Disclaimer: I don't own Thor or The Avengers.
Summary: Standing in the middle of one of Stark's extravagant parties, Sif notices one man above all others - the brilliant Bruce Banner. BruceSif, oneshot
Um, yeah. "Why not" is what I always say when thinking about writing an odd pair. And this pairing...I just couldn't help myself. When I thought of it, I had to write it, lol. I guess just...go with the whole scenario and try not to think too much as to why Sif and the Warriors Three are on Midgard. It's just a simple, fun little fic anyway. But yeah, I do hope that y'all give this little fic a shot and enjoy this! Thanks so much for reading!
With a Glance
The affair is elegant, its magnitude excessive.
Sif ponders the worth of these sorts of things as she stands idly in a corner, arms folded beneath her breasts, her sharp eyes on the figures wearing flowing gowns and political smiles as they whirl about the room. She never has had much taste for these sorts of things, deeming them unimportant and frivolous, something to entertain the higher-ups and nothing more.
She supposes she should expect nothing less of Tony Stark. She has heard the vague rumblings about his character, mostly from Thor and the people around them at this moment. Apparently, this man had changed in the most intriguing of ways because of the experiences in his life - and, well, some things she supposes could never change. At least, that was what Pepper Potts - Tony's significant other - had told her when she greeted she, Thor, and the Warriors Three when they arrived on Midgard not two days ago.
The dark-haired warrior tries not to think too much as she watches Thor with the Midgardian woman who had so enraptured him. The god of thunder seems completely and utterly blissful with his massive hand on her waist. Jane looks demure in a pale pink dress, her hair down and flowing around her shoulders. She smiles and leans into Thor's strong arms.
Sif tries to focus on the people Thor has told her about. Stark is all-too easy to spot, looking handsome in his suit and tie, along with Pepper at his side, wearing a structured black and white dress that plays up her slim form.
She believes she spots Darcy Lewis, who Thor has mentioned as, "The woman who electrocuted the god of thunder." She is leering playfully at a blonde man who seems to be equal parts stunned and flattered - Steve Rogers.
The next people who seem familiar to her as per Thor's descriptions are flame-haired Natasha Romanov and eagle-eyed Clint Barton. They stand side-by-side, murmuring to each other with such a close sense of camaraderie that Sif is pained by it, for whatever reason.
Sif tears her eyes away from the two of them and continues her search of the party's guests. She sees faces that do not ring familiar, that do not bring forth the vivid images of Thor's storytelling.
But then there's one.
Standing at the far corner of the party, so inconspicuous that it is the exact opposite, is a man wringing his hands as if uncomfortable in his own skin. His suit and tie are a bit ruffled and large on his frame. It was as if he just threw on something that resembled finery and made his way here. She has a vague idea of who this man is, what he is capable of, and it makes her warrior's blood sing in her veins.
Without even realizing what she's doing, Sif makes her way over to this man, easing her way through the various guests and reporters and women looking to land an Avenger.
The man does not watch her as she approaches, and Sif is unsurprised. There are many other more interesting things to watch here, and besides...
"Sif, is it?"
Sif stops a moment, unsure of what this means. To say she was shocked would be an understatement. She comes to a stop at his side, her heels silent against the floor - a warrior's step, silent and deadly, one that will never leave her, not even in the least dangerous of situations.
"Yes," she says, eyes on guard.
"Bruce Banner," he introduces himself, and immediately Sif is greeted with images of a battle - a great green beast, unstoppable in its wrath, fighting with the golden-haired god. And almost winning.
"Banner," Sif says, testing the name on her tongue.
"Just Bruce is fine," he says, offering her a slightly nervous smile.
Sif nods curtly, trying to return the smile he gave her but feeling quite the opposite. She feels completely out of place here, surrounded by the gleeful faces of these Midgardians. Shifting from foot to foot, she turns to look at him only to find that he was staring at her the entire time.
"It appears you are already aware of my name," she says, to disperse the awkwardness of the situation.
Bruce runs a hand through his already messy hair. He looks at her for a moment, sheepish in his gaze, and says, "Yes, well...I tend to do my research."
"Research," she replies, an amused lilt to her voice. "I suppose I can see your need for that."
"Yeah?" he questions, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly.
"You probably do not want us Asgardians causing a ruckus at this event," she says.
"If anyone causes a ruckus, I'm sure it won't be you."
This statement causes Sif to gaze at him, a playful mirth in her eyes. "You must not know as much about me as you think."
"I know you are itching to get out of this place," Bruce says, as if to one-up her.
Sif, rising to the challenge, shrugs her shoulders and says, "I could say the same thing about you."
Bruce smiles at her, as if she has just said something greatly amusing. "Perceptive."
"It is a must, if you want to be a true warrior," she states, trying not to sound pompous but she cannot help the sense of importance she feels when
The scientist nods as if in understanding, and for once she feels like someone might just get it. Might just get her. It is strange for her to feel this, when she has only just met this man, this man who is not quite a man, this man who is so much more.
Bruce is looking at her. She can feel his eyes on her skin; it is only then that she realizes she is staring out onto the dance floor, watching the people twirl and glide and laugh. Sif turns to face him, and he greets her with a smile.
"I would ask you to dance, but I'm..." Bruce trails off, looking awkward. Sif finds that she thinks it endearing.
She gives him a smirk that has made many a man stumble over their words. "I am alright standing here," she admits, and it it strange how true the words are. "If you do not mind my company."
The smile Bruce gives her looks hopeful, and Sif finds that it makes her chest feel strangely light. "I don't mind at all."
"Good," Sif says, somewhat decisively.
As if to prove her point, she moves closer to him - almost so their shoulders touch. Bruce doesn't shrink away and neither does she. She's never been a shrinking violet, after all.
And, as their conversation flows throughout the night, Sif realizes just how mesmerizing these Midgardians truly are - especially Bruce Banner.
End.