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a/n: what i thought their friendship would've been; also i dunno wht the hell i just wrote.

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Natasha, in all her red and green glory, tells him (and, he airquotes to mock her): "one-night stands are a great way to know a person." It's a ridiculous statement—crazy as the woman herself, but he tries to understand it all the same, because this is Natasha Romanoff; eccentric and bizarre and wise and so very old than she let's on.

He receives a playful slap on the shoulder at the last italicized phrase since, it seems, he had let the thought slip out loudly. "Oops." He doesn't mean the apology on his face, and she tuts disapprovingly.

"You are so smooth with the ladies," she mocks as she ties her hair in a bun. Bruce wants to laugh, because there's not much hair for her to tie a bun with. "Bringing up women's ages is such a sensual topic, and not regretting your words is hot. Look, Bruce, I'm getting turned on."

"Ah, yes. A grandma telling that to my face. Never gets old."

He finally bursts into fits of snickers when she deadpans, "oh, keep talking dirty to me." There's a deadness in her voice that makes him cry. Hilarious.

Anyway.

"I disagree to the sex thing, though," he tells her as soon as he stops keeling over in laughter. "Now, getting drunk on the other hand." The implication is strong with that one.

It takes her a full moment (—he doesn't know if that's considered an accomplishment, because Natasha never shuts up—) before nodding, "I think that's fair, what with the soul-baring phenomenon that usually accompanies several bottles of something strong." She shrugs. "I pity all of you with a weak tolerance for alcohol."

Of course. "You're Russian," he points out, and she blinks innocently at his argument. "You literally have alcohol in your bloodstream."

"I do not!"

Bruce scoffs. "Yeah, right. Tell that to the bartender at Seventh Street."

She rolls her eyes, "okay, fine." She clearly doesn't want to. Her chignon is an utter failure, which isn't that shocking, and he watches her start braiding her hair after raking fingers through it in frustration. "However. You have to at least accept that sex could tell you about a person."

"On what basis?"

"Well, we had sex once, right?"

Aaand. There it was. He gulps. "Look, Natasha ..." His voice dies down when she shakes her had, and at once, a softness reigns her façade. "That was–"

"A long time ago, I know," she finishes for him, and it is still as awkward as it had been the moment he had caught her sneaking out of his room a long time ago and had persuaded her to stay and talk about it. Gosh, he had sounded so stupid and young, but then again, he was stupid and young three years back. "But, well, at least we had known about our ... incompatibility, before we did anything more serious."

He smiles thinly, remembering how she had told him how he talked about a Betty Ross in his sleep and that she couldn't handle their month-long relationship because relationships were oppressive. He also remembers how broken he was and how he had been so close to throwing away the ring he had bought at the first week of their courtship since he thought she was the one.

Ha! So stupid. He blames it on all his twenty-one year old mind, making him believe in dumb fairytales and hopeful whatnot (—and, how he thought it was easy to move on from a certain general's daughter with eyes that shined starlight and hands that held his through walks and he really was so stupid.)

"Yeah," Bruce says through a guilty grin. "Alright. When you put it that way, sure. But! But, it doesn't work that way with everyone."

"I said 'a great way', not 'the only way', Banner," her eyes close, thoughtful with memories racing through her mind as she smooths her shirt, her hand running over the small bump. (Of how much she could learn to love the shy neighbour of hers that lives down the street. Of how, bit by bit, he lets her see how freeing it is to love. Of how he'd stay for her, and how she'd come to realise she'll stay for him.) (Natasha bared her everything to the gentle soldier who jokes about being born from places he dreams of visiting—and, all he had needed to do is love her.)

Bruce understands (because, he's in love with Betty, and the ring he had once thought of throwing, now glistens around her finger, beautiful and perfect.)

Natasha looks peaceful, and he is happy for her.

(Natasha is happy for him, too.)

No matter the denial of how deep their friendship is (—he's so sentimental over a treasured relationship that stemmed from a fucking one-night stand, really?—), he can't help but flash her a smirk. "If Steve ditches you and the baby at the altar, I'll punch him in his perfect teeth."

She rolls her eyes again. "Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I can't throw a right hook, ya know."

"Can't believe I'm hearing an old person say that, and actually believe them."

"Watch it, Banner."

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a/n: was supposed to be set in canon, but then words just tumbled and it wasn't canonical at all. so lets just think of this as a normal people au, where nat is older than she looks, like thirty-ish, and banner is not as passive agressive because the hulk experiment never happened. also i just realised how banner here sounds like clint o ma ga. i wouldve rewritten it at the realization, but nah. this is my attempt to do something for bruce and nat because of the lack of friendship genre stories about them anyway

yea. love you guyth

feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated