Chapter Text
‘On your right, Natasha.’
The Black Widow dodges a shot on the field, swinging her weapon into her enemy out of self defense.
She did sense this goon coming but clutches her com to give Banner the credit;
“Thanks. Any update on those readings? How long until the city explodes?”
Barton complains when he's fired at, a few feet from Romanoff as he moves to evade an attack.
He snarls;
“Hey Banner? I just want to thank you for always having my back! I was almost shot!”
Bruce mumbles guiltily over their coms, ‘Sorry Clint, I wasn’t watching-.’
Tony interjects has he flies over the fields to fire toward Clint's enemies;
“We all know what you were watching. Be less obvious about this buddy.”
Steve's voice comes in cold, ‘I could use Thor's lightning right about now.’
The demigod lands in the middle of the field and sends out his blast to silence any remaining enemies.
Barton eyes one of the outposts, “I can take our last one.”
Banner's voice comes in from their headquarters as he swipes one of the eight screens in front of him;
‘I'm about to disable it.’
Natasha turns her head, back against a tree as she narrows her focus toward Barton;
“I told you having a techy would help on this mission.”
Tony interjects, “I could've done it too, but you didn't ask me, did you, Red?”
Bruce calls in, ‘Look out Cap, I'm about to have those two posts target each other and you're in the middle. Tell me when you’re clear.’
Rogers rolls forward toward the archer and the redhead, defending his section with the raising of his shield;
“Now!”
The group turn away as their outposts explode, finishing the job out on the field upstate New York.
Natasha grimaces for a moment over her now bare and bloodied shoulder.
Thor lands, “Yes!”
Stark lands soon after, “Not a bad finish. Thanks Doc.”
Bruce scoffs, ‘Does that mean we don't need the hulk anymore?’
Steve shakes his head as he catches his breath. Natasha smirks with a focus downward.
Barton answers abruptly, “Fuck no! Having the big green would've ended this four hours ago.”
Natasha rolls her eyes and intervenes, “I'm sure we can discuss a 50/50.”
‘Hey. Anything to save a little money on clothes,’ Bruce retorts virtually.
Stark calls back and walks beside the rest of the crew, “Hey! Let’s talk about that sometime. I’ve got some stretchy ideas. Anyone up for a drink?”
Thor nods excitedly, “I am in need of such a thing!”
Barton tosses his arrow over his shoulder, following behind Romanoff. He points;
“Your uniform got cut. That looks nasty, you good?”
She shrugs, “Nothing he can't fix.”
“Woah woah, Nat. There’s blood down your back.”
“I’ve got it, Clint. I’m fine.”
“Nat-.”
“Leave her alone, Barton,’ Tony hits the button for the ship’s hatch, ‘She’s the stand in Director today. What she says goes and we have no say on the matter.”
Bruce waits onboard the craft by the entrance, greeting his teammates as they return.
Natasha hides when she makes contact with the doctor. In true substitute Director fashion, she waited for her teammates to enter first.
Her uniform is torn at the shoulder, dirt over her face.
Bruce raises his eyebrows, glasses lowering further down his nose when she comes onboard;
“It didn’t look this bad on camera.”
Natasha rotates to show off her gash, removing her gloves with her teeth;
“Do you have an opening for a quick patch job?”
He tilts his head towards the back of the jet, an invitation for her to follow.
Natasha can't grip that sink hard enough, white knuckled as she feels him digging into her open wounds.
Bruce is zeroed in and focused, extracting debris from her gashes. The amount of blood loss has him concerned and she knows it.
He hesitates to ask, eyeing a larger piece of shrapnel;
“I’ve got a question…”
She swears under her breath, “God, what now.”
He leans forward to search for her eyes she’s refusing to offer, “How much pain can you handle?”
Natasha grits her teeth and snaps coldly, preparing for the worst, “The hell doc- just do it and do it quick.”
Bruce moves the cloth gently over her bleeding injury;
“I'm gonna ask again; there’s no shot of getting you into medical?”
“If I'm gonna react to pain, it'll be in front of someone who won't judge me with a closed door-.”
“How many vodka shots did you chug last Sunday during game night?”
“Uh,’ she stutters over her thoughts, suddenly aware of why he’s trying to distract her when she feels him digging into her skin, ‘Shit!”
Romanoff shuts her eyes abruptly, breathing through her teeth.
She's about ready to scream again when that irritating friction on her back suddenly stops.
“You're all good Miss Romanoff.”
Natasha breathes, an aggressive stinging pain subsiding as time progresses and post some injection at the site.
She runs a hand through her hair, brushing the water under her eyes. They’re not tears as much as they are a response to her clenching every muscle.
“No sutures?”
Bruce lifts a hand to her shoulder blade and adds pressure with his towel. He mumbles above a whisper;
“I glued you up but I’m happy to keep stabbing you if that’s what you’d prefer? Your twitching tells me otherwise.”
She takes his offered towel, “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You had a four inch piece of metal in your back. Let’s talk about that.”
She looks up into the mirror above the sink, a hand upright and against the wall when she looks up into his reflection;
“We should talk about why your eyes were on me during that assignment instead of the weaponry, Dr. Banner.”
He moves closer with his bandage extended and a nervous blush over his cheeks.
He lectures, gently pushing her fingers from her shoulder blade, “Move your hand, the towel is in my way.”
Natasha raises an eyebrow with a smirk and gives into his request, “You can be a little gentler, Vrach .”
His head raises with his eyes focused on her injury, “I thought you didn't like ‘gentle’?”
Her eyes roll, turning to pin her back against the sink once she’s wrapped in her bandage.
“For the sake of your other patients, be more gentle.”
“How far did you get with that book I loaned you?”
She laughs, remembering their last dare. She owes him a reading on Einstein-Rosen Bridge.
Natasha and drops the towel over the sink, “Fury's been keeping me busy but uh, I’m about halfway through.”
“Do I need to get a loan extension from the library?”
Natasha addresses the sink, rubbing her hands under the water to tap her cheeks, “Are you joining the team for dinner tonight? It’s my turn to cook.”
“Then no,” he deadpans.
She lifts her good shoulder, “Thor thinks I make a fantastic Stroganoff.”
“What high praise,” he returns to sort his makeshift medical bag and gives her a playful smirk.
For the past year, she's been checking in. They’re friends on and off the field though the inevitable prodding from teammates over being locked in the bathroom with each other for the past half hour leaves the duo with a bit of dread.
Natasha moves to open the door of the small bathroom, “Can you handle the gossip this time?”
He glares, “If you’d stop dragging me into small, intimate spaces for your injuries and we wouldn’t have gossip to address.”
Natasha glares, “Next time, I’ll book the conference room where I can lay over the table for you.”
“I-!”
She catches him off guard, content to watch him squirm and drop his glasses.
Natasha rolls her tongue over her teeth with a playful thought, ready to continue in her poking.
She steps out instead and tugs the door closed on her way out.
Natasha flicks the lock in the middle, satisfied with herself.
He kicks the bottom of it, locked inside;
“You have got to be kidding me...ROMANOFF!”
Natasha offers a closed mouthed smile at Fury's desk in the conference room, laughing to herself when Banner arrives late.
She bites her lip and lowers her head over his stare down.
The Captain folds his hands in all seriousness, “You're late.”
“Someone locked me in the bathroom. What'd I miss?” Bruce refuses to acknowledge the redhead.
Tony shares the file as the physicist settles, “Absolutely nothing at all. We're just closing the case and shipping this mission briefing off to Fury. Drop your ink there.”
He gives the liability paper a glance, extending it an arm’s length away before accepting Tony’s pen. He adds his initials under the rest of the team, accepting responsibility for his own loss of articles and possessions.
Holding S.H.I.E.L.D free of blame typically feels like a joke to the physicist who is constantly losing shirts and decent clothes to mandatory hulk transformations.
Today, it doesn’t matter.
Tony stands, “Let's get home.”
Rogers raises a hand to calm the abrupt call made by Stark. He looks in Romanoff's direction for guidance.
Natasha takes the document from Bruce and stacks her papers, “Clock out, boys.”
Steve complies and the rest of the team outside of Bruce and Natasha stand when he does.
She comes to her feet next, waiting until the rest of the group have filed out to cross her arms and stand beside his chair;
“I could use some time in the dance studio to blow off some steam”
“First problem; You’re injured.”
“So?”
He grinds his teeth. There’s slight curve in the corner of his mouth no matter how hard he tries to be serious;
“You make me tear shrapnel from your back, lock me in the bathroom, hide the key, and then ask me if I can play piano for you…?”
“What’s the problem?”
“The problem is it’s not even five o'clock yet and I’m tired.”
“Relax, Doc. Do something that recharges you.”
“I’d love to! But stopping somewhere to grab a joint in my work jacket sounds dangerous.”
She’d pick on his choice of recreation if the security cameras weren’t on. Better to ignore for now and delete the footage later…provided he’s not just being sarcastic…
…She can’t decide on his mood.
“It was also my call to give the Hulk a rest when the team wanted him out there. You owe me a little more than a medical visit,’ Natasha's voice softens almost sympathetically with a head tilt, watching him shake his head, ‘Are you actually anxious or are you just trying to poke me back.”
“You're the spy, you tell me.”
She tucks her chin over Tony’s arrival back into the room, leaving the stack of papers on the desk in search of an envelope.
He raises his volume and swings the door open with a clash against the wall. “Well? What's taking so long?!”
Natasha rolls her eyes.
Banner answers for the twosome, “We’re coming.”
Tony drums the wall, “I don’t like this dynamic, Red. You’re delaying our late night drinks and science.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow, “There are no drinks.”
“One day, I’m going to convince you to have one.”
“No, thank you.”
“Come on, bro-!”
Bruce sits back in his chair when Tony crouches closer, “Alright, back up.”
Natasha waves her newfound envelope, giving Tony a bit of sass as she circles the room;
“He said ‘no’. ‘No’ means ‘no’.”
Stark crosses his arms, “Since when are you his keeper?!”
She leans over the desk, weight in her palms, “Respecting personal space is such a foreign concept for you.”
“Really? This from Miss Meddler! Were you respecting personal space in that bathroom earlier?!”
Banner tilts his head over the papers left on the table to get a better view. He reaches to pull the stack closer and digs through to the bottom page.
He’s far too focused on a small name on the side of the pictured weaponry to listen to the banter behind him.
He analyzes the diagram underneath it next, mumbling to break up the twosome behind him, “Hey Tony? Does anything look familiar about the guts here?”
Stark leans forward, irritated over being stopped from his antagonizing Natasha.
His expression changes dramatically upon snatching up the paper;
“Eerily…”
Natasha steps forward curiously, “What is it?”
“It’s my own creation,” Tony retorts numbly.
Natasha snatches the paper to see it for herself.
Bruce lifts a hand to his face, “Who were these ideas sold to? Who is using your equipment to make radioactive bombs?”
The engineer breathes while he thinks it over, scratching his facial hair, “Pepper would know the SKUs and part numbers.”
“This feels slimy, Tony.”
“Like an under the table deal that's made from a part buyer…?”
“Or you have a mole.”
“We don’t have a mole. I’ve screened every employee personally-err!- Pepper has.”
“Do you screen buyers?”
“We try to! I didn’t know we sold those parts anymore. Whoever the creator is, he’s going through hoops to get my merch. I should raise my prices. And it’s not even autographed!”
Natasha leaves the image on the table and holds her focus to analyze every twitch and movement the engineer makes, searching for a lie or some kind of coverup.
Bruce holds his head with a nervous smirk, “Sorry, but, in my opinion, even putting aside my personal distrust of anything government? This has army fingerprints all over it.”
Natasha bites her cheek, “Give me two days and I'll get you a name for your mystery buyer.”
Tony nods and moves to stand straighter with his brow furrowed thoughtfully.
He nudges his friend on the way back to the door, “You couldn't just close the file.”
Bruce shrugs innocently, “If your product is getting used for something horrible, don't you want to know?”
Stark pouts with a heavy sigh and swings his arms, “Obviously!”
Natasha crosses her arms and waits, half prepared to arrest her teammate.
Tony lifts his hands, “I’ll look into it! Can we go home now?”
The noise is coming from the living room, when Thor decides to wrestle Clint for the television remote.
Barton stands and shakes Natasha who is trying to lounge on said sofa. She rolls her eyes and squirms away before Tony can join the pile up, arguing over who owns the living room.
“I do!” Pepper yells, frowning with a hand on her hip and a coffee pot in her other hand. “Tony! Don’t stand on the furniture!”
Natasha leaps up at the chance of escape and heads to the kitchen island to grab a handful of almonds left out in a bowl.
Bruce looks up from his book, sitting up on a barstool next to Steve.
He stammers when Natasha shamelessly rests an elbow on his shoulder, trying to redirect Steve’s focus;
“What are you sketching over there?”
Natasha curiously looks over at Steve's art as he holds it up to share.
She crosses her knee while she sits beside in between them, adjusting the bottom of her sweatshirt;
“Is that Asgard?”
Rogers turns to look at his own sketch, “It's an interesting endeavor, drawing a place I've never seen.”
“That we’ll never see.”
Steve scoffs, “Yeah. That’s true.”
She addresses Banner with the poke of her elbow, “What are you reading?”
He holds a nervous grin, afraid to look her in the eye, “It’s for work. Nothing fun-.”
Clint shouts from the sofa over the visual on their screen;
“Nat! Your movie is on!”
She leans back on her bar stool, swinging to rest her back against the island, “I can see that.”
Bruce checks over his shoulder toward the opening scene for Breakfast at Tiffany’s. His eyes shift to Natasha, watching her reaction to a lonely Holly Golightly step out of a taxi and circle Tiffany’s.
Romanoff’s guard falls as she watches. She relates to long nights and stumbling upon something that makes her happy the morning after. Something to fill a hole in her soul.
“Where’s your ‘Tiffany’s’?” Bruce asks quietly.
The spy drops her jaw, tongue rolling over the inside of her cheek.
Pepper looks over her shoulder;
“Wait! You like 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'?”
“I can appreciate talent like Audrey Hepburn’s,” Natasha nods, regretting her acknowledgment when Pepper makes her way over toward the island.
Banner offers a knowing smirk when they make eye contact. He shakes his head when he senses Natasha's tension over an impending conversation. He closes his book and moves to stand.
“You’re leaving?” she asks, almost sadly.
He checks his watch, “I’ve got some work to do before bed.”
“I see.”
He nods toward the screen in the room over, “‘Night, Natasha.”
Natasha stands to head for the nearby bar to mix herself a drink, hiding her smirk. She secretly loves the way he says her name.
“Goodnight, Bruce.”
Tony waves obnoxiously from the floor, “Are you going to the lab? I'll come! I have something to show you. Clothing concepts post battle so you’re not walking around in your birthday suit- hey, you can give me a fashion show.”
Romanoff raises an eyebrow as she stirs her drink and Pepper takes Banner's place.
The CEO swings her legs over the barstool with a sly smirk;
“Do you two have a label yet?”
Natasha sighs, leaning her elbows up on the island bar;
“Do you have a ring from Tony yet?”
Pepper coughs and refocuses on her coffee, “I will, mind my own business.”
The redhead reaches into the small pocket of her leggings to reveal a crumpled paper;
“I have a question for you.”
Pepper takes it while the redhead turns to face her.
Natasha takes another sip her drink, “I need to know who the buyer was for order number 2181701D.”
She squints, “If I remember correctly, the D models were bound for nowhere, New Mexico. Why?”
She runs a hair through her red hair thoughtfully, hesitant to answer Pepper while she makes the connections;
“Have they placed an order since?”
“It's a steady check. But I think it's safe to assume you're not actually interested in the sales.”
Natasha offers a sideways glance and refocuses on the screen.
Her thoughts shift to the Air General with a tightening jaw;
“Just the buyer.”
“I don’t like your tone. Should I be concerned?”
“I’ll let you know in 24 hours.”