically told me I didn’t have a chance. In the most charming way possible, of course.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, a silent acknowledgement of the rarity of such an event. “Ouch. That’s a new one for you, isn’t it?”

“I know. And the worst part? I think I’m in love. Madly. Irrevocably. It’s a real problem, Banner.”

Bruce barked a surprised laugh, a genuine, unforced sound that cut through the quiet night. “You’ve known her for what? Twenty minutes?”

Tony held up a finger, a playful correction. “Thirty. And that was enough. She had this look, Banner. Like she could see right through all my crap. All the bravado, all the carefully constructed layers. And still decided to talk to me. Briefly. Before telling me she doesn’t give her number to strangers.”

“So you let it go?” Bruce asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Tony scoffed, shaking his head. “Never. I gave her my name, age, degree, blood type, and approximate net worth. Told her now we weren’t strangers anymore. It was a very compelling argument, if I do say so myself.”

Bruce stared at him, unimpressed, a faint, weary smile on his face. “And that worked? She just… handed over her number?”

“She smiled,” Tony admitted, a wistful note in his voice. “Then said, ‘Goodbye, Tony.’ And walked away. But it was a good smile, Bruce. A very good smile.” Bruce chuckled again, shaking his head as they reached the imposing steps of the lab building, the glass doors gleaming under the security lights. “She’s special,” Tony muttered, almost to himself, as if still trying to process the enigma that was Pepper Potts. “A real challenge.”

Bruce nodded, a rare moment of agreement. “Maybe she is. You gonna chase her?”

“Bro,” Tony said, stopping at the entrance, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes, his gaze intense, unwavering. “I’m never gonna stop. Not until she agrees to at least one date. Or a very long, very awkward coffee. Whatever it takes.”

They stepped into the lab, the automatic doors hissing shut behind them, sealing them in their world of circuits and equations. The glow of the console lights bathed the room in a soft, ethereal blue, and the familiar, comforting hum of machinery filled the silence, a symphony of progress.

Tony clapped his hands once, rubbing them together, a renewed energy coursing through him. “Alright, Banner. What say we distract ourselves with some reckless science and bad ideas? Something that will make the dean tear his hair out. Or what's left of it at least.”

Bruce, already at his terminal, flicked on a screen, the lines of code scrolling rapidly. “Ultron core’s still running on minimal input. Could run another test pass. See if we can optimize the processing power without… unintended consequences.”

Tony grinned, a genuine, unburdened smile. “Perfect. You work on making it stable. I’ll work on making it sexy. We’ll have this thing singing show tunes by morning.”

He dropped into his chair, the familiar worn leather a comfort, his fingers already dancing over the keyboard. Thoughts of Pepper still danced in the back of his mind, a tantalizing, elusive melody. A challenge. A pursuit. And for Tony Stark, that was the most exciting prospect of all. The night was young, and the possibilities, both scientific and romantic, were endless.

~*~

The bar was a pulsating beast of noise and heat, a cacophony of clinking pint glasses, the thudding bass of generic pop music, and the roar of a hundred conversations all vying for attention. It was hot, crowded, and loud, everything Bucky usually hated in a post-match hangout. He preferred the quiet hum of his own thoughts, the focused intensity of a training session, or the comfortable silence he shared with Steve. This, however, was a celebration, and he was supposed to be celebrating.

He nursed a beer near the corner of the bar, the condensation cold against his palm, half-listening to Sam Wilson animatedly describing the tackle that should’ve been a red card. Sam’s voice was a persistent drone in the background, punctuated by enthusiastic hand gestures.

“You saw that, right?” Sam elbowed him, his eyes wide with indignation. “Clean through the ankle. Should’ve been off in the first half. The ref was blind, I swear.”

“Yeah, no, totally,” Bucky replied automatically, his gaze distant, unfocused. “Real dangerous. Criminal, even.” His words were hollow, a practiced response. His eyes weren’t on Sam. They kept drifting across the bar, searching through the swirling mass of bodies, a restless, almost desperate hunt.

He hadn’t seen Steve since they spilled off the pitch, a chaotic, triumphant mess of mud and adrenaline. That stupid, joyful, terrifying moment was burned into his brain, replaying on an endless loop: his arms wrapped around Steve, caught in the high of the win, the rain lashing down, and then… he’d kissed him. Right there. In front of everyone. Or, at least, in front of everyone who hadn’t been immediately buried under a pile of celebrating teammates.

And the worst part? He didn’t regret it. Not a single, damn bit. The taste of rain and Steve’s lips, the shock, the electric current that had shot through him - it was all still there, a phantom sensation that made his skin prickle.

No, the real worst part was that Steve hadn’t said anything about it. Hadn’t even looked at him since. Just got swept up with the rest of the team, cheering and laughing, like nothing had happened. Like it was just another part of the post-game euphoria, easily forgotten, easily dismissed. Was it? Was it just him? Had he imagined the flicker in Steve’s eyes, the brief hesitation before he’d pulled away?

Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the plastic hard beneath him, the beer suddenly tasting flat and warm.

“Alright,” Sam said with a smirk, his voice cutting through Bucky’s internal monologue, clearly catching on to Bucky’s distraction. “Are you actually hearing a word I’m saying, or are you just trying not to stare at Rogers? Because you’re doing a terrible job of the latter, by the way.”

Bucky coughed, a forced, awkward sound, his eyes snapping back to Sam, a flush creeping up his neck. “I’m not—what? No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Mhm.” Sam took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Sure. You gonna talk to him, then? Or are you just gonna stand here and brood like a lovesick puppy?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky muttered, running a hand through his still-damp hair, the strands sticking to his fingers. “Might’ve already said too much. Done too much.”

“Did you?” Sam raised a brow, his expression surprisingly serious now. “Because from where I was standing, Barnes, you kissed him like you meant it. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. “I… Uh…” He had no words. Just tightened his grip around the sweating bottle in his hand, his knuckles white. “I didn’t think anyone saw that. It was… quick.”

“Oh, we saw it alright,” Sam chuckled, a low, knowing sound. “The whole team saw it. And then they saw you two get swallowed by the celebration. No one’s said anything, but trust me, everyone’s talking about it. Or at least, wondering.”

Bucky’s stomach clenched. Everyone saw. Everyone knew. The thought was both terrifying and, strangely, a little exhilarating. It meant he hadn’t imagined it. It meant it was real.

Eventually, through the shifting bodies and the haze of the dim lighting, he spotted Steve near the back booth, half-turned in conversation with a few of the other players. His hair still looked damp from the rain, clinging to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed, pink from the cold and the drink. And he was smiling. God, he was smiling. A genuine, open smile that made something in Bucky’s chest ache with a familiar, potent longing.

Bucky stood before he could talk himself out of it, before the fear could fully set in. His legs felt heavy, each step a deliberate act of will as he began to weave his way through the crowd. He was suddenly painfully aware of the warmth blooming in his chest, a nervous flutter that spread through his limbs, and how each step felt heavier than the last, like he was walking through treacle.

Steve saw him coming. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and Steve’s expression shifted, a subtle change, a flicker of something unreadable. But he didn’t move away. He didn’t turn his back. That was something. That was everything.

“Hey,” Bucky said, his voice a little rough, stopping just beside him, the words feeling inadequate for the weight of the moment.

Steve, sensing the need for privacy, took a subtle step away from the group, closer to Bucky, creating a small, unspoken bubble around them. “Hey, Buck.” His voice was soft, a low rumble that cut through the din of the bar.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, exactly. It was loaded. Pregnant with unspoken questions, with lingering sensations, with the heavy weight of what had happened on the pitch. Bucky could feel the tension humming between them, a palpable thing.

“I just—” Bucky started, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About earlier. After the whistle. That was… I wasn’t thinking, and it just—happened. The adrenaline, the win… it was a lot.” He tried to keep his voice low, even, to sound casual, but his heart was hammering against his ribs.

Steve didn’t interrupt. He just watched Bucky, his blue eyes steady, unwavering, a silent invitation to continue.

“I was caught up in the moment,” Bucky went on, the words tumbling out, a desperate attempt to explain away the inexplicable. “And I don’t wanna make things weird between us. We’re… we’re roommates. And friends. And I just… I don’t want to mess that up. It was too much, and—”

Steve took a single step forward, closing the small distance between them, and then, without a word, he kissed him.

This kiss was different. Not hurried. Not rushed like it had been on the field, a desperate, adrenaline-fueled impulse. This one was slower. Intentional. A gentle pressure that deepened, a question and an answer all in one. It was everything Bucky had hoped for, everything he had feared, all in the same breath. Warm hands found his face, steadying him. A soft sigh escaped Steve’s lips, a breath shared between them. It was a silent, profound affirmation.

When Steve pulled back, he smiled, a little crooked, a little bashful, but undeniably genuine. His eyes, bright and clear, held a warmth that made Bucky’s knees feel weak.

“You talk too much, Barnes,” Steve said simply, his voice a low, amused murmur.

Bucky stared at him, stunned into silence, the heat climbing up the back of his neck, a blush he couldn’t control. His mind was a blank slate, wiped clean by the sheer, overwhelming relief.

“I was gonna come find you,” Steve added, his thumb gently stroking Bucky’s cheek. “Just… wanted to be sure you didn’t regret it. Didn’t want to make things weird.”

“I don’t,” Bucky said quickly, the words rushing out, fierce and absolute. “Not even a little. Never.”

Steve’s eyes softened, and for a second, Bucky forgot anyone else was even in the bar. Forgot the noise, the crowd, the world. It was just them. Just Steve.

“Well then,” Steve said with a quiet chuckle, a sound that resonated deep in Bucky’s chest, “buy me a drink, Buck. Let’s celebrate. Properly this time.”

Bucky grinned, a wide, boyish grin that felt foreign and wonderful on his face. Something light and buoyant filled him, chasing away the last vestiges of fear and uncertainty. “You’ve got expensive taste, Rogers. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but you just scored the winning goal,” Steve teased, bumping their shoulders together, a casual, intimate gesture. “You can afford it.”

And for the first time since the match ended, since that impulsive, terrifying, glorious kiss, Bucky felt like he could actually breathe again. The air in his lungs felt cleaner, lighter, filled with a promise he hadn’t dared to dream of. 

Chapter Text

The library was quiet. Not silent. It was never truly silent, not with the constant, almost imperceptible hum of fluorescent lights, the distant murmur of hushed conversations, and the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of keyboards. But it was the kind of subdued hush that settled into Natasha’s bones like a lullaby, a deceptive calm that promised peace but delivered only the relentless pressure of an impending deadline. Except she wasn’t here to be lulled. She was here to finish a goddamn paper on post-Soviet cultural reformation before she failed her class, lost her sanity, and potentially her will to live with it. The stakes felt disproportionately high for a Tuesday night.

Her corner, a coveted spot by a window that offered a sliver of the outside world, was a fortress of textbooks, their spines cracked and pages dog-eared, and a small graveyard of coffee cups. Two empty, one half-full and lukewarm, one forgotten and cold, a testament to hours already spent in this intellectual purgatory. Her laptop hummed in the dim light, its fan whirring like a tiny, distressed helicopter, threatening to launch into orbit at any moment. The screen was a chaotic battlefield of open tabs: meticulously cited references, half-written paragraphs that refused to coalesce, a thesaurus she hadn’t touched in hours, and three different drafts of her introduction that still didn’t sound right. Each word felt like pulling teeth.

She raked her fingers through her curls, a gesture of pure frustration, and glared at her screen as if sheer intimidation alone might make the sentences behave, might force the elusive perfect phrasing to materialize. Her eyes burned, the words on the screen blurring into an indecipherable mess.

One week of food poisoning, she thought bitterly, the memory of her recent ordeal still fresh, and I’m three weeks behind. This is what happens when you trust Bruce’s questionable pizza choices. A small, wry smile touched her lips at the thought of him, a brief respite from the academic torment.

She was elbow-deep in a particularly dense sentence about the nuanced interplay of historical narratives and contemporary identity formation when someone dropped into the chair opposite hers with all the subtlety of a brick to the skull. The sudden thud made her jump, her pen skittering across the page.

“Stats is a scam,” Maria announced, her voice a low, dramatic groan, her notebook hitting the table with a theatrical thud that echoed in the quiet space. “A full-on, number-twisting, soul-sucking scam designed by sadists who hate joy.”

Natasha didn’t even look up, her gaze still fixed on the offending sentence. “Hi, Maria.” Her tone was flat, devoid of enthusiasm.

“Don’t ‘hi’ me,” Maria retorted. “I’ve been staring at the same equation for forty-five minutes, and I’m 90% sure it’s either broken or I am. And frankly, I’m leaning towards me.”

“You’re definitely broken,” Natasha confirmed, a flicker of amusement finally breaking through her academic misery.

“Thanks,” Maria flopped dramatically, letting her forehead hit the desk with a soft thwack. “Just needed to be seen in my suffering. Validation is key.”

“Consider it seen. Now leave. Before your suffering becomes contagious.”

Maria peeked up, her eyes wide and innocent, pouting dramatically. “Rude. You know what you need? A break. Something to revive your dead little soul. You’re starting to look like you’ve been living on coffee and existential dread.”

Natasha raised a suspicious eyebrow. Maria’s ‘breaks’ usually involved questionable decisions and a high probability of ending up somewhere she shouldn’t be.

“There’s a party at Sigma Delta tonight,” Maria continued, oblivious to Natasha’s skepticism. “Come on. Just an hour. Frat boys, beer, bad music, it’ll be nostalgic. For old times’ sake.”

“Hard pass,” Natasha said, without hesitation. The thought of loud music and sweaty bodies made her already throbbing head ache even more.

Maria sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of theatrical disappointment. “You used to be fun. Remember fun?”

“I’m still fun,” Natasha countered, finally looking up, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “Just currently fun with a deadline. And a very angry professor breathing down my neck.”

“Ugh, fine. Be that way. But if I wake up tomorrow to find you’ve grown roots into this chair, I’m calling in a wellness check. And possibly an exorcist.”

“You do that,” Natasha said, already turning back to her laptop. “And bring coffee. Strong. Black. And preferably intravenously.”

Maria held up her hands in surrender, gathered her things with a dramatic flourish, and wandered off, muttering something about betrayal and the desperate need for caffeine. The library settled back into its familiar hum, and Natasha allowed herself a small sigh of relief.

Peace lasted roughly eight minutes. She’d just managed to string together two coherent sentences when a shadow fell over her desk, followed by a familiar, slightly exasperated voice.

“Hey, Tasha, quick question.”

Natasha sighed without turning, already knowing who it was. “Bucky, unless it’s a life-or-death question about APA referencing, I swear to God, I will personally throw your laptop out the window.”

“I just need to know if this source counts as a primary,” he said, sliding into Maria’s still-warm seat with an easy grace, holding out a printed article. His eyes, usually so intense, held a hint of genuine distress.

She scanned it quickly, her eyes flicking over the text. “Secondary. It’s an analysis of the original research, not the research itself. Try the interview at the bottom of the archive page. That’s your primary.”

“Damn.” He started to pull out his phone, already typing. “Okay, follow-up—”

“Don’t,” Natasha warned, her voice low.

“—Do you want to see this video or not?” he finished, ignoring her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Natasha glanced at him, unimpressed. 

He flipped the screen toward her anyway, a triumphant grin on his face. It was a short clip: a fluffy ginger kitten, all wide eyes and clumsy paws, rolled into a laundry basket, attempted to escape, and in its frantic struggle, knocked the whole thing over with a comical crash. Natasha’s mouth twitched. A small, involuntary smile pulled at her lips.

“Bucky Barnes,” she said flatly, though the corner of her eye betrayed her amusement, “you are a menace. And a master of distraction.”

“And now you’ve smiled,” he said, his grin widening, a genuine, boyish charm radiating from him. “My work here is done. You’re welcome.”

She rolled her eyes and shoved his arm until he took the hint and got up, tossing a wink over his shoulder as he left. The library once again embraced its quiet hum, and Natasha found herself almost missing the interruptions. Almost.

She had exactly three more minutes of quiet before the next interruption. She could practically set a timer.

“You’re starting to look like a library cryptid,” Tony announced, his voice echoing slightly in the hushed space as he poked at one of her empty coffee cups with a perfectly manicured finger. “All you need now is a tragic backstory and a haunting piano motif. And maybe a few more cobwebs.”

She didn’t even glance up, her focus stubbornly fixed on her screen. “If you’re not holding a citation or a caffeine IV, Stark, leave me be. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, or a breakdown. Whichever comes first.”

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” he said, though his eyes were clearly assessing her, a flicker of concern in their depths. “I’m looking for our better half. He tends to wander off when I’m not looking.”

“Try the lab,” she muttered, knowing full well he probably already had.

“Tried. Not there. Thought I’d check your weird little lair of learning. It’s got a certain… ambiance.”

When she didn’t respond, he leaned over her laptop, his gaze falling on the whirring fan, and grimaced. “Your fan sounds like it’s trying to launch into orbit. Or perhaps preparing for re-entry. It’s quite distracting.”

“I’m aware,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed irritation. The fan had been driving her mad for hours.

“I can fix it,” he declared, already reaching for a small, intricate toolkit he seemed to produce from thin air.

“You’ll get distracted,” Natasha warned, her eyes still on her paper, “and I’ll end up with a disassembled laptop and no paper. And then I’ll have to kill you.”

“Please. This is child’s play for a genius of my caliber. A mere trifle.”

“Tony.” Her voice was a low, dangerous growl.

He’d already started fiddling, his nimble fingers moving with surprising precision. Twenty minutes and a thorough cleaning later, the fan was still as noisy as ever, perhaps even more so. Tony left with a half-defeated shrug and absolutely no idea if Bruce was in the building. He was, however, thoroughly impressed by the sheer volume of coffee cups on her desk.

And then finally, like some kind of divine mercy, there was quiet. A profound, blessed silence that settled over her like a warm blanket. She managed to get a solid 78 minutes of uninterrupted writing done, a new record, getting her half-way through a draft that she was starting to really believe could be the one. The words flowed, the arguments clicked into place, and for a brief, glorious period, she felt like a proper academic.

Until a shadow fell across her desk, not an intrusive one, but a gentle, comforting presence. And then, a sandwich appeared in front of her, perfectly cut into triangles, followed by a chilled bottle of water, condensation beading on its surface. Her stomach, which she hadn’t realized was rumbling, gave a grateful gurgle.

She blinked, slowly lifted her head, and there was Bruce. His usually anxious eyes held a soft, gentle warmth, a quiet understanding. He smiled at her softly, a genuine, unforced curve of his lips that always managed to disarm her.

“Usually you’re dragging me out of the lab,” he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “Thought I’d return the favor. You looked like you were about to spontaneously combust.”

Her heart did an inconvenient little skip, a flutter she tried to ignore. He always knew. Always saw past her defenses. She straightened, brushing a stray curl back from her face, suddenly self-conscious of her disheveled appearance. “You didn’t have to do that, Bruce.”

“I know.” He wrung his hands, a familiar gesture, his gaze unwavering. “But I wanted to. You looked like you needed it.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. She reached for the sandwich automatically, her fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, a spark of warmth passing between them.

His smile lingered, a quiet contentment in his eyes. “You should take a break. Eat. You haven’t stopped all day.”

“I will,” she promised, already taking a bite of the sandwich, the taste of fresh bread and turkey a revelation. Bruce raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. He knew her too well. “I will,” she repeated more forcefully, shooing him off with a flick of her hand, a playful dismissal. “Go. Before your nurturing instincts start burning a hole in your hard drive. Or before I accidentally infect you with my academic misery.”

He chuckled, a soft, rumbling sound, already backing away, respecting her need for space. “Text me when you’re done.”

Natasha watched him leave, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. The tension in her shoulders, which she hadn’t realized was there, loosened just a little. He was her quiet anchor, her unexpected solace.

She let her eyes follow him until he disappeared between the towering shelves, a familiar, comforting figure fading into the labyrinth of books. Then, with a contented sigh, she turned back to her laptop. She smiled a genuine, unforced smile. And buried herself back into work, the words now flowing a little easier, the fan on her laptop suddenly seeming a little less loud. 

~*~

Steve Rogers was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. It was a monumental effort, a test of his legendary patience, and he was failing spectacularly. Tony Stark, seated (or rather, sprawled) across the common room sofa, had been butchering French verbs for the better part of an hour, and while Steve was doing his best to be supportive, his patience was fraying faster than Tony’s ability to conjugate être.

“Okay, so— je suis, tu suis, il…” Tony paused, squinting at the flashcard held precariously between two fingers, as if the answer might magically appear if he stared hard enough. “Suis aussi?”

“Il est,” Steve corrected, barely looking up from his textbook, a well-worn copy of French for Dummies that Tony had inexplicably purchased. “Il est, elle est, on est. It’s irregular.”

“Right, yeah. Makes total sense that ‘he is’ becomes il est and not il suis. French is chaos. Pure, unadulterated linguistic chaos.” Tony threw the flashcard onto the coffee table with a dramatic flourish, as if it had personally offended him.

“You’re chaos,” Steve murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. He liked this. He liked the quiet evenings in the common room, the comfortable rhythm of Tony’s exasperated pronouncements and his own calm corrections. 

“I’m brilliant chaos,” Tony replied, flopping dramatically across the common room sofa, one arm flung over his eyes. “But this language is actual war. Why do I need twelve different ways to say the word ‘some’? It’s just ‘some’! A quantity! Not a philosophical debate!”

“Because nuance matters,” Steve said with a small, knowing smile, flipping to the next page in his textbook. “Du, de la, des, depending on gender and number. It adds richness.”

Tony groaned, a sound of profound suffering, and pressed the flashcard to his forehead as if trying to absorb the information through osmosis. “Steve, why are you good at everything? It’s frankly infuriating. You’re like, annoyingly competent.”

“I’m not,” Steve countered, though a faint blush crept up his neck. He was good at some things, sure. Drawing. Running. Being stubbornly optimistic. But ‘everything’? Hardly.

“You taught yourself French. While recovering from… whatever it was you were recovering from.”

“I had time. Lots of time. And a lot of very boring hospital television.” He shrugged, downplaying it. It had been a way to keep his mind from spiraling, a quiet challenge to focus on when the world felt too loud.

Tony gave him a long, assessing look, his eyes surprisingly sharp. “Well, it’s pissing me off. All this effortless brilliance. It’s unnatural.”

Steve glanced at him, closing the book with a soft thud. The room settled into a comfortable quiet for a moment, punctuated only by the distant hum of the building and the soft rustle of leaves outside. Outside the window, the sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, casting a pale, golden light across the floorboards. The kind of soft, golden stillness that made it impossible not to think. To feel. To wonder.

“Hey, Tony?” Steve asked, the question bubbling up unexpectedly, pushing past his usual reticence.

Tony looked up from his notes, a pen twirling idly between his fingers. “Yeah?”

Steve hesitated, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. This was it. The moment of truth. “Can I ask you something weird? Something… personal?”

“Oh boy,” Tony muttered, tossing his pen aside with a clatter. He sat up a little straighter, his usual flippancy replaced by a rare seriousness. “When people say that, it’s never not weird. It’s usually followed by ‘I need a kidney’ or ‘I accidentally joined a cult.’ But sure. Hit me. I’m braced.”

Steve tapped his fingers on the edge of the textbook, a nervous rhythm, his eyes not quite meeting Tony’s. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. “A few weeks ago. After the football match. Bucky and I…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat.

Tony raised a brow, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his gaze. “Did you kill a man together? Rob a bank? Join a boyband? Because I’m pretty sure Bucky’s got the brooding lead singer vibe down.”

“We kissed,” Steve blurted out, the words a sudden, raw confession. He braced himself for Tony’s reaction, for the inevitable teasing, the inappropriate jokes.

Tony blinked. Once. Twice. His usual quick wit seemed to desert him for a moment. “Oh.” It was a quiet, almost stunned sound.

“Yeah.” Steve exhaled, a long, shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The silence that followed was heavy, pregnant with unspoken questions. He waited, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Well,” Tony said, finally breaking the silence, standing up and stretching, a deliberate, almost theatrical movement. “That explains why you’ve been moping around like a 1950s housewife waiting for a telegram from the front lines. All that brooding. All that intense staring into the middle distance.” 

“Shut up,” Steve said, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. Just a weary acceptance. Tony was right, of course. He usually was.

Tony leaned against the table, arms crossed, his expression surprisingly thoughtful. “So what, you want me to decode the kiss? Read the tea leaves of your romantic life? Because I’m more of a quantum physics guy than a relationship guru, but I can give it a shot.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Steve admitted, the vulnerability raw in his voice. “It just… felt real. More real than anything has in a long time. But maybe it was just the adrenaline. We won, everyone was screaming, the rain was coming down, and-

Tony squinted, a playful smirk returning to his lips. “So he kissed you? Or you kissed him? Details, Rogers, details. This is important for the narrative.”

"He kissed me.” He paused, a frown creasing his brow. “And then later that night, I kissed him. But he didn’t pull away. And then we both kind of… leaned into it. It was… a lot.”

“Okay, okay, I get the idea,” Tony interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “Passion. Sweaty football euphoria. Hot. Got it. The classic rom-com meet-cute, but with more mud and concussions.”

Steve gave him a look, a silent plea for seriousness. “Can you not?”

“Sorry. Go on. The floor is yours. Just try to keep it PG-13, my delicate sensibilities can only take so much.”

“We haven’t talked about it since. Not once. And now I don’t know how to bring it up without making it weird. What if he regrets it? What if it was just… a moment? What if I’ve ruined everything?” The questions tumbled out, a cascade of anxieties he’d been holding in for several days now.

Tony considered, his gaze distant, thoughtful. “Okay, here’s my professional opinion, based on years of extensive, highly scientific research into the human condition, specifically the female variety, but I'm sure it still applies. You have to say something. You can’t just let it hang there like a bad smell. It’ll fester. It’ll turn into a giant, green, angry monster of unspoken feelings.”

“What if it was just… nothing to him?” Steve asked, the fear a cold knot in his stomach. The thought of Bucky regretting it, of him being just a fleeting moment of post-game euphoria, was almost unbearable.

“Then better you know now than five months from now when you’re still quietly pining like you’re in some tragic war romance, writing sad poetry in your journal,” Tony said, pushing himself off the table and heading to the small kitchenette, the clatter of bottles a sudden punctuation mark in the quiet room. “Go big. Go classic. Candlelit dinner. Sappy playlist. Express your feelings in French. It worked for Cyrano de Bergerac.”

“Tony, Cyrano dies alone,” Steve pointed out, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. He appreciated Tony’s attempts at advice, even if they were usually wildly impractical.

Tony stuck his head out of the fridge, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “...Okay, maybe don’t go full Cyrano. Just the romantic gestures. Less of the tragic, unrequited love. Unless that’s your thing. No judgment.”

Steve leaned his chin on his palm, staring out the window now, the last vestiges of sunlight fading into twilight. The city lights began to twinkle, a distant, indifferent glitter. “I just… don’t want to lose him. He’s… he’s everything.”

Tony came back with a soda and handed it over, the cold can a welcome weight in Steve’s hand. His expression was unusually serious, his eyes holding a rare depth of understanding. “Then tell him before you do. Tell him exactly what you just told me. Tell him he’s everything. Tell him you’re terrified. Tell him you want to know what this is. Don’t leave any room for doubt.”

Steve took the drink, his eyes flicking down to the table, then back up to Tony. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment. Tony was right. He had to. He couldn’t live with the what-ifs.

Tu me manques, he thought, the French words echoing in his mind. Not “I miss you” in the simple, direct translation, but “you are missing from me.” Somehow, that felt more accurate. More profound. It wasn’t just a feeling of absence; it was a sense of incompleteness, a void that only Bucky could fill. He wanted to tell Bucky that. He wanted to tell him everything.

He cracked open the soda, the hiss of the carbonation loud in the quiet room, and took a long sip, the cold liquid a bracing shock. He felt a flicker of resolve, a spark of courage he hadn’t realized he was missing.

Tony flopped back onto the couch with a sigh, picking up a new flashcard. “So, wanna quiz me on irregular verbs, or keep wallowing in unresolved homoerotic tension? Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to fail this exam if I don’t get some serious study time in.”

Steve, a renewed sense of purpose coursing through him, picked up a flashcard and threw it at Tony’s face. 

“Right,” Tony muttered, rubbing his forehead with a theatrical groan. “Next up: avoir. Pray for me. And for your love life. It’s a mess.”

~*~

Clint Barton had hit the point of exhaustion where his eyeballs physically ached, a dull, throbbing pressure behind his temples that pulsed in time with the frantic, unceasing demands of his new reality. He squinted at the briefing notes on his screen, the harsh blue light doing nothing to alleviate the strain, trying, and failing, for the fourth time in as many minutes, to focus on the intricate details of a new site security proposal. Something about keycard logs and staff clearances, biometric scanners and encrypted networks. His brain, however, registered none of it. It was a dense, impenetrable fog, and the words just puddled together like alphabet soup, meaningless squiggles on a glowing rectangle.

Somewhere behind him, a sound ripped through the fragile quiet of the house. A long, pitiful wail that sounded like it came from the depths of a tiny baby soul, a mournful, desperate cry that spoke of profound discomfort and utter helplessness. Cooper. His son. His tiny, adorable, relentlessly demanding son. Clint heard Laura sigh - a tired, deep exhalation that carried the weight of a thousand sleepless nights - as she adjusted their son on her hip for what had to be the thousandth time that day. The sound was a familiar symphony of fatigue, one he knew intimately.

“No luck with the chilled blanket?” he called out hoarsely, his voice rough with disuse and lack of sleep, reaching blindly for his half-drunk coffee mug. His fingers closed around the ceramic, and he brought it to his lips. Cold. Again. Great. Just what he needed.

“Lasted all of ten seconds,” Laura answered from the hallway, her voice equally strained, bouncing Cooper lightly, a desperate, rhythmic motion. “He launched it across the living room like a grenade.”

Clint gave a low grunt of sympathy, rubbing his hand over his face, feeling the stubble rough against his palm. “We’re officially under siege, aren’t we? Outnumbered. Outmaneuvered. Our only hope is surrender.”

Cooper had been running a fever for the past several hours. Not high enough to make their pediatrician concerned, but enough to make the tiny child intent on letting the whole neighborhood hear his discomfort.

Laura stepped into the kitchen, a domestic goddess in disarray, one arm cradling Cooper, who was now making small, indignant noises, the other holding her phone as she tried to type one-handed, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her hair, usually so meticulously styled, was messily tied back in a haphazard bun, and the tired circles under her eyes matched his own, a badge of honor they both wore. Still, she was beautiful. And impossibly patient. A rock. His rock.

Clint stood, the creak of his chair a loud protest in the quiet room, and crossed the room, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached for Cooper, relieving her of their tiny overlord. The baby’s cries softened almost immediately, a testament to Clint’s calming presence. “Tag. I’m in. Go get five minutes of peace, or at least a hot coffee.”

“Thank you,” Laura breathed, her shoulders slumping in relief. She leaned briefly against the cool kitchen wall, stretching out her neck with a satisfying pop, a small groan escaping her lips. “He’s barely slept all day. I swear, I can’t feel my spine anymore. It’s just… a column of pain.”

Clint cradled Cooper against his chest, the baby’s small, warm body a surprising weight, and rocked slightly on his heels, speaking softly, a low, soothing murmur. “C’mon, buddy. What do you say we give your mama a break, huh? She’s a superhero, and even superheroes need a minute.”

The baby responded by gnawing on Clint’s collarbone, a surprisingly strong bite for such a small mouth. Clint winced, but didn’t pull away. This was his life now. Chewed on. Loved. Exhausted.

Laura let out a dry laugh, a sound that was more weary amusement than genuine mirth, and rubbed Clint’s shoulder affectionately. “You’re a good dad, Clint. A really good dad.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, shifting Cooper to a more chew-resistant angle, trying to keep the baby’s mouth away from his jugular, “you’re a better mom. You’re doing all the heavy lifting.”

She leaned forward, kissed his cheek, a soft, fleeting touch that still sent a jolt through him, then wandered back toward her laptop at the kitchen table, resuming her email drafting like it was just another Tuesday in paradise. Her dedication, even in her exhaustion, was inspiring. And a little terrifying.

Clint walked back to his desk, the familiar worn leather of his office chair a small comfort. He settled in, Cooper now a warm, heavy bundle in his lap, his tiny head nestled against Clint’s chest. He nudged his laptop open with one elbow, the screen flickering to life, and stared at the security assessment blinking back at him, a stark reminder of the world outside this domestic bubble. This presentation was due by morning. His firm had just picked up a major new client: a tech company with serious infrastructure, high clearance, and paranoia to match. Clint had been asked to draft a personalized risk analysis and deliver it in person tomorrow. He’d barely started. The words on the screen blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again.

Cooper yawned, a tiny, silent stretch, hiccupped, a small, adorable sound, and finally, mercifully, drifted off to sleep, his tiny fists curled against Clint’s chest, his breathing soft and even. Clint felt a wave of profound relief wash over him, followed by an even deeper wave of love. This tiny human, who demanded so much, also gave so much. He was worth every sleepless night, every aching muscle, every missed deadline.

“Victory,” Clint whispered, a silent, triumphant declaration. He reached for the keyboard as quietly as humanly possible, his fingers hovering over the keys, hoping to finish a few bullet points before the next cry broke the silence. He had to. For Laura. For Cooper. For his sanity.

He made it through one bullet point. Then half of another. His brain, however, sputtered and stalled, the words refusing to form, the concepts refusing to connect. The exhaustion was a physical weight, pressing down on him, pulling him under. And before he could help it, he found himself slumped over the keyboard, chin resting awkwardly on the desk, eyes sliding closed. His breathing evened out, in sync with Cooper’s, a shared rhythm of peaceful slumber.

Ten minutes later, Laura padded into the room, her movements soft, silent, to check on them. The sight that greeted her brought a fresh wave of tenderness, washing away the last vestiges of her own fatigue.

Clint was out cold, mouth slightly open, a faint snore escaping his lips. A tiny patch of drool was forming on the risk matrix for a million-dollar client, a testament to his utter exhaustion. Cooper was snuggled happily in his lap, still fast asleep, a perfect, innocent picture of contentment.

Laura smiled, her heart full despite the exhaustion in her bones. This was her family. Her messy, chaotic, beautiful family. She grabbed the soft throw blanket from the couch and gently laid it over Clint’s shoulders, tucking it around him like a protective cocoon. Then she leaned down, kissed his head, the soft hair tickling her lips, and whispered, “You’re doing great, my love. Just great.” She tiptoed back to her own chaos.

Chapter Text

It was just starting to get dark as Bucky knocked on Natasha’s door, the fading light painting the hallway in shades of bruised purple and grey. The corridor was quiet, campus slowly shifting from the chaotic, bustling energy of classes to the low, comforting buzz of evening life. He could hear music faintly through someone’s wall, a thumping bass line that vibrated through the floor, the distant clang of a microwave, a laugh echoing down the corridor, a symphony of mundane domesticity that felt a million miles away from the turmoil in his own head.

When Natasha opened the door, she didn’t even say hello. She just raised an eyebrow, a silent question in her sharp, intelligent eyes, and stepped aside to let him in. She knew. She always knew. It was both comforting and terrifying.

He flopped down onto the beanbag in the corner, a bright, obnoxious orange thing that swallowed him whole, like a man utterly defeated by the universe. He felt every ounce of the two weeks of unspoken tension, of forced normalcy, of the gnawing uncertainty that had been eating at him. She sat cross-legged on her bed, a picture of calm, sipping something from a chipped mug – probably black coffee, strong enough to strip paint – and watching him closely, her gaze unwavering.

“You’re brooding,” she said eventually, her voice flat, devoid of judgment, just a simple statement of fact.

“I’m not brooding,” he mumbled into the beanbag, the words muffled.

“You came to my room unannounced,” she countered, a faint smirk playing on her lips, “and threw yourself into the beanbag like you’re auditioning for a student production of Hamlet. You’re brooding, Barnes. Spill it.”

Bucky sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. He scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the rough stubble, the exhaustion etched into his bones. “I kissed Steve.”

That made her sit up a bit straighter, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. “When?”

“After the game. The night we won. He was right there; he’d just hugged me, and the adrenaline was still thrumming, and he smelled like sweat and victory and… and it just... happened. I just… leaned in.” He felt a blush creep up his neck, hot and embarrassing.

Natasha tilted her head, her lips twitching like she wanted to smirk but was trying not to. “And?”

“And then he kissed me back. At the team celebration that night. It was… it was good, Nat. Really good. But we haven’t talked about it since. Not a word. It’s been two weeks, Nat. Two weeks of awkward glances and forced casualness. I’m losing my mind.”

“Two weeks?” She narrowed her eyes, a hint of steel entering her voice. “And you’ve just been... pretending it didn’t happen? You, James Buchanan Barnes, master of overthinking, have been pretending?”

“He acts like nothing happened!” Bucky protested, pushing himself up from the beanbag, pacing the small room. “Like we’re just... Bucky and Steve, the same as always. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I don’t want to screw things up if it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing. What if I misread it? What if I made it weird?”

Natasha took another sip from her mug, her gaze unwavering, assessing. “Do you want it to be more than that, Bucky?”

Bucky hesitated. The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desires. He looked down at his hands, at the faint scars on his knuckles, then back at her. He took a deep breath, the answer a quiet, firm conviction in his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. More than anything.”

“Then you need to ask him out,” she said, her voice firm, decisive. “Properly. Make it clear this time. No more ambiguous kisses. No more pretending.”

“What if I’m wrong? What if he’s not into me like that? What if I make it awkward forever?” The familiar anxieties,began to bubble up.

Natasha gave him a flat look, a look that could curdle milk. “He kissed you back, Bucky. That’s not nothing. That’s a pretty clear indicator.”

“Yeah, but maybe it was adrenaline. He looked happy. We were all amped up. I don’t want to misread it. I don’t want to put him on the spot.”

She sighed, a sound of long-suffering exasperation, and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her gaze piercing. “Look, you’re both idiots. Two of the biggest, most oblivious idiots I know. But you’re in love with him, Bucky. It’s written all over your face.”

“I never said—”

“Don’t.” Her expression softened, a rare, tender moment. “You don’t need to. I know you. I’ve known you since you were a scrawny kid with a too-big jacket and a crush on the neighborhood golden boy. You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, even when you try to hide it.”

Bucky looked down at his hands again, a small, embarrassed smile touching his lips. She was right. She always was. “How do I even ask him? It’s not like I’ve done this before. Not… not like this.”

"What, asked your roommate out?"

"Yeah," He breathed out.

"Yeah, that's a first." Natasha smiled slightly, a genuine, warm smile that transformed her face. “Ask him to dinner. Something casual. He’ll say yes. He’s Steve. He says yes to everything.”

“But what if he doesn’t realize it’s a date?”

“Then you’ll figure it out when you’re sitting across from him eating onion rings and staring at his stupid golden-boy smile,” she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “And if he doesn’t kiss you by the end of it, you’ll know. But you won’t get anywhere if you keep hiding in the beanbag of emotional turmoil, Bucky. You gotta take the shot.”

He groaned, but a flicker of hope, small but persistent, began to ignite in his chest. “Why are you always right?”

“Because I’m smarter than you.”

He stood up, a newfound lightness in his step. “Thanks, Tasha. Really.”

She raised her mug in a silent toast. “Go make a move, Barnes. And don’t screw it up.”

As he left her room, the door clicking shut behind him, Bucky felt the familiar swirl of nerves in his gut - the usual pre-game jitters, the anxiety before a big test - but there was something steadier underneath it now. A flicker of hope. A sense of purpose.

Maybe this time, it wouldn’t end in silence. Maybe this time, it would just be the beginning.

~*~

Tony leaned against the sun-warmed column outside the business faculty, a picture of studied nonchalance. He tried to project an aura of cool, as if holding a botanical monstrosity the size of a small shrub was an everyday occurrence. Totally normal to be waiting on someone like this, bouquet in hand, like a lovesick teenager.

The bouquet itself was a testament to his philosophy: ridiculously large, obnoxiously fragrant, a riot of color that screamed 'look at me!' It had roses, lilies, and something vaguely purple and thorny that might’ve been illegal in three states. The florist, a woman who clearly dealt in more demure arrangements, had looked at him like he was deranged when he’d simply said, “Bigger.” Tony Stark didn’t do subtle. He did more.

Then she stepped out, precisely on schedule, as if the universe itself aligned for her arrival. Pepper Potts. Impossibly poised, moving with the sharpness of a scalpel in heels. His stomach did something embarrassing, a flutter he usually reserved for successful product launches or groundbreaking scientific discoveries. It was odd, because Tony Stark didn’t get stomach flips. 

Her eyes, sharp and assessing, locked on the floral explosion first, then travelled slowly, deliberately, up to meet his. That eyebrow of hers, the one that could convey more disdain than a thousand words, twitched. It wasn't a flicker of surprise or delight, but a subtle, almost imperceptible sign of her exasperation.

“Tony,” she said, her voice a low sigh that managed to sound both amused and pre-weary, as if she’d anticipated this exact scenario since the dawn of time. “I told you flattery gets you nowhere.”

“And yet, here I am,” he countered, straightening up, a charmingly roguish grin spreading across his face. He stepped toward her, lifting the bouquet like an offering to a goddess. “Bravely fighting the odds with the subtlety of a marching band. Peace offering. Or temptation. Dealer’s choice.” He expected a smile, a grudging acceptance, perhaps even a playful swat. He expected her to take the flowers.

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t. She just stared at them, not with admiration, but with the detached scrutiny one might apply to an unnecessary spreadsheet, a line item that needed to be cut. Then she met his gaze, her own eyes holding that maddening calm, that unshakeable composure that always threw him off his game.

“You’re ridiculous,” she stated, flatly, without heat, as if stating a well-known scientific fact.

“I prefer ‘romantically persistent’,” he shot back, undeterred. “Has a better ring to it, don’t you think?” He flashed her a grin. The full wattage one, the one that usually got him past any velvet rope in the city, melted icebergs, and convinced even the most hardened critics. “So. No flowers. What about dinner?”

“Dinner?” she repeated, a slight tilt of her head, shifting her weight onto one hip. Her arms crossed, a subtle barrier, and he knew, instinctively, that he was losing ground. The usual Tony Stark charm offensive was failing. This wasn't about the grand gesture; it was about something else entirely, something he hadn't quite grasped.

“Yeah. You and me. Something casual. Or extravagant. I can make a rooftop reservation at that place with the twinkly lights and the octopus that practically melts on your tongue.” He painted the picture, the perfect date, the kind of experience money and influence could buy. He was offering her the world, or at least, the most exclusive corner of it.

“No.”

Flat. Final. Clean as a guillotine drop. No hesitation, no softening, no room for negotiation. It was a brick wall, not a velvet rope.

He blinked. “Wow. Okay. That was…swift. Brutal, even.” He genuinely hadn't expected such an immediate, unequivocal rejection. His usual tactics, the ones that worked on everyone else, were useless against her.

She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just looked at him, her expression unreadable, as if she could already see the wheels turning in his head, already knew his next move, and was, as always, one step ahead. It was infuriating and utterly captivating.

Tony didn’t back off. He never backed off. “So what would it take, Pepper? To get a yes?” He needed to understand. He needed the parameters, the challenge. He was a problem-solver, and Pepper Potts was proving to be his most intriguing problem yet.

There was a half-beat of silence, a pause that stretched, filled with unspoken thoughts. Then, with her usual calm grace, she stepped past him, her voice floating over her shoulder without a hint of hesitation, almost a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of a command.

“Impress me.”

And just like that, she was gone. Breezing down the stairs, her hair catching the afternoon light, cool and unbothered, leaving him standing there like a fool with almost three hundred dollars’ worth of regret in his hands. He looked down at the absurd bouquet, then at the stream of students passing by, one of whom gave him a sympathetic thumbs-up before jogging on, oblivious to the existential crisis unfolding in Tony Stark’s meticulously planned day.

He muttered to himself, the words barely audible, a wry, self-deprecating humor bubbling up. “Right. Impress you. Cool. Cool cool cool. Just casually rewrite the laws of attraction and reinvent courtship. Easy.” He tossed the bouquet onto the nearest bench, a defeated but still defiant gesture, shoved his hands into his pockets, and shook his head.

A grin, one he didn’t entirely feel, stretched across his face.

“Stark, you magnificent idiot,” he murmured, looking up at the clear blue sky, a new challenge firmly in his sights. “What are you getting yourself into?”

~*~

The air in the room was soft and still, a comfortable quiet that settled deep into Natasha’s bones after days of relentless exhaustion. She lay stretched on her stomach across the bed, legs swaying lazily in the air behind her, watching Bruce. He was meticulously fiddling with her laptop’s hardware, his brow furrowed in that familiar, endearing way.

“You know,” she mused, her chin resting on her folded arms, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “I don't come over just for you to fix things.”

Bruce, without looking up, a faint smile playing on his lips, retorted, “You say that, but you practically shoved the screwdriver into my hand before you’d even kicked off your shoes.”

Natasha rolled onto her side, the blanket slipping sensuously from her hip, exposing a sliver of skin. “And yet, here you are, doing it. Guess I’ve got you well-trained, Banner.”

He let out a soft, rumbling laugh, a sound that always sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Dangerous words, Romanoff. Don’t tempt fate.”

She smiled to herself, a genuine, unguarded smile that few ever saw. Her gaze lingered on him for a few moments – the intense focus in his eyes, the precise, almost surgical movements of his long fingers, the quiet, unassuming way he occupied the space. It was a stark contrast to the chaos she usually navigated, a grounding presence she found herself increasingly craving.

Eventually, he stood, the laptop whirring to life as he booted it up. He then turned, a triumphant glint in his eyes, and came back to her, climbing onto the bed and settling beside her with a contented sigh.

“Fixed your cooling system,” he announced proudly, nudging her gently with his elbow.

“Was that your idea of foreplay?” she teased, her voice a low purr, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Bruce laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound, then glanced down at her, his gaze warm and searching. “Is it working?”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute, dork.”

Their lips met softly at first, a tentative exploration, then with a growing urgency that mirrored the unspoken desires simmering between them. Her fingers tangled in his soft curls, his slipping under her shirt, tracing the lines of her back. It was their usual dance, a familiar rhythm that, by now, felt safe. Wanted. A quiet understanding that transcended words.

And when their bodies tangled, it wasn’t a tempest of passion or a frenzied release. It was warm and slow, a tender unfolding that ached in a way that crept under her skin, settling deep in her core. When she collapsed beside him afterwards, her body utterly relaxed, her cheek resting against his chest, Natasha didn’t feel her usual restless urge to get up, to dress, to say something clever or deflect with a witty remark. The silence was enough. More than enough. It was a sanctuary.

His fingers traced idle, soothing circles on her back, and she could feel the steady, soft, grounding beat of his heart beneath her ear. It was a rhythm that lulled her, a comfort she hadn’t known she needed until now. In that moment, suspended between wakefulness and sleep, a word, a feeling, bubbled up from a place she kept locked away, uninvited, fragile, and terrifying.

“I lo—”

The words stopped in her throat, a sudden, icy grip seizing them.

She froze.

Her heart, which had been beating a gentle rhythm against her ear, now thudded once, hard, a jarring drum against her ribs. Her breath caught, a sharp, painful gasp.

She lifted her head quickly, a sudden, inexplicable coldness washing over her. Her body went stiff, an automatic, primal reaction, pulling away before she even consciously registered the movement. She sat upright, dragging the covers with her, clutching them like a shield, as if they might protect her from the terrifying vulnerability of what she had almost said. The word, so potent, so forbidden, hung in the air, an invisible threat.

Bruce stirred beside her, his voice low, laced with concern, pulling her back from the precipice of her panic. “Nat? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she blurted out, the word too quick, too sharp, betraying the tremor in her voice. She scrambled off the bed, tugging on her shirt, her fingers fumbling clumsily with the hem, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. “I just— I need a second.”

“Wait—are you okay? Did I do something?” Bruce sat up, his voice quiet, laced with a worry that only deepened her panic. He reached for her, but she flinched away, not wanting his touch to anchor her to the moment, to the word she’d almost uttered.

“No,” she said quickly, not quite looking at him, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the wall. “You didn’t. It’s not you.” But even as she said it, a part of her brain screamed.“I just… I need some air.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a desperate plea for escape.

“Natasha—” Bruce began, his voice laced with confusion, a hint of hurt.

“It’s not you.” She couldn’t even look at him, couldn’t bear to see the concern, the potential understanding in his eyes. Her heart was thundering now, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs, and her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she grabbed her shoes, her mind racing, searching for an exit. “It’s really not. I just—I need a minute. I’ll be back.”

“Natasha—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish, didn’t dare to. The door clicked shut behind her with a soft, definitive thud before he could say another word.

She didn't stop moving until she was in the stairwell. Barefoot in the cool, silent space, her breath came in ragged, desperate bursts as she pressed her back to the cold wall, sliding down until she was a crumpled heap on the tile floor. Her knees came up to her chest, and she hugged them tightly, trying to steady the wild panic storming inside her chest, the tremors that ran through her body.

What the hell was that?

She’d almost said it. The word. The word she had no idea to start using so liberally. Love. It was dangerous territory she had meticulously set out to avoid. She wasn’t ready for this. For what it meant. For the terrifying realization of how much Bruce had come to matter to her, how deeply he had burrowed into the carefully constructed walls around her heart. And the most terrifying part? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Quite the opposite. He was kind, gentle, understanding. And that was what scared her the most. That he was everything she had ever unconsciously longed for, and everything she was terrified to accept.

~*~

Laura tucked her legs beneath her on the couch, balancing a bowl of popcorn on her knee while Clint scrolled through their streaming queue with all the indecision of a man being asked to defuse a bomb rather than pick a film. The soft glow of the screen illuminated his perpetually furrowed brow.

“Just pick something with explosions and some emotional growth,” she teased, a playful nudge to his arm. “You know, your favorite genre. And do it quick before Cooper wakes up again."

Clint snorted, not looking away from the endless titles. “You just described Die Hard. And The Notebook. Are you sure you’re not just trying to trick me into watching a rom-com?”

She opened her mouth to respond, a witty retort already forming, but her phone buzzed in her hand. Natasha’s name lit up the screen, followed by a FaceTime request. Laura’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t unusual for Natasha to check in, but there was something about the timing - late evening, no warning, and from the look of the thumbnail preview, Natasha was sitting outside somewhere, bundled in a hoodie, hair pulled back, no makeup. Her eyes looked tired. Strained.

A familiar knot of concern tightened in Laura’s stomach.

“Pause Bruce Willis,” Laura said, already accepting the call, her voice shifting from playful to gentle.

“Hey,” Natasha greeted, her voice low, almost a whisper, her eyes flicking away from the screen like she hadn’t fully decided whether or not to hit “end” instead. The hesitation was palpable.

Laura sat forward, her posture subtly shifting from relaxed to alert. “Hey, sweetie. You alright?”

“Yeah,” Natasha replied too quickly, the word brittle. “I mean… yeah. I just… needed to talk.”

Laura gave a small, knowing nod, glancing sideways at Clint who had already picked up on the shift in atmosphere. He was watching the screen, his expression softening with concern.

“You want me to clear out?” he asked with a grin, already rising, a silent offer of privacy.

Natasha cracked a faint smile, a ghost of her usual self. “Might be best.”

Clint pointed to his ear, a theatrical flourish. “You got it. No feelings for me tonight.” He popped out his hearing aid with a soft click, effectively muffling the world, and gave Laura a dramatic thumbs-up before heading for the kitchen, leaving them in a bubble of quiet.

Once he was gone, Laura shifted back into the cushions, her gaze fixed on Natasha. “Okay,” she said softly, her voice a warm embrace. “Now that the peanut gallery’s gone. What’s going on?”

Laura sat comfortably but alert, watching Natasha fidget with the drawstring of her hoodie on the screen. The younger woman’s gaze kept flicking off to the side, like she was bracing for impact, for a judgment that Laura would never deliver. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotion.

Then, a beat. Natasha looked down, her voice barely audible. “I nearly told Bruce that I love him.”

Laura’s eyes softened, a gentle understanding blooming in their depths. “Right. That’s big.” She knew better than to rush moments like this, to push. But now, Natasha was pulling back again, twisting fabric between her fingers, a nervous habit Laura recognized all too well. Laura tilted her head slightly, a silent invitation. “Okay, take me back a little… When did this happen?”

Natasha hesitated, caught in that familiar limbo between avoidance and confession, a battle raging within her. The two of them had been here before - several times in fact. When Laura first started dating Clint, she never imagined she'd have to help raise a teenage girl. But then Phil died and they all moved in together, and Laura found herself and Natasha having more than a few of these awkward conversations about boys, sex, love and all the other things that troubled teenage girls. And now, it seemed even those things that troubled college students.

Laura offered a small, coaxing smile. “You don’t have to give me the play-by-play, baby. I just… I want to understand.”

Natasha let out a breath, slow and shaky, a fragile admission. “It was after we… I was at Bruce’s place. And I must’ve got caught up in the moment. And it just… bubbled up. I felt it in my throat like I was going to cough it out.” She looked down, her gaze fixed on some unseen point. “I started to say it, but I caught it, just in time. My brain went full red alert. I sat up, made some excuse and just… left.”

“Oh honey,” Laura murmured, her voice filled with sympathy, devoid of any judgment. She reached out, as if to touch Natasha through the screen.

“I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to—god, I don’t even know what I was trying. It’s just been so good lately. Even when things aren’t great, they’re still really good.” Natasha looked back at the screen, eyes wide, searching, desperate for an answer. “But why the hell did that word try to come out?”

“Because,” Laura said gently, a soft smile playing on her lips, “your heart’s about two weeks ahead of your brain.”

Natasha let out a breath - half scoff, half sigh, a mix of exasperation and reluctant acceptance. “It was stupid.” Natasha was quiet, her mouth drawn in a tight line, lost in her own thoughts.

Laura let her sit in it for a second, allowing the weight of the confession to settle, before continuing. “Listen. If it’s scaring you, it’s probably real. But if you run from it, you’ll regret it more than saying it too soon.”

Natasha swallowed hard, her throat working. “What if it ruins everything?”

“What if it doesn’t?” Laura leaned in, her voice warm, unwavering, a steady anchor in Natasha’s storm. “What if it’s the start of something even better?”

Another silence stretched between them, but this one was less tense, filled with a fragile hope. 

Laura let the silence linger, watching Natasha wrap her hoodie tighter around herself like it could hold everything in, protect her from the enormity of her feelings. After a beat, Laura smiled gently and tilted her head. “So… does this mean I finally get to meet him?”

Natasha blinked, startled, as if the question had come from a different universe. “What?”

“You love him,” Laura said, matter-of-fact, but with the warmth only she could deliver, a quiet certainty. “That means he gets the Clint and Laura test eventually. And by test, I mean a perfectly pleasant dinner where Clint grills him with thinly veiled threats and I make too many mom jokes.”

Natasha gave a dry laugh, a genuine sound this time, then looked away, a blush creeping up her neck. “I think I might’ve just ruined things.”

Laura’s smile didn’t fade. “You didn’t.”

“I panicked, bolted, and left him lying there, completely confused.”

“You panicked because it mattered. That doesn’t mean it’s ruined.”

Natasha chewed her lip for a second, then sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of resignation and hope. “If it’s not… if I haven’t screwed it up beyond repair, then… yeah. Maybe.”

Laura grinned, a triumphant sparkle in her eyes. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

“I miss you,” Natasha mumbled, a rare admission of vulnerability. “Being here’s just—different.”

“I know,” Laura said, her voice soft, understanding. “But you’re doing great. And you’re not alone. Even when you feel like it.”

Natasha gave a small, watery smile. “Thanks, Laura.”

“Any time. And hey, Clint’s got the emotional capacity of a wet sponge, but he can handle some of this stuff.”

Natasha huffed a laugh. “Noted.” They lingered on the call a few seconds longer before Natasha finally murmured, “I should go.”

“Okay. Text me after you talk to him.”

“I’m not sure I will yet,” Natasha admitted, her voice still tinged with uncertainty.

Laura nodded, her understanding unwavering. “That’s fine. Just… don’t wait forever.”

The call ended. Laura stared at her darkened screen for a second, the image of Natasha’s tired but hopeful face lingering in her mind. She sighed, a soft, contented sound, and then headed toward the kitchen.

You can put your ear back in, she signed once she caught Clint's eye. 

 “So no crying or vomiting? We good?”, came Clint’s cheerful reply, his voice a little muffled without his hearing aid.

Laura rolled her eyes fondly, a smile playing on her lips. She picked up the popcorn bowl again and headed back to the couch. Her mind was still on Natasha, and the conversation she knew was about to happen. She heard Clint’s footsteps approaching, and then he was standing in the doorway, his hearing aid back in, a questioning look on his face.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his gaze searching hers.

Laura nodded, a small, knowing smile. “She’s good. She’s… figuring things out.” She paused, then decided to drop the bombshell gently. “She thinks she’s in love.”

Clint’s easygoing demeanour vanished, replaced by a sudden, rigid tension. His jaw tightened, and his eyes, usually so expressive, became guarded. “Love?” he repeated, the word laced with a skepticism that bordered on anger. “With the new boyfriend?”

Laura watched him, understanding the storm brewing beneath the surface. “Clint, don’t.”

“Don’t what, Laura? Don’t worry about my sister? After Matt?” His voice was low, dangerous, the memory of past hurts clearly etched on his face. “She thought she was in love with Matt too, remember? And look how that ended. She nearly broke when he ghosted her. Not to mention she nearly messed up her future because of him.”

“This isn’t Matt, Clint,” Laura said, her voice firm but gentle, stepping closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. “And Natasha is not the same girl she was then. She’s stronger, she’s smarter, and she knows what she’s doing.”

“Does she?” Clint scoffed.

"She does. But she's terrified,” Laura countered, her gaze unwavering. “Terrified of something real, something good. And she has every right to be. She’s been through a lot. But she needs to work this out on her own. We can’t protect her from every bump in the road, Clint. Not from this.”

Clint ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. He looked torn, his protective instincts warring with his trust in Laura’s wisdom. “I just… I don’t want to see her hurt again.”

“I know,” Laura said, her voice softening, pulling him into a gentle hug. “None of us do. But she’s not a child, Clint. She’s a grown woman, and she’s allowed to make her own choices, even if they scare us. All we can do is be here for her, no matter what.”

Clint sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of reluctant acceptance, leaning into her embrace. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Always are.” He pulled back, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. “So, what are we watching tonight? Something with explosions and minimal emotional growth?”

Laura chuckled, squeezing his hand. “How about we start with something that doesn’t involve you popping out your hearing aid every five minutes?”

He grinned, a flash of his usual self returning. “Deal.” 

~*~

The sitcom playing on Maria’s laptop had reached its third episode without her noticing a single punchline. She wasn’t watching it. Not really. Her eyes were fixed on the glowing screen, the flickering images a meaningless distraction, while her mind replayed the terrifying reality of the unopened pregnancy test tucked away in the top drawer of her desk.

Her stomach felt like a coiled spring—tight, nauseous, and relentlessly churning. A cold dread had settled deep in her gut, a constant, sickening hum that had been her unwelcome companion all day. She’d spent hours pretending everything was fine, forcing smiles, laughing at the right moments, even managing a few sarcastic comments when expected. But the moment she’d stepped back into the quiet solitude of her dorm room, the mask had crumbled, leaving her exposed and raw.

The door opened with a soft click, startling her, and Natasha stepped in. She looked… tired. Not physically, exactly, though the late hoursprobably contributed. More like the kind of tired that sat behind the eyes—the kind that came from overthinking, from carrying burdens unseen. Her usual sharp edges seemed softened, her movements a little less precise.

Maria blinked, trying to mask the turmoil on her face, to quickly reassemble the shattered pieces of her composure. “Hey,” she managed, her voice a little too thin.

Natasha looked up, surprised, her gaze immediately sharpening, assessing. “You’re still awake?”

“I could say the same to you,” Maria retorted, a weak attempt at normalcy.

Natasha stopped in the middle of pulling her sweatshirt off, her head tilted, her eyes narrowed in that familiar, unnervingly perceptive way. “You okay?” It wasn’t a casual question; it was a demand for truth, spoken with a quiet intensity that bypassed all pretenses.

Maria didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The words were stuck, a lump of fear and shame lodged in her throat.

Natasha’s eyes, keen and unwavering, scanned Maria’s face. “You’ve got your ‘I’ve made a huge mistake’ face on.”

That made Maria crack a weak, watery smile, a genuine flicker of amusement breaking through the dread. “That obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.” Natasha crossed the room with a fluid grace, dropping onto the bed beside her. She sat close, a comforting presence, but didn’t touch, respecting the invisible barrier Maria had erected around herself. “What’s going on?”

Maria hesitated, her throat dry, her heart hammering against her ribs. The words felt too big, too heavy to speak aloud. But Natasha’s steady gaze, devoid of judgment, offered a fragile sense of safety.

“I... might be pregnant.”

There. It was out. Hanging between them like a live wire, buzzing with unspoken fears and possibilities. Maria braced herself for the shock, the judgment, the inevitable questions.

Natasha blinked. She was calm. Quiet concern, and a deep well of empathy clear in her eyes. “Okay,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm. “Do you know for sure?”

Maria shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes. “I bought a test. It’s in the drawer. I haven’t taken it yet.” The admission felt like a confession, a failure.

Natasha nodded, her movements deliberate, unhurried. She stood and walked over to the desk without hesitation, her gaze going straight to the top drawer. She pulled it open, spotted the small, discreet box, and held it up, her expression unreadable. “Is this it?”

Maria nodded, throat tight, a fresh wave of nausea washing over her.

“Do you want me to be in there with you? Or wait outside?” Natasha asked gently, her voice offering choice, control, in a situation where Maria felt utterly powerless.

Maria looked up at her, eyes stinging, the raw vulnerability of the moment overwhelming her. “Outside,” she whispered, the word barely audible.

Natasha didn’t say anything more. She simply handed her the box, her fingers brushing Maria’s, a brief, reassuring contact. Then, she squeezed Maria’s shoulder, a silent promise of support, and stepped aside for Maria to access the bathroom.

Maria stared at the test for a long moment, its sterile packaging a stark contrast to the chaotic storm raging inside her. She took a shaky breath, then dragged herself into the small, sterile bathroom, the fluorescent light too bright, too unforgiving.

It felt like time stopped while she waited. Every second stretched into an eternity. The timer on her phone ticked slowly, relentlessly, toward the inevitable result. Please be negative, she prayed, a desperate, silent plea. Please, please, please. 

The bathroom door creaked open, a sliver of light and a familiar presence breaking through her anxious haze.

Maria sat on the edge of the closed toilet, elbows on her knees, face buried in her hands, the weight of the world pressing down on her. The test sat on the counter, a tiny, unassuming stick, yet it felt like a ticking bomb waiting to go off.

“Timer still going?” Natasha’s voice was calm, steady, a lifeline in the swirling chaos of Maria’s thoughts. She lingered in the doorway, a silent sentinel.

Maria nodded, unable to lift her head. “Less than a minute.”

Natasha stepped inside, the small space feeling less suffocating with her presence. She leaned against the sink, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on Maria, a silent anchor. “Okay,” she began, her voice surprisingly light, a deliberate distraction. “Did I ever tell you about the time Bucky got his head stuck in the railings outside our elementary school?”

Maria blinked, slowly lifting her head, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What?” The absurdity of the question, the sudden shift in topic, momentarily pulled her from the abyss of her fear.

“Yup,” Natasha said, deadpan, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “He thought he could fit through to grab a tennis ball. Got the ball. Couldn’t get his head back out. We had to wait for the janitor to come with butter and a crowbar.”

Maria gave a weak snort, a genuine, if fragile, sound of amusement. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish. He cried, claimed the butter stung his eyes, and swore me to secrecy. Naturally, I told the entire cafeteria the next day.” Natasha gave a mock-serious shrug, her eyes twinkling. “In my defense, he said if I ever got stuck in railings, he’d return the favor.”

Maria chuckled under her breath, a small, shaky laugh that tasted like relief. For a fleeting moment, the knot in her chest loosened, the suffocating fear receding, replaced by the ridiculous image of a butter-smeared Bucky.

But it didn’t last. The laughter died in her throat, and the cold dread returned with a vengeance.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said suddenly, gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles white.

“That’s the nerves talking,” Natasha said gently, her hand coming to rest on Maria’s back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. “And probably the mystery meat noodles you had for lunch.”

Maria looked at her, a flicker of guilt, of shame, passing through her face. The words tumbled out, raw and desperate. “I don’t know whose it might be.”

Natasha didn’t blink. Her expression remained calm, unwavering. “Okay.” No judgment, no shock, just acceptance.

“I think it was a one-night stand. After that frat party a few weeks ago.” Maria’s voice went low, barely a whisper, filled with self-loathing. “I was drunk. I don’t even remember his name.”

Natasha just nodded. Her grip on Maria’s back tightened slightly, a silent reassurance. “Doesn’t mean you deserve to go through this alone.”

The phone timer buzzed, a shrill, insistent sound that shattered the fragile quiet. Silence descended, heavy and absolute.

Maria’s chest stopped moving. Her breath hitched. Her eyes locked on the test like it might explode if she looked away, every fiber of her being screaming for it to be over.

Natasha moved first. She stepped forward, her movements swift and decisive. She checked the tiny window, her gaze unreadable, then turned it so Maria could see.

“It’s negative.”

Maria stared. The words hung in the air, a fragile, impossible truth. Her eyes blurred with tears, but she could still see the line - the single, clear result. A single line. Not two. Not pregnant.

And then the breath left her body like someone had pulled it out with a string, a ragged, gasping release. Her hand came up to cover her mouth as a sob escaped, soft but raw, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. She hadn’t realized how scared she was until right now, how tightly she had been holding her breath, how much this single line meant.

Natasha sat down beside her on the cold tile floor, her presence a warm, solid anchor. She wrapped one arm around Maria’s shoulder without a word, pulling her close. Maria leaned into it, crying silently, messily, into the fabric of her hoodie, the tears a torrent of pent-up fear and gratitude.

“I’m sorry,” Maria murmured, her voice muffled, not even sure why she was apologizing.

“Don’t be.” Natasha’s voice was quiet, steady, a soothing balm. “You’re okay.”

“I thought I could handle it,” Maria whispered, pulling back slightly, her voice still thick with emotion. “Whatever the result. But I was so scared.”

“You don’t have to handle everything alone.” Natasha tightened the arm around her, a silent promise. 

They sat like that in the dim bathroom light, the test forgotten, a discarded symbol of a nightmare averted. The tension that had coiled so tightly in Maria’s body slowly melted, transforming into something softer, sadder, and strangely comforting. The quiet understanding between them, forged in fear and relief, was a bond stronger than any words.

“Thanks,” Maria said finally, her voice still a little shaky, but filled with genuine gratitude.

“Of course,” Natasha murmured back, a faint smile in her voice. “Bucky still insists that butter trick was sabotage by the way.”

And Maria let out a small laugh, a real one this time, the kind that tasted like pure, unadulterated relief.

~*~

It was just starting to get dark as Bucky walked towards the diner, the cool evening air a welcome balm against his flushed cheeks. He pulled at the frayed cuff of his hoodie, a nervous habit, the fabric soft and worn against his skin. The neon “Open” sign buzzed softly above the door, a vibrant red against the deepening blue of the sky, and inside, the comforting smell of frying oil and salt drifted out like a warm, greasy invitation. His stomach twisted, a knot of anticipation and anxiety. Not from hunger. Not really.

He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked Steve here—well, no, that was a lie. He knew exactly why. He just didn’t know if Steve had figured it out yet. If this was just another casual hangout, or if Steve had seen through his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance.

The bell over the diner door jingled, a cheerful, tinny sound, and there he was, Steve, his blue hoodie up, hair damp from the lingering drizzle, cheeks flushed from the cold. He looked… good. Really good. Bucky’s breath hitched.

“Hey,” Steve said as he reached him, pulling his hood back and flashing that crooked grin that never failed to knock the air out of Bucky’s lungs, a smile that was all warmth and genuine affection. “Sorry I’m late. Got held up by a philosophy debate that went sideways.”

“Hey,” Bucky replied, forcing a calmness he didn’t feel, his voice a little rougher than he intended. “No worries. I got us a booth.”

They slid into their booth, the cracked red vinyl seats groaning in protest as they settled in. It was nothing fancy. The diner was a relic, a greasy spoon with chipped Formica tables, a menu laminated within an inch of its life, and a jukebox that hadn’t worked since God knows how long. But it was theirs. Their go-to spot after games or late-night walks, a sanctuary from the endless demands of college life.

Their drinks arrived - two Cokes, extra ice, just the way they liked them - and Steve smiled at the waitress, a genuine, easy smile that made her blush, then at Bucky, a smile that was just for him, and Bucky’s heart did a ridiculous little flip.

“So,” Steve said, picking up his menu, his eyes scanning the greasy offerings. “What’s the occasion? Not that I’m complaining. This is a nice surprise.”

Bucky shrugged, fiddling with his straw, twisting it around the ice in his glass. “Just figured we should hang out. It’s been a while. Just the two of us. No Tony, no Natasha, no impending deadlines.”

Steve nodded, his eyes still scanning the menu, but a small, knowing smile played on his lips. “Yeah. I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

The waitress came back and took their usual orders—two burgers, extra pickles for Bucky, a side of onion rings to share—and conversation turned to safer ground. Classes, training, who’d played well at practice yesterday, the upcoming intramural basketball season. Bucky tried to stay present, to focus on the mundane, but his heart kept skipping, tripping, thinking too hard about how Steve’s arm brushed his when they both reached for an onion ring, a fleeting touch that sent shivers down his spine.

Halfway through their meal, Bucky set his burger down, the half-eaten patty suddenly tasting like ash in his mouth. He looked across the table, meeting Steve’s gaze directly, his heart hammering against his ribs. This was it. Now or never. “I meant this to be... something else, Steve.”

Steve paused mid-chew, his brow furrowing slightly. “Something else?”

Bucky met his eyes, his voice low, a little shaky, but firm. “A date, Steve. I meant this to be a date.”

Steve blinked. Once. Twice. He set down his drink, the glass clinking softly against the table. His lips parted, and for a second, a terrifying, agonizing second, Bucky thought he was about to apologize, or laugh, or let him down gently, to tell him he’d misread everything. The air in the diner seemed to thicken, the background noise fading into a distant hum.

But instead, a slow, radiant smile spread across Steve’s face, lighting up his eyes, chasing away the last vestiges of Bucky’s fear. It was a smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners, a smile that promised everything.

“You serious?” Steve asked, his voice soft with something between hope and disbelief, a breathless whisper that was almost lost in the diner’s ambient noise.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, a little breathless himself, a wave of relief washing over him so profound it almost made him dizzy. “I just didn’t wanna make things weird, you know? After the kiss—I didn’t know what you were thinking. I didn’t want to assume.”

“I thought that was just... I don’t know. Adrenaline. The moment,” Steve admitted, a sheepish flush rising on his cheeks. “It’s been two weeks. You didn’t say anything. I figured I’d messed it up.”

“Neither did you,” Bucky pointed out, a small, triumphant smile of his own forming.

Steve gave a sheepish smile, a genuine, endearing grin. “I didn’t wanna say the wrong thing. Didn’t want to push you. But I’ve been thinking about it. About you. A lot.”

Bucky blinked, his heart soaring. “Yeah?”

Steve leaned forward slightly, his grin growing, his eyes bright with a warmth that made Bucky’s stomach do a dizzying flip. “And if this is a date, then it’s the best one I’ve ever been on, Bucky. Hands down.”

Bucky laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound that felt foreign and wonderful in his own mouth. He couldn’t quite believe it, but he loved the sound of it. “Dude, we’re sitting in a booth that smells like burnt toast and stale coffee. And you just ate a burger that’s probably 80% grease.”

“Still the best,” Steve said, stealing one of his fries, his fingers brushing Bucky’s, a spark igniting between them. Their knees bumped under the table, a silent, electric connection, and neither of them moved away. The world outside the diner, with its buzzing neon signs and distant traffic, faded into insignificance. All that mattered was this booth, this moment, this quiet understanding.

“Next time,” Bucky said, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ll actually say it’s a date. Promise.”

Steve leaned back, his eyes bright, a mischievous glint in their depths. “Next time?”

“Oh, there’s definitely gonna be a next time,” Bucky grinned, a confident, hopeful smile that reached his eyes. He felt lighter than he had in weeks, years even. The uncertainty, the fear, the brooding—it all seemed to melt away in the warmth of Steve’s gaze.

And this time, they both knew what they were walking into—a future, a possibility, a connection that was more than just friendship. And neither one of them was running away from it. They were walking towards it, together, hand in hand, ready for whatever came next.

~*~

Bruce stood at the edge of the fountain, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his foot tapping against the cobblestone path in a frantic, restless rhythm he couldn’t quite still. The wind tugged gently at his curls, a cold whisper against his ear, and the faint, monotonous trickle of the fountain behind him did nothing to soothe the chaos spinning inside his head. Each drop of water seemed to mock the relentless thrum of anxiety in his veins.

It had been two days. Two long, sleepless, nauseatingly uncertain days since Natasha had walked out of his room, leaving behind a silence that screamed louder than any argument. Two days of replaying every word, every gesture, every fleeting expression, searching for a clue, a reason, a fault. He’d found none, only a gnawing fear that he had somehow, irrevocably, broken something precious.

She hadn’t answered his follow-up text. Not a single one. Just the single, terse message, delivered earlier today, a lifeline thrown into his despair: Can we meet? Our usual spot. That had been enough to both terrify and relieve him in equal measure. Terrify, because what if she was ending things? Relief, because at least she was willing to talk. The uncertainty was a physical ache.

He heard the light crunch of her footsteps on the gravel path before he saw her, a sound that sent a jolt through his entire body. Bruce looked up just as Natasha appeared, wrapped in his worn jumper - the one she'd pilfered several months ago - the fabric swallowing her slight frame, her hair tied up in a loose, messy bun that made her look heartbreakingly casual, almost vulnerable. His heart, already a frantic drum, picked up an even faster tempo.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft, almost hesitant, but steady. Her eyes, usually so guarded, held a flicker of something he couldn’t quite decipher – apprehension? Regret? Hope?

“Hey.” Bruce took a tentative step forward, his own voice rough with disuse and anxiety. “Natasha, I—look, I don’t know what I did. I mean, I’ve been trying to figure it out for the past forty-eight hours and—” The words tumbled out, a desperate plea for understanding, for absolution.

“Bruce.” She raised her hand, a small, decisive gesture that stopped him mid-sentence. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He fell silent, lips slightly parted, blinking at her, the sudden reprieve almost too much to process. A wave of confusion washed over him, quickly followed by a fragile, tentative hope. If he hadn’t done anything wrong, then… what?

Natasha took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to her hands. Her fingers fidgeted with the frayed edges of her jumper, a nervous habit he rarely saw, a tell that spoke volumes about the turmoil beneath her calm exterior. “I left because I almost said something. Something big. And I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. Not then.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but each word resonated with a profound weight.

Bruce swallowed hard, every fiber of him on edge, his entire being focused on her, trying to read between the lines, to understand the unspoken. His mind raced, trying to fill in the blanks, to guess what 'something big' could be. “Okay…” he managed, the single word a question, an invitation.

“I thought maybe I needed space,” she continued, her eyes lifting to meet his, a raw honesty in their depths that made his breath catch. “But all I did with that space was miss you. Every second of it.” She gave a little humorless laugh, a self-deprecating sound, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “So, I’m just going to say it. And you don’t have to say anything back. I’m not expecting you to. I just need to be honest.”

Bruce’s heart began pounding in his chest, a frantic rhythm against his ribs, so loud he was sure she could hear it. A dizzying mix of fear and exhilaration surged through him. He didn’t interrupt, couldn’t. He just stood there, suspended, waiting for the words that would either shatter or complete him.

“I think I'm in love with you,” Natasha said quietly, but clearly, the words cutting through the crisp air, resonating deep within him. They were simple, profound, and utterly terrifying in their vulnerability. “And if that’s too much or too fast, I get it. I just—needed you to know. I hope it doesn’t change anything. I hope it doesn’t ruin what we—”

He kissed her before she could finish the sentence, before the doubts could fully form, before the fear could take root. It was an instinct, a desperate need to silence her insecurities, to pour all the unspoken feelings of the past two days, of the past months, into that single, desperate act.

His hands found her cheeks gently, cupping her face with a tenderness that surprised even him, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he wasn’t careful, if he held her too tightly. Her hands, usually so capable and strong, curled into the front of his coat, clutching the fabric as if to anchor herself, to anchor him. For a moment, there was nothing but her warmth, her scent, the soft press of her lips, the feeling of being utterly, completely home. The world outside them faded, the sounds of the city, the chill of the wind, all dissolved into the singular, overwhelming sensation of her.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, their foreheads still touching, Bruce looked into her eyes and saw the smallest trace of relief there, a fragile, beautiful light replacing the apprehension. It mirrored the profound sense of peace that had just settled over his own soul.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice hoarse, thick with emotion, like he’d been holding it in for years, a confession long overdue. “God, Natasha. I’ve been in love with you for a while now. Longer than I probably realized.” The admission felt like a dam breaking, a torrent of pent-up affection finally unleashed.

Her lips curved slowly into a smile — not the teasing one, or the smug one she wore when she got her way — but the soft one, the kind that only ever seemed to be for him, reserved for moments of quiet intimacy. It was a smile that reached her eyes, making them crinkle at the corners, a pure, unadulterated joy.

“Really?” she asked, her voice a soft whisper, pressing her forehead more firmly to his, her breath warm against his lips.

“Yeah,” Bruce whispered back, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into her, savoring the feeling of her so close, so real. He placed a tender, reverent kiss on her forehead, a silent promise. “For so long.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the gentle murmur of the fountain, his world felt perfectly, beautifully aligned. 

Chapter Text

Tony leaned against the cool concrete wall outside Pepper’s lecture hall, the sharp scent of disinfectant and the low murmur of end-of-day students swirling around him. He flicked his thumb across his watch face again, checking the time for what had to be the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. His foot tapped restlessly, a nervous energy he rarely allowed himself to display. His sunglasses slipped slightly, and he pushed them back up with a flick of his finger, a practiced gesture of nonchalance.

He was nervous. Tony Stark didn’t do nervous. Not for multi-billion dollar business deals. Not when facing down a hostile board of directors. Not in front of a lecture hall full of eager, impressionable students. Not even when he was unveiling a new, potentially world-changing prototype to a skeptical public. But when it came to Pepper Potts? The rules of the universe seemed to rearrange themselves, and his carefully constructed facade of unflappable confidence threatened to crack.

He straightened the collar of his impeccably tailored blazer for the third time, trying to ignore the knot forming somewhere between his stomach and his throat, a tight ball of anticipation and unfamiliar vulnerability. The doors finally opened, and a crowd of students spilled into the hallway like marbles escaping a jar—a sudden rush of chatter rising, footsteps echoing, backpacks jostling. His eyes scanned the throng, a laser-like focus cutting through the noise and chaos, until they landed on her.

Pepper moved through the crowded corridor with an almost ethereal grace, like she was cutting through noise with purpose; unfazed, focused, her auburn ponytail bouncing with each confident step. She wore confidence like a second skin, a perfectly tailored suit that fit her better than any designer could create. And Tony - despite himself - had to remind his brain to reboot, to catch up with the sudden, overwhelming presence of her.

He pushed off from the wall, adjusting his pace to fall in beside her, a smooth, practiced maneuver. “So,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t been waiting for twenty agonizing minutes, as if his heart wasn’t doing a frantic samba in his chest, “I was thinking…”

“That sounds dangerous,” Pepper replied dryly, not even looking up from the phone in her hand, her voice a low, amused murmur. The corner of her mouth twitched, a subtle hint of the wit he found so captivating.

Tony smirked, a genuine, unforced smile. “Harsh. But fair. Still, this is one of my rare good ideas. A truly brilliant one, if I do say so myself.”

“Mm-hm,” she murmured, clearly skeptical, her thumb still scrolling through whatever important document held her attention. He loved that about her – her unwavering focus, her refusal to be easily swayed by his charm.

“Spring Break,” he offered, shrugging, trying to sound nonchalant, as if this grand scheme had just spontaneously popped into his head. “Sun. Sand. Fewer impending deadlines and caffeine-induced breakdowns. A chance for our overworked, tragically undervalued academic selves to unwind. A chance to escape the tyranny of textbooks and lecture halls.”

Her brow quirked just slightly, a flicker of amusement, a hint of interest in her otherwise unreadable expression. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. “Tony. Just get to the part where I inevitably say no.”

He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. “Some friends of mine are planning a trip—beach house, ocean view, mildly irresponsible amounts of fun. It’s not some luxury Stark yacht party, I swear. No paparazzi, no velvet ropes, no forced mingling with trust-fund babies. Just... people hanging out. Good people. And I’d like you to come.” He watched her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction, hoping against hope.

She stopped mid-step, one high-heeled foot planted like a gavel, bringing him to an abrupt halt. Tony took two more steps before realizing she wasn’t beside him anymore, then doubled back, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Come with you?” she asked, her arms folding across her chest, a familiar defensive posture. Her voice was laced with a healthy dose of suspicion.

“With all of us,” he said quickly, hands up in the universal ‘please don’t run’ gesture, trying to convey sincerity. “Safe numbers. Group setting. Zero pressure. You can even sit far away from me on the sand if you want. I promise not to serenade you with bad karaoke or challenge you to a tequila-fueled arm-wrestling match.”

“And why,” she said slowly, her eyes narrowing, dissecting him, “would you want me to come?”

Tony hesitated. This was the moment. There were any number of lines he could offer - witty, flirty, deflective, the usual Tony Stark repertoire. But for once, he didn’t feel like dodging. He felt a strange, unfamiliar urge to be honest, to lay his cards on the table.

“Because I like talking to you,” he said, his voice softer now, stripped of its usual bravado, revealing a vulnerability he rarely showed. “Because I think you might actually enjoy it. And maybe because I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance. A real chance, outside of the confines of this campus.”

The silence stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable, filled with the distant hum of student life, the rustle of papers, the murmur of conversations. Pepper studied him, her sharp blue eyes scanning his face like she was searching for a catch, a hidden agenda, a punchline. She didn’t find one, or at least not one that made her walk away immediately. The directness of his answer seemed to disarm her, if only for a moment.

After a moment, she gave a single, slow nod. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. “Okay.”

Tony blinked. “Okay?” The word was a fragile, precious thing, almost too good to be true.

“But,” she added, raising a warning finger, her expression firm, “no grandstanding. No helicopters. No fireworks spelling out ‘Pepper + Tony’ in the sky. No public declarations of undying affection. I mean it, Tony.”

He grinned, hand to his chest in mock scandal, his eyes twinkling. “Do I look like a man who would do something so ostentatious? So… tacky?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation, a faint, amused smile playing on her lips. “Absolutely, unequivocally yes.”

“Well,” Tony said, walking backward as she began to move away again, a spring in his step, a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in days. “I promise, zero shirtless martini-making unless explicitly requested. And even then, I’ll need a signed waiver.”

Pepper paused at the end of the hall, glancing over her shoulder. There was the faintest smile on her lips—a genuine one this time, not the polite, professional kind—like she wasn’t quite sure if she was amused or annoyed by him, but leaning heavily towards the former. “You’re exhausting, Tony.”

“But charming,” he called after her, his voice echoing slightly in the emptying hallway.

“We’ll see.” And with that, she disappeared around the corner, leaving Tony staring after her, eyebrows slightly raised, a triumphant grin spreading across his face, his heart beating faster than he was willing to admit. He had done it. He had actually done it.

He let out a long breath, a sigh of pure, unadulterated relief, and muttered under his breath, “Step one: impress her. Easy.” The sarcasm was heavy, but the underlying satisfaction was real.

The door banged against the wall as Tony burst into the common room, drawing the collective attention of its occupants: Bucky and Steve, draped over opposite ends of the couch, half-watching a basketball game, their usual comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional grunt or cheer; Bruce, hunched in a beanbag with a stack of well-worn journals, mouthing through an abstract like it was written in Klingon, utterly absorbed in his own world.

“Gentlemen!” Tony announced, arms spread wide like a messiah, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Pack your board shorts and moral ambiguity. We’re going on Spring Break!”

Bucky didn’t even blink, his gaze still fixed on the basketball game. “What the hell are you talking about, Stark?”

“Spring. Break,” Tony repeated, dramatically enunciating each syllable as he marched directly in front of the TV, effectively blocking the game. “Sun, surf, possibly sunburn, probably regret. And, most importantly, co-ed bonding experiences. Think of it as a mandatory team-building exercise, but with more bikinis and less corporate jargon.”

Steve groaned, pushing himself up from the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. “Tony, please can you just get to the part where you tell us what you have planned.”

"I don’t plan, Stevie, I inspire. And I have just inspired a once-in-a-generation getaway. Beach house, ocean view, hot tub that wasn’t built during the Cold War. We’re talking actual beds, not spring-loaded mattresses from a budget motel. Five-star amenities, my friends.”

Bruce finally looked up from his reading, his brow furrowed in a familiar expression of mild exasperation. “Don’t you have three projects due this week, Tony? And a presentation for the Dean?”

“Time is a construct, Bruce. Deadlines are illusions. Also, I have interns. Very capable interns who thrive under pressure.” Tony waved a dismissive hand. “Details, details.”

Bucky finally leaned forward, rubbing a hand through his hair, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Okay, what’s the catch, Stark? There’s always a catch with you.”

“No catch!” Tony said, a little too quickly, a tell he knew Bucky would pick up on. He sighed, relenting. “Just... okay, tiny, minor detail. I may have asked Pepper to come. And I may have said it was a group thing. So now I need... you know.” He gestured vaguely at them, encompassing the entire room. “A group. A convincing, fun-loving, utterly normal group of college students to make this look like a legitimate group trip and not a thinly veiled attempt to impress a woman.”

Steve folded his arms, a wry smile playing on his lips. “So we’re props in your elaborate rom-com.”

“Wrong,” Tony said, pointing a finger at him. “You two are the heart of the rom-com. The charming, brooding, emotionally complex leads. I’m just the charming best friend trying to win over the girl who’s clearly out of my league. The comic relief, if you will.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. “That checks out.”

Tony ignored the jab, already mentally calculating the logistics. He flopped into the armchair with the smug satisfaction of someone who knew he’d already won, even if he had to bribe his friends to participate. “So. You in?”

Bucky exchanged a look with Steve, a silent conversation passing between them, then shrugged. “We’ll go. If you pay.”

Tony tilted his head, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Done. Flights, accommodation, food, entertainment – all on the Stark tab. Consider it a research grant for your emotional development.”

“Private rooms,” Bucky added, his voice firm.

“Non-negotiable,” Steve said, nodding in agreement.

“Endless drinks,” Bucky continued, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Food that isn’t instant noodles or questionable takeout,” Steve followed, a shudder running through him at the memory of some of Tony’s past culinary adventures.

Tony threw his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Yes, yes, yes! You can dine like kings while I try not to embarrass myself in front of Pepper. Everyone wins. You get a free vacation, I get a chance to impress the woman of my dreams. It’s a symbiotic relationship.”

Bucky thought for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I wanna go somewhere warm. Somewhere with actual sunshine, not just the promise of it.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but a genuine smile touched his lips. “How about Cancun? Pristine beaches, turquoise waters, ancient ruins for the culturally inclined, and enough nightlife to keep even you two entertained.” At Bucky and Steve’s enthusiastic nods, he turned to Bruce, who had finally closed his journal. “What about you, science hubby? Ready for some fun in the sun?”

Bruce looked up, pen still perched between his teeth, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’ll go if Natasha’s going.”

Tony beamed, his plan falling perfectly into place. “Excellent. One step closer to Operation Impress Pepper Without Accidentally Setting Anything On Fire. Or, you know, causing an international incident.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, a hint of suspicion in his gaze. “You sure she actually wants to come, Tony? Pepper doesn’t strike me as the ‘Spring Break’ type.”

“Trust me. She said yes. After some light convincing. And maybe a bouquet the size of a small forest. But yes, she’s in.” 

Bucky crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. “You better hope she doesn’t change her mind after spending several hours on a plane with you, Stark. Your incessant chatter could drive a saint to madness.”

Tony wagged a finger at him, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’re just jealous because your romantic getaway with perfect over there is happening on accident, while mine is a meticulously orchestrated masterpiece of charm and strategic planning.”

Bucky, in response, picked up a throw cushion from the couch and launched it at Tony’s head.

Tony caught it with a grin, effortlessly, and pointed between them, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What are we calling it now? Stucky? Buckers? It needs branding, gentlemen. Something catchy, something memorable.”

Steve blushed, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks. “We’re not—”

“Sure, sure,” Tony said, rising from the chair and smoothing his shirt, a picture of mock innocence. “You’re just two bros who happen to kiss occasionally. Very modern. Very progressive. I applaud your… flexibility.”

“You’re going to get punched,” Bruce said, his voice calm, still not looking up from his journal, as if stating a simple, undeniable fact.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, Brucie. And it certainly won’t be the last.” Tony made for the door, practically bouncing with renewed energy, his mission firmly in sight.

“You bringing Pepper a gift bag too?” Bucky called after him, a teasing note in his voice.

Tony paused in the doorway, turning with a cocky grin, his eyes sparkling. “She’ll get the greatest gift of all—me. And a truly unforgettable Spring Break, courtesy of Stark Industries.”

“God help her,” Steve muttered, shaking his head, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Tony threw them both a wink, a final flourish. “You’re welcome.”

And with that, he sauntered down the hallway, humming the Baywatch theme under his breath, a man who had just successfully orchestrated a plot worthy of a teen rom-com, completely oblivious to the chaos he was about to unleash, and utterly convinced that this was, indeed, the perfect plan.

~*~

Natasha shifted slightly on the bed, the warmth of Bruce beside her a familiar comfort she hadn’t realized she craved until he was there, a constant, grounding presence. The laptop, balanced precariously between them, cast a soft, intimate glow on their faces, illuminating the half-read research papers that had long since lost their appeal. The quiet hum of the machine was the only sound in the room, a gentle counterpoint to the steady rhythm of Bruce’s breathing. It was moments like these, in the quiet intimacy of her dorm room, that Natasha felt a rare sense of ease. With Bruce, the constant vigilance that usually hummed beneath her skin seemed to quiet, allowing her to simply be, without the need for masks or defenses.

She’d been thinking about this for a while, turning the idea over in her mind like a smooth, cool stone, examining it from every angle. It was a big step, one she didn’t take lightly. Clint and Laura were her family, her anchor in a world that had often felt adrift, a lifeline she clung to fiercely. Introducing Bruce to them wasn’t just about a casual meeting; it was about integrating him into the most guarded, most precious part of her life. It was a test, in a way, for all of them. For Bruce, to see how he handled the chaos and the overwhelming, sometimes suffocating, affection that came with the Barton-Romanoff clan. For Clint and Laura, to see if they approved of the quiet, brilliant man who had somehow managed to burrow his way past Natasha’s carefully constructed walls, past the layers of cynicism and self-preservation. And for herself, to see if this burgeoning connection, this fragile sense of belonging, could withstand the scrutiny of the people who knew her best, the ones who saw through all her facades.

“Tony’s planning something,” Bruce murmured, his eyes still on the screen, but his brow furrowed in a way that suggested his mind was far from quantum mechanics and more on the impending chaos. “A spring break trip. He'll say it’s to ‘broaden our horizons,’ but it’s actually just an elaborate scheme to impress Pepper.”

Natasha snorted, a small, amused sound that was more breath than laughter. “Sounds about right. Where’s he dragging us? Some remote island with questionable local customs?”

“Cancun, apparently. Private jet, no doubt.” Bruce sighed, a hint of resignation in his voice, a familiar weariness at the thought of Tony’s grand, often overwhelming, gestures. “He recruited Steve and Bucky earlier today. I think he’s even trying to get Thor and Jame to come along, for ‘moral support’ or something equally ridiculous.”

“Cancun, huh?” Natasha mused, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Well, that certainly puts a wrench in my plans.” She paused, her gaze softening at the thought of her chosen alternative. “I was going to head up to Clint and Laura’s for a few days. I haven’t seen Cooper in months, and I miss them. And I think…” She took a deep breath, the words feeling heavy with unspoken meaning, a step into uncharted territory. “I think it would be nice if you met them.”

She felt him stiffen beside her, a subtle tension that ran through his body, a barely perceptible ripple of apprehension. It wasn’t a rejection, not exactly, but a familiar tightening that spoke of nerves, of the discomfort that came with stepping outside his carefully ordered world. Bruce, for all his brilliance and quiet strength, was a creature of habit, and deviations from his carefully constructed routine often brought a ripple of anxiety. She waited, giving him space to process, to formulate his response, her heart thrumming a quiet, hopeful beat.

“As in this week?” he asked, his voice a little tight, confirming her suspicion. He was thinking logistics, schedules, the disruption to his routine, the sudden shift in his carefully planned existence. She knew that look, that slight furrow in his brow that meant his mind was already racing through a thousand contingencies, a thousand reasons why it might not work.

“Yeah,” Natasha confirmed, finally turning her head to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so expressive, were clouded with a mix of apprehension and something she couldn’t quite decipher – a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or a nascent hope. “I was thinking you could come with me for a few days before we meet the others for Tony’s trip. Just us. A quiet introduction. No pressure, just… family.” She let the last part hang in the air, a quiet invitation, a statement of intent. This wasn’t just about her seeing her nephew. 

Bruce’s gaze held hers for a long moment, and she saw the internal debate playing out behind his eyes. The logical part of him, the part that craved order and predictability, the part that feared the unknown, was warring with the part that, she hoped, was starting to trust her, to lean into the unexpected, to embrace the messy, beautiful chaos of her life. The silence stretched, filled with the unspoken weight of his decision, and Natasha held her breath, waiting.

Finally, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, a visible release of the apprehension that had held him captive. “Okay. I’d like that,” he said, his voice softer now, a hint of genuine warmth replacing the earlier apprehension. The words were simple, understated, but for Bruce, they were monumental. It was an acceptance, a willingness to step outside his comfort zone for her, a quiet declaration of trust. A small victory, but one that felt monumental.

Natasha felt a genuine smile spread across her face, one that reached her eyes, crinkling the corners, a rare and precious sight. It was a genuine expression of relief and reassurance, a silent celebration of the barrier he had just crossed. “They’ll love you,” she said, her voice filled with a certainty that surprised even herself. She paused, a mischievous glint entering her eyes, unable to resist a little jab, a touch of her usual playful sarcasm. “Probably.”

She watched as a faint smile touched Bruce’s lips, a quiet acknowledgment of her teasing, a shared moment of humor. He knew her well enough by now to understand the affection behind the sarcasm, the genuine warmth that underpinned her playful jabs. The laptop, forgotten, continued to hum, its soft light illuminating the comfortable silence that settled between them.

~*~

The gentle rumble of the car engine faded, replaced by the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Bruce stirred, a soft groan escaping him as he blinked against the sudden intrusion of light. He hadn’t realized he’d drifted off, the rhythmic hum of the road and Natasha’s quiet presence beside him a surprisingly effective lullaby. His neck felt a little stiff, and he rubbed at it, trying to reorient himself.

“Bruce,” Natasha’s voice was a low murmur, close to his ear, and he felt a gentle nudge on his shoulder. “We’re here.”

He opened his eyes fully, and the world outside the car window snapped into focus. A sprawling farmhouse, painted a warm, inviting yellow, stood nestled amidst a patchwork of green fields. A swing set, a tire swing, and a brightly colored toys were scattered across the lawn, hinting at the vibrant life within. It was a stark contrast to the sterile, ordered world of the university, and a wave of unexpected nerves rippled through him. This was her home, her family. The people who had given her a safe harbor when she had none.

Natasha was already unbuckling her seatbelt, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips as she gazed at the house. He watched her, a quiet fascination blooming in his chest. She looked different here, more relaxed, a subtle softening around the edges that he rarely saw. It was a side of her he was eager to know better.

As they stepped out of the car, the cool, fresh air of the countryside enveloped him. The scent of damp earth and something vaguely floral filled his lungs, a welcome change from the city’s exhaust. Before he could even fully register their surroundings, the front door of the farmhouse burst open, and a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile stepped out. She had a comfortable, lived-in look about her, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, and a flour smudge on her cheek. Laura. He recognized her from the photos Natasha kept on her desk.

“Natasha! You’re here!” Laura’s voice was as warm and inviting as her smile, and she enveloped Natasha in a hug that seemed to swallow her whole. It was a genuine, unrestrained embrace, full of affection that made Bruce feel a pang of something he couldn’t quite name – perhaps a longing for such uncomplicated warmth.

Then, Laura stepped aside, revealing a small bundle cradled in her arms. A tiny baby, no older than three months, with a shock of sandy blonde fuzz and wide, curious eyes, looked up at Natasha. “Auntie Tasha!” Laura cooed, her voice soft, as she gently brought the baby closer. Before Natasha could even fully release Laura, the baby, Cooper, let out a soft gurgle of delight, reaching a tiny hand towards her. Natasha, with a practiced ease that spoke of countless similar encounters, gently took the baby into her arms, a genuine, uninhibited laugh bubbling up from her chest. Cooper immediately snuggled into her, his small head resting against her shoulder, a picture of pure, unadulterated joy.

Laura’s gaze then shifted to Bruce, and her smile widened, radiating a warmth that instantly put him a little more at ease. “You must be Bruce! It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Natasha talks about you constantly.” Her words were delivered with a playful, teasing lilt, and Bruce felt a blush creep up his neck, a familiar heat he rarely experienced. He extended a hand, feeling a little awkward under her genuinely welcoming gaze.

“It’s good to meet you too, Laura,” he managed, his voice a little rougher than he intended, a slight tremor of nerves. Her handshake was firm and welcoming, and he felt a small part of his apprehension ease, replaced by a tentative sense of belonging.

Just then, another figure emerged from the house, stepping out onto the porch with a casual grace. Taller than Laura, with a lean, athletic build and a stance that spoke of quiet confidence, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Clint. His eyes, a piercing, almost unnervingly blue, swept over Bruce, a keen, assessing gaze that seemed to take in every detail, every nuance. There was no immediate warmth, no easy smile, just a quiet, almost analytical scrutiny. Bruce felt like a complex equation, being sized up, every variable considered, every potential threat evaluated. Clint’s expression was unreadable, a puzzle with missing pieces, just as Natasha had described him—a man who kept his cards close to his chest.

“Clint, this is Bruce,” Natasha said, her voice a little brighter than usual, still holding Cooper, who was now happily gurgling and batting at her hair, oblivious to the subtle tension in the air. “Bruce, this is Clint.”

Clint pushed off the doorframe and walked towards them, his movements fluid and economical, like a predator in its natural habitat. He offered a hand, his grip firm, almost challenging, a silent test. “Bruce. Heard a lot about you.” His voice was low, a hint of something unsaid lingering in the words, a subtle undercurrent that Bruce couldn’t quite decipher. Was it a warning? A challenge? Or just a statement of fact? He simply nodded, meeting Clint’s gaze evenly, trying to project a calm he didn’t entirely feel, a quiet strength he hoped was convincing.

“Oh, you bet we have,” Laura interjected, a playful glint in her eye as she nudged Clint with her elbow, a clear sign of their easy, long-standing dynamic. “Heard all about how Natasha’s finally bringing home someone who doesn’t require a full background check and a debriefing from SHIELD.” Her smile was wide, mischievous, and Natasha groaned, a theatrical sound of exasperation.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but a small, fond smile played on her lips, betraying her feigned annoyance. “Laura, please. Bruce is a scientist, not a suspect. And my friends are perfectly normal.”

“Normal, huh?” Clint drawled, his gaze still fixed on Bruce, but a hint of amusement now in his eyes, a subtle softening of his features. “That’s a new one for you, kiddo. Your definition of ‘normal’ doesn't seem to exist in the universal dictionary.” He signed the last part, a quick, fluid motion, a private joke between him and Natasha.

Bruce felt his cheeks flush, a deep crimson spreading across his neck, and he glanced at Natasha, who was now openly smirking, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Whatever, Clint,” she said, though her tone lacked any real heat, a clear indication that she was enjoying his discomfort. “Bruce is perfectly respectable. A pillar of the academic community.”

“Respectable, huh?” Clint signed again, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, a silent challenge to Natasha. 

Laura chuckled, shaking her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Alright, alright, you two. Let’s get inside before you scare Bruce off. He probably thinks we’re all crazy, and he’s not entirely wrong.”

“Just a little,” Bruce admitted, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his apprehension. The playful banter, far from making him more nervous, had actually put him a little at ease. It was a glimpse into the easy, affectionate, and slightly chaotic dynamic of Natasha’s family, and it was surprisingly comforting. He felt like he was finally getting a peek behind the curtain, and he liked what he saw.

After the initial greetings and the lively exchange, Laura ushered them inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the cool spring air. The living room was cozy, filled with comfortable-looking furniture and framed family photos. Natasha, with a fond smile, settled onto the sofa with Cooper, gently bouncing him as he cooed. 

Laura disappeared into the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans soon filling the air, and Natasha followed, a quick glance over her shoulder at Bruce. He understood the unspoken message: I’ll be back. He offered her a small, reassuring nod. Her gaze then turned to Clint and he knew the look he was giving him said: Don’t do anything stupid.

Clint, however, didn’t follow them. Instead, he settled onto the sofa opposite Bruce, his gaze still fixed on him. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant sounds from the kitchen and Cooper’s soft baby noises. Bruce felt the weight of Clint’s scrutiny, a silent interrogation. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering what Clint was looking for, what he was trying to figure out. He knew Clint was protective of Natasha, and he respected that. But he also knew that he wasn’t going to get an easy pass. This was Clint Barton, after all. And Bruce was, for better or worse, now in his territory.

~*~

Clint watched as Natasha disappeared into the kitchen with Laura, leaving him alone with Bruce. He adjusted his hearing aids, a familiar gesture, ensuring he caught every nuance of the conversation to come. The silence in the living room was thick, broken only by the soft gurgle of Cooper from Natasha’s arms and the distant clatter of pans. He leaned back on the sofa, his gaze fixed on Bruce. The guy looked nervous, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Good. He should be nervous. Natasha wasn’t just anyone; she was family. And Clint took family seriously.

He let the silence stretch, observing Bruce. The man was tall, with a quiet intensity about him. He didn’t fidget, didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. That was a point in his favor. Clint valued directness, honesty. He’d had enough of masks and deception to last a lifetime.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice even, carefully modulated. He made sure to face Bruce directly, to give him a clear view of his lips. “So, Bruce, what exactly do you do?”

Bruce met his gaze, his own eyes a little wide, a little apprehensive. He took a breath, and Clint watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hands clasped together in his lap. He was trying to project calm, but Clint could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his voice when he spoke.

“I’m a research physicist,” Bruce began, his voice a low rumble that Clint’s aids picked up clearly. “My PHD focus is on gamma radiation, its applications, and… its effects on biological systems.” Clint’s eyebrows rose slightly at that. Gamma radiation. Interesting. He filed that away for later. “I also teach a few advanced physics courses at the university.”

Clint nodded slowly, processing the information. A physicist. Smart. Natasha always did have a thing for brains. He watched Bruce’s face, the way his eyes flickered towards the kitchen, a silent plea for Natasha to return. He was clearly out of his comfort zone. But he was holding his own. Another point in his favor.

He let the silence stretch again, then leaned forward, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. He signed as he spoke, a habit he’d developed to ensure clarity, especially in important conversations. “And how serious are you and Natasha?”

Bruce didn’t hesitate. His gaze met Clint’s, unwavering, and his voice, though quiet, was firm. “Very.”

The single word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Clint’s eyes narrowed. He saw the sincerity in Bruce’s expression, the quiet conviction. But he’d seen that before, in other men, men who had ultimately let Natasha down. He wouldn’t let that happen again. He signed again, his movements sharp, precise. “You hurt her…”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. His voice, when he spoke, was low, but resonant with a fierce protectiveness that surprised Clint.

“I won’t.”

The promise was absolute, unshakeable. Clint held his gaze for a long moment, searching for any hint of deception, any wavering in his resolve. He saw none. Just a quiet, determined man who seemed to understand, on some fundamental level, the preciousness of the woman he was with.

Clint let out a slow breath, the tension in his own shoulders easing slightly. He gave a single, sharp nod. “Alright then.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, not yet. But it was a start. Bruce had faced him, answered his questions honestly, and hadn’t backed down. That counted for something. He’d keep an eye on him, of course. Natasha deserved nothing less. But for now, he was willing to give him a chance.

The next morning, Clint sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee, the familiar scent a comforting anchor in the quiet of the farmhouse. Laura was humming softly as she moved around the kitchen, the aroma of her famous pancakes starting to fill the air. Cooper was gurgling happily in his highchair, his tiny fists batting at a brightly colored toy. It was a scene of domestic tranquility.

He watched as Natasha entered the kitchen, her movements fluid and graceful, even in her pajamas. She poured herself a cup of coffee, her eyes still a little sleepy, but with that familiar alertness that never quite left her. She leaned against the counter, her gaze meeting his, a silent question in their depths.

Laura, ever perceptive, gave them both a knowing smile. “Alright, little man,” she cooed at Cooper, “time for your morning adventure with Mama.” She unstrapped him from his highchair and disappeared into the living room, leaving Clint and Natasha alone.

Clint took a long sip of his coffee, gathering his thoughts. He’d spent most of the night replaying the conversation with Bruce in his head, analyzing every word, every gesture. He still had reservations, of course. Bruce was… complicated. But then he'd seen the caring way Bruce had interacted with Natasha over the course of the evening. The caring way he spoke to her. But most importantly, the way she smiled when they shared quiet moments with one another. He couldn't deny how content he was to see her so happy.

He finally turned to Natasha, his voice carefully neutral. “He’s alright.” He signed. “Bit too nervous. But decent... I guess I approve.”

Natasha’s lips curved into a smirk, that familiar glint of challenge in her eyes. She signed back, her movements quick and precise. “You thought I needed your blessing?”

Clint snorted, a laugh escaping him. He shook his head, a small smile playing on his own lips. “No,” he signed, his gaze softening as he met hers. “But I figured you’d want to know you got it anyway.”

Natasha’s smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of something softer, something vulnerable. She looked away for a moment, then met his gaze again, her expression unreadable. “I don’t,” she signed, her movements cool, deliberate. Then, her hands softened, her expression gentling. “But thanks.”

Clint just nodded, a warmth spreading through his chest. He understood. He always did. They were family, bound not by blood, but by something more - by shared experiences and unspoken understanding. He knew Natasha didn’t need his approval, but he also knew she valued it. And he was glad, for her sake, that Bruce seemed to be a decent guy. He’d still keep an eye on him, of course. That was his job, as her brother.

Chapter Text

Cancun. The word itself tasted like sunshine and success, a perfectly chilled margarita on a private beach. Tony leaned back in the surprisingly decent faux-leather seat of their chartered flight, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Below them, the turquoise waters of the Caribbean stretched out, an endless expanse of shimmering perfection. This, Tony thought, was how one did Spring Break. No budget airlines, no fourteen-hour road trips squeezed between duffel bags and half-empty Monster cans. Just a carefully coordinated escape after a few femails to his family's old travel agent. And all of it, every single meticulously planned detail, was for Pepper.

Tony glanced across the aisle at her, currently engrossed in a financial report on her tablet, a stray lock of hair falling across her brow. Even in a casual travel outfit—sneakers, jeans, a breezy linen shirt—she exuded an effortless elegance that made his carefully curated designer clothes feel… well, slightly try-hard. He’d invited the whole gang to make it seem less like a desperate plea for a date and more like a spontaneous, generous group trip from a well-connected college socialite. Which, technically, it was. Mostly.

“Alright, folks, prepare for descent!” Tony announced, his voice booming a little too loudly over the whine of the engine. He ignored Steve’s eye-roll and Bucky’s quiet chuckle. They knew the drill. This was his show, and he was the star.

The moment they stepped off the tarmac and onto the shuttle to the resort, they were met with flower leis, cold towels, and an open cooler of drinks. The staff, already briefed and tipped in advance, had everything sorted. 

Tony caught up to her as she stepped off the shuttle, the warm, humid air of Cancun settling around them like a lazy hug. “So, what do you think, Potts? Beats a crowded airport terminal, doesn’t it?”

Pepper actually smiled, a real one, the kind that curved at the edges and crinkled near her eyes. It made something low in Tony’s chest do a weird fluttery thing. “It’s… impressive, Tony. As always.”

“Only the best for my favorite business management major,” Tony replied, leaning in conspiratorially. “And speaking of the best… I managed to grab a reservation at that little beachfront place you mentioned, for tonight. Just us. Unless, of course, you’d prefer a group dinner with the boys and their never-ending bromantic tension?” He gestured toward Steve and Bucky, who were currently arguing over whether or not to unpack first or head to the pool.

Pepper’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement dancing behind her eyes. “You flew us all down here just for a dinner reservation?”

“Well, there’s the villa, the room service, the personal masseuse on standby…” Tony said, ticking things off on his fingers. “But yes, the dinner reservation is the crown jewel. Sunset view, fresh seafood, string lights over the patio. Super classy. And I hear the ceviche is basically life-changing.”

Tony tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but his brain was quietly screaming say yes, say yes, say yes.

Pepper stopped walking. Looked at him.

And for a second, Tony felt something he didn’t often feel: real nerves. What if she said no? What if all this was just Tony trying way too hard?

Then came the small nod. “Alright, Tony. Dinner sounds… nice.”

“Nice?” Tony lit up like the resort bar’s happy hour sign. “Nice is an understatement. It’s going to be legendary.”

The rest of Spring Break could fall apart - Bruce could lock himself in a hammock with a textbook, Steve and Bucky could finally explode from unresolved eye contact - and it wouldn’t matter. Pepper had said yes. And for Tony Stark, that was all the spring he needed.

Tony checked his watch again. Not nervous. Okay, maybe a little. Not that he’d admit that to anyone but himself—and even then, only under duress.

The beachfront restaurant was just as perfect as the online reviews promised. Tucked between a cluster of palm trees, its patio opened right onto the sand, where waves lapped against the shore in lazy, rhythmic strokes. String lights hung above the tables like glowing constellations, and a light sea breeze kept the air warm without being stifling. The whole place smelled like grilled citrus and salt, with just a hint of wood smoke.

Tony had arrived early and bribed the host to give him the corner table with the best view of the sunset. His shirt was only half-buttoned, sleeves rolled, collar relaxed. It wasn’t an accident that he looked like an off-duty movie star. Not that Pepper would fall for the look alone, but it didn’t hurt to bring the full Stark arsenal.

And then, like she had a sixth sense for when he was about to start fussing with the placement of the wine glasses, Pepper arrived.

Tony stood. “Wow. You clean up terribly well for someone who just spent five hours on a plane.”

Pepper, in a sundress that looked far too elegant for something so simple, just lifted an unimpressed brow. “You know, there’s a compliment in there. Somewhere. Deeply buried.”

Tony held her chair for her, and she gave him a half-smile as she sat. “I mean it,” Tony said, his tone softening. “You look beautiful.”

That stopped her for a beat. Then she just smirked faintly. “If this is your idea of impressing me, it’s working. Slightly.”

Tony chuckled as he took his seat. “Don’t tell me that. I’ll get cocky.”

“You’re already cocky.”

“Touché.”

The server appeared with menus and a bottle of wine Tony had pre-selected. Everything was smooth, well-rehearsed, casual on the surface—but Tony couldn’t stop watching her from across the table. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she scanned the menu with genuine interest. The way she didn’t fill silences just to fill them.

Most people Tony met couldn’t stop talking. Pepper let silence sit comfortably between words, like she owned it. Like she was the one holding court, not him.

“So,” she said, setting her menu down. “This is nice. Surprisingly tasteful.”

“I’ll pretend to be offended.”

She gave him a look. “I heard you brought a mariachi band to your freshman orientation mixer.”

“That was thematically appropriate.”

“It was Taco Tuesday, Tony.”

Tony laughed into his wineglass. “Okay, but you’re here now. So clearly, I’ve evolved.”

Pepper tilted her head. “Have you?”

Tony met her gaze across the flickering candlelight, his grin faltering just enough to reveal something quieter underneath. “I’m trying.”

That seemed to give her pause. She didn’t smile. Just nodded once and looked down at her wine.

They talked through appetizers—about their classes, their professors (Tony had a wildly inappropriate nickname for one of hers that made her almost spit out her drink), and about how Steve and Bucky had yet to officially acknowledge whatever was going on between them.

The food arrived, and it was good. Like, actually good. And for once, Tony didn’t dominate the conversation. He listened. Asked questions. Let the silence stretch when it needed to. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t strategy.

He just liked hearing her talk.

About halfway through dessert—some absurdly complicated deconstructed key lime tart—Tony leaned forward on his elbows.

“Okay. Real talk.”

Pepper sipped her wine, watching him carefully. “I’m listening.”

“I like you.”

She blinked. “Tony—”

“No, no—let me finish.” Tony held up a hand. “I like you. Not just in the ‘you’re gorgeous and terrifying and make me forget my own name’ way, though yes, absolutely all of that. But also in the way that makes me want to not screw this up. I don’t know what that means yet, but I want to keep figuring it out. With you.”

Pepper stared at him. Not shocked. Not flustered. Just... evaluating.

Then she said, slowly, “That’s the most genuine thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Tony raised a brow. “Impressed yet?”

“A little,” she said, her mouth twitching. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“No promises.”

She finished the last sip of her wine and stood, collecting her bag. “Walk me back to my room?”

Tony stood, stunned for a second, before scrambling to pull out her chair. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As they stepped out into the soft night air, side by side, Pepper nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “You’ve still got a long way to go.”

Tony grinned, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah... but I think I’m getting there.”

And for once in his chaotic, spotlight-chasing life, Tony Stark didn’t feel the need to make a joke.

He just walked beside her, quietly content

~*~

Bruce held up another t-shirt, a vibrant, almost neon green, with all the enthusiasm of a man evaluating a particularly complex tax form. The fluorescent lights of the beachside boutique cast a harsh glow on his already strained expression. He looked utterly out of his element, a theoretical physicist trapped in a labyrinth of resort wear.

“This one’s… green,” he stated, his voice flat, devoid of any discernible emotion. He squinted at it, as if expecting it to reveal some hidden scientific principle.

Natasha snorted from where she sat, cross-legged and comfortably bored, on a low, rattan bench just outside the fitting room. The air conditioning in the shop was a welcome reprieve from the Cancun heat, but even that couldn’t entirely soothe Bruce’s palpable discomfort. “Excellent observation,” she drawled, a smirk playing on her lips. “That PhD is really paying off. Next, you’ll be telling me the sky is blue.”

He gave her a sidelong look, a flicker of exasperation in his eyes, but didn’t argue. He was currently sporting a pair of borrowed board shorts from Tony—a truly offensive kaleidoscope of flamingos and pineapples—and a plain white undershirt that clung in places she knew he found unflattering. The airline, in its infinite wisdom, had managed to lose his entire luggage. What started as a quick, necessary stop for essentials had, predictably, morphed into a full-blown expedition, largely due to Bruce’s meticulous, almost scientific, approach to clothing selection.

“I just need something basic,” Bruce muttered, flicking through hangers with a precise, almost surgical motion, as if each piece of fabric had personally offended him with its existence.

Natasha watched him quietly. There was a rhythm to the way he moved when he was tense—shoulders a bit too high, jaw a bit too tight, a subtle rigidity in his posture that spoke volumes. She recognized it instantly, a familiar tremor beneath his usually calm exterior. Still, she didn’t say anything. Not yet. Pushing him rarely worked; observation, and then a gentle nudge, was usually the better strategy.

“Alright, well.” She unfolded herself from the bench, stretching languidly, her muscles protesting softly from the long flight. “I’m not letting you walk into dinner tonight wearing that abomination of a flamingo print. Even Tony has standards, occasionally. So, let’s find you something neutral. Classic. Maybe something that says, ‘I’m not spiraling from having my entire life swallowed by the void of international air travel.’”

“I’m not spiraling,” he said, too quickly, his voice a little higher than usual. His eyes darted around the shop, as if searching for an escape route.

She raised a brow, a silent challenge. Her gaze held his, unwavering.

He exhaled, a long, frustrated sigh, setting a perfectly innocuous folded polo shirt back on the display with unnecessary force. “I’m just…” He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I don’t like shopping, Nat. Especially not under duress.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said with a smirk, then softened her tone, stepping closer. “We’ll be done soon. Promise. Just one shirt, maybe some shorts that don’t scream ‘mid-life crisis on spring break.’”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. He wandered toward a rack of button-downs, his movements mechanical, his fingers flipping through them with a detached air. He looked like he was cataloging specimens, not choosing clothes.

Natasha followed, her eyes scanning the rack with practiced efficiency. Her gaze landed on a soft, muted purple linen shirt, simple yet elegant. She plucked it from the hanger. “Here. Try this. It’ll look good on you.”

He looked at her, then at the shirt, like she’d handed him a live grenade with a ticking timer. His eyes widened slightly, a hint of genuine alarm. “Are you sure?”

“It’s a shirt, Bruce, not a moral dilemma,” she added gently, a small smile playing on her lips. “Unless you’re worried about the existential implications of linen versus cotton.”

With a quiet sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, he took it and headed into the changing room. The curtain swished shut behind him, leaving Natasha alone in the quiet hum of the shop. She sat again, chin resting in her hand, watching the lazy spin of the ceiling fan above. The air in the shop was cool, a stark contrast to the oppressive humidity outside, but even she could feel the faint stickiness at the nape of her neck. Outside, the day was blazing, salt-heavy and loud with the incessant hum of tourists and the rhythmic crash of surf.

Bruce emerged a moment later, the shirt a surprising transformation. It fit him better than she’d expected, softening the sharp angles of his frame. The sleeves were rolled casually at the forearms, revealing the lean strength beneath, and the collar was open just enough to breathe, neat enough to pass for dinner attire. He looked… comfortable. And incredibly handsome.

Natasha whistled, a low, appreciative sound. “Well, look at that. Professor Vogue. Who knew you had it in you?”

He tugged at the hem self-consciously, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “It’s... fine.”

“It’s more than fine,” she corrected, pushing off the bench and walking towards him. She reached out, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle on his shoulder. Her touch was light, reassuring. “You look good, Bruce. Really good.”

A pause. He didn’t meet her eyes, instead turning slightly toward the mirror, tugging at the collar again, then adjusting the cuffs. He wasn’t preening, not in the way Tony would. He was scanning. Measuring. Like if he looked long enough, he might see something else—something he didn’t like, something that threatened to unravel his carefully constructed composure.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her voice low, knowing the answer before he even spoke. She knew this wasn’t just about a shirt or lost luggage. It was about control, about predictability, about the fragile balance he maintained.

Bruce nodded, then shook his head, a small, frustrated gesture. “I just… hate feeling unprepared, Nat. It throws me off. Everything feels… off-kilter.”

Natasha didn’t press. She knew what he meant. For Bruce, everything was about control—of his emotions, his environment, his image. Something as simple as lost luggage had more layers than he’d ever admit. Clothes were just the surface, a symptom of a deeper anxiety. She understood that need for order, for a plan. Her own life had been built on meticulous planning, on anticipating every variable. But unlike Bruce, she thrived in chaos, adapted to it. He fought it.

She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe of the fitting room, her gaze steady. “Well, we’ll get you a toothbrush, too. And some actual shorts. Start rebuilding your empire, one essential at a time.”

That got a small, genuine smile, a rare flash of humor in his strained expression. He ducked back into the changing room without another word.

Natasha waited, watching the sun angle in through the slats of the shop window, painting stripes of light and shadow across the polished floor. There was something quietly endearing about all of this—about Bruce, disoriented but trying, letting her be there without asking her to fix it. She liked that. She liked being close enough to notice the subtle shifts, the unspoken anxieties, and to offer a quiet, steady presence. 

He stepped out again in his regular clothes, holding the shirt carefully folded, almost reverently. “I’ll take it,” he said, his voice a little lighter.

“Excellent,” she replied, pushing off the doorframe. “Now we just need shoes. And maybe a hat. And some sunscreen. And a new personality for Tony.”

Bruce groaned, a low, theatrical sound of despair. But this time, there was a hint of genuine amusement in it.

She laughed, a clear, bright sound that echoed softly in the quiet shop. 

~*~

The sun blazed high above, a benevolent golden eye in the cerulean sky, casting its warmth over the stretch of soft, blindingly white sand. Thor stood, squinting slightly, his gaze fixed on the net, a formidable barrier in the friendly battlefield of their beach volleyball game. A dull thud of a volleyball hitting the sand behind him was followed by an exasperated groan from Bucky, whose competitive spirit, much like Steve’s, was surprisingly fierce.

“That’s the third one you’ve missed!” Bucky called out, brushing sand off his arm with a theatrical flourish. “What happened to those legendary reflexes? Or, you know, just basic hand-eye coordination?”

Thor turned with a booming laugh, a wide, unrepentant grin splitting his face. “I was distracted, my friend, by the radiant beauty of my beloved Jane!” He slapped Bucky on the back, perhaps a little too hard, causing Bucky to stumble forward. “Also, I am quite certain the ball was out.”

“It absolutely was not,” Steve replied from the other side of the net, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. He leaned down, his movements fluid and efficient, to retrieve the errant ball. He tossed it to Pepper, who stood on their team, a vision of effortless cool in a sleek black one-piece and aviators that made her look entirely too sophisticated for a casual beach game. “Your serve, Potts.”

“Don’t you dare go easy on me, Rogers,” Pepper warned, her voice crisp, a challenge in her tone that Thor found quite admirable. She had a fire to her, that one. A good match for Tony.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve returned, his eyes twinkling.

“Speak for yourself,” Tony piped up, jogging up beside Pepper, attempting (and failing spectacularly) to comb his salt-wet hair back with his fingers. “I’m happy to let her win if it means she’ll smile at me like that again.”

“She’s going to spike the ball directly at your face if you keep talking, Stark,” Natasha said dryly from the sidelines, her voice a low, amused murmur. She was sipping on a fizzy drink, her long legs stretched out on a towel next to Bruce, who was valiantly trying to both read a dense scientific tome and avoid getting hit by rogue serves. The two of them, having only just recently landed, had opted out of the immediate chaos, preferring the role of amused spectators.

“I would pay good money to see that,” Darcy chimed in, already cackling from her oversized beach chair, her sunglasses pushed up on her forehead and a massive floppy hat shielding her from the relentless sun. Loki sat beside her, long limbs elegantly draped over the deck chair as though he were ruling some invisible kingdom. His only contribution so far had been rolling his eyes at everything, a silent, sardonic commentary on the groups' antics.

Jane was seated on a striped towel between Loki and Natasha, a thick astronomy book open on her lap but long forgotten in favor of watching the match. She had her knees pulled to her chest, sunglasses on, her brunette hair piled into a messy bun that somehow still looked charmingly disheveled. She caught Thor’s eye, and a warm smile bloomed on her face. He couldn’t help but smile back, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the sun. That simple look, that shared moment, anchored him.

“Focus!” Bucky barked, pointing dramatically at Tony. “You’re on our team, Stark. Stop flirting with the opposition!”

“I thought I was on Pepper’s team,” Tony retorted with a wink, earning another eye-roll from Pepper, who ignored him with regal indifference, adjusting her sunglasses with a deliberate, almost dismissive gesture.

Thor adjusted the band around his wrist, the leather warm against his skin, and bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He loved this - the sun on his face, the soft give of the sand beneath his feet, the friendly rivalry, and the general, glorious chaos of his closest companions making utter fools of themselves. Nothing made him feel more at home, more truly himself, than these moments of shared joy and camaraderie.

Steve served next, the ball flying cleanly over the net, a perfect arc. Bucky darted in to return it, just barely managing to flick it back with a desperate lunge. Tony, surprisingly, fumbled the second hit but somehow, miraculously, kept it airborne with a flailing, uncoordinated swat. Thor saw his opening, a glorious, thunderous opportunity, and he lunged forward, leaping high, spiking the ball with the full, unbridled force of a thunder god. It hit the sand on the opposing side with a satisfying puff, sending up a small cloud of white dust.

“Point to us!” he boomed, raising his arms in triumph, a wide, triumphant grin plastered across his face.

“That was aggressive, Thor,” Maria muttered, jogging toward the net with a mock glare, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “We’re mere mortals, you know. Our bones are fragile.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Thor said cheerily, though he made no effort to temper his enthusiasm. “Would you prefer I play one-handed? Or perhaps with my eyes closed?”

“I’d prefer you not break my wrist with a serve,” Maria retorted, shaking her head in amused exasperation.

Across the court, Bucky had jogged over to Steve. The two leaned in to murmur something to each other, their heads close, grinning like a pair of mischievous children. Steve’s hand brushed against Bucky’s elbow in a way that was way too casual to be casual, a subtle intimacy that spoke volumes.

“Oh god,” Tony said, catching the moment as well, his voice a dramatic groan. “I think we’re all about to become the supporting cast in someone else’s romance movie.”

“Speak for yourself,” Pepper muttered, brushing sand off her hip with a deliberate motion, though a faint blush touched her cheeks.

Tony pointed at her, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “See! That’s flirting. You’re totally flirting, Potts.”

“That was disdain, Stark,” Pepper corrected, though her lips curled in a tiny, almost imperceptible smile before she turned to reset the ball, her movements precise and elegant.

Back on the towels, Natasha had stretched out fully beside Bruce, her sunglasses perched low on her nose, observing the unfolding drama with a detached amusement. “I give them a week before someone proposes,” she said dryly, gesturing vaguely toward Bucky and Steve with a tilt of her head.

Bruce smirked without looking up from his book, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. “You’re feeling generous, Nat.”

Darcy let out another cackle, a loud, uninhibited sound that cut through the beach air. “No one tell Bucky he’s blushing!”

“I AM NOT!” came Bucky’s indignant voice from the court, his ears noticeably, undeniably pink. The collective laughter that followed was a symphony of friendship and affection.

Jane leaned in closer to Natasha, murmuring something that made them both dissolve into quiet laughter, their shoulders shaking. Thor felt the familiar, comforting pull in his chest when he saw Jane laughing like that, her face alight with joy. He never understood how one person could so effortlessly make his chaotic world feel anchored, stable, and infinitely brighter.

This was what he loved. His friends, tangled in playful rivalries and deep affection, all ridiculous and golden in the late afternoon light. 

“Alright!” Thor boomed, raising his arms, his voice echoing across the beach. “Rematch! And this time, Stark, try not to flirt with the volleyball. It has no feelings.”

“No promises, Point Break!” Tony called back, tossing the ball skyward with a flourish, already anticipating the next round of playful jabs and competitive serves.

As the game resumed Thor caught Jane’s eye again. She rolled hers in mock exasperation but smiled, a soft, knowing smile that reached her eyes. And in that moment, Thor knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be. 

~*~

The warm breeze, a soft caress against his skin, drifted through the open windows of the lounge. It carried the scent of salt and suncream, faint, lingering traces of charcoal from the barbecue someone had fired up earlier. The day’s vibrant energy had mellowed into the quiet hum of evening. It was late now—most of the group had drifted upstairs, their laughter and chatter replaced by the gentle rhythm of the ocean. The house, though quiet, still echoed with the day’s easy camaraderie.

Steve wandered into the lounge, two cold beers clinking softly in his hand. His gaze found Bucky, a familiar silhouette slouched on the wide L-shaped couch. Bucky’s legs were stretched out, long and relaxed, one arm draped lazily along the backrest. He looked utterly at ease, a picture of contentment that tugged at something deep within Steve’s chest. A small, involuntary smile curved Steve’s lips. This was a sight he was quickly growing accustomed to, and one he found himself increasingly drawn to.

“You reading my mind again?” Bucky asked, his voice a low, rumbling murmur, without even looking up as Steve approached. It was a testament to their long-standing connection.

Steve chuckled softly, the sound warm in the quiet room. He handed Bucky a bottle, the condensation cool against his fingers, and dropped onto the other end of the couch. The cushions sighed under his weight. “You just looked like you needed one.”

Bucky accepted it, his fingers brushing Steve’s for a fleeting moment that sent a jolt through Steve’s arm. Bucky tapped the neck of his bottle against Steve’s, the soft clink a tiny punctuation mark in the stillness, before taking a long, slow sip. “I did,” he confirmed, his eyes still half-closed, savoring the moment.

The steady rhythm of the waves crashing outside provided a natural, soothing soundtrack to their quiet communion. The dim lamplight, strategically placed, turned the whole room a soft, inviting gold, casting long, dancing shadows that softened the edges of the furniture, of their faces. Steve couldn’t ignore the quiet warmth settling in his chest, a feeling both new and profoundly familiar. This ease between them, this comfortable silence, was new in its romantic undertones. And yet, it wasn’t. They’d always found comfort in each other, since the first time they’d met. But now there was something more beneath it. Something electric and unspoken that Steve was beginning to think needed speaking, needed to be given a name.

Bucky shifted, resting his head back against the cushion, letting out a soft breath that ruffled his hair. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he observed, his voice still low, almost a whisper.

“So have you,” Steve countered, his gaze tracing the line of Bucky’s jaw, the slight stubble that softened its edge.

“Yeah, well.” Bucky finally glanced sideways at him, a wry twist to his lips. “Hard to talk when there’s a ten-ton elephant in the room.”

Steve’s lips twitched into a genuine chuckle. “I was wondering which one of us was going to bring it up first.”

“Well,” Bucky said, taking another slow, deliberate drink from his beer. “We’re not exactly subtle, are we?” His eyes held a knowing glint, a shared acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that had been simmering between them for weeks, perhaps even months.

They sat in silence for a beat, not tense, not awkward, just… loaded. The air thrummed with anticipation, with the weight of unsaid words and unacknowledged feelings. Steve felt his heart beat a little faster, a nervous flutter in his stomach. This was it. The moment he’d been both dreading and longing for.

“I’ve been thinking,” Steve said finally, choosing his words with painstaking care, each one a deliberate step into uncharted territory. “About us. About what this is.”

Bucky turned to face him more fully, his body language open, receptive. His expression was unreadable, a familiar mask that Steve hadn't yet learned to decipher, but there was no defensiveness, no hint of pulling away. Just an open invitation to continue.

Steve took a deep breath, the salty air filling his lungs. “We’ve kissed. We’ve gone out. We’ve… sort of just fallen into this thing. And I like it. I like you. A lot.” He paused, searching Bucky’s eyes for any sign of discomfort, any flicker of doubt. There was none. Just that steady, unwavering gaze. “But I don’t know if we’ve actually… said it. Out loud. What this is.”

“Like… put a label on it?” Bucky asked, a slight arch to his eyebrow, a hint of his usual playful sarcasm. But his voice was soft, devoid of any real mockery.

Steve gave a small, earnest nod. “Yeah. Like that.” He watched Bucky, his heart in his throat, waiting for the verdict.

Bucky leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if consulting some invisible cosmic arbiter. Steve held his breath, every second stretching into an eternity. He saw the faint smile that touched Bucky’s lips, the subtle softening of his eyes. And then, Bucky turned back to him, his gaze direct, sincere.

“Well, I mean, I’m not exactly seeing anyone else,” Bucky said, a teasing note in his voice, but his eyes were serious, warm.

“Me neither,”

Bucky’s smile widened, a genuine, unforced expression that lit up his face. “So… are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Rogers?”

Steve laughed under his breath, a genuine, joyful sound that felt like it had been trapped inside him for too long. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I guess I am.”

Bucky looked at him, really looked at him, his gaze sweeping over Steve’s face, taking in every detail. And then he gave the smallest, most sincere smile Steve had ever seen on him, a smile that reached his eyes and made them sparkle.

“Then yeah,” Bucky said, his voice soft, almost tender. “I’d really like that.”

Something loosened in Steve’s chest at the words—like a string pulled tight for weeks had finally gone slack. He exhaled, a long, steady breath that carried with it all the unspoken anxieties, all the hopeful anticipation. A profound sense of peace settled over him.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Me too.”

Bucky nudged his knee with his own, a playful, familiar gesture. “You’re not gonna get all sappy on me now, are you?”

“No promises,” Steve replied, a wide grin spreading across his face. The easy banter, the comfortable rhythm of their connection, was already reasserting itself, grounding the monumental shift that had just occurred.

They both laughed, the sound easy and genuine, echoing softly in the quiet lounge. Steve leaned in, brushing his shoulder against Bucky’s, feeling the warmth of him, solid and familiar, a comforting anchor in his world. The simple physical contact, now imbued with a new, deeper meaning, felt profoundly right.

In the quiet of the lounge, with the waves outside providing their endless, rhythmic lullaby, and the faint scent of sunscreen still clinging to their skin, Steve felt it settle. Whatever this was, whatever they were; it was real. And it was good. More than good. It was everything he hadn’t dared to hope for.

He let his head fall back against the cushion, turning slightly to rest against Bucky’s shoulder, the subtle pressure a comforting weight. “You know,” he said, barely above a whisper, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. “I’ve wanted this for a while.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just gently reached over, his fingers finding Steve’s, and laced their fingers together, a silent, powerful affirmation. His thumb brushed over Steve’s knuckles, a small, tender gesture that spoke volumes.

That said more than enough. It said everything. And in that moment, Steve knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that this was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

The bar was a pulsating beast of sound and heat, loud, warm, and gloriously chaotic. Bad lighting cast long, shifting shadows, and worse pop remixes throbbed through the floor, vibrating up through the soles of her feet. Natasha liked it anyway—liked the raw energy, the feeling of being utterly immersed in the moment. She liked watching her friends unwind, relaxed and sun-warmed from the beach, buzzed on fruity cocktails and cheap beers. The air was thick with the scent of lime, tequila, and something vaguely tropical. She leaned against the cool, sticky surface of the bar, nursing a drink slowly, letting the vibrant energy wash over her.

Bruce was a few feet away, seemingly oblivious to the thumping bass, deep in a spirited debate with Maria about some obscure ethical dilemma from a philosophy podcast they’d both listened to. She could hear the word “categorical imperative” float over the din and tuned it out immediately, a small, fond smile playing on her lips. He looked so earnest, so completely absorbed, his brow furrowed in concentration. It was a side of him she cherished.

Pepper and Jane were at a nearby table, their heads close, laughing about something Tony had undoubtedly said, probably something outrageous and entirely inappropriate. Bucky and Steve, meanwhile, had finally stopped pretending they weren’t a couple and were currently sitting with their knees practically touching, trading sips of a shared drink, their shoulders occasionally brushing. The vibe was golden, unhurried, infused with the easy camaraderie of shared experiences and burgeoning affections. Natasha felt light, unburdened, a rare and precious feeling.

That was, until she felt the hand.

It wasn’t Bruce’s. It wasn’t anyone she knew. The fingers landed low on her back—too low. A casual brush that was anything but. Then it slid, palm open, over the curve of her hip, a possessive, lingering touch that sent a jolt of ice through her veins, extinguishing the warmth of the evening in an instant. The cold rage was instant, a familiar, sharp clarity that cut through the haze of the music and the laughter.

She spun without hesitation, her movements fluid and precise, catching the stranger’s wrist in a vice grip that made his eyes widen in startled alarm. He was clearly drunk, his gaze unfocused, clearly used to women ignoring him, or giggling it off, or just enduring it. He probably thought she was just another pretty face, another easy target in the anonymous crowd.

He didn’t get that from her.

“You want to try that again?” she said, her voice low and sharp, cutting through the noise like a scalpel. Her grip tightened, just enough to convey the unspoken threat.

He smirked, trying to play it off, a slurred, dismissive laugh escaping his lips. But Natasha didn’t wait for an answer. Her fist snapped forward, clean and fast, a blur of motion, connecting with his jaw with a sickening crack. The sound, sharp and undeniable, drew attention, even over the pounding music. Heads turned. Conversations died.

The man stumbled back, clutching his face, a string of incoherent curses tumbling from his lips. Chairs scraped. Someone gasped, a high-pitched sound of shock. Natasha stood still, breathing evenly, her eyes locked on him, a silent promise of more if he dared to retaliate.

Bruce was at her side in a second, his earlier philosophical debate forgotten, his eyes wide with concern. “Natasha! What happened?” His gaze flickered from her to the man, then back again, trying to piece together the scene.

"He touched me,” she said, quietly, her voice barely a whisper, but it was enough. 

Her attention was still on the man, who was now recovering, snarling something incoherent, a mixture of pain and drunken aggression contorting his face. He took a step forward, his fists clenching.

Just as he did, Bruce stepped forward, a sudden, terrifying shift in his demeanor. Natasha instinctively grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his bicep, trying to hold him back, but something had flipped in Bruce—something hot and tightly coiled, a barely contained fury that radiated off him like heat. His whole posture changed: shoulders squared, hands clenched, his eyes, usually so gentle, now held a dangerous glint. She felt it ripple off him, a palpable wave of suppressed power.

Bruce shoved the guy, hard. The man flew backwards into a table, a cascade of drinks and glasses shattering to the floor with a deafening crash. People screamed, a collective cry of alarm. Bucky and Steve, alerted by the commotion, rushed forward, trying to intervene, shouting Bruce’s name, but he wasn’t done. He followed, a relentless force, fists up, wild and desperate. Years of meticulous self-control, of carefully constructed walls, burned away in seconds, consumed by a primal rage.

“Bruce, stop!” Natasha shouted, her voice raw, desperate, cutting through the chaos. She tried to grab him again, to pull him back, but he was a force of nature, unyielding.

He didn’t hear her. Or if he did, he didn’t register it. He landed a brutal punch to the guy’s face, another to his ribs. The man crumpled, trying to defend himself, but Bruce was relentless—messy, furious, blind with an anger that seemed to consume him whole.

Steve got to him first, his strong arms wrapping around Bruce, trying to restrain him, to pull him away from the prone figure. Bucky joined a second later, shouting Bruce’s name, his voice laced with urgency. In the desperate scuffle, Bruce’s elbow swung back, a wild, uncontrolled movement, and caught Bucky clean in the face. Bucky stumbled back, clutching his nose with a sharp curse, a dark stain already blooming on his hand.

“Jesus!” Steve barked, his voice laced with shock and frustration. “Bruce, enough! He’s down!”

Bruce froze, like he was waking up from a nightmare, a sudden, jarring return to reality. His eyes scanned the room—the broken glass glinting ominously on the floor, the stunned, frightened faces of the onlookers, Bucky bleeding slightly, Natasha staring at him, her expression a complex mixture of concern, fear, and something else she couldn’t quite name. The realization of what he’d done, of the chaos he’d unleashed, seemed to hit him all at once.

And then he bolted. He turned and shoved through the suddenly parting crowd, a blur of motion, out into the humid, pulsing night.

Natasha didn’t follow immediately. She stood for a second, heart pounding, a dry, metallic taste in her mouth. Her drink, forgotten in the melee, had spilled across the bar, a sticky, dark puddle. The music hadn’t stopped, but it sounded thinner now, hollow, a discordant backdrop to the ringing silence in her ears.

“Is he okay?” Pepper asked behind her, her voice soft, laced with concern.

Natasha didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her gaze was fixed on the door, on the empty space where Bruce had been.

The curses rattling around in her brain were going a hundred miles a minute. 

She shot a quick look over to where Bucky was receiving makeshift medical attention from a bar tender, Steve at his side. Then over to the guy Bruce had pounded to the ground, who was being dragged out by a bouncer, presumably having the story told to him by Maria and Tony.

For a brief moment, she considered rounding on Tony, who's idea it was to come to the bar in the first place. But she knows that would just be a deflection from who she was supposed to be mad at. 

She moved, slowly, past her friends, past the stunned faces, toward the door. Toward the aftermath. She wasn’t sure what she’d find. Or what she’d say. But she knew, she had to find him. 

~*~

The night air hit Bruce like a physical blow—cold, briny, and harsh, a stark contrast to the humid, pulsing chaos of the bar. He didn’t stop running until the frantic thud of his boots against the pavement slowed to a shaky stumble, his lungs burning, his chest heaving. He leaned against the low concrete wall at the edge of the beach road, his head bowed, trying to catch his breath, trying to outrun the sickening throb in his knuckles, the burning shame in his gut. Somewhere behind them, the muffled roar of voices still echoed from the bar, a distant, angry hum.

He couldn’t quite believe he’d lost control like that.. But the way the guy stepped towards her - fists clenched and anger clear on his face - it had lit something inside him, a raw, untamed fury that had been building, he now realized, for days, beneath the surface of his calm demeanor.

He gripped the edge of the concrete wall, his knuckles white, his shoulders hunched, a picture of raw, contained agony. He was punishing himself. The self-recrimination was almost palpable in the tense set of his back. Stupid. Reckless. He could still feel Bucky’s nose connecting with his elbow, the sickening crunch. He could still see the way she’d looked at him—not scared, exactly, but startled. Hurt. Like he was something new. Something she hadn’t signed up for. Something dangerous.

“Bruce!” she called out, her voice cutting through the humid night. He flinched, a sharp, involuntary movement, at the sound of her voice behind him. Of course she’d followed. Of course she would. She wouldn’t let him disappear into the night, not like this.

She came into view, her red hair tossed by the warm, briny wind, her arms folded tight across her chest. She didn’t look angry. Not yet. Her expression was carefully neutral, a mask she wore when she needed to be in control, when she needed to extract information. But she wasn’t letting him get away, either. Her stance was firm, rooted.

“Talk to me,” she said, her voice low and steady, walking up beside him, stopping just a few feet away. The scent of salt and his own agitated energy filled the space between them. “What the hell was that?”

He shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze, his eyes fixed on the dark, shifting sand below. “I shouldn’t have done that. I know. I know.” The words were mumbled, heavy with self-loathing.

“That’s not what I asked.” Her voice was lower now, gentler, but still unrelenting. She knew how to push, how to find the cracks in his carefully constructed facade. “You don’t snap like that, Bruce. I’ve seen you lose it before, but not like that.”

Bruce let out a shaky breath, a sound that was more a gasp than an exhale. “Because I usually don’t.” His voice was tight, strained, as if each word was physically painful to utter.

She waited. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant hum of passing traffic and the muffled thump of bass from the bar behind them, a ghostly echo of the chaos they’d just left. She watched him, his shoulders still hunched, his hands still clenched, a silent battle raging within him. 

He closed his eyes, a flicker of pain crossing his face. It was hard to say it—he hated even hearing the words in his own head. The truth was tightening in his chest like a noose, suffocating him.

“My medication,” he said quietly, the words barely audible above the whisper of the waves. “I take something. For... for the anger. To help me stay balanced. It was in my checked bag.”

Realization dawned in Natasha’s eyes, a cold, sharp clarity. The lost luggage. The increasing antsiness she’d observed throughout the day, the subtle shifts in his demeanor she’d dismissed as travel fatigue. It all clicked into place, a terrifying, logical progression. “The one the airline lost,” she finished for him, her voice flat.

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on the sand, ashamed to meet her eyes. “I thought I could manage for a few days. I didn’t want to make a fuss. I didn’t think—” He broke off, frustrated, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Clearly, I miscalculated.” The understatement hung heavy in the air.

Natasha was silent for a moment, processing the information, the implications of it.  The only sounds were the hum of passing traffic, the muffled thump of bass from the bar behind them, and the rhythmic sigh of the ocean.

Then she took a step closer, closing the small distance between them. Her hand reached out, hesitant for a moment, then settled gently on his arm. His muscles were still rigid beneath her touch. “Bruce... why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was soft, laced with a quiet hurt she couldn’t entirely mask.

He finally looked at her, his eyes shadowed, vulnerable. “I didn’t want you to think I’m dangerous.”

She didn’t answer right away. She met his gaze, holding it steady, letting him see the truth in her eyes. The fear, the concern, yes, but also something else. Understanding. Acceptance. She saw the man, not the monster he feared he was. The man who was trying, desperately, to keep himself in check.

Then she said, her voice firm, unwavering, “You’re not dangerous, Bruce. You’re human. You’re trying to keep yourself in check, and that takes strength—not weakness.” She squeezed his arm gently, a silent reassurance.

He let out a quiet laugh, bitter at the edges, a sound devoid of humor. “Tell that to Bucky’s face.”

“We’ll get him a steak and an ice pack,” she said lightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching her lips. Then her tone softened again, becoming serious. “Come on. We’ll go to a pharmacy in the morning. Get a substitute prescription or something close enough to hold you over. We’ll figure it out together.” Her hand, still on his arm, moved, her fingers brushing his, a silent invitation.

He looked up at her finally, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“No,” she said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “But I am a little annoyed you didn’t think I could handle the truth.” The words were direct, honest, a subtle reprimand.

He winced, a small, almost imperceptible flinch. “I…”

“Don’t do that again,” she added, her voice a low, serious warning. “Don’t hide things from me, especially not the big stuff. Not from me.”

“I won’t,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “I promise.” The word hung in the air, a fragile new bond forming between them.

She nodded, satisfied for now, and held out her hand, palm up. He took it. It was small and strong and steady, a lifeline in the turbulent night. Her fingers laced with his.

~*~

"Ow!" Bucky yelped in pain for the fifth time.

The bathroom lights were too bright, too stark, mercilessly illuminating every drop of blood, every tremor in his hand. Bucky squinted, the fluorescent glare a painful assault on his already throbbing head. He sat on the edge of the counter, the cool porcelain a small comfort against his skin, one hand braced behind him, the other holding a crumpled wad of tissue to his bleeding nose. The metallic tang of blood was sharp in his mouth, a grim reminder of the chaos he’d just witnessed, and been a part of. Steve stood between his knees, a quiet, focused presence, his brows furrowed in concentration as he ran a damp cloth gently along the side of Bucky’s face, wiping away the streaks of red.

“For a theoretical physicist,” Bucky muttered, his voice nasally through the pressure of the tissue, a weak attempt at humor to cut through the tension, “Banner really throws like a heavyweight.”

Steve huffed a breath—almost a laugh, a small, exasperated sound that was uniquely Steve. “You kind of walked right into it, Buck.”

“I was trying to help,” Bucky said, muffled, his eyes closed against the light, against the memory of Bruce’s wild, unseeing fury.

“You were also yelling,” Steve countered gently, his fingers surprisingly soft as they dabbed at his cheekbone.

“Maybe. Just a little,” Bucky conceded, a faint smile touching his lips. He opened his eyes, watching Steve’s face, the way his brow was still furrowed, the intense focus in his blue eyes. That little line appeared between his brows, the one that always showed up when he was deeply concentrated, whether it was on a sketch or, apparently, a nosebleed.

Bucky watched him over the edge of the tissue. “You’re fussing.”

“I am treating a nosebleed,” Steve corrected, his voice firm but without heat. “There’s a difference. A very important one.”

Bucky tilted his head a bit, giving Steve better access, a silent invitation for him to continue his ministrations. “I appreciate the bedside manner, though. Very… nurturing.”

Steve dabbed at the blood streak on his upper lip with agonizing care, his touch feather-light. “It’s not broken,” he announced, a note of relief in his voice.

“That’s good,” Bucky agreed, the words a little clearer now that the bleeding seemed to be slowing.

“You’re gonna have a nasty bruise, though,” Steve added, his gaze tracing the swelling already beginning to form.

“I’ll tell people it was from a jealous ex,” Bucky quipped, trying to lighten the mood, to push back against the lingering unease. He saw the corner of Steve’s mouth twitch, a hint of a smile.

Steve finally looked up, his eyes meeting Bucky’s, and rolled his eyes with a soft sigh. “You want an ice pack, drama queen?”

“Only if it comes with you sitting next to me while I dramatically complain about the state of modern friendships and the unexpected punching power of mild-mannered scientists,” Bucky said, a genuine grin spreading across his face. The pain was still there, a dull throb, but the presence of Steve, his quiet care, was a far more potent balm.

“Deal,” Steve said dryly, a small, fond smile now firmly in place. “Stay here. Don’t bleed on anything important.”

He disappeared for a minute, the sound of the fridge opening down the hall, then footsteps returning, soft and deliberate. He came back with a cloth-wrapped ice pack, condensation already beading on the fabric, and held it out. Bucky took it, pressing it to his face with a wince. “Ahh. Cold. My brain is freezing.”

“That’s the point, Buck,” Steve said, leaning against the sink beside him now, his shoulder almost touching Bucky’s. The cool porcelain of the counter beneath Bucky’s hands, the chill of the ice pack against his face, the quiet warmth of Steve’s presence—it all grounded him.

They sat there in silence for a while, the only sound the slow, rhythmic drip of the tap and the occasional shift of the old pipes in the walls. The adrenaline of the fight, of Bruce’s outburst, slowly began to drain away, leaving behind a weary calm. Bucky lowered the ice pack slightly and glanced at Steve, his gaze softening.

“You okay?” he asked, the question genuine. Steve had been in the thick of it too, trying to pull Bruce off.

Steve nodded, his eyes distant for a moment, then he met Bucky’s gaze. “Yeah. Are you?”

“I mean… I got sucker punched by an agitated scientist,” Bucky said, a wry twist to his lips. “So yeah, pretty typical Wednesday, all things considered.”

That finally earned a small, genuine smile from Steve, the corner of his mouth twitching, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Bucky grinned around the tissue, feeling a lightness he hadn’t expected.

“You worry too much, Stevie,” he said, the old nickname slipping out naturally.

Steve glanced at him, his eyes soft, a warmth in their depths that made Bucky’s chest ache in a good way. “You get hit too much, Buck.”

“Guilty as charged.” Bucky leaned his head back against the cool, hard mirror, sighing contentedly. The bruise would heal. The tension, too, eventually. But this… this quiet, shared moment with Steve, felt like something that would last.

“You gonna keep playing nurse?” Bucky asked, his voice low, a hint of something more in the question.

Steve shrugged, a small, almost imperceptible movement. “Only if you keep letting me.”

“Then we’ve got a deal, Rogers.” Bucky’s gaze held Steve’s, a silent understanding passing between them. 

~*~

The beach house was finally quiet, a profound, almost deafening silence after the cacophony of the bar. Most of the others had drifted off to their rooms, their voices hushed, the soft thud of doors closing signalling the end of a long, tumultuous night. Bruce sat on the back porch, a borrowed throw blanket draped over his shoulders, a mug of peppermint tea cradled in his hands. The ceramic was warm against his palms, a small, grounding comfort. The waves whispered somewhere beyond the dunes, a constant, rhythmic sigh, and the night air carried the faint, clean scent of salt and sand, washing away the lingering stench of spilled beer.

He hadn’t turned on any lights. Darkness suited him right now. It was soft, forgiving, a cloak to hide the raw edges of his shame. It allowed him to exist without being seen, without having to confront the reflection of the man who had lost control.

The screen door creaked softly behind him, a familiar, almost melodic sound in the stillness. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. He felt her presence before she even stepped fully into the cool, silvery moonlight that spilled onto the porch. It was a subtle shift in the air, a quiet energy that was uniquely hers.

Natasha sat beside him on the porch swing, the old wood groaning a gentle protest under her weight. She tucked her legs up beneath her, a fluid, graceful movement even in the dim light. She was wearing one of his sweatshirts—it dwarfed her frame, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the fabric hanging loosely around her. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, slightly messy braid, her face free of makeup, illuminated only by the cool, ethereal glow from the sky. She looked… soft. Vulnerable. 

“I thought you might be out here,” she said softly, her voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the quiet. It was a statement, not a question, laced with an understanding that always disarmed him. "You know how I feel about being snuck out on."

Bruce managed a tired smile, a faint, almost imperceptible tug at the corners of his lips. “Couldn’t sleep.” The words felt heavy, inadequate.

“Me neither.” Her admission was simple, honest, and it settled between them like another blanket, a shared burden.

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time, the swing creaking gently with their combined weight, a slow, comforting rhythm. The mug grew steadily warmer in his hands, then began to cool. He was grateful she didn’t try to fill the space with more talk, with platitudes or forced reassurances. Just being here—her quiet, steady presence beside him—was enough. More than enough. It was a balm to his frayed nerves, a silent anchor in the storm of his own mind.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice still soft, but with an underlying current of steel. “You were scared earlier. Not of the guy. Of yourself.”

He nodded, a single, jerky movement. The truth of her words resonated deep within him, a painful echo. “Yeah.”

“Because of what might’ve happened?” she pressed, her gaze fixed on the distant, shimmering ocean.

“Because of what was happening,” he corrected quietly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. “I’ve spent so long keeping things in check. Every thought, every emotion, every impulse. I’ve built my entire life around that balance, around maintaining control. And tonight…” He exhaled slowly, the breath leaving his lungs in a shaky rush. “I tipped. I lost it.” The admission was raw, humiliating.

Natasha didn’t try to soothe it away, didn’t offer empty reassurances. She didn’t tell him he was being too hard on himself, or that it wasn’t his fault. That’s what he appreciated about her. She met him where he was, in the messy, uncomfortable truth, without trying to fix or dilute it. She simply listened, her presence a quiet, unwavering force.

“But you pulled back,” she said, her voice a low, steady counterpoint to his self-condemnation. “Before it got worse. Before… before you couldn’t.”

“Only because Steve and Bucky stepped in,” he countered, the bitterness a familiar taste on his tongue. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

She turned her head, her gaze meeting his in the dim light, her eyes dark pools of understanding. “You didn’t lose control, not completely. You got angry. That’s human. What you did… it was a reaction. A bad one, yes. But it wasn’t…” She didn’t finish, but he knew what she meant. 

He looked down into the rippling surface of the peppermint tea, his reflection warped and hazy, a distorted image of his own self-loathing. “I’ve spent so long being afraid of what I am,” he confessed, the words a whisper against the vastness of the night. “Afraid I'll hurt someone I love. I don’t want that for you, Nat.”

She shifted, leaning into his side, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. Her hair, soft and cool, brushed against his cheek. The weight of her presence was comforting, grounding.

“Then don't push me to the edges of the blast zone, Bruce,” she murmured, her voice a soft rumble against his ear. “I know the risks.”

“You shouldn’t have to take them,” he insisted, his voice thick with emotion, with a desperate need to protect her from himself.

“Too late,” she murmured again, a faint, almost imperceptible smile in her voice. “I’m already here.”

He turned slightly, his head brushing against hers, glancing down at her. “Why are you like this?” The question was genuine, laced with a bewildered awe. Why wasn’t she running? Why was she here, in the darkness, with him?

A small smile played on her lips, a hint of her usual mischief. “Because someone has to be.”

The mug grew cold in his hands, the warmth having long since dissipated. He set it down on the porch rail, the ceramic clinking softly against the wood. The air between them was thick with unspoken emotions, with the weight of his confession and her unwavering acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words thick with genuine remorse, with the weight of his secrets. “For not telling you about the meds. For tonight. For… everything.”

“I know,” she said, her voice soft, accepting. She didn’t need him to elaborate. She just knew.

“I mean it,” he insisted, needing her to understand the depth of his regret.

“I know that too,” she replied, her voice a quiet assurance.

She reached for his hand, her fingers sliding between his, warm and firm. He hadn’t realised until then how much tension he still held in his body. How tightly he’d coiled around guilt and fear, a knot of self-condemnation. Her touch loosened something. Not entirely, not all at once, but enough. Enough to breathe.

“Tomorrow,” she said, her voice a gentle promise, “we’ll go to the pharmacy. Figure it out. Get you something. Then we’ll come back here, and we’ll make fun of Tony for his poor attempts to woo Pepper.”

Bruce chuckled quietly, the sound easing something tight in his chest, a genuine, unforced laugh that felt foreign after the night’s events. He kissed the top of her head and settled back into his chair.

~*~

The hallway to the guest rooms was dim, a hushed tunnel echoing with distant laughter and the faint, muffled thrum of music that drifted up from the beach. Bucky’s face still ached, a dull, persistent throb, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the fact that Steve was walking beside him, close enough that their arms brushed now and again, a comforting, electric contact. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The silence between them was easy.

Inside Bucky’s room, it was cool and dark, a welcome sanctuary. He flicked on a lamp, the soft yellow glow catching the edges of the room—the unmade bed, a few scattered, sand-dusted clothes, a half-drunk bottle of water on the nightstand. He turned to find Steve standing just inside the door, hands casually tucked into his pockets, watching him with an intensity that made Bucky’s breath catch.

“Still playing nurse?” Bucky teased, his voice low, a playful challenge.

Steve smiled faintly, a shy, almost hesitant curve of his lips. “Not if you’re tired of me.”

Bucky stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, close enough to see the faint freckle near Steve’s collarbone, just under the edge of his shirt. A blemish on the otherwise perfect specimen before him.

The air between them thickened, charged, expectant. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Steve’s jaw, his knuckles brushing lightly along Steve’s cheek. Steve leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and the air between them shifted—a palpable hum of anticipation. Neither moved for a moment, suspended in the quiet tension. Then Steve closed the distance, his hands sliding to Bucky’s hips, pulling him gently closer, and kissed him.

It started soft. Careful. A familiar brush of lips, a tentative exploration. But it didn’t stay that way. Bucky responded with a low sound in his throat, a hungry murmur, deepening the kiss, pressing Steve back gently until they hit the edge of the bed. Steve’s fingers curled into Bucky’s shirt, anchoring him, pulling him closer, their bodies molding together. When they parted for air, Steve was breathing hard, his chest heaving, eyes wide and dark with desire, his mouth kiss-bitten and swollen.

Bucky rested his forehead against Steve’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet room. “You okay?” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Steve gave a breathless laugh, a soft, disbelieving sound. “Yeah. Just… just feels like everything’s moving fast. Faster than I thought possible.”

Bucky stilled, ready to pull back, to give Steve space if he needed it. But then Steve caught his hand, his fingers lacing tightly with Bucky’s, holding on with a surprising strength. “I don’t want to stop,” Steve said, his voice quieter now, a vulnerable confession. “But I...”

Bucky nodded, his thumb brushing the back of Steve’s hand, a silent reassurance. “Tell me. Anything.”

Steve’s gaze dropped, embarrassed but determined, fixed on their intertwined hands. “I’ve never done this before. With anyone. I’m… I’m a...” Steve trailed off. Blush filling his cheeks.

The room stilled. Bucky felt it like a hand on his chest—not pressure, not a burden, but a profound weight of importance, of trust. This was a confession, a gift of vulnerability, and Bucky knew, instinctively, that he had to handle it with the utmost care.

He cupped Steve’s jaw gently, his thumb stroking the soft skin, tilting his face up until their eyes met. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Steve. Nothing at all.” His voice was soft, sincere, filled with a tenderness that surprised even himself.

“I’m not,” Steve said quickly, his eyes wide, earnest. “Not really. I just… I didn’t want you thinking I knew what I was doing. Or that I didn’t care. Or that… that you had to be the one to teach me.”

Bucky smiled, slow and warm, a genuine, heartfelt expression. “You’re the most careful guy I’ve ever met, Steve. And the most honest. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He leaned in, brushing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Ever. This is about us, and what we both want, at our own pace.”

Steve’s breath caught, a soft gasp. “I want to,” he whispered, his eyes shining with a mixture of desire and relief. “Just... slow. Please.”

Bucky kissed him again, this time soft and lingering, a promise in the press of his lips. He gently guided Steve back, and they sank down to the bed together, the mattress sighing softly under their combined weight. The tension that had coiled between them eased into something warmer, more intimate—a steady, patient current of affection.

“So maybe we just do this for a while,” Bucky murmured, his voice a low rumble against Steve’s ear, as they settled into each other, bodies intertwined, hands exploring with gentle curiosity. “And then if you’re ready for something more, we’ll do something more. Okay?”

Steve stared into his eyes, a profound trust reflected in their depths. He nodded, a silent, fervent agreement, and then kissed Bucky with more passion, more raw, uninhibited desire than Bucky thought he was capable of. And with that kiss, the last throbs of pain in his nose and the unpleasant end to the day were completely forgotten.

Chapter Text

The morning sun crept over the edge of the veranda like it knew it wasn’t invited - a brazen, golden intrusion on the fragile peace of the early hours. Bruce stepped out slowly, coffee mug warm in his hand, the ceramic a small, familiar comfort. Sunglasses were perched low on his nose, a flimsy shield against the burgeoning light and the dull, persistent ache that bloomed behind his eyes; a headache that was as much a physical symptom as it was a manifestation of the guilt lingering in his joints like humidity. The aftermath of a bad night always carried this strange, heavy quiet, a stillness that felt less like peace and more like a held breath.

The others were already gathered around the long outdoor table, a tableau of easy camaraderie that felt, to Bruce, both comforting and utterly alien. Tony was mid-rant about the existential crisis of scrambled eggs, his voice a booming counterpoint to the gentle lapping of the waves. Steve and Bucky sat side by side, close but not overtly so, their shoulders almost touching, a silent current of understanding flowing between them. Steve’s hand was loosely wrapped around a mug, his posture relaxed, while Bucky’s hoodie was pulled up, almost like armour, obscuring part of his face. Natasha sat a little apart, in the slanting shadow of the umbrella, legs crossed, calm as always, a picture of serene detachment.

As Bruce approached, conversation dipped. Just for a second. A fractional pause, a collective intake of breath. Just long enough for him to notice. Just long enough for the silence to feel like a spotlight, highlighting his presence, his past actions. He hesitated, his coffee suddenly tasting like chalk, the warmth in the mug turning to a cold dread.

Then Bucky looked up, his gaze direct, unblinking. One hand was pressed beneath his nose, still slightly red, a stark reminder of Bruce’s uncontrolled fury. He grinned, a wry, almost mischievous twist of his lips.

“Well, good morning, Banner,” he said, his voice a low rumble, wry but not cruel. “Elbow still intact?”

A collective chuckle rolled through the group, a wave of easy laughter that washed over Bruce, breaking the tension. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, a long, shaky exhale of relief. The air felt lighter, the sunlight less oppressive. He pulled out the empty chair beside Natasha and sat down, careful not to slosh his drink, his movements still a little stiff, a little too precise.

“Bucky…” Bruce started, his voice low but steady, the apology forming on his tongue, heavy with sincerity. “I’m so sorry. I..."

The table went a little quieter again, the laughter subsiding, replaced by a watchful silence. Natasha turned her head toward him, just slightly, her eyes unreadable, waiting. She always waited. Always gave him the space to speak his truth.

He continued, his gaze fixed on the mug in front of him, unable to meet their eyes, unable to face the judgment he felt he deserved. “I just... When I saw that guy step towards Natasha. Like he wanted to hurt her.. I just" he let out a deep sigh. "I lost control.” The words were a confession, a painful admission of his own fallibility.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his posture relaxed, almost casual. “You hit the wrong guy,” he said, his voice surprisingly even, devoid of accusation. “But I get it. That guy deserved it.”

Bruce looked up, surprised, his gaze finally meeting Bucky’s. “Still. I lost control. I hurt you.”

Bucky shrugged, a dismissive gesture. “You’re not the only one around here with a temper, Banner. Honestly, I was probably a few seconds away from doing the same. Just… less elegantly.”

Steve, from Bucky’s side, raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “We’ll start handing out gloves if it happens again. Maybe get a referee.”

Tony leaned in, grinning, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s be real—Bucky’s just pissed someone else got to be the hot-headed brooding one for once. It’s his brand, you know.”

Pepper rolled her eyes, a fond exasperation in her expression. “Boys and their testosterone. Honestly, it’s exhausting.”

The table dissolved into laughter, a symphony of easy, unforced mirth. The tension, which had been clinging to Bruce like a shroud, broke, dissipating into the warm, salty air. He let himself smile, small, but real - a genuine curve of his lips that reached his eyes.

Natasha’s fingers brushed against his under the table, a fleeting, almost imperceptible flicker of contact. Just a flicker, but enough to ground him, to remind him that he wasn’t alone. Her thumb rested against his for a heartbeat, a silent reassurance, before she pulled away, back to her coffee, her gaze still calm, still understanding.

Bruce turned to Bucky again, his voice softer now, filled with a gratitude that was almost overwhelming. “Thanks. For not holding it against me. For… understanding.”

Bucky tapped his nose, a theatrical wince. “Still sore. But I’ve had worse. No hard feelings, Banner. We’re good.”

Bruce nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his absolution. The sun was a little higher now, cutting across the table in golden shafts, painting the scene in hues of warmth and light. For the first time that morning, it felt welcome.

~*~

The sand was warm beneath Thor’s feet, a comforting, granular embrace, sun glinting off the ocean as if the world itself were in a good mood, sparkling with a thousand tiny diamonds. The makeshift football was slightly deflated, a bit squishy, but it would do. Thor rotated his shoulder, feeling the satisfying click of muscle and bone, a wide, genuine grin spreading across his face as the group assembled in a loose circle, the mood high and sun-drenched, a palpable sense of carefree joy.

“I say we play tag football,” Tony declared, spinning the ball in his hands with a flourish, his voice carrying easily over the gentle lapping of the waves. “And before anyone says anything—yes, it’s touch. No tackling, no diving, and definitely no semi-pro footballers slamming anyone into the sand. I’m looking at you, Goldilocks.”

“I take offence to that,” Thor replied with a booming laugh, a playful glint in his eye. “My strength is merely… enthusiastic.”

“Your last game of backyard anything ended with a cracked lawn chair and two broken wine glasses, Thor,” Tony said, pointing the ball at him like a scolding finger. “You’re like a freight train with great hair. A very destructive, albeit handsome, freight train.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, then,” Thor said, puffing out his chest good-naturedly, his grin widening. He knew Tony’s teasing was a form of affection, a strange way of showing he cared.

Nearby, Steve rolled up the sleeves of his T-shirt, his biceps flexing subtly, a picture of quiet strength. Bucky lounged beside him, a smirk playing on his lips, basking in the sunlight, occasionally nudging Steve with his elbow. Natasha stretched like she was preparing for hand-to-hand combat, her movements fluid and precise, a predator in repose. Pepper tied her hair up, giving Tony a mock-warning look as he suggested she join his team, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Even Loki, perched on a distant rock, seemed to be observing with a rare, almost benign curiosity.

Bruce sat a little back from the group, beneath the shade of a large umbrella, sipping from a can of lemonade, his posture a little too rigid, a little too still. Thor caught the way his friend’s shoulders remained stiff, his eyes watchful even as he offered a small, polite smile. The lingering tension from last night still clung to him like a shroud.

“Not joining us, Banner?” Maria called out, her voice clear and strong, as she lightly jogged past Bruce, her gaze assessing.

Bruce shook his head, a faint sigh escaping him. “I think I’ve maxed out my adrenaline quota this week. And my apologies quota.” He offered a wry, self-deprecating smile.

Tony grinned, a flash of his usual mischievous charm. “Yeah, Brucie bear's gone full Hulk once already. Don’t tempt fate. We like our beaches intact, thank you very much.”

Thor chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound, then turned to Bruce, his voice gentle. “You’d be most welcome, my friend, for your presence brings much joy. But I understand.”

Bruce gave him a grateful nod, a small, genuine smile finally reaching his eyes. It was a silent acknowledgment, a shared understanding that transcended words.

The teams formed without much order, a chaotic, spontaneous assembly. Steve, Pepper, Maria, and Bucky on one side, a formidable trio of grace and unexpected athleticism. Tony, Natasha, and Jane on the other, a blend of cunning, speed, and brilliant unpredictability. Thor, of course, took Jane’s side immediately, his loyalty unwavering, his presence a towering, golden beacon.

The first pass was chaotic, a beautiful mess of limbs and laughter. Tony fumbled the ball, a theatrical groan escaping him, Natasha, quick as a flash, stole it, her movements a blur of controlled power. Thor - barely holding back his true might, his immense power  - bounded down the sand, arms wide, a joyous, thunderous charge.

“Jane!” Natasha shouted, her voice clear and strong, as she hurled the ball through the air.

Jane caught it with both hands, her eyes wide with surprise and delight, and took off down the beach in a surprisingly nimble run, her usually academic focus replaced by pure, unadulterated exhilaration. Steve, ever the protector, started toward her, a playful chase in his eyes.

Thor stepped forward, raised a hand in mock-command, his voice booming with theatrical gravitas. “Touch not the astrophysicist! She is under my protection!”

Steve skidded to a halt, laughing, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the air. “You threatening me, big guy? I thought we were friends!”

“I’m asking politely, my friend,” Thor replied, then added with a wink, a flash of his inherent godlike arrogance, “But I’m also terrifying."

Jane sprinted the rest of the way across their makeshift goal line and turned with an exaggerated flourish, her chest heaving, her face flushed with triumph. “Touchdown! And no thanks to my overly dramatic boyfriend!”

Thor jogged over, his long strides devouring the sand, placing both hands on her shoulders like she’d just won a championship, his pride radiating from him. “Magnificent! Swift as the wind!”

“You sound surprised,” she said, breathless but grinning, playfully swatting his arm.

“Not surprised,” he said, his gaze soft, filled with adoration. “Just impressed. You didn’t even need my protection.”

“Oh, I still need it,” she said dryly, her eyes twinkling, “just not for flag football. Maybe for dealing with Tony’s ego.”

Soon the game devolved into barely organised chaos. Bucky and Steve tossing the ball back and forth with effortless ease, a silent, synchronized dance. Tony shouting plays that no one followed, his strategic genius apparently not extending to beach sports. And Natasha, ever the sneaky one, expertly tagging everyone who wasn’t looking, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Eventually, the relentless heat of the Cancun sun won out. Shirts were flung onto towels, discarded like fallen banners, and a few of them made a sprint toward the inviting, turquoise water. Thor led the charge, a joyous, uninhibited roar tearing from his throat as he barrelled into the sea with a magnificent splash, kicking up waves as he went, a true son of the ocean.

“Last one in owes the first round of drinks!” Tony shouted, his voice echoing across the beach, before diving headfirst into a wave, a surprisingly graceful plunge.

Soon, all but Bruce and Loki were in the ocean—splashing, laughing, soaking wet and breathless with fun, their worries momentarily washed away by the cool, salty embrace of the sea. Steve dunked Bucky, who retaliated with a handful of seaweed, a playful skirmish erupting between them. Tony tried to lift Pepper, a feat of strength that ended with him slipping, and taking them both down in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Thor floated on his back for a moment, the sun warm on his face, the gentle rocking of the waves a soothing lullaby. Jane’s laughter, bright and clear, was somewhere close by, a melody to his ears. It was rare to have this kind of stillness, this profound sense of peace. Rarer still to share it with people who mattered, people who had become his chosen family, his anchors.

He turned his head, watching Bruce perched beneath a sun umbrella, arms crossed, a ghost of a smile on his face, a silent observer. Thor raised his arm, a grand, sweeping gesture, and waved him down, inviting him to join their aquatic revelry.

Bruce shook his head, a gentle, almost imperceptible movement, and mouthed, “I’m good.” His smile, though faint, was genuine, a sign of his contentment.

“Your loss, my friend!” Thor bellowed, only half-serious, his voice carrying across the water.

Thor let the sea carry them for a moment longer, his chest full and light, the echo of laughter dancing across the waves, a symphony of happiness that resonated deep within his soul. 

~*~

There was something timeless about a fire on the beach. The flames licked at the dusk like they were daring the sun to stick around, their orange and gold hues flickering over the faces gathered around it, casting shadows that danced with the gentle breeze. The smell of sea salt mixed with the sweet, earthy scent of smoke, and Tony Stark - playboy, technophile, and chief architect of this little getaway - was more relaxed than he’d been in months. It was a deep, bone-weary relaxation that settled into his very core, a stark contrast to the usual hum of anxiety and ambition that typically fueled him.

He slouched in a low-slung deck chair, the kind that threatened to swallow you whole, a plastic cup of something fruity and unreasonably pink in hand. His legs were stretched toward the fire, almost daring the heat, like he had nothing in the world to prove, no empire to build, no demons to outrun. Just the simple, profound pleasure of being present.

Most of the group was there, scattered in a loose, lazy circle around the crackling fire. Steve and Bucky sat together on a weathered log, their knees touching more often than not, a silent, comfortable intimacy radiating from them. Natasha was curled against Bruce on a blanket, his arm slung comfortably over her shoulders, a picture of quiet contentment. Thor sprawled in the sand beside Jane, both of them still damp from the ocean, their laughter easy and unguarded, their hands occasionally finding each other in the shifting sands. Even Loki and Darcy, perched a little further back, seemed to have shed some of his usual sardonic detachment, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips as he watched the flickering flames.

Tony’s gaze, as it often did, drifted across the fire to Pepper. She sat cross-legged with one of his hoodies draped over her swimsuit, the oversized fabric dwarfing her, sleeves pushed up, her hair drying in salty waves that framed her face. The firelight played across her features, highlighting the sharp intelligence in her eyes, the gentle curve of her cheek, the smirk that tugged at her lips when she caught him watching, as she always did.

“You keep staring like that and I’m going to start charging you rent,” she said, her voice a low, amused murmur, without looking away from the flames.

Tony smirked, a familiar, easy banter settling between them. “Only fair. I’ve been living in your head rent-free since Valentine's Day. Prime real estate, by the way.”

Pepper snorted, a soft, unladylike sound. “That is wildly optimistic, Stark. More like a condemned building with a persistent squatting problem.”

“Delusion is free, Potts,” he replied, raising his cup in mock salute, the pink liquid sloshing gently. “I’m practically a philanthropist, spreading joy and self-aggrandizement wherever I go.”

On the other side of the fire, Bucky lifted his drink, a mischievous glint in his eye. “To Tony, giver of delusions. And occasionally, very expensive gifts.”

Steve grinned, a genuine, open smile that lit up his face. “And beach houses.”

“I see where your loyalty lies, Rogers,” Tony said, feigning offense. “If I ever run for office, I’m putting you all on my campaign posters. ‘Vote Stark: He Provides the Booze and the Beachfront Property.’”

“You’d be a terrible politician,” Jane said from her spot in the sand, her voice clear and direct.

“I’d be amazing,” Tony countered, puffing out his chest playfully. “Charismatic. Suave. Devastatingly handsome. The people would flock to me.”

“Questionable morals,” Bruce added dryly from beside Natasha, his voice a quiet counterpoint to Tony’s bluster.

“Let’s not pretend that isn’t half the job description.” Tony shot back, grinning, the easy give-and-take a familiar comfort. “I’d just be more honest about it.”

Tony took another slow sip of his ridiculously pink drink, letting the warm hum of the evening settle into his chest. For a guy who used to prefer parties with open bars, this was… different. Good different. It was the kind of peace he rarely found, a quiet contentment that seeped into his bones.

He glanced at Pepper again. She was leaning back on her hands now, watching the fire, the flames dancing in her eyes. The hoodie sleeves bunched around her elbows, and her eyes were soft in a way that made his breath catch, just a little. A vulnerability he rarely saw, a quiet beauty that stole his breath.

“What?” he asked quietly, his voice softer than he intended, drawn to the quiet intensity of her gaze.

She tilted her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “You look… happy.”

Tony blinked, surprised by the directness of her observation, by the unexpected warmth it brought. “Weird, right? For me, I mean.”

“Not that weird,” she said, her voice gentle, reassuring. “It suits you.”

A beat passed, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the distant, rhythmic sigh of the waves rolling in and out like a lullaby. A stray marshmallow tossed in without a stick, just to watch it ignite, blackened and shriveled in the flames.

Tony looked around at his friends, slightly dozy, happy, and content with life.

For once, no one was solving a problem. No one was preparing for finals or negotiating relationship tension. They were just people. Friends. A collection of sunburnt, slightly tipsy twenty-somethings on a beach at sunset, surrounded by flickering light and good company. It was simple. It was perfect.

Tony leaned back deeper into his chair and let out a long, contented breath. 

By the time the fire had burned low, collapsing into a bed of glowing coals, casting a warm, pulsing light that barely reached beyond their immediate circle. Most of the group had wandered off, trailing yawns and half-empty drinks, drifting into the soft dark of the beach house or down the shoreline in search of stars. Only the hush of the waves and the occasional soft pop of wood breaking in the embers broke the silence.

Tony stayed where he was - still in that worn-out deck chair, the one that tilted ever so slightly to the left if you shifted your weight the wrong way. He liked it. Gave him something to work with, a small, familiar imperfection in an otherwise perfect moment.

Pepper was still there too. She sat on the sand now, legs stretched out, arms braced behind her, her profile illuminated by the dying firelight—gold along the edge of her jaw, her cheekbone, the delicate curve of her nose. She looked thoughtful. Not distant, exactly. Just... somewhere else for a moment, lost in her own thoughts, her own quiet contemplation.

Tony didn’t speak. Didn’t want to break it. For a guy who usually filled silence like it was his job, who abhorred empty spaces, this quiet didn’t feel awkward. It felt earned. It felt comfortable. It felt right.

Eventually, Pepper turned her head, her eyes finding his in the dim light. She caught him watching again. She didn’t smirk this time. Her expression was soft, contemplative, a hint of vulnerability in her gaze.

“Do you ever stop thinking?” she asked, her voice a low, almost husky murmur.

Tony blinked. “I’ll have you know I’ve had exactly zero thoughts for the last ten minutes. My brain is currently on vacation, thank you very much.”

“Oh really?” she said, amused, a small smile playing on her lips. “What were you doing instead, then, if not thinking?”

“Enjoying the view,” he replied, his gaze sweeping over the beach, the ocean, and finally, settling back on her. His voice was laced with sincerity, a rare commodity for him.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft, genuine. “You’re such a flirt, Tony Stark.”

“And yet you’re still here, Pepper Potts,” he countered, a challenge in his voice, but also a profound question.

Pepper hummed, a soft, thoughtful sound. “Yeah. I am.”

A gentle breeze rolled through, cool and soft, brushing a stray strand of hair across her cheek. Without thinking, without a conscious decision, Tony leaned forward, his fingers light, and tucked it gently behind her ear. His touch lingered for a fraction of a second, a silent caress.

Pepper stilled, her eyes on his, and for a second the fire wasn’t the only thing warm in the circle. The air crackled with an unspoken energy, a palpable tension that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.

Tony pulled back slowly, his gaze locked on hers, watching her, searching for a reaction. “Sorry,” he murmured, the word feeling inadequate, clumsy.

“Don’t be,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. Then added, almost too quiet to catch, a confession whispered to the dying embers, “I don’t mind.”

That hum came back in his chest again, that strange, quiet thing he didn’t know how to name. It wasn’t the thrill of a new invention, or the rush of a successful deal. It was something deeper, more profound. He was used to chasing people, charming them, lighting everything up with quick wit and bravado. But with Pepper, it wasn’t about the chase. It wasn’t about impressing her. It wasn’t about the performance.

It was about… this. Just being here. With her. In the quiet.

“Pepper,” he said, his voice softer than usual, stripped of its usual bravado, raw with a vulnerability he rarely showed. “I know I talk a lot. Probably too much. It’s a defense mechanism, mostly. But I just want you to know... this trip? I didn’t ask you to come because I thought it would be fun to flirt with you for five days on a beach. Though, admittedly, that was a pleasant side effect.” He paused, taking a breath. “I asked you because… I like who I am when you’re around. You make me… better.”

For once, she didn’t deflect. Didn’t tease. She just watched him, her expression unreadable and calm in that way that made him feel both exposed and steady all at once. Her eyes, deep and knowing, seemed to see right through his carefully constructed facades, straight to the messy, vulnerable core of him.

And then she leaned in, just a little. It wasn’t much. Just a slow tilt forward, barely more than a breath between them. Her lips brushed his - light, warm, and so brief it might have been imagined if he hadn’t felt the lingering electricity in its wake, a spark that ignited something deep within him.

Pepper pulled back first, her eyes still on his, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips.

Tony blinked, his heart thudding somewhere higher in his chest than he remembered it living, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. He was stunned into silence, his mind a sudden, beautiful blank.

“Night, Tony,” she said quietly, her voice a soft caress, as she stood and brushed the sand from her jeans, her movements graceful and unhurried.

He looked up at her, still speechless. She gave him a small, unreadable smile, a hint of mischief in her eyes, and turned, walking toward the beach house, her silhouette framed by the dying firelight, her hair catching the last golden embers as she went.

Tony sat there long after the door closed behind her, the silence stretching, filled only by the distant murmur of the ocean. He exhaled, a long, slow breath, a release of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Well,” he murmured to the glowing coals, his voice a little hoarse, a little disbelieving. “That happened.”