A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the long time between updates. I'm currently working on revising an original novel, and that plus life in general makes it hard to keep up with fanfiction. Still, I hope you enjoy this, and I'll try to have another one up when I can. Also, this 'fic briefly references my previous one, 'Stitch', but you don't need to have read that to read this.

The first thing he heard was a strangled cry, then a noise like someone sobbing into a pillow. The heaviness of sleep seemed to fall away from him all at once as his instincts flared and moved him forward. He held his mug of coffee close to his chest, savouring the heat that emanated from it. The night was cold, the halls were dark, and the hours had been long and void of rest. What little sleep he had was full of terror and pain, so he had decided not to let it continue tonight, and went to get himself some liquid energy.

That's when he heard the sounds. They were quiet, almost imperceptibly so, but he heard them. Maybe because it was so quiet in the tower, maybe because almost no one else was in by chance, or...maybe...because some tiny part of him expected it.

Things hadn't been easy for anyone since the battle, no matter how good everyone was at hiding it. Sometimes he thought she was all right with him. Sometimes they could joke, and they could be okay. She even stitched up his hand for him after the elevator incident. But he knew that their fears were locked away in boxes during the day - and nightmares were the key, whether you wanted them open or not. He believed her when she said it was okay between them, but he couldn't get over the guilt that she was still haunted by him in some way, even now.

Bruce curled his toes on the freezing floor and leaned against her wall. He reached over and gently rapped his knuckles on the door.

'Natasha?' he said softly, concern leaking into his voice. 'You okay in there?'

'I'm fine, Bruce. Go away,' she snapped. Her harshness felt like a needle in his skin - not enough to kill him, but enough to still sting. It's not like he deserved better, he thought.

Bruce ran his fingers through his messy curls and lowered his gaze. 'I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll go now. Goodnight, Natasha...'

Natasha sat on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped tight around her chest. She looked at the closed door and the shadow Bruce cast on the ground. The room was half-lit with a small golden lamp, and the yellow light seemed to make her smouldering hair catch fire. She listened to him padding away, and felt an ache in her ribcage at the thought of him. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her fingers quivered slightly in tune with her frantic heart. Natasha couldn't bear to let anyone see her like this (hell, she was furious at the fact that it was happening at all) but there was something inside of her, a whispering voice in her head, that begged her to go to him anyway.

'Bruce?'

Her voice snuck up on him, and it sounded ghostly in the silence of the witching hour. He turned to her, his hand frozen on the handle of his door. Their eyes met; though the darkness obscured half of her face, he knew that she was watching him. He wanted to say something comforting - something important or poetic - but instead…

'Yes?' he said, and then proceeded to smack himself internally. Immediately she seemed to go on the defensive, her shoulders raising so slightly that it was near impossible to catch.

'Is that coffee?' she asked bluntly, her head turning minutely in the direction of the cooling mug in his grasp.

'What? Oh, uh, yeah, it is. I couldn't sleep, so I sort of just gave up.' He smiled a small kind of smile and ran his fingers through his curls a second time. He didn't know if it was the cold or the company, but a faint blush started creeping into his cheeks. 'What about you?'

Natasha leaned subtlely further away from the light, which spilled in from the windows behind Bruce. She nodded slowly, then realised he couldn't see it and said, 'Me too. What were you going to do now?'

'Maybe read a little...I didn't really think that far ahead.'

'Oh, okay.' The silence forced its way between them, and nothing came to fill it. Bruce sipped tentatively at his drink, until Natasha finally spoke again. 'Would you like to accompany me to the lounge?'

Bruce smiled in spite of himself. 'Accompany you? Is that a formal request, Miss Romanoff?'

'Only if you accept.' Her lips quirked up on one side, and as she bowed her head her scarlet waves fell softly down her face.

'Then I would love to accompany you,' he said. Just then, Natasha realised that the way to the elevator was behind him, and so she would have to step into the light sooner rather than later.

With a quiet sigh, she walked up to him. Her pale frame was covered with a loose-fitting shirt beneath a fluffy grey robe, and baggy trousers trailing down to bare feet; but it was her face that captivated Bruce. Those green eyes that glinted in the lazy moon, seeing everything there was to see all in one instant. They were rimmed with red from where she had rubbed at them, although it was already fading, and she appeared to have fallen asleep with a small amount of light pink lipstick still on. She was beautiful, and unearthly, and out of reach in every possible way.

She slinked past him, and looked back when he didn't follow. 'Coming?'

'I don't see how I can refuse.'

They sat on opposite sides of the couch. Nothing was said about it, it just sort of happened. The voices on the television quickly fade into a dull hum, and neither of them really pay very much attention to it after a while.

Natasha looked over at Bruce. He looked back, and she turned away again. When his eyes switched back to the TV, she glanced at him once more. Their eyes met, and he smiled. She returned it, but it was stiff and emotionless. She wasn't quite as lovely as before, thought Bruce. Not when she was wearing this mask of hers.

'What kept you up?' ventured Bruce, drawing his knees to his chin and hugging his legs to his chest. He felt like he knew the answer, but he also knew that he hadn't the right to go around assuming things.

She seemed to stretch, raising her arms in the air, while at the same time her eyes darted around. No one else was awake, she decided, and so she shuffled closer to Bruce - just a little - and confided in him, 'Bad dreams...that's what kept me up...'

'You shouldn't be ashamed of that,' said Bruce softly. 'I bet there's not one person on this team who doesn't have nightmares about something.'

'It's not the dreams I'm ashamed of. It's their content.' Natasha's eyes locked onto his, and she found herself captivated by the sheer brownness of them. They were so silky and gentle, as melodramatic as that sounded in her head. They really were like that. And without even realising, the space between them got smaller.

'Their content, huh?' Bruce sighed. 'Natasha, I'm sorry about-'

He was cut off by her hand on his lips. Her fingers were thin and cold, but welcoming somehow. She lowered the hand and took his, tracing her thumb instinctively over his palm.

She smiled. 'The scar's gone.'

'Well, I had you as my nurse,' replied Bruce. 'And what's a few shards of glass between friends?'

'Bruce...' Natasha linked her fingers through his. He shifted so that his legs were down again, and his body was turned to her. 'I thought we worked this out. I thought we had something good, now.'

'Your nightmares, Natasha...'

'They're not about you. I swear, they're not. I'm not scared of you anymore.'

'Then-?'

'What are nightmares ever about, Bruce?' she said, closing her eyes slowly with a pained expression in her face. When he didn't respond, she answered for him: 'Our regrets of the past and our fears for the future...'

'So you're not scared of the Other Guy?'

She hesitated. 'I've learned to love him, I'd say.' A long pause, and then, 'What kept you awake, Bruce? What are you afraid of?'

'Hurting you,' he whispered before he could stop himself.

'I don't break so easily, Bruce,' said Natasha.

'You don't understand. I mean, I don't remember most of what happens when I...when I change, but I know what it feels like. It's like the world - and everyone in it - is made of glass. I've hurt so many-'

She silenced him again, but it wasn't with her hand. It happened so suddenly. She closed what little space there was left between them and captured his lips with hers. The kiss was hesitant from both sides, and lasted only a moment, but it was the longest and most important moment there had ever been, like every second of both of their lives had only existed in order to lead up to this.

'I'm sorry.' The words came out in a breath from her lips the instant they parted from his.

'We can't...we can't do this,' said Bruce, painfully aware of how close she was, and how close he wanted her to be. After all this time, and all this silence, he wanted her to fill the hole in his chest.

'I know we can't,' she replied, her voice betraying nothing. 'Not yet, anyway. This is too fast. This can't be real. It's not supposed to feel like this.'

'What do you think it's supposed to feel like?'

'Slow.'

'Not always.'

'No,' she looked down at their intertwined fingers, 'not always.'

'But we can't...' Bruce shook his head tiredly and heaved a sigh. 'I need time to think about this, Natasha.'

'Then tonight never happened,' she said, starting to drift her hand away. He caught her again, but let his fingers trail off the end of hers. 'We back up until we can run with it.'

'What if we never can?' said Bruce.

'You're tip-toeing, you know. Eventually you need to learn how to walk, and then-'

'Run?'

'Yeah.' For the first time that night, he saw her smile; properly smile. Her mouth split open and her eyes crinkled at the edges. They flashed a gentle green in the light of the television. Her mask slid off, and she looked less like the Widow and more like Natasha. 'I guess we both have a lot to learn.'

With one mind, they both stood and held each other's gaze.

'Goodnight, Natasha,' said Bruce, beaming with a genuine warmth that filled him from inside.

'Until next time, Bruce,' said Natasha, thumbing the TV remote. They didn't know what it would be like in the morning, how they would see each other or interact, how things would go from here...but they weren't so frightened anymore. 'Goodnight.'

She pressed a button, the TV turned off, and they were plunged into darkness.