A/N Warning: Contains descriptions of recovery from injury and blood.

"Oh I missed you too Vrach Banner." She can't grip that sink any harder, white knuckled as she feeling him digging in her wounds; Natasha put on that strapless top for reasons she wasn't exactly looking forward to.

He chuckles, unsure if her comment is sarcastic or not as he extracts the debris from her open cuts. The blood is running, damp towels hovering over her reddened upper back. He hates to ask, eyeing the bigger pieces, "Miss Romanoff, how much pain can you handle?"

She snickers preparing for the worst, "I guess we'll find ow-out."

Bruce hesitates, moving the cloth gently already the cut already bleeding, "And you told me you didn't have any injuries."

"Bruce, compared to my recent recovery from amnesia? These could hardly count."

He digs a little harder, one hand on her shoulder, more for comfort than anything else, "Hold on Natasha."

She shuts her eyes abruptly, breathing through her teeth. There was no point in asking her exactly what happened on her one week mission with Clint. She wouldn't answer him.

She's about ready to scream when that irritating friction on her back suddenly disappears, and much to her dismay, so does that gentle hold. "You're all good Miss Romanoff."

"Thanks Vrach. Did Stark take care of you while we were away?"

He laughs, "Didn't leave me alone."

"Good." Natasha snickers, opening that closet across the way for a towel. He takes a step ahead of her, reaching to that she wouldn't pull on her cuts and bruises. She takes her towel with a smirk. Planting a quick kiss on his nose she heads back into the bathroom, "I need to take a shower. We'll talk when I get out okay?"

He nods with a smile, "You need anything else?"

She thinks for a moment, holding the door, "Coffee would be nice."

"Sugar?"

"Perfect. Thanks Bruce."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Okay! Who missed me?" Clint barges into the lab smile on his face for the sole purpose of irritating Tony Stark whose quick to reply, busy with another three-dimensional image;

"No one. Actually, Thor said he did before he went back to Asgard."

Clint wrinkles his nose, "Is he coming back?"

Tony sighs, eyes never leaving his creation, "Yeah. He said he's be back in a week, but who knows what a 'week' is in his vocabulary."

"And Steve is still here?"

Stark points downward, "Downstairs watching 'Singing In The Rain' with Pep. She's got the flu."

Barton takes a step back as if Stark had some disease, "Stay away from me I don't want to get sick."

"And where's Little Red?"

Clint gives a smirk heading for the stool in the center of his laboratory, "In the shower I think. Where's the doc?"

Tony shrugs his shoulders, "Someplace."

The archer narrows his focus growing with a hint of frustration. At Natasha's request, he'd been responsible for looking after that 'suicidal mess'. Being gone for a week put Tony in charge which was risky on a good day. He takes a deep breath, realizing he's only in trouble if Natasha finds out, "Is he doing any better?"

The engineer leans back in his chair, "Define 'better'."

"Damn it Stark I'm serious! You want Natasha to strangle you for not watching him!"

He makes a face, "Not really, I was watching him."

"You swear?"

"Yeah, I swear."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She smiles when he knocks on the door, quick to give him that permission he always looks for before entering her room. Natasha's on her bed in comfortable attire, unwinding before bed at a far more reasonable hour then usual.

Shifting her eyes upwards, she can smell her sweet coffee. "Thanks Bruce."

He smirks shoving his hands into his pockets, "Your welcome Miss Romanoff."

Natasha sits up straighter, tapping the bed beside her, "What time did you get up this morning?"

Bruce looks down, his lock falling over his eye. He smirks nervously knowing she won't like his answer, "12:30."

She nudges him with a worried expression, "Why? Talk to me."

He brushes his foot against her floor eager to avoid the topic, "Stress..."

Natasha narrows her focus, ready to nudge him a second time, "Bruce..."

"What? I'm okay." He keeps his head down, afraid to say anything else. Just knowing she was there was comforting enough. He didn't need to overwhelm her with the anxiety she already knew about no matter how much it plagued him.

She runs her fingers through her damp hair, debating on how to take care of her sensitive friend. She knew she'd have to get back to reading her book on depression. For now, she picked up the vibe he was not in the mood for any sort of serious conversation. And maybe it was best to just shift his focus. Still, she knew him well enough to push a little, "No blowup right?"

He throws his head back, "A, little one. I didn't explode completely, Stark talked me out of it."

She widens her hazel-green eyes not expecting that sort of response, "What set you off?"

Bruce glances upward afraid to tell her, "It doesn't matter."

"You're a hot mess you know that?" She crosses her arms.

"Oh, I thought I was just an untamable disaster." He smirks waiting for some sort of sarcastic response. She catches him by surprise with her comment.

"You're not untamable. You're a disaster, but so am I. That's why we get along."

He smirks trying to enjoy her company, "You're not a disaster Miss Romanoff."

"I missed you." Natasha leans her head into his shoulder, tempted to run her fingers through his thick curly hair.

Bruce lets her stay there whispering in reply, "How do you say that in Russian?"

She laughs brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear before sitting up straighter, "You really want to know?"

He nods. Natasha lifts a knee onto her bed to face him, "Ya skuchal po tebe."

"All of that huh?"

Romanoff throws him a sarcastic glance, "Well how would you say it in Hindi?"

The physician thinks for a moment collecting his thoughts, "Maim tumhem yada kiya."

"And you make fun of my little mouth full. You've got the tongue twister."

He smirks copying her by lifting his one knee onto her bed to be better able to look her in the eye; "Spanish; Te extrane."

"Oh yeah, you spent some time in Columbia. What about French?"

He shrugs, "Je vous ai manque."

"Elegant."

"Ridiculous."

Natasha shuts her eyes in a little laughter. He catches a glance towards her bare foot, reddened from running.

He hovers a hand over her toes, "Do you mind?"

She's quick to shake her head, eager to accept the offer, "Not at all."

His gentle hands prop her foot onto his lap, lightly rubbing down the top of her foot from her toes to her ankle. Her eyes close from his smooth circular patterns running down the sole of her foot. His pressure increases when he gets to her heel, relieving the tension from off of her. When his thumb leans into her arche she releases a little squeal. He's quick to apologize believing he's hurt her in some way, easing up on his pressure; "I'm sorry Miss Romanoff."

She holds her forehead in pure delight, "No, don't be. It felt really good actually."

He shifts his glance, "I didn't like hearing you scream."

She laughs cheeks turning bright red, "Oh, sorry Bruce. Didn't mean to scare you...but seriously, that feels amazing."

When Barton lingered by the door, he could tell the couple was enjoying a little laughter in a light-hearted conversation. He gives them a few extra minutes before giving a soft knock at the door; "Alright you two what's going on."

Natasha sits up straighter while her physician keeps a gentle hold over her toes; "Bruce just gave me brand new feet and warm cup of coffee. Jealous Clint?"

He snickers slowly entering into the room, "Extremely. Actually Banner if you get a chance, I've got this wierd pain in my shoulder. Maybe you could look at it for me."

Bruce releases his hold on Romanoff, giving her toes a quick squeeze before standing up to leave, "Sure Clint. No problem."

A/N: Please Please Please Review! :) I'm looking forward to reading your comments.