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Post-battle exhales are audible as the group washes up, changes out of uniform, and moves toward the drinks left on the back of the luxury jet.
Tony is flying because no one else is allowed to touch the panels. It’s a new red aircraft with AI access and the finest bottle of whiskey Stark could find.
Clint keeps asking to crack it open, but Steve keeps pushing back.
He’s pulling every ‘Dad’ card, ensuring everyone is stitched up, safe, and ready to properly close out the day’s events. They can party later, back at the tower.
Natasha’s at the back, chugging caffeine and playfully deflecting Steve’s attempts to check in.
She passes Clint a foam cupful of coffee and leaves another outside the jet’s shower, where Bruce is scrubbing off every piece of remaining debris.
Stark grumbles dismissively, ‘Spiders can’t drive,’ as she passes. She throws a glance over her shoulder—AKA, ‘Check on your friend.’
“He's been in there a while,” she says.
“I don't ask those sorts of questions,” Tony flicks a switch.
“You ask every question. Suddenly, you have a filter?”
“You might as well shoot me in the chest. Go for it, I'm right here.”
Bruce comes out and moves straight for the duo, damp hair leaving water marks on his button-down.
He cluelessly carries the foam mug when he asks, “Did you brew this, Tony?”
“Yes,” Stark lies. “You’re welcome.”
Bruce sniffs at the cup. “It tastes two weeks past its expiration date—like burnt kale and regret.”
Tony chuckles as he spins in his chair, “Aww, just like Hulk today. Taking on the fire and smoke explosion.”
Natasha rolls her eyes in offense and disappears to the back of the craft.
Tony points with his thumb, “What’s wrong with her?”
Bruce’s eyes narrow, “You likely offended her. What did you say?”
Tony snickers, “What do you mean, ‘what did I say’?”
“You have no filter 90% of the time- don't look at me like that. There’s no length you won't go to make a joke, it's exhausting.”
“Wow! Tell me how you feel.”
“Tired, nauseated from your terrible pilot skills, and now I have a headache thanks to this gross, expired coffee you left outside the shower.”
Tony blinks twice and then contorts his mouth, “Did you send the Hulk back to bed or does he need another lullaby?”
“Stark,” Steve interrupts, “How much longer until we land?”
“One second, Ice-Man,’ Tony raises his hand, ‘I’m in the middle of something.”
“Maybe you should stop talking and focus on flying,” Clint grumbles from the back.
“Maybe you should sit down, Clinton Francis Barton,” Bruce claps back.
Natasha puckers her lips with a silent, ‘ooh’ as though she’s about to be called out for gossiping.
Barton immediately whips his head toward his best friend, and she grins at him innocently.
Tony lifts a cautious, yet accusatory finger at Bruce, “Something is very wrong with you.”
“Oh!” Banner rolls his neck, “Shall I list the ways?!”
“Nah, I can do that,” Tony says, “J.A.R.V.I.S., run a scan on Banner.”
The polite voice answers with his British accent, lights glowing from the lines at the ceiling of the jet, “Analyzing now.”
“Don’t analyze me,” Bruce complains, putting the coffee on a ledge.
“Eh!” Tony snaps, “If that thing spills over my freshly refurbished interior, you’re in deep shit.”
“-Vital signs elevated,’ the AI continues, ‘cortisol levels have spiked. Sir, high concentrations of sodium thiopental, scopolamine, a midazolam analog, and ampakine derivative are currently active in Dr. Banner’s system.”
Tony’s eyebrows lift, “How long do we have until he tells the crew my deepest darkest secrets before turning green and smashing the jet?”
“Your secondary concerns are irrelevant. There are traces of Vibranium and Gamma-Inhibitors.”
“Talk dirty to me-.”
“Stark!” Steve cuts him off, “English?”
“It’s a truth serum,’ Bruce chimes in with a sharp tone, ‘barbiturate to lower inhibition, scopolamine for suggestibility, midazolam analog for memory suppression, and an ampakine derivative to keep me chatty.”
“-Gamma inhibitors are to keep him from tearing this place to ribbons. My jet lives to see another day!” Tony praises the ceiling.
“When did this happen?” Natasha speaks up with concern, arms uncrossing from her chest as her glance lands on Clint.
“When did you share my government name?” Clint bites back in reply.
Bruce circles a finger in the air mid gesture, “It was when you all huddled up to plan while the Hulk and I were on damage control. Psycho-killer and his minions decided to stand at the top of the building and shoot me in the face. I'm so glad you all got to synchronize your routine though, that was the sole reason we won.”
“At least he remembers that much,” Steve comments.
“Ohh,” Bruce snickers coldly, “I remember all of it. You think I’m oblivious when you make battle plans with everyone but me?”
“Because you’re strong and smart enough for self-sufficience,” Natasha says before things escalate.
“Thanks,” Bruce says a bit more kindly. “You’re smart and strong, and pretty, too. I’ve always admired your intelligence.”
Tony lifts a hand to his chest in a gasp, then begins to laugh while Clint’s jaw drops and Steve’s eyebrows lift.
Natasha’s cheeks blush a light shade of pink.
She swings her arms and whispers in a rush to return to the corner and hide from the spotlight, “No problem.”
Tony leans forward as if he's watching a show, “How long have you been holding onto that one, Banner? That compliment for Romanoff?”
“Let’s see,” Bruce seems to be doing math in his head, “Since the Helicarrier. I mean, I’ve always thought so. Very few people can go toe to toe with me unflinchingly. But the truest extent of her brilliant and dangerous nature came out in New York. In short, I admire her. You. I admire you.”
Natasha lowers her chin the other way to dodge Clint’s questioning eyes.
She bites her lip with cheeks blushing redder, “J.A.R.V.I.S.? Tell me he wasn’t this talkative on the battlefield?”
The AI responds, “You have no reason for concern, Miss Romanoff. The intel is secure.”
Tony is wheezing, doubled over the console, “J-Money? How long is this party going to last?”
“If my calculations are correct, Dr. Banner will remain unfiltered and vulnerable to irreparable emotional damage for another 120 minutes.”
Bruce mutters under his breath, gripping his elbow, “I don’t want any more emotional damage.”
“We should make him sleep it off,” Steve suggests.
“Absolutely not, that’s a terrible suggestion.” Tony gasps in offense, “This is the closest we will ever get to seeing him drunk. My jet, my rules, my choice of entertainment.”
Clint lifts his coffee in salute, “At least these seats are cheaper than the rodeo.”
Bruce clenches his fist, eyeing Clint, then Tony, “You think this is funny?”
Natasha elbows Clint in the side.
“Calm down.” Tony inhales, “It’s a joke.”
“No,’ Bruce shakes his head, ‘you’re making me the joke.”
“Doctor,’ Steve steps in between them, “I wouldn’t blame you if you retired to your quarters.”
Bruce looks him over, “Because you think I will snap. You think I can’t handle myself.”
“No, it’s because Stark is testing boundaries. This has nothing to do with you losing control.”
Bruce nods, admittedly, quietly, “I already lost it. When the chemicals got blown in my face.”
Steve nods in time with Bruce. He is confused, but Bruce seems to calm, and tensions are easing.
“Oh, come on!” Tony stands, “Don’t pretend to know my Science Bro better than me.”
“Tony,” Natasha calls his name with a subtle threat.
Clint stares into his coffee cup as the door shuts quietly to the private room behind him.
“That went well,” he says.
“It could’ve been worse,” Natasha says about the mission.
“Fury is going to want a debrief. And to run tests on the chemical,” Steve plops into a chair.
Tony waves Steve upright, “Get out of Banner’s chair.”
Steve sighs heavily with an exhausted smirk, “You don’t quit, do you?”
Natasha sneaks backward in the silence, snatching the abandoned coffee cup Bruce left on the ledge, and heads toward the room.
Bruce is on his back, staring at the ceiling, when Natasha knocks and enters.
“Hey,” she greets him and closes the door behind her.
Romanoff swirls the foam cup, taking a sip from his drink.
“You’re right,’ she wrinkles her nose and sits in the chair at his cot’s side, ‘this is exceptionally bitter without sugar.”
He rubs his forehead and then gestures toward the ceiling, “If this jet goes down, that ceiling panel is the first thing to rupture. Pressurized glass. Shards everywhere. The wiring behind it would catch and short the system. It probably takes out the AI. Best case scenario, we blackout. Worst case? Fire everywhere,” He exhales and pushes to his elbows, “Not that it matters. By the time the tail section breaks off, we’ll already be unconscious. And then the Hulk will sprint off the wing and jump like an Olympic high-diver.”
Natasha whistles and crosses a knee, ankle bouncing, “Doc, your pillow talk is top-tier.”
He looks in her direction and hums, “I’m not sweet. Or lighthearted. I apologize for that.”
“You can be both of those things,” she tilts her head. “And I’m not just saying that because you called me intelligent.”
“And dangerous.”
She nods, “And dangerous.”
“And pretty. But, I didn't mean it in a way that most people would say to get something from you,” he rolls onto his side and adds, “I meant it more as in a luminous stellar explosion; That is how I would describe you.”
“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow, “You should close your eyes. Get some sleep. We’re almost there.”
“But, I’m enjoying your company. I always enjoy your company.”
Natasha nods, grinning softly, “I know.”
“Knock knock?” Tony says but never does so, swinging the door open and closing it with his foot.
Natasha crosses her arms, and Bruce sits up completely.
“Geez, what now?” Bruce grumbles, “I was about to open a conversation on dying stars. Maybe I should transition to galactic disturbances-.”
“Look, bro, I'm sorry I got carried away out there.” Tony holds three glasses and a bottle of whiskey. “I've just never seen you so, so…”
“Drugged?”
“Open,” Tony settles the glasses on a nearby table, “And I get it, that's scary. Scarier than this one.”
His thumb swings in Natasha’s direction.
“So, I figured I'd join you. We can be vulnerable together,” he says as he pours himself a glass and then shows Natasha the bottle.
She nods, “Please.”
He pours hers next.
“I brought a glass for you-.”
Bruce cuts him off, “I am at my limit regarding free speech. You can't get me any looser than this.”
“Alright, bottoms up,” Tony says, clinking glasses with Natasha.
“Huh,” Bruce analyzes, “You just downed that.”
Natasha swallows, “And I’m about to down another. Start talking, Stark. Spill your secrets.”
“Okay,” he says, taking up space on his chair. “Remember when Steve asked me to fix his computer?”
Natasha squints, “Which request?”
“Last month’s,” he grins over the jab.
“Right.”
“I told him that he needs to leave me alone and start using the AI assistant I made for him, which is just a facinified alarm clock.”
Bruce tilts, “That explains why he’s constantly screaming in his office.”
“Anyways,’ Tony lifts his glass, ‘to inhibitions- and being superior to the rest of the team?”
Natasha rolls her eyes and lifts her glass, cutting Bruce off at his inhale before he can say anything, “To friendship.”
Bruce exhales and reaches for his foam cup of bitter coffee.
He holds it against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”