Author's Note: On request from MushySnugglybits(and seriously... I can't write that without laughing...) here's a little(or not so little) Bruce and Natasha story to broaden the dynamics between the two as they went from nothing to something more between CA:WS and AoU.
Disclaimer: Remember, I don't have my name on ownership to anything. Maybe I'll go buy myself something to put my name on. Like sticky notes. I do so enjoy sticky notes!
The Gray Areas:
It was hard to admit to herself that even though she always waded through the world in a black and white existence, Natasha herself had always lived in that microscopic gray area that most people couldn't comprehend or fathom. She was the void, the black hole of the universe that dragged people in until they were pulled apart and picked clean. That was her job, after all; to take people into that black hole with her and never let them return.
Or it had been, however with the rise of HYDRA and the collapse of SHIELD, her muddled gray area had turned into some crazed and hellish version of 'Alice in Wonderland's rabbit hole. She had thought she was making a difference and thought she was doing dreadful things for good reasons. It was a grim revelation to realize she had once thought the same of the work she had done for Red Room and though she supposed betrayal was in the job description, that didn't really make her feel any better about it. In fact, it only served to make the farce that was her life seem even more empty. There were only two Avengers she really got along with on any satisfactory level, but Steve was off chasing ghosts from the past, and Clint was spending his ample amount of sudden free time with his family.
The invitation to join the Barton family had, of course, been extended to her. Truth be told, as much as she loved to visit them, it felt wrong to stay for any prolonged period of time, especially right now. Clint's family was clean, untouched from the evils of the world andnderneath her pleasant 'Auntie Nat' mask was a monster, and she actually felt like she might soil them if she ever planted herself at the farm for too long. Her partner never seemed to understand why she wouldn't stay for more than little bits at a time, but Laura continuously gave her somber and reassuring looks, looks that said she wouldn't ruin the family if she stayed longer. On rare days she believed the other woman's reassurances, but most days she knew better. It doesn't do any kid good to see someone who woke up, drenched in sweat, and with a weary face from the horrors of the past. Natasha tried not to sleep when she was with them.
Those restless nights now seemed to follow her wherever she went nowadays. Only a few weeks, or maybe it was months, of moving from one place to the other left her feeling weary and drained. The end of SHIELD had left her burnt out, especially after she realized that she had never wiped any red from her ledger, and instead had added to it. It was only when Tony Stark was planted right at the door to her motel room that she realized she hadn't spoken to a single member of the team since she and Steve had averted the crisis(two months and twelve days ago, according to Tony), and she never answered a single request to 'assemble'.
Even so, to have him in her dingy little hideaway for the night wasn't exactly on the top of her 'what makes me happy' list, though that list never really consisted of much to begin with. She didn't show it, as per usual her face was instinctively neutral when she opened the door to find him there, his arms were crossed with the most acerbic expression she had ever seen grace the billionaire's face. "Something I can do for you, Stark?" and the miffed tone her voice came out with wasn't lost on either of them. From the way his sour face changed to a mixture of unease and frustration, she had to hazard a guess that her mask of indifference wasn't really hiding how tired she was, and the thought was left her feeling unsettled.
"Nice digs," the greeting itself was pathetic, but she gave him points for an attempt at levity. "I've got better ones you could stay in. It's free, comes with a kitchen, and-" he glanced over her shoulder at some long ago forgotten and untouched take-out containers, "Healthier dietary options." Her only reaction was the quirk of an eyebrow and she watched as he blew out a breath of frustration, "Barton said he hasn't seen you." It was a nice attempt to get a reaction, she supposed, but she just blinked a few times and waited for whatever else he would say. "And Rogers has been getting his star-spangled underwear all in a bunch since you don't call, or write, or e-mail. Even a tweet would be nice, though I doubt he knows what that is. You might be his first 21st century crush," with that the corner of her lips actually curved into a slightly slanted smile and Tony seemed mildly pleased with himself for it. Within thirty seconds he pulled a brown paper bag out from behind his back and she couldn't stop the quizzical expression that came across her face that made him explain, "And I brought shawarma."
Finally she relented as she stepped back inside and left a small amount of room for him enter, "Come in." He did, although he seemed a little hesitant about it, like she might be trying to lure him inside to stab him for his intrusion on her. The thought had crossed her mind in the beginning and she watched as he moved passed her before she quietly closed the door, then dragged the chain lock across as she did so. When she turned she wasn't entirely sure what to make of the sight at the tiny table; Tony was daintily holding the hours old container of Thai food in edges of his thumb and index finger with a look of revulsion and she actually found it mildly amusing to watch. Natasha shook her head, then she took the few steps to the table and pulled it from his hands. She settled him with a somewhat perturbed look before she tossed it into the trash and watched him pull out two containers from the brown bag, then he slid one in front of her and then himself. "Thanks," she figured it might be rude to not say so.
"Someone had to do something," he responded with a shrug and before he took a seat. "And that—that wasn't food. The smell coming from that was almost alien. Really, Romanoff, you need a health coach. It's amazing you can keep your figure, but I suppose it helps that you didn't actually eat it," there was some hint of caring concern in his witty commentary that kept her from some scathing insult about his misogynistic lecture. She huffed out a sigh and let it go, and opened the container he had given her. She stared down at the disgustingly amazing concoction inside and she must have gotten lost in thought, something that used to never happen, yet now seemed to occur more often than not. The concern was plain in his voice now, "You're not okay. You know that, right?"
She forced her eyes up to meet his and even his usually amused expression seemed almost somber now. "I'm surviving," she assured him as she leaned back in the chair. She still hadn't touched the food, and from his expression, it was bothering him more and more as each second ticked by. Finally she gave in, picked up the vile concoction that she secretly loved, and bit into it. The relief from him was clear to her even though she hadn't looked at him.
Tony's next words actually gave her pause, "Is that really enough?" Natasha, admittedly, didn't understand what he meant by it and she fixed her eyes on him, waiting for him to expand on the question. "Surviving. Is it enough to just survive?" she narrowed her eyes at that as she tilted her head slightly, and the food hung in the air in her fingertips. Is it enough? She honestly had no idea. "Nobody can live like—this," his hands motioned around the room and she felt the crinkle form in her brow.
Finally she placed the food back into the container and sighed, and as she rested her elbows on the table, she proceeded to lean her head down into her hands. Tony had a way about him that made her head ache, and she was too tired to deal with their usual repertoire of wits. The air in the room shifted with her movement, a profound moment where her mask just no longer existed. "No. It's not," she finally admitted, to not just him, but herself as well. "But I don't know what else to do," and she didn't dare to look back up to see what his expression might hold now, because if it was pity, she would kick his ass right out the door. "I've spent my life living in a complex web of lies," she finally admitted as she sat back up in the chair and fixed her gaze on him. Surprisingly, he just looked rather indifferent to her comment, "I'm not really sure if there's actually a real person underneath it all anymore." Then she shrugged, "I'm not sure there ever was."
That seemed to catch him off guard more than anything else and his response to it was swift, "I think that's a cop-out."
"Excuse me?" the indignation in her voice was apparent and she saw the brief flicker in his eyes where he thought that maybe he had gone too far.
As usual, it didn't stop him from continuing and he sighed. She narrowed her eyes further when he crossed his arms. "You remember when you were my—Pepper's—our PA?" he questioned, then seemed to have thought better of it. "Of course you do. You're like an elephant, you never forget," he waved it off with his hand and she wasn't sure if it was to remind him or herself of that fact. "Anyways. I asked you a question, remember?"
"You had plenty of questions. You just googled most of them."
She noted that his sardonic look was almost as amazing as hers. "But only one of them stood out!" came his insistent tone.
She supposed that was true enough. "The last birthday thing," she muttered before she shook her head. "What about it?" her question only caused him to regard her with a knowing look, and she shook her head once more before she ran her fingers through her hair.
"If this was going to be the last birthday you ever had, how would you spend it?"
"I would do whatever I wanted, with whoever I wanted to do it with."
Natasha had brazenly given him an honest answer when she shouldn't have six years ago, a mistake that had completely, and literally, blown up in her face. To this day she still wasn't sure why she hadn't lied to him and she thought that maybe it was because he had that vulnerable look on while he was dying. It had seemed so wrong to lie to a dying man, hell, even she had some edges on her moral compass that didn't flip completely upside down.
"So?" came Tony's interruption into her current train of thought. She jolted a little before she narrowed her eyes at him and he almost looked apologetic, "What does Natasha Romanoff want to do?" It was a good question. And one that nobody had ever asked before, "There has to be something. Your brain can't always be running on overdrive about your next move, it must want something."
She couldn't disagree. At some point, maybe her brain did tell her she wanted something, and she probably vehemently ignored it. "To stop running," she finally decided. The answer seemed to be less than what he expected, much to simple for Tony Stark's tastes. "Being somewhere that nobody is trying to kill me would be nice," she deadpanned and she saw Tony grin at the comment. Apparently, he appreciated her attempt for levity, because sometimes it managed to match his own dark humor.
"It still surprises me that you can be funny," he admitted with a shrug and she actually chuckled in response. She accepted that she was stuck with him in her current hideaway and then lifted the shawarma to take another bite, which seemed to make the billionaire feel better; though why she was placating some odd need to make him more comfortable was beyond her current comprehension. They each went through half their food in an unusually amicable silence before he finally spoke again, "I happen to know a guy who excels at being off the grid, so to speak."
"Naturally," she commented dryly as she closed the container to the other half of her food. "Is there something you don't have a guy for?" and there was that alarmingly cheeky grin that caused Natasha to roll her eyes.
"I have Pepper for that," he assured her with a wave of his hand. Yep... She had seen that coming as soon as the question left her lips, but even so, she couldn't help the tiny smile that formed at the edges of her lips. It was annoyingly nice to finally have someone to talk to, even if it was the last person she expected, well, maybe the second to last person. "How about it?" the questioning look she gave him must have been apparent. "No more creepy motels and—vile inedible food," after that, he seemed to pause in thought, "Well, no more creepy motels anyways. Not too sure about the food if we're going with the 'off the grid' option."
She blinked a few times and tried to let his words sink in to figure out if he was actually being honest with the offer, and it took a few minutes before she finally decided that he was. "Where would I possibly go that someone wouldn't find me?" she questioned. "I'm in the middle of nowhere, in a motel, and you found me."
"I can find anyone," he reminded her. "Besides, we'll just send you to the last place anyone would ever think to look," and she wasn't entirely sure she liked where this could be going. "Pack your things," she quirked both eyebrows up at him now. "Do you even having anything here?" he questioned as he looked around in wonder.
"I have a gun under the pillow and a knife in my boot, if that counts."
If he was surprised, it didn't show. Tony merely shrugged, "Suppose it does."
Natasha nodded to the black duffle bag at the end of the bed, "Anything else I have is always packed." She could see him staring at the bag with alarmingly wide eyes and she couldn't resist her next question, "Something the matter?"
"One of these days, Romanoff, I'm going to need you to teach Pepper how to pack her luggage," he cracked her mask on that one and before she could stop it she laughed, really laughed, for the first time in two and a half months.
Where Tony sent her, Natasha didn't find nearly as amusing as his comment about Pepper's luggage problems. A long breath escaped her as she sat down on top of her duffle bag on the ground, at some remote and tiny airfield, in God only knew where. She probably should have just stabbed him with that knife in her boot instead of letting him convince her that he had a rationally good idea. Nothing about this seemed overtly good, not when it was just dirt and more dirt for miles around the dinky little place, littered with planes that she wasn't quite sure even worked any longer. It also didn't help that she had absolutely no idea what, or who, she was supposed to be waiting for. Tony's epic response when she asked had been, 'That's the beauty of it, if you don't know where you're going, how will anybody else?' It had seemed somewhat logical; at the time.
Footsteps alerted her to the presence behind her long before the docile voice ever spoke, "Hey." Her eyes narrowed slightly because that voice was dangerously familiar and it left an uneasy feeling in her gut. Regardless, she stood up and angled her head to look back at Bruce Banner, who shuffled awkwardly to a stop just a few feet away from her. She really had no idea what to do with this, but at least they seemed to be on equal footing with the thought. "So... you want me to take that?" and he gestured down to the bag at her feet. She really didn't, and she shifted her gaze down to it, away from him. The second to last person she had expected to see, had just pawned her off the the very last person she expected to see. She was going to kill Tony Stark. Correction: maim him, then kill him. Bruce only seemed to get more tense with her silence and ignorance of him, "I take it Tony didn't mention to you that I would be the one here."
"No," and it came out a little more annoyed then she meant it to, and she honestly, felt a little terrible at the pained look that covered his face. Natasha rubbed her face and let out a weary sigh before she leaned down and picked up the bag, "This where you've been?"
"Mostly," Bruce answered honestly, "Sometimes I go to the tower when I need to get away for a few days."
"Oh." This isn't awkward at all. She fidgeted. Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, actually fidgeted; then he took the bag from her hand. She froze for a second in surprise, saw the the apprehensive look on his face when he realized he had just done it, and she blew out a sigh because she honestly couldn't think of any other way to react. What was she going to do, yell at him for being a gentleman? When she took a look at him, a long hard look, she could see the same thing she saw in the reflection any time she dared to look in the mirror; Bruce was as tired and burnt out as she was, and she supposed that was something anyways, so she gave the smallest of shrugs, "Thanks..." The smile she tried to force out never actually showed itself.
At least he seemed a little relieved that she hadn't chewed his head off, or yelled, and she could tell that Tony must have warned the good doctor that she wasn't exactly her usually stoic self. "Come on," he finally told her as he turned and headed back the way he had come from. She followed swiftly and quietly, because hell, where else was she supposed to go? It seemed he could read her mind, because he answered her next question before she could actually ask it. "India," he told her, "Not Calcutta this time, mind you, it's a little quieter here."
"It gets quieter than Calcutta?"
The comment at least made him smile a little, even if it was somber at best. "I go where I'm needed most," he admitted with a shrug. She couldn't fault his generosity. "We're in Rajasthan. It'll take a bit to get back to Bihar," she could see him testing the weight of the bag before he looked back at her, "I guess we should stop so you can get some things. From the sounds of it, you're staying for a while and that typically requires more then an overnight bag."
She didn't tell him that she had lived on much less for years as a child and that doing so as an adult was a lot more simple. Some topics were best left unbreached and instead she gave a small nod in response, "Guess so." Realization dawned on her now, "I'm staying with you, aren't I?" and at her request for clarification she saw the uncomfortable nod that actually did make her feel a little terrible. "I bother you, don't I?" she asked softly. To his credit, he looked somewhat mortified at the question, but she had a feeling it was most likely because she was right. She shook her head and got into the passenger's seat of the beat-up truck he had led her too, and she took the bag he offered back to her. She stopped him when he opened his mouth, "It's alright, Banner. I bother myself most days."
"Well..." he paused, clearly not sure where to take that statement, but after a beat he said the most surprising thing, "That's alright. I bother myself, too, just be glad yourself isn't yelling back in your head."
Natasha wasn't sure for a moment how to react, so she simply stared at him in wonder with her lips parted slightly, and her head tilted to the side. Whatever response she had thought of, died on her lips, and she could see the small wrinkles of amusement around his eyes. She had never heard him actually make a real joke about the Big Guy before other then his off-handed comment about 'breaking Harlem'. Finally she huffed out a disbelieving chuckle and gave a small shake of her head, "Touche."
They had gone about the several hours in silence, mostly, other then a few off-handed comments here and there. It wasn't as uncomfortable as she expected, but it certainly wasn't a pleasant experience either, which was going to make staying with him one of the strangest things she had ever done. Natasha, admittedly, had some sincerely bizarre moments in her years as a spy and assassin, yet somehow all of it seemed to pale in comparison. When he parked the truck next to, what supposedly counted for the leftover shambles of a house, she exited the truck with her own black bag and also the bag of clothes they had stopped to get for her along the way. Everything nearby was almost exactly the same, just dirt and darkness and a disarray of defective houses that had been fixed time and again, to a point where it was mostly useless to repair any further.
He seemed uneasy as she followed him inside through a nearly broken door, and she watched with a neutral face as he pulled back the shredded cloth that counted for a door to one of the few rooms inside, "Rooms aren't all that private around here, but—I'm sure we could find something else to hang over the doorway. Never really had a reason to bother with it before-"
She stopped him there. "It's fine," she assured him as she entered the tiny room. There wasn't anything in it besides the mattress and box-spring on the floor, and she assumed those were only recently retrieved for her sake. Truth was, it really was fine by her since she could recall sleeping in worse places; and at least this had a bed, sort of. "I'm not shy," and she was already peeling off her shirt. She had been in the same clothes for nearly two days and she desperately needed something new. She heard him clear his throat at that and she shook her head with grim amusement. Sometimes she forgot he wasn't someone who was very socially adept. She considered now that he spent most of his time with people he barely understood, and he most definitely wasn't used to her candor. She barely caught sight of his frazzled look as he turned away from her bare back and dropped the sheet. Natasha supposed it probably wasn't the best first impression to make on somebody when you move into their home. Once she pulled on the black leggings and the plain black t-shirt, she settled her bags down by the mattress and exited through the sheet. "Sorry," she offered lamely. "Habitual. Sometimes I forget that people aren't quiet as—forward—as I am," it was putting it mildly and she could see that from Bruce's face.
He let it go easily enough, "No problem..." She didn't actually believe him when he said that and he must have noticed her disbelief because he began that awkward fidgeting that he did any time they were near each other for to long. They hadn't really spoken much since the battle of New York, or at all, if you wanted to be realistic.
There wasn't really time to talk now either. Foreign words sounded outside the door to the house and she listened to Bruce acknowledge it and allow it entry. Inside stepped an older woman with a little girl, who was around eight, and both of them paused to studied her, probably due to the clothes she wore. She made herself scarce and returned back behind the sheet and to let Bruce do his doctoring without her prying eyes. It was probably about ten minutes before she saw the little girl's brown eyes peer through the side of the sheet. It was strangely endearing and she gave her a small smile.
"May I enter?" Her Hindi was sub-par, but she figured she could manage, probably better than Bruce did at any rate. She nodded her head and watched as the young girl pushed the sheet aside and slid into the room lithe like a cat. She could just barely see Bruce's questioning look as he noticed the child, and then it disappeared just as quickly behind the sheet. "You dress funny," Natasha chuckled at that and watched as the girl eyed her bag of clothes with interest. Those eyes moved back to her in curiosity and she knew exactly what the kid was thinking. She gave a reluctant nod and watched the girl grin and dig some of the more traditional female clothing of India out of the bag, then proceed place it on the mattress beside her. She released a small laugh when the girl stood on her feet, on the mattress, and began to drape the red garment around her with remarkable precision. Then the little hands tapped her arms, "Up," she ordered. Natasha lifted her arms without a second thought and raised an eyebrow up as the child continued the fashion makeover with ferocious enthusiasm.
It took her a moment more but finally she assumed the little girl was done as she hopped off the mattress and stood back to eye her handiwork. "How do I look?" she questioned and she watched as she little girl grinned.
"Cholo's were made for you," the child replied with a satisfied nod. She must have looked confused because the little girl pointed to the garment she had just draped over her, "Cholo."
Natasha studied it briefly, though she didn't exactly have a mirror to see if what the child said was true, "Thank you." The little girl looked a little befuddled, probably not sure what she was being thanked for, so she offered up her name, "Natasha."
That made the girl smile, "Krishna." Natasha chuckled as the little girl stoically held out her hand and she shook it. Then just as suddenly, she plopped onto the mattress beside her and the child lifted her hand up, touching the small beauty mark on her cheekbone, "You're pretty."
Sometimes the sincerity of children was to much and her lips curled into a real smile before she gently poked Krishna's nose, "So are you." It was only a second later that they heard the little girl's name called and then she was dragged from the room by the little girl and pulled towards her mother. "Natasha!" she informed her mother who was currently looking between them.
Slowly the mother's face became apologetic at the realization that, not only had her daughter barged into Natasha's bedroom, but she had also redressed her slightly. "It's alright, she was fine," she assured the woman who looked relieved at the words. She gave the little girl a small finger wave when the mother led her outside, calling back a quick apology regardless of what Natasha had said. She glanced back at Bruce's surprised expression, "Something wrong?"
"Just—I didn't quite know what to do when I saw her go in your room," he admitted as he sheepishly scratched his head. "Your face was a little hard to read for the brief second that I got to see it."
Her eyebrow quirked upward at that, "You afraid I'll start massacring the people of Bihar because an eight year old walked in my room and put a cholo on me?" She saw the slightly horrified expression cross his face at the mere mention of it and frustration flared in her chest, "Give me a little credit, Doctor Banner, I do have some self control. It takes a little more then that to get me running and gunning."
"I didn't mean-" but she was already back behind the sheet. She removed the garment and stuffed the clothing back into the bag before she rubbed her eyes tiredly, then she heard Bruce let out a frustrated breath of air. This was never going to work. They each had to many of their own problems, Bruce with his monster, and Natasha with her demons. It was an entirely new gray area that she was fundamentally unprepared for.
She flopped down on the mattress and pulled the sheet that rested on it over her head. She must have been even more exhausted than she thought, because the next thing she knew, she jerked up with the strangest sensation. She reached her hand out immediately and snatched the arm of whoever had been reaching towards her, and then she heard Bruce's grunt of surprise when she flipped him over onto his back. For a brief second she was horrified, and all she could think to do was stared down and expect him to start to turn green. She covered her mouth in shock, but fortunately, it never happened. Instead he just took a brief moment to catch his breath before his concerned tone reached her ears, "Are you...alright?" He had sat up, and his studious expression caused her to realize that she was shivering. "I didn't mean to startle you—you just—I got worried. You sounded like you were in pain," she had to blink a few times to try to get her senses back. "Natasha?" his hand reached out again but she must have reacted badly, possibly even flinched to the maneuver, because he yanked his back almost immediately.
Her silence only seemed to make him more panic-stricken though, and she wanted to apologize for hurting him, but it was stuck in the back of her throat. It was the first time anybody had ever dared to come in and check on her. Clint had known better because he had his own demons at night, and he knew those demons were better left alone until they settled. He always kept his distance until she shook it off and allowed her to put the mask back on. Steve was much the same, for what little time they had worked together after New York. He had casually attempted to bring it up, but he never pushed when she actively refused to speak about whatever plagued her in the night. The words came out from her lips of their own accord before she could push them down with the apology, "You can leave now." It was an uncomfortable silence as he tried to decided what to do. "Get out," Natasha's voice was more forceful now as she stared through him as though he were corporeal.
The worry never left his defeated posture and she didn't actually recall him leaving, but he must have, because suddenly he put a warm cup in her hand. She had to blink a few more times before she looked down at it in bewilderment. "Tea," he explained, as though it were some sort of peace offering, but her silence only seemed to make him more panic-stricken. "I just—I'm sorry," he offered up uselessly as he realized now that he had intruded on something she neither wanted, nor allowed, other people to see. She watched him in confusion as he backed out of the room and then her eyes settled back down on the cup of tea.
She hadn't meant to get angry, but then again, she never meant to do a lot of things. As it turned out, the woman beneath the mask was just a shell of a person, even worse at social interactions than Bruce Banner himself. She had told Tony that she didn't know if there was actually a person underneath all the lies, but it turned out, there was. It was just to bad that person was in shambles, even more so than the house she currently resided in. Natasha sipped the tea, but it left a bitter taste and she stood up slowly, hesitant before she decided to edge out of the room. Bruce seemed to do a double-take when she appeared, and he looked worried that he might be on the receiving end of some sort of angry spiel he seemed to think he deserved. It only made her feel worse because he hadn't been trying to intrude, he had merely been trying to help her.
Her lips parted, but the words still never came out, so she quickly pursed them shut again. Apologies never did come out easily for her because it wasn't often she felt she actually needed to. His expression changed to one a bit more understanding, some gentleness lurking in his eyes that relaxed her a little, "It's alright." It wasn't, not for her, but she gave an almost imperceptible nod as she turned and went back into the room with the same silence she had exited it.
She didn't sleep the rest of the night, and she didn't dare go back out the next day unless he wasn't around.
Well. These two are off to a rather shaky start. Eh?
As always, criticism is completely acceptable and appreciated. Angry ranting about how horrible I am or how you don't like Bruce and Natasha together will be promptly giggled at and responded to with vomit-inducing kindness.
That being said. Hope you enjoyed the first installment of The Gray Areas. Tomorrow will be an update for One Step at a Time. Ta-ta for now!