My tenth fanfiction in a series of fanfictions I'm doing based on Taylor Swift's album, Red. This one is based on one of my favorite songs, The Last Time. It's a Brutasha fic. I hope y'all enjoy it, and if you're interested in reading any other of my fics, go ahead and check it out! If you're coming from tumblr (wandering-clarabella), I'd encourage you to follow my fics on here, because I sometimes post things here that I don't post on Tumblr. If you're a scout, then I'd encourage you to follow my Tumblr account, 'cause I post things there that I don't post here :P .
Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers, or any Taylor Swift song.
Title: the last time (put my name at the top of your list).
Summary: "Bruce Banner is at her doorstep. And Natasha Romanoff has no idea what to do." [Oneshot. Brutasha.]
Pairing: Brutasha. Definite Brutasha.
WARNING: Slightly bitter, but also kinda sweet (bittersweet, hehe). It's set post AOU, so Bruce is all gone. Or, is he? Oh, and cursing, 'cause it's Avengers, not Phineas and Ferb (tears for that fandom, too, though). It also includes some words from the song, if that matters.
the last time (put my name at the top of your list).
by clarabella wanderling.
"Find myself at your door,
just like all those times, before.
I'm not sure how I got there;
All roads, they lead me here."
~Taylor Swift, The Last Time.
The knock on her door puts a knot in her shoulders.
It's not Steve, or Clint, 'cause they've both got keys. Tony never knocks, and if it was Thor the door would be broken by now. She grabs her gun, the polished surface glinting slightly, possibilities swimming through her head. Pepper would knock, except she's in Miami at some conference. So would Maria, or Fury, but they always warn her when they're showing up. Her grip tightens around the gun. She pushes the impossible bit of hope away, focussing instead at another knock that hits the wood of her door. She thinks that, if they're in the Avengers building, they must be high-tech bad guys, or one of her trainees.
Or Bruce, her mind supplies, and Natasha Romanoff hates herself for thinking that.
She reaches the doorknob, limbs tense, and slowly opens the door.
Then she slams it shut. Her breathing is suddenly quick, and she rests against the wooden frame, steadying her hands, which should not be shaking, damnit. "This can't be happening." Natasha whispers, through gritted teeth, cursing in a language that no one in the building can understand.
"Natasha."
His voice reaches her ears through the door and her breath hitches, again. It's the same, and changed. It's a little less high-strung, a little deeper, but still has that twinge of regret, of sorrow, of dry humor.
Bruce Banner is at her doorstep.
And Natasha Romanoff has no idea what to do.
So, she does what she always does, and faces danger head on, brave face settled on the surface of her fair skin (underneath it's all lightning and thunder). Natasha opens the door, lips settling in a frown, leaning idly against the frame of her door, and says, "How was Fiji? Wonderful? Amazing?" She does her best to sound like she doesn't care, playing with the bracelet she sports on her right wrist (Wanda gave it to her. It's got a Black Widow stuck in amber in the center).
"Lonely." Bruce replies, running a hand through his hair. It's long, curls falling everywhere as he sticks his hands in his pockets, gulping, looking anywhere but her. "I missed you."
And she is angry, because how dare he leave her, how dare he think that she'd be okay without him, how dare he?
He looks at her, then, all regret and self-deprecation and affection. How strange, Natasha thinks, between the red that clouds her eyes, that a man who believes himself a monster could hold so much love inside himself.
But she ignores the swelling in her chest, the rising urge to accept him, to say it's okay, because it's not, it's not okay to leave someone you supposedly adore, no matter why you left them. You don't make decisions for other people. Especially not for Natasha Romanoff. She steps towards him, thinking better of her initial plan to slam him against the wall and give him a good slap, because that green bodyguard of his is lurking just below, after all.
"Then why didn't you take me with you?" She asks, her words speaking volumes. Natasha turns, catching sight of Rhodey looking at them behind a corner. Her glare reaches his gaze and he flees. Nat's door slams behind her, and she slides down the length of it, hugging her knees. She swallows back her tears and waits, because she has a feeling Bruce won't be leaving.
There's a thump against her door, further pressure against her back, and she imagines him, sitting cross legged, staring at nothing (but also everything), swallowing (his Addams apple jiggling slightly), brushing the curls out of his face. Natasha listens, awaiting his words, and then:
"I needed to find myself."
She doesn't say anything.
"I'd already lost myself." Bruce heaves on. He feels heavy, heart hammering in his chest. "I'd lost myself a long time ago. And I'd never really taken the time to find myself. I had to take a journey, a journey by myself, before I could take one with someone I love."
Natasha's head jerks upwards, and before she can stop herself, the word flies out of her mouth: "Love?"
She senses a smile when he replies, "Yeah. Love."
She'd always thought love for children, but here she was, a thirty-year-old woman, a world-renowned murderess, an Avenger, powered by thought of being loved. "What about when I pushed you off that cliff?" She asks.
He chuckles, softly. "I know why you did it, and though I don't exactly agree with your methods, I agree with your reason. It had to be done. To save the world and whatnot."
It's her turn to laugh, because he sounds so familiar, and yet so unfamiliar, forgiving her, sitting against her door, seemingly content to just hear her voice.
"That's the last time, Tasha." Bruce says. "That's the last time I'm leaving someone I love. I found myself."
"How?"
His words are simple. "Trying to earn you, I found myself."
...
When she opens the door, he grins at her, but then his grin slides shut, like something isn't right, which, well, it isn't. "You don't believe me." He says. She's annoyed that he can still read her, plain as day, but is also kind of pleased.
"I don't." Natasha agrees.
"Why not?"
"Because." Natasha begins, "You were gone for two years, and in those two years all I got were postcards with the same words on it, every time. Every single time, Bruce."
"Be back soon." Bruce murmurs, looking down at his feet. He's tapping his fingers against his thigh, one, two, three, and Natasha can tell that even though he's found what he wants to do, who he is, he's still wary. And if he weren't, Natasha would kill him.
"Be back soon. Bruce, you know me. You know everything about me, not from the internet, but because you've spent time with me, you can read me. I've got no past with you, no mystery, every single ache is open and plain as day. I've got nowhere to hide with you. It's just me and my monster, wanting you to stay. But you left, even when I made it plain that I was willing to leave with you." Her voice drops, "It's not even so much that you left. It's that you left without saying goodbye."
He rubs his forehead, darts a glance towards her, and then away, "I'm sorry. I'm a coward."
Her response is bitter. "I know."
Silence settles.
Natasha takes a rattling breath. "I forgive you, but we are not going straight into a relationship."
He nods, solemn.
She looks at the ceiling, pinches her nose. "I'm putting your name at the top of my list, Bruce. Don't let shadows settle around it again."
He nods again. "This is the last time. I know what I want, I know how to tread from here -carefully, with you. As long as you're here, I'll be fine."
Natasha cocks her head, steps towards him, kisses his lips. "You could be the death of me."
Bruce's voice is firm when he responds. "But I won't be."
And, well. He isn't.
"And right before your eyes,
I'm aching. No past,
nowhere to hide.
Just you and me...
This is the last time I'm asking you this:
Put my name at the top of your list."
~Taylor Swift, The Last TIme.
Yowch, definitely not my best work. Reviews would still make my day, though.
Blessings,
Joss.