A/N: This is a story I wrote a while ago for a request on Tumblr from 1jadedoll, so thank you sparkles to her for feeding my almost-but-not-really-M-rated fluff obsession. I borrowed the name from a line of dialogue in Rainbow Rowell's book, "Fangirl," which is our manifesto :)

Enjoy!

All rights belong to Marvel.

"Are you going to talk to him?"

"No, I am not." Natasha ripped open the velcro of her wet gloves and slapped them onto the table, avoiding Clint's gaze.

"Because we can postpone this mission if you guys need to have it out."

"I have nothing to say to him."

"Liar. Look, Nat, I'm mad at him too, but he's still part of the team."

"No, I'm pretty sure he opted out of the team when he disappeared on a jet for 5 months."

"So are you mad that he left, or that he didn't take you with him?"

She pulled on fresh gloves and brushed past her friend. "Let's just go."

Clint was right, she reflected, as they flew out. There were many things she had wanted to say to Bruce Banner. There were things she wanted to scream at him, too, and several objects she wanted to throw at his head. In the five months since he disappeared, she had conducted countless late-night conversations in her mind. She had thought, when she saw him again, that it would be a long time before she ran out of things to say.

The call had come in from Steve that morning. They had located the quinjet, the real one this time. Submerged in the Pacific ocean five hundred miles from any shore. A heat signal had been picked up inside, but no movement detected.

No one had known what to expect. Tony came out from New York, prepared with enough equipment to take down the Russian Imperial Army. Steve had even considered calling Thor, except nobody knew how to contact deep space.

In the end, they had only needed one piece of equipment. One piece of equipment, and Natasha Romanoff.

The Hulk was huddled inside the water-filled plane, wrapped in some catatonic state. Unable-or unwilling-to die, where no human could have survived without a diving suit for five minutes, let alone five months. Tony used some sort of rescue crane to pull him out and deposited the Hulk on the deck of the ship. They had stood in a wary semi-circle, awaiting violence, screams, rage–but nothing came..

The Hulk slowly raised his head, blinking against the sunshine. He looked around at each of them, settling finally on Natasha. She kept her face impassive. The Hulk held her gaze, and everyone around them held their breath. And then he closed his eyes, and shuddered, and dissolved into a shaking, retching Dr. Banner, naked on the deck of the ship.

And all the words died in Natasha'a mind and in her throat. There was nothing she wanted to say.

Dr. Cho had whisked Bruce away for a full run-down as soon as they got back. Steve was waiting to debrief him, although she suspected it would be less of a debriefing and more of a serious chat about Teamwork, and probably Freedom.

Clint kept saying the original day's mission could wait; it had already waited 10 hours, what were a few more, but Natasha insisted.

Two hours later, she was deeply regretting her insistence.

The mission had gone from zero to fucked in no time at all. The former HYDRA arms dealer was well-prepared for their assault, and far too well-stocked in knives for Natasha's liking. She hadn't had to abort a mission in over a year, but it quickly became the only option. She and Clint fought their way out of the compound and made a break for the jet, nursing more than a few cuts and bruises. They tried to call Steve from the jet and report, but a ratchetty static was all that came over the comms. The two partners exchanged a worried look and flew home in silence.

Natasha dropped Clint off at his house. It had been a long day, longer than he'd signed up for, and whatever the fallout from their failed mission was, she said she would handle it herself. It was an indication of how exhausted Clint was that he didn't argue with her, although he ordered her to call if she needed anything.

She wasn't going to call. Mostly she just wanted to be alone. The emotional waterboarding of the first half of the day had left her empty, with failure and pain pressing down all around after the mission.

She landed the jet on the airstrip and made her way wearily back to the new glass and steel Avengers headquarters, tucked among the trees on a giant expanse of land in upstate New York.

The first thing that was glaringly apparent was that the lights were out. The building was a dark shape, lurking against the sky. She pulled out her gun and approached slowly. Had something happened? Was that the reason for the lack of response over the comms? Had Bruce…?

Two figures burst out the front doors and she raised her gun. "Stop!"

"It's just us, Romanoff," came Steve's voice, as he and Tony walked towards her.

"Don't shoot!" Tony quipped. Steve glared at him.

"Someone blew out the entire electrical system testing his new toy."

"It's not a toy, it's a differential interface that could introduce a quantum level of micro…"Tony saw their faces and trailed off. "Anyway, we're off to find the breaker box." He hefted a flashlight and snapped it on. "Follow the yellow brick road, Cap!" he called back over his shoulder.

Steve paused. "Where's Clint?"

"I dropped him at home. We had to abort. The mission was a failure. We tried to call–"

"But the comm system's down," Steve finished. "Are you ok?"

"I'll be fine."

"You can debrief me when I get back from damage control." He started after Tony. "Be careful in the dark."

A few SHIELD agents wielding penlights passed her in the halls, but she made it to her quarters without having to talk to anyone. She stripped out of her suit, thinking a good shower would take care of most of her scrapes. Then she discovered the six inch long slice in her upper right arm.

The arms dealer had some top quality knives, she had to give him that. So sharp she hadn't noticed until now, peeling the fabric away from the wound. It began welling blood even as she stood there. She pulled on a sports bra and some leggings, wrapped a tshirt around her arm, and went in search of first aid, Dr. Cho, and maybe some vodka, not necessarily in the order.

The first aid kit was kept in the lab, a smart planning move on Steve's part. There was a distinct fried smell hanging in the air. A small amount of light came in from the windows along one wall, but Nat still managed to trip over two fallen equipment carts before she crash-landed on the old sofa shoved in the back corner.

A self-conscious shuffling and throat-clearing came from across the room. Natasha bolted upright.

"It's just me. Bruce. Hi. Um, sorry." Bruce sidled into view, a dark outline against the windows. "I can leave…"

"Yes, you're good at that, aren't you?" she snapped, turning back to the first aid kit. "We're all very impressed."

"I think we need to talk."

"I don't," she said shortly. She unwrapped the shirt from around her arm, hissing as it stuck to her skin.

Bruce edged closer. "Natasha? Are you alright? Do I…do I need to go get someone?"

"No. It's–" She sighed, and rubbed her hands over her eyes. She'd never get this done well with only her left hand. "Stay. I could use your help."

He felt his way over to the couch and gingerly sat down. "I'm not sure what I'll be able to do…"

"I think even a physicist can manage band-aids. Hold this." She shoved the penlight from the first aid kit into his hands and ripped open an alcohol wipe.

"I want to explain," he said quietly.

"Well, don't." Her hands fumbled at the packaging and she cursed herself in her head. Bruce gently took the wipe from her and gave her the flashlight to hold.

She had forgotten how warm his hands were. She had forgotten a dozen little details about him, made herself forget them to lessen the loss. She stared at his hair while he rummaged in the box for butterfly sutures. (She had definitely missed the hair.)

"Why did you leave?" she asked softly.

He continued to work, not meeting her eyes. "I'm not safe for you."

"I thought we were past that hang-up. And since when do you get to decide what's safe for me or not?"

"I'll never be safe for you, Natasha, or anyone else. I think I'm fine, I think I have it under control, but what if something happens? What if we–what if we were together, for a long time, without an incident, and something came out of the blue, and just…"

"That's why we created the lullaby."

He pulled out a roll of light gauze and began to wrap it around her upper arm.

"The lullaby is like a band-aid against something that needs stitches. Face it, there's always going to be unknown triggers. Wanda's powers caught us all off guard; what if next time it's worse?"

"We can't live in fear of possible futures, Bruce."

"I have to!" He let go of her arm and she pulled back, fastening off the gauze herself."I have to live in fear of that, and you don't, Natasha. You don't have to fear what it can turn you into; you have control of your self."

"Oh, so now I'm not enough of a monster for you? This isn't a fucking contest, Bruce!" She threw the light into the kit and stood up.

"You're not a monster, Natasha."

"And neither are you. Like I said, we covered this. Why did you leave?"

"Because I'm afraid, alright? I don't ever want to hurt you."

"Well, you amazingly failed," she taunted.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't think it through, and–"

"You could have died, Bruce."

"No, I couldn't," he said softly. "The Other Guy would have kept me alive indefinitely–"

"You were trying to pull a Captain America? Preserve yourself in the ocean for a few decades or so?"

"Like I said, I didn't think it through."

"For a genius, you can be really stupid, Dr. Banner."

"Yes, I know." He pushed himself up off the couch and faced her. "I left because I love you."

Her chest grew tight. "Not good enough," she whispered.

"I love you, Natasha."

"Shut up."

She grabbed his hair and pulled him into a kiss, with all the fury and hurt and love she had buried for the past five months. He tripped backwards and sank onto the couch, dragging her down with him. He rubbed his hands along her back and pulled her closer, kissing down her neck and along her collarbone. She buried her face in his dark curly hair, dropping kisses and nipping at the edges of his ears, moving so that she straddled his lap and pressing herself closer against him.

"Natasha, we have to stop."

"Like hell we do," she growled.

"No, really, I–"

She stopped his sentence with another hard kiss. "This is you being stupid again, Dr. Banner."

"We can't…"

"Stop saying that, I'm sick of hearing it." She wrestled him out of his sweatshirt and pressed her hand against his rapidly beating heart.

"You're afraid?" she asked. He nodded, eyes locked on hers. She couldn't see the color in the darkness, but she knew, she knew, they were still that deep, deep brown. "Honey, I'm not going to give you time to be afraid."

After, with his head resting on her chest, she settled against him, running her fingers through his hair.

"I'm still mad at you," she said.

"I know."

"Like, really, really, mad."

"I know. I'm sorry. Although," he continued, laying a light kiss on her chest, "If this is a demonstration of your anger, maybe I should make you mad more often…"

"Don't you dare."

Whistling and footsteps sounded outside the room, and suddenly the lab was flooded with light.

"And there was light!" Tony announced. "And it was goo–aaaaaahhhh, my eyes! My eyes. My eyes will never be the same."

"Go away, Tony!" they both called out, half-laughing.

"Already gone!" came from down the hall.

Natasha smiled down at him in the light. They still had things to work out. They probably would for a long time to come. But he was here now, and he was hers.

"Welcome back," she said, and he smiled and pulled her down for another kiss.

The lights fizzled and went out, plunging the lab into darkness again.

"Damn it, Tony!" Cap's voice rang out.

"Language!"