Hello, everybody! I've noticed a lot of different "Natasha getting pregnant" stories, but I wanted to do a different take on it. This is just one scenario—please don't get upset or try to start a debate. This doesn't necessarily reflect my opinion, nor am I trying to represent one side more than the other. If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't be offended if you stop reading it (not that I'll even know!) Feedback is always appreciated, but please don't use the comments for arguing. I don't mean to stir up any negative emotions. I hope you enjoy it! Implied/subtle Clintasha?

"I need an abortion."

Bruce's hands froze over the blinking set of exposed wires. When Natasha had stumbled into his lab, eyes glued to the floor and mumbling disjointed apologies over the whirring machinery, he had known something was wrong. He was not expecting this.

Pushing his rolling office chair from the counter, Bruce removed his glasses and placed them on an end table to his right. Taking off his glasses was Bruce's quirky way of feeling more human, of making the transition from genius scientist to everyday man, from teammate to friend. Tony always joked that when the glasses came off, "therapist mode" went on. And it certainly seemed like Natasha could use a therapist right now.

Clearing his throat, Bruce motioned towards a vacant seat stationed at another lab table. When the team moved in, Stark had made it painfully clear that it was the designated "Tony chair," but Bruce was pretty sure he could make an exception. If not, a threat from the Big Green Rage Monster would probably shut his ramblings up.

When Natasha didn't move, Bruce leaned forward and ran a hand through his hair, never taking his eyes off the huddled agent. "Natasha, this is...this is big. What...when...how did this happen?"

"You really want to know how?"

"Come on, Romanoff. You know what I mean."

Natasha's expression hardened. "I don't think that's any of your business."

"It is when you walk into my lab in the middle of the night and ask me to give you an abortion," Bruce snapped. Natasha flinched a bit at that—although she made obvious efforts to hide it—so the offending man softened his tone. "Natasha, honey, I'm not judging—believe me, I've done enough in my life to know what it feels like to be judged. You just can't expect to spring this on me and not get a few questions. Is it Clint's?"

Natasha said nothing, but shook her head ever so slightly. Bruce could tell the question upset her.

"So it's another man's?"

The redhead's breath hitched. "Kind of...I mean, yes, obviously, but it's not like that."

Bruce raised his eyebrows expectantly and motioned for her to continue.

"You know that solo mission in Cambodia Fury sent me on a few months ago?"

Bruce nodded. The details were hazy, but he remembered it. After her return, Natasha had refused to speak to anyone for days.

"Well, I was ordered to get information from this arms dealer...but he wouldn't cooperate, so I had to sleep with him. I wasn't happy with it, but you do what you have to, right?"

Bruce didn't answer; instead, he stared at her dumbly, trying to process the slew of information that had just been thrown at him. He had always figured that life as a female assassin must involve a great deal of batted eyelashes and tight dresses—the best way to some men's hearts was through their pants—but it had always been kind of a hypothetical situation, something that probably happened but had never really existed as a reality. But now, here he sat, faced not only with living proof of all his former suspicions, but with the decision of what to do with her, as well.

"So what do you say?"

Bruce snapped out of his reverie; he had gotten so lost in thought that he forgot why Natasha was telling him all this in the first place.

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. You're the only one, Doc."

"Don't you think you should talk to someone else before you make a decision like this? Get their input? What about Clint?"

Natasha shook her head furiously, red curls whipping across her face. "No. No, not Clint. We've dealt with this kind of thing before and it...got messy, so to speak. It's not something I can explain right now; it's complicated."

"So you've had this...procedure...before?"

The assassin looked back down at her feet. "This would be my fifth."

Bruce's jaw fell so fast that he was surprised it didn't snap in half. "You're fifth abortion! Jesus Christ, Natasha, do you have any idea what you're doing to yourself? It's a miracle you can still manage to get pregnant at all!"

"Well, that would make things a hell of a lot easier, wouldn't it?" Natasha snapped. A mixture of fury, regret, and longing shown in her eyes, and her bottom lip had developed a noticeable tremor. "And don't you dare talk to me like that. What I do with my body is my choice, and if I had known that all I was gonna get from you was a shit ton of judgment, I would have just gone to my normal guy."

"Your 'normal guy?' Do you have any idea how you sound, Natasha? This isn't just some person you go to to get your hair done, this is...this is huge." Bruce paused, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. Snap out of it, Banner, he thought. You don't want the Other Guy to just do it for her.

"I know, okay? You know what? Fine. Go ahead and judge. Be like the rest. Forget I said anything," Natasha spat, her face becoming an unreadable shell as she spun on her heels to storm out of the chamber. Before she could reach the door, however, Bruce had glided across the room with a grace so unlike that of his alter ego, and Natasha suddenly felt the soft weight of a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Natasha, please. I'm not judging; I'm sorry if I was getting worked up back there. I just want to talk, okay? You shouldn't bottle something like this up inside."

The irony of the words was not lost on Natasha, but she didn't smile. Instead, she let herself be gently guided by the back of the neck to the chair Bruce had been sitting in moments ago. Draping a spare blanket around her shoulders—Bruce often slept in the lab when he felt like he was "on a roll," so to speak—Bruce hooked a foot around the leg of the designated "Tony chair" and dragged it so that he sat face to face with the trembling spy. Pulling the blanket so that it wrapped more tightly around her body, Natasha let out a weak laugh.

"You sure Stark's not gonna kill you for using that thing?"

Bruce chuckled softly. "Stark? A blow to his ego would do him some good."

For a few seconds, the only thing that could be heard was the methodic ticking of the clock on the wall.

"It's not my fault," Natasha blurted suddenly.

"No one ever said it was." Bruce's response was quick and firm, a stark contrast to the shaky insecurity in Natasha's voice.

"Yes they did! You should see the way they look at me, the others at SHIELD, like I'm some sort of wild ball of feminine hormones who can't control herself. But it's not my fault, I...it's my job. It's not like I wanted it to happen. I was just doing what I had to do, right?"

Natasha's eyes once again met Bruce's, desperately searching for the sort of outside reassurance that can help ease your deepest self-doubts, if only for a moment. Bruce just shook his head.

"I can't answer that for you, Natasha. That's something you have to figure out."

"I try!" Natasha cried. Her eyes were now brimming with tears, and it was clear that she was trying her best to blink them back. "But whenever I come to terms with it, something goes wrong again, and I...I know what they say about me. 'You're an assassin,' they think. 'Of course every life is expendable to you.' They think I'm heartless, that I have no soul but...they don't know what it's like. I thought they'd understand, but they don't."

There was something in Natasha's eyes that Bruce had never seen before; she had always prided herself in keeping calm in the most dire situations, of never letting her emotions get the best of her, but he could tell it was taking its effect on her. And now, here she was, sitting in front of him in the middle of the night and expecting him to have all the answers. He had been through a lot in his life, but this...this was something he couldn't possibly begin to understand. But he had to try; he had never seen Natasha this desperate, this...spent.

"Have you considered the other options? Tubal ligation, maybe?"

Natasha snorted. "Of course I have. I've even made appointments to get it done. But every time I get into the doctors' office, I see all these women, these happy older women who already have lives and families and they're, I don't know, complete. Like they're ready to close off that part of their lives for good. But I'm not; I'm so young, there's still so much I have to do. And sometimes I feel like that's the only natural part of me anymore, the only part that works right, and if I were to break it myself, I would...I don't know. It's complicated."

"Okay, so it's not children themselves you have a problem with. What's stopped you from going through with any of the pregnancies before? I'm sure SHIELD has a pretty decent maternity program."

Natasha's shoulders drooped, and strings of scarlet hair fell so that they masked her face.

"It doesn't work like that, Bruce, at least not in cases like these. I never wanted to sleep with these men...hell, in some cases, I had no choice at all. I can't do that—carry around a child inside of me created by lust and deception and anger. I know I don't seem like the mushy type, but I think that...I don't know, life should be created by love, you know? Two people who are happy and committed to taking responsibility for it. And then what would happen when it was born? God knows I couldn't keep it—there's no way I could be a mother, at least not right now—and I don't know if I could trust anybody enough to take care of it. I've seen what some people do to children, and even though I know there are a lot of perfectly adequate families out there...I just couldn't do it. And what if one of my enemies found out about it? Another innocent life would be destroyed, a life that I created. And it would be my fault."

The blanket had slipped from Natasha's shoulders onto the ground, but she didn't seem to notice; she was lost in a world of what-ifs and regrets. Scooting closer, Bruce looped an arm around her.

"And do you know what it would be like, Bruce? Carrying around a constantly growing and obvious reminder of one of the most horrible events in your life?" Natasha's voice was eerily quiet now, almost at a whisper. "Do you know what it would be like to never be able to escape the mistakes you made?"

"Of course I know, Natasha. Every day I have to live with what I've created, and every day I'm reminded of what could have been if things had gone differently. And it sucks, I'll give you that. Tasha, honey, I'm not trying to talk you out of anything. Your body is your own, and I can't imagine what life for a woman in your situation must be like. I'm just trying to tell you that you're not trapped. You shouldn't have to go through this alone; there's a lot of people who care about you and would be more than happy to help you cope. I know you said you don't trust 'people,' but we're not 'people'—we're your friends, we want to see you happy. Just...don't be so quick to jump to a conclusion this potentially life-changing, you know? And besides, I'm a gamma radiation scientist; the only medical work I've ever done is first-aid patch-up kind of stuff—I wouldn't know the first thing about this kind of surgery."

"I know, I guess, it's just that...I don't know, I trusted you more than any other scientist I've met. God, I feel so stupid."

Bruce pulled her closer to him. "No, Natasha, you're not stupid. You are probably as far from stupid as someone could get. Tell you what, why don't you get a good night's sleep, think it over a little bit? If you wake up in the morning and are still set on your decision, I'll give you the number of a guy I went to college with—apparently he's the best at what he does. I won't tell anyone, and I won't judge you. It'll be our secret."

Natasha nodded slowly. Sniffing slightly, she wiped at the drying tears with her palms. "Okay. Sorry I bothered you. I promise I'm not normally this much of a mess."

"Shh, don't apologize—you did nothing wrong. You're doing great, Natasha; you're one of the strongest, most incredible people I've ever met. Just hang in there, okay? I don't want to see something happen to you that's gonna end up hurting you in the long run. Now get some sleep—you look exhausted. We can talk in the morning."

"That sounds like a good idea." Natasha stood, picking up the blanket and clutching it to her chest. "Do you want this back?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, keep it. It's hot in here anyway."

Natasha gave a grateful nod and turned to walk away. Bruce picked up his glasses and blew on some dust that had settled on the rims.

"Oh, and Bruce?" Natasha said hesitantly. Bruce paused and glanced back at the petite woman.

"Thank you. A lot."

"Any time, Natasha. Now go sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

Five minutes later, Natasha was lying on her room's queen-sized bed, huddled under the blanket that smelled faintly of sanitizer and cologne.

She didn't know what her future held, but whatever it was, she would face it in the morning.

I'll leave it up to you to decide what happens. If it gets enough reviews, I might make a second chapter with my take on her decision, but we'll see—I'll probably just leave it as a one-shot. Thanks for reading!