AN: WEEK THREE! A little later than I would have liked, but I suddenly decided to re-write my original story and so I wrote this as fast as I could during this hectic school week. Only one line from the original story made it unto this version of the story -which is basically the same, just written differently.

Anyway, the prompt was HURT/COMFORT and this came out!

As always I don't own any of this, except for my mistakes.

She limped, a trail of perfectly rounded red dots being left behind her as she made her way across the street towards the villa she had been staying for the past week. It wasn't that big of a wound, she had endured worst in her life, the scars on her lower abdomen and on her shoulder being testament of that. But it didn't mean the lesion on her left leg didn't hurt like hell.

Her only console was that she had gotten the bastard back after he had managed to get a hit on her, his wail of pain as she had hit him right in the ass had been music to her ears.

It shouldn't have happened, the shot had been a careless one, one being thrown by someone with far less training that she had, someone who was reckless and angry, and most probably not that bright.

"You should probably sit."

His voice didn't come as a surprise, she knew he had been following her. She had been listening to his steady breathing and clumsy gait all throughout the three miles she had walked. But she had gone almost six months without hearing his tone. Her voice got suddenly caught in her throat, unable to produce any sound for the first second after he had made his presence known.

"You should learn to not sneak up on people." She answered, her voice nonchalant, quick and to the point.

She could hear him give a light, almost sarcastic chuckle, could imagine his graying curls and the way his lips would twist in an amused smirk.

"I haven't been gone for that long. I still know that there's no possible way I just sneaked up on you."

She couldn't help herself, she cracked a small smile at his comment.

"A lot can happen in six months, Dr. Banner," was her response. It wasn't cold, but it still held a sense of indifference Bruce could not figure out if she was faking or not. Her face was still turned to him, her bare back exposed to him, the dress she wore reminding him of the beauty that was Natasha Romanoff, as if he could ever forget her ethereal form.

She took a step forward, and hissed as the pain from the bullet wound invaded her senses once again.

"A lot can also happen in a couple of hours. That was one hell of a gun fight back there."

"No shit." She hissed, her face rapidly turning right before she stepped inside the small villa she had been staying at, away from prying Avenger and SHIELD eyes.

Their eyes met for the first time ever since she had thrown him over the edge, had forced him to transform and had convinced the Big Guy to be the hero she knew him to be.

He looked –tired, the wrinkles around his eyes far more prominent than she remembered, his hair longer, his scruff a bit more prominent. But he was there, in front of her, looking like some kind of tourist admiring the old sights.

She looked –wounded. Her hair was messed up, her midnight-blue cocktail dress was ripped down the middle, her legs painted with dirt and blood, her chest heaving.

"What are you doing here?"

It was a question uttered in almost perfect unison, with Natasha's voice dominating over Bruce's. Both had a thousand more questions swimming in their eyes, both had hurt and discomfort, weariness and exhaustion mixed with something which closely resembled –adoration.

"I was in the market, buying some fresh, uh produce." He answered sheepishly, all of sudden feeling over-exposed and overwhelmed by standing in front of her.

"I was –looking for you. Heard from one of your students that you lived in the area."

His eyes shot up at her answer, still in that same monotonous voice she had been using with him, her face still neutral and –bloodied.

"My –students?" He gulped. "You were looking for me."

It wasn't uttered as a question, but his voice did fall, a bit of shame entering his tone as he realized he was the probable reason for her current state.

"No shit." She repeated her words, but this time the neutrality was gone, replaced by a softness in both her tone and eyes.

"I'm-" He began, taking a step forward. His apology fell flat on his lips as she took a step towards him, limping and blood still dripping from her leg unto the ground.

"Don't apologize, not for this anyway. I chose to engage the riot downtown, there was no reason for me to fire that first shot. Much less to actively –participate in a fight which wasn't mine. That was my choice."

Her voice came out strong and in command, but her eyes were soft. Her face was finally presenting emotion, a whirlwind of them passing through it faster than Bruce could keep up. But he was glad, glad to know she still felt –comfortable enough near him to have some part of her exposed –even if he wasn't as adept at reading it as he wished.

"But, for bailing, for that I do expect a very extensive apology. Don't care much for reasons –" She hissed as she slipped and tried to balance her weight on her injured leg.

His response was automatic, his arms extending over to try and catch her in her stumble. His eyes expressed concern and regret while hers reeked annoyance and –amazement.

Bruce gulped as he got a read of the wonder present in her eyes as she felt his touch. It was as if she could barely believe him to be real, as if she had imagined him, many times before.

"Let me patch that up." He suggested, his eyes conveying all the apologies he could think of.

She noticed them in his warm and tired eyes, how he truly was sorry for her injury, how he was sorry for leaving her behind and for causing so much trouble because of it.

She had stated the truth. Even though she was curious as to why he had decided to leave them all after such a mess, she also knew, that like her, there were some demons Bruce preferred to deal with on his own. If he wanted to reason and express his sudden professor-life in the city of Pisa, then she would listen. If he didn't, then she would respect his silence.

"I'm up on 401."

"Great."

She went up first, still limping, still dripping. The concierge had started shouting at her in fluent English as she walked across the lobby, a few drops still falling to the ground. Natasha had simply responded by asking him to turn on the television, effectively shutting him up as she spoke fluent Italian and the news of the shooting in the Marketplace came on.

A civilian shooting, one which posed no threat to humanity on a global scale, yet she had felt complied to intervene, to get as many innocents out and if needed- end the revolt.

His mess of curls had been the distraction, the less than a second thought which had left her unguarded and made her a target.

If she had gone in for medical help, Fury and Coulson would have gotten the alert of her position, and the last thing Natasha had wanted was SHIELD to be on her and Bruce's toes.

He knocked, and Natasha shouted for him to come in as she tried to keep herself upright by grabbing unto one of the chairs in the room, a bottle of water opened and half full.

Bruce entered, the sight before him making him stumble as he rushed from the entrance to where she stood. Her face trying hard to not show any pain as her exposed, left leg bled steadily, wet with the water she had just poured over it, trying to clean the wound.

"Hey!" He rushed.

Natasha's head snapped up to meet his eyes, the same brown eyes which she had imagined looking into for months.

He touched her leg with a sort of tentativeness which Natasha was not prepared for, her arm gave away and she gracefully fell down to the floor, Bruce following after her.

She hissed in pain as he tried to touch her again, his eyes staring into hers, asking for permission, making sure she wouldn't kick or slap him.

She silently and almost barely nodded. She had no doubts that she could handle the wound herself, it wasn't her worst and she had not lost a lot of blood, but she was weak and he was there and his eyes never stopped looking at her with apology.

Natasha figured she could give him the chance to redeem himself, even if the action was unnecessary. She knew that to him, it would probably help.

"You should have waited." He broke the eerie silence of the room. His voice barely audible as he properly cleaned the wound, thanking the universe that the bullet had missed any major arteries.

"I did." She responded, her voice steady, controlled.

Bruce turned his head towards her, their eyes locking.

He gulped.

She had.

"Months. But waiting –ah! It's not really my thing." She shut her eyes with force as Bruce applied a bit of pressure on her leg.

"So, you came."

"You make it –shit! Sound easy." She bit her lip as she felt the needle go through her skin. "You're not an easy man to find when you want to."

"Sorry." He answered back automatically, both for causing her pain with the suture needle and with his departure.

"I told you, you don't need to apologize. For either event –shit! I don't remember this hurting that bad."

Her comment made Bruce chuckle as he swiftly moved the needle and thread through her skin.

"How long have you been out? Looking for me, I mean?" He dared ask, because there was no point in beating around bushes or evading awkward questions. The situation was awkward enough as it was. Natasha lying on the floor of a hotel room in Pisa, right in the middle of the night, dressed in a shredded cocktail dress with blood dried out on her legs and arms.

"A while." She responded, her voice taking the sly tone she used to love teasing him with.

Bruce eyed her, his suture almost done.

"Always a mystery."

"I'm not the one who fell of the face of the earth, though." It was uttered with a bit of sadness, her eyes reflecting the emotions she wasn't allowing her voice or the rest of her face to show. The anger, frustration, and heartbreak; but the sentence was mostly playful. They could get angry at each other later. When Natasha could finally look at him without the nagging feeling that he would disappear on her.

"I guess we're alike in that way. We both –" He began as he cut the string, but didn't finish, his mind going blank. They were both so many things, most of them not ones he liked to dwell into.

"Have a tendency to rescue people we know will be fine without our help." She finished for him, moving her injured leg, choosing to hide her pain from him. He had helped enough for one night.

"Maybe." He stood up, offering her his hand, a gesture which proved Natasha's statement.

She took it, her eyes fixed on their hands as they touched, as she decided to not grab unto him, but rather moved and touched his wrist in a way which was so similar to their lullaby. She could tell, by the way his breathing changed and his hand twitched, that he had made the connection.

She eventually grabbed his hand, allowing him to help her up.

She stood on her good leg, her body gravitating towards his as she got up; their faces inches away from each other. She could smell him, a scent she had thought she had forgotten.

Oh, how she's missed him.

Bruce closed his eyes as he took her in, her face near his, her body so close he could feel the heat radiating from it. He had been wandering alone for months now. Missing her, longing to see or hear her voice, to explain why he had left, to make her understand –make her not hate him.

And now there she was, in front of him, without hate in her eyes. Sadness, hurt and anger; but not hate.

"Natasha-" He tried forming a sentence, something –anything which would make her understand what he was feeling, what he had felt.

No words were able to come out.

Natasha blinked away tears before they formed, because she could feel his heart under her resting palm on his chest. The beating evidence that he was truly there, standing in front of her. She smiled at him and stared up.

"I still adore you."

"Well that's-"

Her lips cut his sentence off, but Bruce found he did not mind. He enjoyed the slowness of it, how he could fully appreciate her lips over his own, how he had the time to take her in, to notice everything she did as he responded to her kiss.

Natasha swallowed back her moan as she felt him respond, a feeling which she had never experienced before. He tasted of coffee and dirt, of pasta and iron. Like the feeling of having been wandering around and finally coming home.

They remained in place for a while, kissing and enjoying the other. Natasha rested her weight on him, resting her tired legs. Bruce supported her as he explored her, as he registered –jut as she was registering his- every reaction he could get out of her.

It wasn't until a couple of minutes later, when Natasha's breathing was starting to come out in full pants, when they stopped, their foreheads pressing together. They each took full and deep breaths, their heart-rates coming down.

"I hope you're not tired or running, because my little stunt will be on the news soon enough. Fury and Coulson will be here before daylight breaks."

She was the first to talk, her face turning away from his and unto the black screen of the room's television.

"So, you're running." He added.

"Someone very wise once told me I should run with it. I've been following his advice for the last couple of months. It's been hell."

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows.

"But, I think –it's been worth it."

Bruce reddened as she finished her sentence. The honesty pouring out of her was almost tangible, the way she started her sentence with her normal confidence and ended up with an almost shy element in her.

"So we disappear?" He repeated the same question which both had been yearning the answer to.

Natasha gave him a smirk, quick and playful.

"We run with it." She answered, hoping he would understand.

They could run together, run to the farthest corners of the planet and disappear from the public eye. But they wouldn't –couldn't vanish forever. They were both needed, part of a team, of a special group of people which could make a difference in the world.

They could –would run with it. Wherever it might lead them.

Bruce gave her a small and sincere smile, the glint in his eyes as his head bent over in acknowledgement, reassuring Natasha that he had understood her.

They would be fine. Eventually.

R & R