A/N- Thank you for taking the time to read my first foray into this fanfiction fandom. This is MCU based, pre-AoU, and may or may not stick to canon. If it isn't your favorite ship, I understand. It's just one I decided to explore since broken people make for good stories, and this is a group full of broken people. I appreciate all useful reviews! Thanks again.
Chapter 1:
Bruce had laughed in his self-depreciating manner at her idea of conditioning the monster to respond. "The Other Guy isn't an over sized Doberman, Natasha and you aren't Pavlov."
"One Russian substituting for another." She shot back at him, only a hint of sarcasm touching the words. "What do you have to lose?"
His mouth opened and closed twice before he finally countered, "It's not that simple,"
"Nothing ever is." Natasha turned and walked out of the room, not sure which of them needed the space more. Space to think, to roll over every horrible possible scenario and outcome. Another space, a much smaller space, for the dimmest spark of hope and success.
Success at all costs was a trickier motto when shaded in green.
Now as she sat in the jet readying for another trial run, Natasha marveled at how complexity and simplicity had merged so well into the "lullaby". Bruce hadn't appreciated Tony's snarky quip, but the name had stuck.
And it really was a bit Pavlovian, albeit without the bell…or dog food. Natasha started reading to Bruce each morning at the breakfast table. Anyone else joining them would wait, sipping their morning beverage of choice until she was done reading. (Whether that was from knowledge of the plan or just fear of her was negligible at this point.) Sometimes it was the local news, sometimes editorials, or art reviews, anything to ingrain the sound of her voice before introducing a catch phrase.
After some lively debate, the catch phrase was Bruce's accidental choice. Discussions of favorite foods, colors, even song lyrics had been tossed about. A wry smirk found its way to the corner of her mouth.
"What?" Natasha refocused as she realized Bruce had spoken to her.
"I said what was that look for?" he repeated to her.
"Nothing. Just glad that the lullaby doesn't require operatic skills."
Bruce's reply was cut off by a voice from the cockpit. "You and everyone else on the team, Red."
"Shut it, Stark. Unless singing soprano is in your future plans." That remark earned a simultaneous snort from the reclining form of Clint, and an ear splitting attempt at coloratura from the pilot.
Thor looked pained. "When an animal on Asgard makes that noise, we show mercy and give it a quick death."
Clint's arm went up. "I vote aye."
Bruce quickly put on his headphones, drowning out his ability to hear any other possible attempts by Tony with Verdi.
Should have brought my own set, Natasha thought as Tony settled into singing and air drumming along with AC/DC. Least Jarvis is flying.
Having endured the combination of Tony's singing /Clint's snoring for longer than she wanted, Natasha picked up her copy of Hofstede's Three Levels of Mental Programming and tried unsuccessfully to focus on the words, mentally roaming back to her previous thoughts instead.
The catch phrase.
Sun's getting low….
It was truly Bruce's hook, and yet somehow the Big Guy recognized it as well. Who would have thought a giant green rage monster appreciated a nice sunset? Natasha wondered if it started before Bruce was able to see the sunset from his new laboratory. A memory from childhood? Someplace from his travels? Or was it the current availability of huge picture windows in the tower that allowed him to now appreciate rather than simply observe each one?
Sun's getting low….
Regardless, it certainly didn't signify the end of his day's work. Nat noticed many times in her return to the tower during the wee hours of the morning that Bruce was still in the lab, hunched over a microscope or staring at columns of data on a screen.
Maybe the observation of a sunset was a habit- already there and fully ingrained in him from a better, happier time. Did any of them have happier times?
Natasha turned a page, keeping the illusion of reading alive.
Conditioning Bruce to touch had been far more difficult. Natasha found it more like taming a skittish horse than developing a touch sequence pattern. He flinched for weeks at the feel of her hand on his arm, only a little less so on his palm. Natasha watched him around the others, wondered if it was only her touch that was the problem. If ever there was a person who seemed uncomfortable in his own skin….then again it wasn't just his own.
It wasn't his own at all.
Natasha knew from experience the difficulty in arguing with one's mind. She'd had enough programming, enough battles of her own, to feel like there was more than one version of herself inside her own head. But what could it feel like to have that argument physically supplant you?
Bruce didn't like to chat about that.
She looked up as she felt the descent begin, saw Bruce cringe as Tony mentioned something about "Big green party time", and began putting things in place.
The crew disembarked, looked around at the barren landscape, and began to move into position.
"Death Valley, huh? Great choice there Stark." Clint's voice came through the earpiece as he jogged towards the outcropping of rocks. "Remind me not to let you plan my next vacation."
"Try a metal suit. Jarvis, remind me to install A/C in the next edition."
"Could we just get this over with?" Bruce pushed through Natasha and Thor, and looked over at Tony. "If everything is in place?"
"Jarvis?"
"Both Veronica and the armor are prepared for deployment as necessary."
Tony smiled and suited up. Bruce started walking, Natasha following a short distance behind.
"Alright Bruce, you're good. Red move back a few yards…meters…whatever the hell you Soviets use. Everyone else ready?"
At the chorus of affirmative responses, some more assured than others, Tony said, "Alright then, at the risk of losing my man card with this quote, Bruce- let it go."
His eyes met hers, a moment of indeterminable sadness passed and this time as it happened that she truly noted the difference. Not the results, no those were obvious. It was the controlled metamorphosis, when Bruce chose to release rather than the environment suddenly making the choice for him. There was a painful beauty in the transformation, as the Big Guy twisted, expanded, and magnified into being once again.