Chapter Text
*Knock*Knock*Knock*
Natasha’s head instantly whipped around toward the door. She had not ordered any room-service and she was not expecting anyone. Although hotels were not always ideal, they were usually low-risk when not on a mission, and she was not a fan of staying at SHIELD headquarters. But perhaps her indulgence has been misguided, she considered, as she picked up the gun off the bedside table and made her way stealthily to the door.
However, one glance through the peep-hole and her anxiety immediately dispersed. Indeed, she was almost surprised by the smile that spread across her face when she realized who was on the other side of the door. Twisting the handle swiftly, she opened the door with a flare and cocked her head to one side. “Why if it isn’t the good doctor,” she mused, her hand on her hip, her tone sardonic but light.
“Hi, Natasha,” he said. His voice was small and his manner very awkward.
She got the instant feeling this was not just a casual drop-by. Not that Bruce Banner made a habit of casual drop-byes, with her or anyone else. However, even if he had, it still would have been abundantly clear to anyone with eyeballs this was nothing of the sort. An anxiety of a different kind started to ball up in her gut. This was a personal call of some manner.
Seeing that he needed a bit of prompting, she stood to the side and said, with a slightly dramatic hand gesture, “Care to come in?”
He nodded and said “thanks,” shuffling his feet into her dim room. He planted himself awkwardly between the far, queen-sized bed and the table that occupied the front, right corner of the room. Over his right shoulder she could still see the bland TV sitcom she’d been using as white noise while filling out her latest field report. However, she grabbed the remote from the nearer bed -- her makeshift work space -- and clicked the power button.
“You can take a seat, it’s okay,” she said, with a hint of a laugh.
She was trying to put him at ease, as he looked half ready to explode with anxiety. His emotional state was something she, like everyone else, was very invested in keeping mellow. He did as she suggested and perched himself on the very corner of the far bed, hands gripping his knees as if he needed their help keeping upright.
“How have you been?” he asked, just as the silence was starting to get painful.
The question honestly threw her for a moment. Neither of them were much for small-talk and there is no way he tracked her down just for this.
“Fine. Just got back from a mission in Kazakhstan. Fairly routine. Was just finishing up my field report when you knocked.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you--”
“No. It’s fine. It’s profoundly boring stuff. It’s nice to have an excuse for a break.”
He smiled weakly, seeming aware it was a nicety, yet grateful she’d made the effort all the same.
“Fury told me where you were,” he confessed, after another slightly awkward pause.
“Yeah, I figured. You have your crime-fighting assets, but espionage is not one of them.”
Her reference to The Hulk was an honest accident but she could see his face twist immediately into a particularly embarrassed and guilt-ridden expression. Bringing one hand up to his neck, he began to stroke the back of it intently. Body-language 101, a self-comforting gesture done in the face of intense anxiety.
“Yeah, that’s actually kind of why I am here.”
His lack of eye contact did not stop the ball of mild discomfort in her stomach from twisting into a feeling of immense unease.
“Look, I already told you, I know it wasn’t your fault on the hellicarrier. I promise, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Following this very sincere declaration, Bruce ran his hands roughly up and down the brown fabric of his loose pants, letting out a bitter laugh.
“I have dreams about it,” he confessed, and his tone change was subtle but significant. “Nightmares would probably be a better word. I see your face, over and over again, trapped and…and whispering my name. I relive that attack on you when I sleep and I wake up in a cold sweat, remembering how easily it might have turned out differently.”
There was a long pause as she watched him silently. She could tell this was more of a confession than an apology, strictly speaking. Apologies had been made to her five times over, which was frankly four times more than she would have liked. But this was not actually about her feelings, or injuries at all. It was more about his; she knew just how much he fretted over the actions of his alter-ego. If a confession would help him, what harm could it do her?
“But it didn’t and I’m fine. I realize this may be a waste of breathe, but really, you have nothing to feel bad about. Well, regarding me at least. I mean, I know you think the other guy’s a complete terror, but he was never gonna get the better of me. Even he’s not that good.”
“Natasha, no offense, but I know exactly how good you are. And I know him. He could kill you.”
Natasha felt the strange impulse to smile at that, and she let it show. Bending over just far enough to breach his personal space, she continued, “And I could kill you, if I really wanted to. Bullet to the brain while you sleep and the other guy would never see or hear it coming. We’re both incredibly dangerous people, Bruce...and you’d be wise to remember that,” she concluded, her tone verging on sinister.
Bruce pulled away slightly and raised an eyebrow at her as he asked, breathlessly, “Why?”
“Because then you might get a decent night's sleep,” she said, reverting back to an almost cheerful tone.
And he honest-to-god laughed. Not one of his minor chuckles at Stark’s infinite one-liners. And not that familiar, bitter sound that he tended to emit upon receipt of certain grim news or insight. It was a sound of joy, unencumbered and earnest, a sound she had never actually heard until that moment. It was captivating, and it made butterflies spring to life in her stomach.
“You want a drink?” she then found herself asking, visited by a sudden, bizarre urge to see how long she could sustain his good mood.
“Um…sure, I guess. What have you got?”
“Well I got myself a bottle of Merlot, but there’s also the mini bar, complements of SHIELD.”
“Let’s start with the bottle and see how we go?”
“Well that’s very optimistic of you, doctor. I don’t know if we’ll enjoy each other’s company that much,” she teased.
He shrugged, giving her a small smile as he pulled off his ill-fitting jacket casually. The gesture was clearly half unconscious, and she instantly recognized its unspoken significance: he had finally managed to actually relax with her, guilt-free, more or less. Maybe there was hope for him after all.