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Chapter Text

She wasn’t used to being afraid.

The Red Room beat that response out of her before her first mission. Her instructors had no tolerance for weakness, and fear was weakness of the worst sort. What little they missed was weeded out by over half a century of espionage. She had faced firing squads, dictators, and murderers. She had been tortured, beaten, burned and frozen, and never felt more than temporary pain and anger at being inconvenienced. Fear, the kind that locked muscles or turned them to jelly, the kind that left others twisted up in sweaty sheets had no place in her.

Or so she thought.

Natasha did her homework long before Coulson’s phone call. Before her sojourn as Natalie Rushman she was chosen to bring Bruce Banner in. She’d read the security briefs and psychological evaluations; the latter leading her to write her own report stating exactly why using someone with such a long list of documented mental health issues would be disastrous for SHIELD. She watched the footage; trying to get a bead on the man SHIELD classified an Alpha One Priority threat. After two weeks she was confident she could deal with Banner. He was generally mild-mannered to the point of pain. Severe childhood trauma notwithstanding the only thing that got him excited before the accident other than Elizabeth Ross was his research. Her plan, in the end, was simple.

Just talk to him.

The Bruce Banner she met wasn’t the man from the briefs. The milquetoast was gone, replaced by a man with soft edges sharp enough to cut. She didn’t like the constant wringing of his hands or the careful distance he kept between them. Halfway through that first meeting she realized something that made her approach the small table that concealed her gun. He wasn’t afraid of her, or the team he was sure waited outside to put him in a cage. He was more… amused. It was that realization, that he didn’t view her, her team, or SHIELD as a threat that made an emotion she thought long since purged spark strange and stunted in her chest.

The trip to SHIELD mobile headquarters was quiet. Banner ignored her for the most part, focused on the file she gave him outlining Selvig’s work with the tesseract and what they knew of Thor and Loki. She spent her time studying him: integrating new data so as to better control her asset.

“I don’t plan on jumping out the window, Agent Romanov.”

“Excuse me?” She looked up from the brief she was pretending to read.

“You’ve been watching me for over an hour.” He set his pad in his lap and peered at her through thick glasses.

She gave him her best self-deprecating smile. “And here I thought I was being subtle.”

“I’m not the one who noticed.”

Her smile tried to stiffen. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Dr. Banner.” She thought about the button beneath her seat, the one that would flood the cargo bay with enough anesthetic to put down a bull elephant in two seconds.

Finally, he smiled in return. “It happens.”

_____________________________________________________________

The Hulk was nothing like she expected.

Watching Bruce change into his ‘other’ made that small flutter of unease that teased her in India blossom into full fledged panic. He was afraid, she could smell it pour off of him before the sharp scent was buried under rage, afraid, no doubt confused and in pain from the initial explosion and the fall. He fought it, tried to keep the Hulk locked away, but she knew it was futile and that knowledge threatened to steal what strength she was able to muster. The fragment of herself that managed to take in details even when under extreme duress catalogued the way he fought the change, taking snapshots for later dissection. The transformation itself was as captivating as it was terrifying, watching his muscles expand without ripping as green flushed over his skin.

‘Get away,’ had been the predominant thought of the rest of her.

By the time she was able to free herself the transformation was complete and she was faced with a situation she prepared for but never imagined actually entering. The Hulk only appeared to go after those who were actively fighting him so she had banked on being able to sneak away before he could notice her. Their intelligence pointed to a window of about ten seconds in which the Hulk seemed confused and disoriented. Without a ready enemy to fuel his rage it was possible he might slip back into Bruce Banner as they saw in Alberta. When he turned to her, in the instant their eyes met she knew she was going to die.

Later, after an alien invasion, victory, and shwarma she was in the New York office dictating her report on a borrowed computer and nursing three fractured ribs, a sprained wrist, strained shoulder, two broken fingers, six broken toes, and far too many bruises. She used the code developed decades ago in the bare barracks of the Red Room; a mix of languages and nonsensical sounds that only two other people still living knew. When she was able to return to quarters and the safety of her personal computer she would translate it back into English and hand it off to whoever was replacing Phil.

The incident on the Helicarrier can be directly attributed to mental manipulation from the Asgardian Loki compounded by the explosion which served to injure Dr. Banner. The subject has a predisposition to respond to any attack whether direct or peripheral with extreme force, as characterized by the preexisting diagnosis of intermittent explosive disorder. As Agent Romanov was the SHIELD agent with which Banner had the most contact, as well as being the agent tasked with bringing him in, it is no surprise that during the incident the Hulk focused his aggression on her. It is the recommendation of the Agent that-

“Agent Romanov?”

She stopped speaking. Bruce was standing at the door, hands washing each other restlessly. Tony was the infirmary with minor decompression injuries. Clint was back in the holding cell under observation of his own choosing, not knowing what potential time-bombs Loki might have implanted with everything else. Steve was being poked and prodded to make sure his wounds were healing as close to properly as the doctors could manage, considering. Even Thor had his share of cuts and bruises from the battle. Bruce looked like he just walked out of a lab if you ignored the extreme tiredness bruising his eyes.

“Dr. Banner.” She closed the laptop. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” the word was a sigh. He took a tentative step forwards. “We’re both sorry.”

“We?”

He glanced at the floor. “Yeah. Me and… and Hulk.” His mouth twisted at the name but he met her eyes levelly. “About what happened on the carrier.” About hunting you, running you down, and nearly crushing you to death, the words were loud, even unspoken.

“You’re not the first ally that’s tried to kill me, Dr. Banner.” She made the words as even and non-judgmental as she could. “You’re not even the one that tried the hardest. But thank you. Apology accepted.”

Banner nodded at her words, gave her another short glance, and wandered off. Natasha spread her trembling hands on the desk, felt them slip in a thin film of sweat. Bruce Banner wasn’t the first friendly who’d tried to kill her over the years, but he’d certainly come the closest.

Chapter Text

Officially she and Clint weren’t members of the Avengers Initiative. She was too valuable as a covert operative to be thrust into constant battle scenarios with super humans, though technical was still giving her grief over how many images they had to scrub to remove her features. Clint was fighting to piece himself back together after Loki, a task that was every bit as difficult as it sounded. His progress would hit walls, what ground he gained he could lose in the course of an afternoon, and it was maddening to both of them. That didn’t mean they didn’t find themselves working alongside Norse gods and Tony Stark more often than not, it just meant that officially, as far as SHIELD was concerned, they were not active members of the Avengers Initiative.

Them, at least, she could deal with.

The first time Hulk barreled onto the scene after Banner was left to deal with the science portion of their mission she nearly got herself killed. The roar he let loose as he landed drew her attention away from her target and her shot went wide. The HYDRA agent kept coming at her, but she was too busy staring at the Hulk tearing into their front line to notice. It wasn’t until two hundred pounds of goon went barreling into her that she remembered what the hell she was supposed to be doing.

She managed to get her knees between them, about to flip the man over her head when something black crashed into him and sent him flying away from her. She looked to the side and found Hulk staring at her. When she stood he huffed and went back to ripping into the bunker that housed HYDRA’s newest doomsday weapon. She heard a groan and turned back around. The thing that knocked her attacker away from her was another black-clad HYDRA agent, both of them tangled in a ball of broken limbs.

“Who’d have thought it,” Clint’s voice came over the coms. “Human t-ball.”

Natasha buried one of her throwing knives in a HYDRA agent’s back in response.

When the fight was over Hulk lingered, growling at the men being led away for questioning while Stark pulled motherboards out of the disintegration ray (“Really? Isn’t that like a little too sixties pulp fiction?” he asked). She walked up to her teammate (careful, always careful) and folded her arms.

“Thank you, Hulk.”

He looked towards Tony, feet shifting, hands clenching and unclenching. He half turned to her and huffed.

Later, she couldn’t say what drove her to do it. She smiled at his response, and rested a hand on his forearm. The skin there was rough and hairless, hot beneath her fingers. He turned, large eyes going from her face to her hand and back again, confusion clear.

“I mean it,” she said, removing her hand. “Thank you.”

She backed away when the confusion didn’t fade, wondering if he understood her meaning. There can’t have been many people who thanked either Bruce or the Hulk for anything. Hulk looked down, toes digging into the dirt before he crouched low. It was the only warning she had before he leapt.

Natasha watched as he shrunk in the distance. Stark responded before she could report to Fury.

“Damn it.” Tony’s visor dropped down. “Jarvis, we tracking?”

“The tracking device in Dr. Banner’s trunks is transmitting as planned, sir,” the AI answered. “He is currently two miles north east of your current position.”

Tony handed her a motherboard. “Make sure to remove units twelve through twenty-six before transport,” he told her before taking off.

Natasha slid the motherboard into the carrying case Stark brought along and went to work.

“Any idea why he rabbited?” Clint asked as he came to stand next to her.

She gave him a blank look. “I thanked him for helping me.”

The archer blinked. “Seriously? You scared away the Hulk by being nice?” When she didn’t respond he laughed. “See, I told you, you are scarier when you’re trying not to be.”

Natasha didn’t see Stark and Banner when they got back, though JARVIS showed her footage of both of them covered in mud and leaves landing on the helipad. The rest of the month was fairly peaceful. No alien invasions, no mad scientists. The only strangeness was a man who turned out to be an actual wizard who promised to assist them against any other magical foes. When Tony scoffed he got to spend an hour as a red and gold bunny. The rumors that he’d also sounded like the WB frog were greatly exaggerated. The fact that the only person who’d been able to coax him from behind the large screens in the briefing room was Director Fury was kept need to know.

Chapter Text

On occasion being an Avenger, official or not, truly sucked.

Natasha stretched out on an exercise mat in the Avengers private gym, cooling down after working with a heavy bag. It was the first time she was allowed to work, unsupervised, since her last mission. She’d spent weeks in the hospital under the watchful eyes of physicians as she got her legs back. Then more weeks of physical therapy until she was proclaimed well enough to return to her duties.

She looked at the offending appendages. Technically her legs hadn’t been the problem, it was her pelvis, and the unfortunate fact that when crushed it rendered everything below useless. She rolled forward and brought her legs together behind her before springing into a handstand.

Bruce hadn’t looked her in the eye since the incident.

It wasn’t Hulk’s fault, not entirely. She knew that, Fury knew that, but somehow Banner refused to believe it. Even the video from Tony’s suit and his ‘fight-bots’ hadn’t convinced him. She grew careless after so many missions where their worst wounds required only a few stitches and bed rest. She had become comfortable fighting alongside a creature that could be considered a force of nature, and she paid for it with weeks of pain. The only upside was Stark’s ability to get the doctors to approve truly magnificent pain medication.

Natasha replayed the memory of the incident, trying to remember how it felt. Planting the explosive after downloading the information from the HYDRA base, the feel of thick plastic beneath her fingers and she punched the detonator into the C4. The slick tubes that she had to clamber over to reach her exit point. Running into the light of day, sunlight stinging her eyes after so long working in the dark. The feel of something large slamming into her, throwing her backwards. Her next memory was waking up in transport, trying to orient herself through the blinding pain in her lower half.

Tony’s footage showed the event from another angle. She exited the building and dodged left, avoiding an enemy she hadn’t consciously realized was there. Unfortunately, her dodge put her in the path of the Hulk’s backswing as he prepared to hurl a piece of a truck at an enemy helicopter. She flew out of the camera’s view and slammed into a building nearly fifteen feet away.

With a sharp exhale she went into a forward bend, dropped her legs and surged upright. The move produced twinges of pain but they faded as she stood, hands on her hips. It hadn’t been as bad as Turkmenistan (which ended with her a body cast) or Sao Paolo (where she’d learned that yes, she could recover from catastrophic spinal injury), but it was bad enough. She dug her toes into the mat and smiled as they squinched against the material. The Red Room had done a lot to her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to hate them for boosting her healing abilities. There was nothing sadder than a crippled assassin left with nothing but reminiscing over the good old days.

The red head took three steps and paused. She knew he was there not because he made a lot of noise (the man was eerily quiet for someone his size), but by a subtle change in the air, something that made the hairs on her arms come to attention.

“Can I help you, Dr. Banner?” She asked before turning.

He shuffled forward, careful to maintain his usual distance. “How do you do that?”
In answer she walked to the bench and picked up a towel and her water bottle. “Years of practice.”

“I see you’re up and about again.”

“They finally gave me the all-clear this morning.” Which, while not technically true, was close enough. SHEILD medical staff knew when she was through listening to their recommendations.

“Glad to hear it. I wanted to show you something.” He looked around the gym. “If you’re not busy.”

The walk down to Bruce’s labs was quiet. Banner didn’t talk to her much outside their briefings, and she wasn’t keen on starting conversations with anyone when she wasn’t playing a role. The only person he really talked to or had a relationship with was Tony, who bonded with him over science. She had come to appreciate Stark’s sheer genius while acting as his shadow, and knew that it wasn’t often he was around someone just as intelligent as he was. She suspected it was that camaraderie more than anything that kept Bruce in New York and with the team.

When the doors opened on R&D 7 Bruce lead her through multiple security doors, tapping in his codes almost without stopping. It was late, and Stark had been dragged to a gala by Pepper. Without Tony there blasting music or tapping out a beat on the glassware the lab was quiet, with only the humming of machinery in the background.

“Here.” He gestured to a spot and handed her a pair of safety glasses before retreating. “You’ll want to stand there and watch the pneumatic press.”

She put on the glasses. “Ready.”

He tapped the keyboard, and the piston on the press slammed down, only to be stopped a few inches away by a crackle of orange energy that sizzled in an arch around a flat metal disk situated beneath it before dissipating. The piston whined but the barrier didn’t give. After five seconds it retracted slowly.

Bruce reached over and removed the device. “This can withstand over 14 tons of pressure per square inch. I designed the PSD to redirect the energy from an incoming blow around whatever it’s calibrated for,” he explained as he approached her. “The casing is solid adamantium, the electronics inside are welded so they won’t shake free. The battery is a modified arc reactor, so you never have to worry about it losing power.” He handed it to her. “It’s designed to key into the kind of gamma radiation the Other Guy releases automatically, so you never have to worry about turning it on or off.”

“PSD?”

“Personal Shield Device.” He chuckled at himself when her eyebrow rose. “I’m not the best when it comes to naming.”

“Please tell me you didn’t name your dog Spot.”

“Of course not.” He retreated a few steps. “I named him Cain.”

Natasha studied the PSD. It was round, slightly smaller than her palm and smooth with a mat finish. There was a ridge beneath her palm and she turned the device over. “BT?”

“BannerTech.” He returned to the computer as she continued her examination. “Tony refuses to take the credit for anything I develop in his labs, so he had Pepper draw up some papers…” he trailed off. “I now own my own company.”

She smirked. “I don’t suppose you’re looking for a PA? Pepper could by my reference.”

“Not even looking for real estate.” He held his hand out for the PSD. “Would you mind standing still for a few seconds? I need to calibrate it to your biometrics.”

“Ready when you are.”

“JARVIS? Can you give me a complete physical workup of Agent Romanov?”

“Certainly, Dr. Banner.”

Natasha took the opportunity to watch Bruce as he worked. Six days after she was released from the hospital he walked into a room when she wasn’t expecting him and her flinch made him retreat to the labs before Tony pulled him out. She flashed back to that first meeting between her and Hulk on the helicarrier. She remembered he had a nose possibly sharper than her own, and how he could most likely detect the sour note of unease whenever they were together. “You made it for me.”

He shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Chapter Text

“Whoa, easy Big Guy. It’s just us.”

Natasha crouched in a tree next to Clint, bark cool and rough against her fingertips. Twenty yards away Iron Man flitted back and forth in front of the Hulk, trying to keep his attention on him and not the military force rolling towards them.

“You have ten seconds to clear the target, Stark.”

“And you have five seconds to shut the Hell up!” Tony snapped back, followed quickly by, “No, hey, no one’s gonna do anything, Big Guy.”

“Stark!”

The roar that answered seemed to shake the tree. Clint tapped on his bow three times and took aim. The tranq was of Stark’s design with Bruce’s input, but they hadn’t field-tested it yet.

“Sir, we need you here now.”

“I’m thirteen minutes out, Romanov.” Fury was calm on the other end.

“Ross isn’t waiting thirteen minutes,” she replied. “Neither is Banner.”

“Your orders stand, Agent. Buy me the time.”

When her com cut out she swore loudly in Russian. The day had been going fairly well until they caught news of a destroyer-like robot rampaging through northern Maine. With Thor off planet that left the Hulk as their biggest gun and he’d delighted in tearing the robot apart. Everything was in hand, and then General Ross showed up and turned the situation into the kind of clusterfuck clusterfucks had nightmares about.

She touched her coms. “Jarvis, you there?”

“Always, Agent Romanov.”

“I need you to hack into Ross’s coms.” She cocked her head to the ground and Clint nodded.

“Uh, tried that,” Tony interrupted. “Ross is not a talker.”
Natasha half climbed, half slid to the ground. “He doesn’t need to talk.”

“I can still gas him,” Clint offered.

“Do that and he’ll have Hulk vivified before Fury touches down.” She hit the ground jogging.

Jarvis cleared his throat. “I have secured a line directly to General Ross, Agent Romanov.”

“General Ross-“

“Who is this?” The gruff voice was calm and controlled.

“This is Agent Romanov. We need you to fall back-“

The deep boom of ordinance firing, followed by a roar of rage cut her short.

_____________________________________________

She was moving.

Natasha came awake slowly. She was warm, face pressed against something rough and hot. A steady beat pulsed against her cheek and she was swaying back and forth. She stayed limp, pretending to be unconscious until she could get her bearings. Her last memory was of trying to get the Hulk’s attention before Ross did something stupid like order a tactical strike. The area was unpopulated, the collateral damage minimal. She’d read the specs on his latest Hulk Buster weapon, and even if Bruce managed to survive it was unlikely the rest of the team would.

“Romanov, are you all right? Agent Romanov, please respond.”

The movement stopped abruptly. She reached for her coms and swallowed a scream. Her left arm was definitely broken. She tried for the right and hissed at the crackling of skin. “I’m alive.” She opened her eyes and looked up.

The Hulk stared down at her.

She swallowed. “Hi.”

A large, blunt finger poked her forehead gently. “Awake.” He watched her closely and then turned to the vista in front of them, eyes scanning the horizon.

“We’ve got a fix on your location,” she could hear the whine of jet engines under Fury’s voice. “Try and see if you can get the Hulk to stay put until we get there. He’s been jumping around Canada for hours.”

“Roger that.” She let her arm fall and stared up at the Hulk. He was looking out again, rocking back and forth in a way she supposed was meant to be soothing.

Another voice came over the line. “Agent Romanov, what’s your status?”

She turned her head and felt the pull of burned skin. Her breathing was normal and she could feel her limbs despite a real desire not to. A glance down at her right arm revealed that her suit was burned and frayed, the skin beneath red and slick. “Possible second-degree burn extending from upper right arm to fingertips,” she reported. “Left arm is broken, but doesn’t appear to be a compound fracture. Moderate swelling just below elbow.” The Hulk growled above her as she tried to extract herself, so she settled back into the crook of his arm. “Slight dizziness that increases with movement. No difficulty breathing.”

“Roger that. ETA to your position eight minutes.”

Natasha looked up. Hulk was watching her again with a frown. “Hurt,” he rumbled.

“Yeah. Think you can stay in one place until the cavalry arrives?”

His frowned deepened, but he settled further onto their outcropping with a thud.

“If you call me Ann I will castrate you.”

Clint held up his hands in surrender. “Mood killer.” He pointed to her ear. “How’s the graft?”

“It itches.” She held her arms out in front of her. The skin on both was smooth and whole, though the right was significantly paler than the left. She might not heal like Captain America, but it was damn close. “How’s Bruce?”

He tossed her a small black bag. “I think Stark’s trying to see how far he can push him before he hulk’s out.”

Natasha reached into the bag and spread out her bracelets and a rolled toolkit. One was charred beyond saving, but the other could be salvaged. She unrolled her kit and took out the smallest screwdriver. “Where is he?”

Clint dragged the room’s single chair closer and turned it around, sitting with his arms resting on the back. “In that rubber room Stark made him, meditating on trees or something.”

Technically it wasn’t rubber. It was a small polymer that absorbed kinetic energy almost as effectively as vibranium mixed with carbon fiber. Bruce synthesized it, and Stark dubbed it ‘unobtanium’ just to irritate him. She worried at the seam to one of the canisters. “And you?”

He shrugged. “I’m here.”

With a click the section of her bracelet opened and she took out a magnifying glass. The circuits looked intact.

“You know he saved your life, Tasha.”

“I saw the footage.”

He reached into a pocket. “They took this off you, too.” He set the PSD on the table next to her hand. “Guess the shield couldn’t hold up to a focused Hulk.”

“Guess not.”

Chapter Text

“Cap agrees with me, don’t you?”

Steve grimaced. “It just seems a little… reckless…”

“Thank you!” Tony beamed. “And if Captain America says it’s reckless, there’s probably a constitutional amendment somewhere forbidding it.”

Red was creeping up Steve’s neck and teasing his jaw when Clint gave in. “Okay, fine, so the self-directing arrows could be problematic-“

“Definitely if you plan on using SHIELD software.” Tony shuddered dramatically. “It took Jarvis less than two hours to hack into their super secret protected files. I mean… two hours…”

“In SHIELD’s defense, sir, it did take me less than forty five minutes to hack into the Department of Defense. SHIELD’s security in comparison was adaptable and something of a challenge.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to the engineer, and he focused on the gauntlet he was deconstructing in the living room. “JARVIS, what have we talked about?”

“Apologies, sir,” though the AI sounded anything but contrite. “I assumed your teammates were trustworthy.”

There were several minutes of quiet, and then Clint laughed. “Honestly? You’re just going to let that dangle out there?”

Tony slammed his solder onto its stand. “The DOD decided not to take my announcement of giving up arms manufacturing to heart, broke into the patent office and stole one of my designs.” He picked up a screwdriver. “Then they went and used it on a future friend.”

“Mr. Stark required certain information that was only available on the DOD server,” JARVIS clarified. “For use in his lawsuit against the United States government for patent infringement.”

By the end of the explanation Clint was holding his sides he was laughing so hard. Natasha was sporting a rare smile, while Steve looked equal parts proud and horrified as he explained patents and fair use to Thor.

“Sir, Dr. Banner appears in need of assistance.”

Tony waved a hand. “We talked about this, JARVIS. Bruce is allowed to raid the Oreo stash whenever he wants.”

“I’m afraid Dr. Banner is in need of immediate assistance, sir.”

“Fuck.” Tony jogged to the elevators, Steve and Thor behind him. “Which floor?”

“His personal quarters.”

“Green alert?”

JARVIS paused. “I am unable to determine that at this time. His heart rate is irregular, but he does not appear to be changing color.”

“Tony, we need you suited up.” Steve was in leader mode. “Thor, follow me, we’ll corral Bruce if necessary until Tony-“

“Wait?” Clint’s voice stopped them. “Where’s Tasha?”

Her heart was pounding.

“Agent Romanov, might I suggest that you wait for your teammates.”

“Sure you can.” But she wasn’t going to. She’d slipped out the moment JARVIS announced Bruce was in trouble and jogged down the emergency stairs.

The AI made a sound suspiciously close to a sigh. “Dr. Banner is currently in his bathroom,” JARVIS informed her when she entered Bruce’s quarters.

Everything was quiet. Bruce’s floor was all deep, warm colors, hardwood, and comfortable furniture. Tony even found the couch the physicist left behind when he ran from Ross the first time. There were no obvious signs of Banner’s distress in his surroundings. Nothing was broken, and there was no roar of the Hulk emerging. “Bruce?”

She stalked silently through the apartment until she reached the bathroom. Water was running, and steam escaped through the partially open door.

“Bruce?”

He was curled in on himself in a corner near the toilet; eyes closed tight, a towel loose around his hips. There was blood on the edge of the sink, more pouring from a cut near his hairline.

“Hey,” she was moving before she finished the word, turning off the water, grabbing a towel from the rack and pressing it to his forehead. “Can you hear me?” He didn’t respond, but some of his shaking eased. “Bruce, I need you to say something.”

He shuddered and went limp. She was about to call a medical emergency when his head came up sharply. “Natasha?”

“You hit your head,” she explained, moving the towel to get a look at the damage. “The laceration is pretty deep.”

“My blood…” he blinked rapidly. “Toxic… you need…”

“I believe Dr. Banner keeps gloves under the sink,” JARVIS supplied.

She grabbed his hand and pressed it against the towel. “Keep pressure here.”

By the time she had the gloves on and a first aid kit open Bruce’s eyes were clearer.

“Please tell me you really, really needed a Kit Kat Bar,” Tony’s voice came through the speakers.

“I’m with Bruce,” she said easily, dabbing at the cut with peroxide.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing fine,” Bruce’s voice was shaky. “I tripped, took a header into the sink. Really. Sorry for the concern.”

“It’s no trouble, Dr. Banner,” Steve said before Stark could respond. “Do you need anything from us?”

“No.” He chuckled with a wince. “I think I’ll skip dinner, though.”

Natasha could feel Rogers balking at that. “I’ll make sure he gets something later,” she added before he could protest.

There was silence, then, “Sir would like to remind you that Thor has been ‘slaving away’ over the roast for the better part of the day, and would be grievously wounded if Dr. Banner did not at least try the bison while it is fresh.”

“Thank you, JARVIS.” When there was nothing else forthcoming she turned back to Bruce. “That was more than a trip,” Natasha said as she worked, first cleaning the wound, then applying ointment.

He sighed. “Sometimes I get flashes of the Other Guy’s memory. Depending on how strong the memory is…”

“You end up falling over,” Natasha finished, holding the wound closed as she applied the bandage. “I’m assuming you don’t want stitches.”

Banner shook his head, fingers testing the edge of the bandage. “I’ll be healed by tomorrow. Sooner, if there’s a reason to let the Other Guy out.” He pressed his hand against a smooth section of wall and it swung down, revealing slightly smudged metal. “Toss everything in there.”

She did as ordered and he swung the door closed. A subtle whooshing that lasted for almost ten seconds followed. “You have your own incinerator?”

“Tony insisted. Better than dealing with biohazard removal every time I cut myself shaving.”

She sat back on her haunches. His heart rate was still slightly elevated, and she counted the beats in the hollow of his throat. “How often does this happen?”

“Not often,” he explained as she helped him to his feet. “Once every few months.”

Natasha walked him to this bedroom. She worried her lip as Bruce dressed and she waited in the hallway. When he kicked something heavy and cursed in quiet Hindi she raised an eyebrow. Finally, she asked. “How does he feel?”

Bruce stopped moving for a moment. “I don’t know…” his words were muffled, and she imagined him pulling on a shirt. “Distant, I suppose.”

“Could he be dreaming?”

Bruce pulled open the bedroom door wearing an MIT t-shirt and grey sweats. “I never thought about it. If they are his dreams it’s more like nightmares.” He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the couch, settling into it with a weary sound.

She sat on the other end. “What did you see?”

“You.” Bruce swallowed. “You were behind this…screen… and I couldn’t get to you. I kept pounding and screaming, and it wouldn’t give.” His hands tensed as he spoke, curling into fists. “You were dying, and I couldn’t save you.”

“But you did.”

Banner nodded. “We’ll have to recalibrate the PSD to withstand more force.”

She wasn’t going to wear it, not again, but she wasn’t willing to engage him in a fight. “So, Dr. Banner, what are your plans for this evening?”

“Look, I’m just gonna call it a night,” he replied. His eyes looked wary, hunted. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“What?”

Dr. Foster’s assistant was right; the man did look like a lost puppy when he was confused. “Favorite movie, doctor. Everyone has one.”

Five minutes later she was having a hard time keeping her emotions from showing. “No.”

“You asked. Now you have to choose.”

“I can’t.” She let some of her distaste tinge her words. “It’s like trying to choose between a plane crash and a train wreck.”

Bruce smiled. “At least with a train wreck there are some survivors, right?”

“True.” She gave a slow blink and flicked the movie on. They sat in silence as the movie opened, and Bruce chuckled. “What?”

“You’re laughing at me.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, I’m not.” Her features were schooled to neutral.

“Maybe not down there,” he circled a finger in the air in the direction of her mouth. “But up there.” The finger shifted higher. “You’re letting out Klingon belly laughs, Agent Romanov.”

Bruce fell asleep twenty minutes into the movie, and Natasha gave a silent thanks to JARVIS when the volume was reduced to a low murmur without her having to move and the movie flipped off, replaced by a recording of a beach at sunset. Natasha walked to his bookcase and thought for a moment before pulling out a thick, emerald green volume on philosophy. She’d just finished rolling her eyes for the fiftieth time when a blue light flashed above the door. When she opened it she found a three tiered roll-away cart loaded with serving dishes. She picked up a note written in Clint’s scrawl.

Sorry about the stealth delivery, but JARVIS said that Bruce was sleeping and we didn’t want to wake you to ask what you wanted. Thor also wants you both to try everything and give him the rundown tomorrow. He refuses to believe that Midgardian cuisine is in any way better than Asgardian. And T, to be honest, I’m starting to believe him. Stark says the plates are from R&D, some kind of specialty warmer that is supposed to keep food within five degrees of its starting temperature without ruining it, so let him know how that goes.

PS The Cap asks that you make Bruce eat something before letting him turn in for the night. He gave me the eyes, Tasha. Do it for the ruin that is my soul.

Drama queen. She folded the note and tucked it under a plate before wheeling the tray inside. Thor had finally talked Tony into letting him be responsible for dinner, and the blonde giant spent the better part of three days preparing and wrangling Tony’s help in rigging a giant spit on the landing pad. He’d shown up at dawn carrying wrapped packages from Asgard and another from a place called Cooledge Farms that turned out to be a side of bison.

“Bruce?”

“Hmmm….”

“Bruce?”

One eye cracked open. “Time is it?”

“Just after nine.” She lifted the domes off the serving plates. “The guys brought us room service.”

He examined the piles of roasted meat and vegetables, soups and stews and breads. She lifted an especially tall dome and examined the array of pastries and cakes.

“This can’t possible taste as good as it smells, right?” Bruce asked, spearing several thin slices of meat.

Natasha picked up a thick fried round. “I saw the look on the head chef’s face when he opened one of those spice packages. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that expression on a man outside a sexual situation.”

Bruce laughed into his forkful of meat and roasted tuber and took a bite. She watched as he paused, and then closed his eyes. Yeah, that was the look she was talking about.

They ate, passing dishes between each other and suggesting combinations. Flavors ranged from bold to delicate, flowery to spicy, sometimes within the same dish. The bottom level of the roll-away was dubbed ‘Asgardian Only’, and contained the few dishes that were too spicy, sweet, or plain bizarre for human taste buds. She was experimenting; trying a dab of thick purplish cream on what she believed was a fried sweet potato when she stopped. “I think this has been the longest conversations we’ve ever had.” She took a bite of her creation and swore that she would wring every recipe out of the Asgardian that she could.

Bruce’s eyes were calm. “Try some of this. It takes like creamy black bean paste, but more savory.”