Natasha doesn't exactly plan it.
The battle is over and won—this one, at least—and she finds Hulk out of habit, more than anything. He's calmer than she's seen him, crouched quietly over the warped remains of some alien weapon and its owner as she approaches.
"Tasha," he murmurs, almost a question, as she reaches his side. It's still strange to hear him speak.
"Yes," she confirms, and she stands beside him for a few more quiet seconds before he turns toward her and holds out one of those massive green hands as if their last mission together was yesterday and not two years ago.
She hesitates. "Thor said you don't need me for that anymore."
His hand doesn't move. "Want." A pause. "I…we want."
That's all it takes for her to reach out, and seconds later he reels back, stumbling and shrinking back into Bruce. Her Bruce.
For a second or two, she hovers, indecisive. She's used to giving him his privacy, allowing him to regain his dignity without an audience.
And yet, she doesn't want even that distance between them anymore. We want. Hulk's words are what set her into motion, following his weaving path until he falls and she can crouch at his side.
Her hands are light on his back, his shoulders, his arms, and she murmurs as soothingly as she can until the writhing and low groans are replaced by silent trembles.
She's about to pull away when his hand covers hers and he rolls to face her. He's as filthy as he always is after a battle, but he smiles weakly when their eyes meet.
"Thank you."