Bruce first saw her at the Battle of New York, after things had gone to hell and just as he was giving himself over to the Hulk. She was wrapped in long, periwinkle robes, and his last thought completely his own was Well I hope she's on our side.
He needn't have worried – she threw out bolts of energy that took out Chitauri when they managed to connect, and she slowed the impact of fallen debris. The streets and buildings still took damage, but it was being mitigated.
When Iron Man went into free fall, she raced towards him, but even her teleportation across buildings couldn't bring her there faster than the Hulk, who was able to go vertical when she couldn't. At first it looked like he wasn't going to wake up, like Tony Stark had committed the ultimate act of selflessness, and then he woke up with a typical joke: "Please tell me nobody kissed me."
And then she appeared out of nowhere in front of the battered Avengers, hair jumping outun at every angle and her clothes looking just as disorderly. Underneath the robes she wore dark-wash jeans. The conscious members of the team jumped to a guarding position, but she held up her hands and spoke slowly through panting breath.
She offered to heal what wounds she could: "I'm not an expert, but I can do a bit." She was British.
The Hulk pushed to the front of the group (well, the others mostly fell out of line rather than be shoved by the giant) and held down his arms. She ran her fingers over the green skin while inspecting, and the Hulk sighed at her touch.
"I'm surprised you aren't more hurt, considering," she said, speaking softly and making firm eye contact with the large man. "I saw you jumping around out there."
She spun him around and healed his superficial wounds while Iron Man explained, "He doesn't really do injuries."
She finished his faster then and moved on to the rest of the team in order of descending severity. Finally, her work done, she pulled away from Natasha and straightened. "Tell Fury I'm reconsidering," she said, and then turned on her heel and disappeared. The Hulk whined and stomped his foot.
Steve laughed, but his face betrayed no small concern. "Who the hell was that?"
Bruce returned to himself then, the Hulk having left when the strange woman had. "Who the hell was who?" he asked weakly.
When they returned to the helicarrier, less worse for wear than expected, they told Fury what had happened.
"I saw her," he said placidly. He led them to a small room where screens were already plastered with information about the woman: pictures old and new, unintelligible records from somewhere called Hogwarts, nonsense Latin words, oblique references to mythological creatures. "I was a little surprised she joined the fray. Hermione Granger hasn't seen combat since the nineties, she did pretty good." Clint whistled lowly. "I'm glad she's reconsidering; if she can train back up, we could really use her."
Natasha's eyes narrowed at the dates on what seemed to be school records. "The nineties? This looks like she was a teenager." Her tone was somewhere between cold and demanding.
"Don't worry about it," Fury responded with a meaningful look that Bruce couldn't parse. So many secrets. "It wasn't that."
"How does that make things okay?" Natasha hissed. "She was still a child." Fury gave her a stern look. Not here, it said.
Someone wanted to lighten the mood and Bruce felt a heavy arm being thrown over his shoulder. "Teenager in the nineties, that puts her in her thirties now – a little young for you, isn't she?" Tony asked with waggling brows.
Bruce choked. "What?" As Iron Man himself started teasing him about the Hulk's response to the woman, Fury rolled his eyes and left them to it.
Hermione Granger arrived at the newly-christened Avengers Tower the same day that Bruce did. She didn't offer up information on where she'd been before now. She was pleasant enough, he decided, if distant. Something about her drew him in, but the feeling didn't seem to be mutual.
One morning, she walked primly into the kitchen, past Bruce, and approached Tony. "Fury directed me to you," she said uncertainly. "He said you're the one in charge of labs."
Bruce's ears tickled from his place at the table. What kind of lab work would she be doing?
"Yup, that's me. Let's talk shop." He paused, looking between her and the machine in front of him. "You want something? Coffee? Tea?"
"Whatever you're having, Mr. Stark, thank you," she said politely.
Bruce watched him push a series of buttons that he assumed would make her a cup of coffee. "You gotta loosen up. Call me Tony. What do they do to you people as kids?" he muttered.
She raised a brow. "Sorcerers?" The word still astonished Bruce, though he knew it really shouldn't. He turned into a huge green guy because science, Cap had literal superpowers from the United States government, who was he to be surprised by a little magic that was probably explainable anyways?
"No," Tony said, "Brits."
She finally broke and let out a small snort. The coffee machine sputtered out the last drops and she took her mug out from under. "Americans," she said with faux derision. "I forgot you've never heard of espresso."
Tony pulled a face, and something in Bruce bristled watching their easy banter. "Calm down, Granger, let's go."
She gave Bruce a tiny wave as they walked past him to find an elevator. "Oh, call me Hermione," she said graciously after turning back to Tony.
Yeah, he was feeling a little peculiar. Ignoring whatever was welling in his gut, he left for his own lab, makeshift as it still was, readjusted his glasses, and settled in for a long, pleasant day of reading.
Bruce lasted under two hours before his curiosity grew to where he couldn't ignore it. Curiosity about her lab, obviously, and the work she'd be doing.
He assumed correctly that she'd be in the same hall as the rest of the non-explosives-containing labs and could hear her going at it with Tony as approached. He slowed his pace to eavesdrop.
"... wearing a bloody superhero costume!"
"Ow, shit!" It sounded like Tony was on the wrong end of her energy/magic. "All the rest of us have one–"
"Dr. Banner doesn't–"
"You don't get your clothes ripped off every time you–"
Nipping that mental image in the bud, Bruce peeked his head in to interrupt. "Hey, Tony…"
Although she was facing away from the door, Granger reflexively and quickly ran her hands through a series of patterns and was facing him with a thick, pulsing ball of light in front of her before he could really register the movement. Her hair had whirled out when she spun around and seemed to react to the ball like static electricity, not quite standing on its ends but floating away from it. Her chest rose and fell evenly with practiced calm.
It hit him like a brick that she was actually very pretty.
Her eyes were far away for a moment, but she quickly dropped her hands and let out an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry Dr. Banner," she said. Her hair didn't quite make it back to its original position. "Force of habit." He felt his brow furrow. She hadn't seen combat since the nineties, Fury had said.
"Don't feel bad," Tony interrupted his internal monologue, "she did it to me earlier. I thought I was gonna lose my balls." Granger wrinkled her nose.
"It's fine, Ms. Granger," he found himself saying. "I get it."
Her smile was small, almost shy. "Hermione, please."
His lips curled into a goofy smile and he nodded. "Then call me Bruce."
Silence stretched as they just… looked at one another. Her eyes were brown, but a different shade than his, warmer. Her brows weren't pristinely shaped like Natasha's, but they suited her face, as did her nose: petite, like the rest of her.
"Anyways, Banner," Tony said, and Bruce reluctantly ripped his eyes away from her. "We were just working on identifying the frequencies Glinda here can throw out…"
He swallowed thickly and nodded. "Alright, let's see it."
Bruce hadn't gotten to exchange more than three words at a time with her since that day. She kept busy developing her lab and doing god knew what else, so he kept back. He had his own work to focus on. It was thoughts of the JARVIS expansion that occupied his mind as he went upstairs to take his first lunch outside his lab in over a week.
Head in the clouds, he was vulnerable to attack. She let him heat up leftovers and settle down across the table from her before she pounced. "Granger seems nice," Natasha said innocently. "How's she doing?"
"I don't know," he grumbled, "Tony's kinda monopolizing her time."
She tapped her fingers one-two-three on the table. "They're just putting her lab together, right?"
"Yeah," he admitted, "but he's the only one she ever spends time with when she's not working. It's impossible to talk to her."
Natasha snorted. "Are you seriously jealous right now?"
And that was when he realized he'd played right into her hand. She was almost smirking. One-two-three, she tapped. "No," he lied.
She laughed at him. "Just eat. I'll distract Tony," said Natasha. "Just go talk to her."
His pulse picked up. "About what?"
Natasha waved his question off with a hand. "I'm sure you'll find something."
"So…" Hermione looked up from her notebook. "Do you have a background in, uh, spy things?" He cringed internally, and she looked at him strangely.
"I was under the impression you were all told every detail of my life."
Bruce forced himself to shrug nonchalantly. "I mean, we know some stuff, but I'm trying to make conversation here."
Hermione laughed. "Point taken. No, no spy things. I was too recognizable to be a spy." Her eyes suddenly widened. "I suppose we did impersonate people to infiltrate places we shouldn't have been… twice. Maybe we did do some spy things." She sobered at that and gestured for him to join her on the other side of the table. "Exploding charm. I'd hate for you to get hurt," she said, and a warm feeling coiled inside his chest.
"I'd trust you to fix me," he said quietly. "I hear you're a really good healer." His voice sounded deep, foreign to his own ears.
With a short cough, Hermione faltered partway through an elaborate set of motions. She restarted after a quick glance his way. This ball of light was a dark purplish-red and looked watery thin, with small spikes poking out every now and then like tiny solar flares. She twisted one hand and the light flew like a bolt toward the barrier she and Tony had built.
Hermione frowned when the barrier shimmered and huffed a half-second after when a bookcase on the other side shook in place. He leaned over to see what she wrote in her notebook. Bombarda Minima, it said in small, tidy script. 0.5s, reduced impact.
"Exploding spell, huh?" He was grateful that his voice was back to normal. "In the pictures, Harry Potter is holding a wand. Do you not need one to cast spells?"
"Of course he had pictures of Harry," she muttered with a half-laugh. "My formal wizarding education required a wand; my sorcery training required the opposite," she said simply. "It's useful to not rely on a breakable stick."
Curiosity rose. "Do you still have one?"
Hermione seemed surprised but pleased at the question. "Yes, I do. I can bring it sometime." She cringed. "It's probably very upset with me," she said with trepidation.
He blinked. "Magic wands can get upset?"
"Oh, yes!" A light flipped on behind her eyes and he spent the rest of the afternoon being regaled with wand lore and little anecdotes from her time learning both wizarding and sorcery.
There was only one time her excitement dimmed. "Harry was an odd case," Hermione said carefully. "He never really had a wand of his own."
He gathered that there was a lot more story with Harry Potter than what Fury had let them read, but opted not to pry.
As usual, Hermione elected to have dinner alone, leaving Bruce open for attack once again.
"I heard you pitched a fit about Glinda earlier," Tony said, eyeing him from the side.
"I did not pitch a fit," he said calmly. "I was hoping for a chance to work with her and was frustrated that I couldn't find time."
"Right," said Clint, "because Tony was 'monopolizing' her."
"Monopolizing her time!" Bruce corrected.
"You seem green with envy," snarked Tony, and even Steve laughed.
In the following weeks, Bruce started timing his breaks with Hermione's (while she would drink espresso, she still preferred tea). He could watch her talk about anything. The stories were interesting already, but it was the way she told them – her gestures, the expressions she pulled, the way her lips pulled to one side when she smiled sometimes – that captivated him.
She had an ugly cat once. "He was a half-Kneazle," she said, like that answered more questions than it had him asking. "He was the smartest cat I've ever known."
She time-traveled for a school year just to take more classes than physically possible. "It was a horrible idea. I don't know why any adult would let that happen." She sniffed. "Wizards have no common sense."
"You have plenty of common sense," he pointed out.
Hermione smiled regally upon him, pretending to preen. "I'm a sorceress now." When he laughed, she blushed, like she wasn't used to people thinking she was funny.
There were creatures that you could only see after seeing and understanding death, and despite being at her grandmother's bedside when she died, Hermione couldn't see them until after what she called 'the war.' This was clearly the conflict she was involved in as a teenager, but there really wasn't much information about it that he could access. A few dates and major names, but no big picture or easy breakdown of what had actually caused it. As usual, Bruce decided not to pry.
There were other creatures that could suck out your soul, and then the magical government could put your empty shell of a body in prison and watch you rot.
Unicorns were real, though, which was nice. Centaurs were a wise but difficult people, and goblins seemed like the stuff stereotypes were made of. Mermaids were ugly, and there was something called a Niffler that would steal your watch. Even though Bruce knew he was getting a sanitized version of her world, he loved hearing about it. After all, he'd thought magic like that only existed in books, and then he met her.
Hermione slowly came out of her shell, joining the others for meals. After a while, she started lingering after dinner, or leaving and coming back with a book. After another while, she was willing to stick around for a drink – usually white wine, often with a comment about how she really needed to find some 'elf-made wine' – and a chat.
"So you went to a witch school as a kid," Tony said, "but Fury said you're a 'sorceress.'" He put the word in air quotes. "What's that about?"
She glanced at Bruce before answering, and he warmed at the realization that he knew more about her than the others. "I went to a school for witchcraft and wizardry," she corrected. "My foray into sorcery came later."
"How much later?" Steve asked. "You're pretty good."
"Thank you, Mr. Rogers," she said primly. "I'd rather like to spar sometime, see how I hold up against the First Avenger. And the rest of you," she added quickly, gesturing to the others in the room.
The Captain grinned before taking a sip of scotch that would have as little effect on him as it would on Bruce. "I've told you, it's Steve."
Her smile was more demure. "And I've told you, it's Hermione."
"Yes, we get it, you both have impeccable manners," Tony interrupted. For once, Bruce was grateful. "What's the deal with sorcery? How many people like you are there?"
"One, two million." She shrugged. "They mostly keep to themselves. Witches and wizards, I mean. Sorcerers – sorceresses – then… maybe hundreds. There have been more and fewer in the past thousand years."
"Can anyone learn it?"
She took a sip of her 'butterbeer,' pretending to think it over. "It takes years of study and discipline. Some people can manage it, Tony," she said lightly, "but perhaps not you."
Natasha, previously listening silently, snorted. Tony was indignant. "Alright, I'm up next after Superman. You're going down, Glinda."
Another afternoon, another tea break.
"I sparred with the Captain today. I'm not sure who won," said Hermione absent-mindedly. "I couldn't get the shield off him long enough to hit him, but he couldn't keep me in one spot long enough to hit me. We tied, I suppose," she allowed.
Bruce whistled. "Pretty impressive."
She blushed prettily and took a sip of tea (earl grey, one teaspoon sugar, splash of soy milk). He felt a dopey grin crawl onto his face and forced himself to look away and pretend to check the time.
"When are we going to do it?"
He choked on his tea. "What?"
"Spar, I mean." Hermione's blush reddened ever so slightly.
He processed her words slowly. "I'm not letting you fight the big guy."
Hermione frowned. "Not letting me?" She set her teacup gently on the table and looked archly above it at him.
He cringed. "That came out wrong."
"I'm sure it did," she said coolly.
"Your tone seems very pointed right now," he started, and Hermione cut him off.
"I'm sure it does."
Bruce nearly groaned out loud. He really couldn't say a thing right.
"It's cute, this thing you two are doing."
Bruce knew he should've just kept walking. He should've gone in, let Tony decide whether to keep speaking once he knew he was there. But something about his tone had Bruce's curiosity getting the better of him.
"What thing?" Hermione asked in a tight voice. "With who?" Steve Rogers's stupid handsome face projected itself onto the front of his mind, and he frowned.
"You and Banner." Tony said it like he was speaking to an idiot. Bruce's heart dropped.
"What? There's no thing," she said shrilly.
"With all due respect, that's a load of crap. You guys are circling each other so hard you're wearing holes in the carpet."
"There's no carpet here." He could nearly hear Tony rolling his eyes over Hermione tapping her pen like she always did when she was thinking hard. "I mean, do you think he wants there to be a thing?" Bruce kind of thought she sounded hopeful.
"Uh, yeah, that guy wants there to be a thing. Big time." His heart warmed. Tony might be a dickhead, but at least this time he was being helpful.
"So what do I do?"
Bruce backed quietly away. Far be it from him to interrupt their plotting.
Bruce was taking a rare breakfast in the main dining area (as opposed to the lab). He had just closed his eyes, savoring a nice cup of darjeeling, when he felt a hand tap his left shoulder. Looking to his right, he saw Hermione pout; he'd fallen for that one too many times.
"It's time, Bruce," she said solemnly.
He felt his brows furrow. "What?" Across the room, Clint was forcing a blank expression. He could see Steve smirking over the morning issue of the Daily Bugle. Did everyone but him know what was going on?
"Just follow me," Hermione said primly. He knew that she probably knew that he'd follow her anywhere like a lost puppy, and he did it anyway. They made small talk until he realized where she was taking them.
"Hermione, I'm not doing this." He tried to double back to the stairwell, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, you are." There was something glittering behind her eyes that he couldn't place, and it seemed like for some reason she needed this. "I've sparred everyone here except you and the big guy."
His legs followed her against his will into the basketball-court-size, Hulk-proofed-two-hundred-ways arena Tony had installed deep underneath the tower. She tossed off her robes, exposing the dark purple jumpsuit underneath, a proto-uniform/costume Tony had outfitted her with. Bruce focused really hard on not letting his eyes linger too long.
"Hermione, no. You're going to get yourself hurt." She briefly donned that pinched expression that came every time he accidentally condescended towards her, and he grimaced and took a deep breath. "I'm going upstairs and I'm gonna have some more tea. Why don't you just come with me?"
Hermione darted across the room with surprising speed and broke him with a wicked smile and a sultry tone: "Why don't you come over here and make me?"
The Hulk was already roiling under the surface from the idea of sparring her, and Hermione goaded him out easily. "Come on, big guy, you know the drill." She twirled her wand. "You have a fight to lose." Bruce was gone.
Hermione darted and Apparated around the room, confusing Hulk momentarily. She didn't move at random though, and after a moment he got in a good swipe. She fell to the ground, and Hulk loomed over her and reared up a punch.
The punch stopped inches from her face, stopped by some invisible barrier. Hulk tried to punch again and growled when his hand bounces back at him; the sheer force had turned her shield blue, and Hermione had to roll over and disappear from under him.
Hulk groaned at the blasting curse that hit him from behind and threw him forward. He growled, he swung, and they continued like that for a while: she captured him in ice, he broke through. She barely dipped out of the way in time and he punched the steel-and-concrete wall instead of his target. Hermione was too slow, though, and Hulk picked her up and held her against the wall, his hand so large that he's holding her by her torso, prepared to crush her.
"Sorry about this!" Hulk tilted his head when her hair began to float around her head, and then he was electrocuted so painfully that he cringed and dropped her. She summoned ropes that wrapped tightly around his arms and legs, but he tore through them faster than she expected.
He picked her up by her feet and let her dangle, and Hulk fondly remembered the puny god he had smashed only months before. Hermione seemed to remember the story, because with newly terrified eyes she brought down a torrential wave of fire to which she was immune. The Hulk howled and let Hermione fall from full height; the only thing saving her from a broken neck was a well-timed Cushioning charm.
She Apparated out of reach and summoned mirrors in a tight circle around him. While he was distracted by his reflections, she gathered swirling air around him that became a tornado: Hulk and the mirrors were lifted and thrown completely across the room with such force that after he hit the wall with a crack, he didn't get up. The Hulk groaned into his hands and Hermione stood where she was, panting and waiting for him to rise, for a long minute. Slowly, she decided he was down for the count and made her way to the other end of the arena, breathing still unsteady. By the time she made it over, Bruce had already mostly shrunken back down to himself.
As he slowly came to, he took in her appearance with a pang of guilt: her entire body looked like the beginning of one big bruise, her neat braid was nearly torn out, and she had several large, bleeding cuts and scrapes. His eyes followed her curves down her torn jumpsuit and through the rips he could see red, blue, and yellow skin. "Are you okay?" It was a stupid question.
Hermione smiled even as her split lip bled. "I'm alright." The words were quiet but confident. "You're cute when you're angry," she teased.
He shook his head in disbelief. "That is so messed up."
"I can't help it," she teased. "You're fun to mess with."
She helped Bruce pull himself up to stand, and when her soft hands met his skin he remembered that he wasn't wearing a shirt. The skin under her touch felt like it was burning. "You're a lot stronger than I expected you to be," he said.
She frowned. "You really know how to flatter a woman." She offered a shoulder and he slipped an arm around, using her to steady himself without putting too much of his weight on her.
"I–" He was too tired to try to defend his phrasing, just limping alongside her back towards the other end of the room.
The door banged open once they had neared Hermione's things and as usual she was ready, heat swirling in her one free hand a sudden cool near-steadiness in her stance. Upon seeing that it was a few other members of the household, she relaxed and Bruce felt her body sway. He shifted his arm so that he was supporting her instead.
Tony raised a brow at the movement. "Didn't mean to interrupt a tender moment." The edge of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. "We just wanted to congratulate Hermione on wiping the floor with you."
Before he could retort, Hermione said, "It was a pretty even fight." He felt more of her weight settle against his arm and just hoped that she didn't fall. "Could someone grab my robes?"
She had Clint put his hand so far down one of the side pockets that it was stretched around his bicep, and finally he found the small orange bottles she needed; she knocked back two like they were shots and had Bruce drink another. When she pulled away from him and started softly dabbing the contents of the final bottle on his battered skin, it took a lot of work not to groan.
He wanted so badly to wipe that stupid smirk off Tony's face.
"Don't you need some, too?" asked Steve. He was eyeing the both of them unveiled concern.
Hermione shrugged. "He needs it more than I do." Bruce whipped his head around to insist she take some, but she cut him off with a soft smile. "You need it more than I do right now," she clarified. "I have more upstairs." She continued to gingerly apply the… potion? Salve?... and laughed to herself. "I still need to fight you, by the way. The big guy was only half the battle."
Bruce snorted, but Tony spoke first. "The big guy is at least ninety-nine percent of the battle."
Hermione gave a half-laugh. The final bottle was empty (and his arms and back feeling much better), and with a wave of her wand all four disappeared. "So, since the peanut gallery was watching –" is still watching – "what could we have done better?"
As they talked through the fight, he had to admit that having a team full of such different fighting styles had some big advantages.
Bruce knew, objectively, that she could fix all of her scrapes and bruises in moments, but he was still relieved to find Hermione up and well early the next morning.
She turned at his footsteps and smiled. "See? Good as new." She did a full turn as if to demonstrate, and he found his gaze lingering on certain areas while she did. When he dragged his eyes back to her face, he thought he might have caught a spark behind her eyes. "Stark Industries is having a charity gala for New Year's. I was wondering if you were planning on going."
Bruce leaned back against the counter and pulled his mug of tea closer to himself. "Uh, no, I wasn't. It's not really my scene."
"That's a shame," she said with a pout.
"I don't –"
"I could really use some arm candy," she teased. His brain might have short-circuited for a second, but next thing he knew he was asking Tony where to rent a tuxedo. ("Buddy, you've gotta just buy one, otherwise it'll look like a rental.")
A rare evening had passed that Bruce hadn't spent with Hermione. It was nearing ten o'clock before his experiment had calmed enough to consider leaving the lab. It was now almost eleven, and he let his eyes slip closed, considering the benefits of traipsing back up to his bedroom versus just taking a nap here for a few hours.
A knock on the door drew him out of his thoughts. "Bruce?"
He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to sit up straight. "Yeah?"
Steve's head poked in from the hall. "Hermione wanted me to grab you."
Mental alarm bells rang. "Why?"
He shrugged. "She just said she had something to show you."
His curiosity tickled, he pulled himself to a standing position and yawned loudly. "All right," he said, but Steve was already gone.
Bruce wandered to her lab, but it was empty. Strange; he'd assumed she wanted to show him something she'd discovered. Perhaps she was in the common area. When he got there, though, it was only Clint and Natasha speaking in hushed tones. He thought he heard the word Budapest and almost rolled his eyes.
"Hermione?" Not there.
"I think she's in her room," said Clint. What was Steve Rogers doing in her room at –
Natasha must've noticed his eye twitch. "She sent Steve to get you when she left."
"Thanks," he grunted.
He was just reminding himself not to kill her for sending him on the chase when he made it to her door. He knocked three times. "It's me," he told the door awkwardly.
"Come in!"
There were butterflies in his stomach as he opened a woman's bedroom door for the first time in years. He stepped over the threshold and looked around. "Hermione?"
"Tony bullied me into a few more outfits," she complained. He let the door fall closed behind him. Her room smelled like her, and not for the first time he reveled in it, not sure if it was perfume or soap or just some magical effect. Floral and energetic; he found it seductive. "What do you think of this one?"
She stepped out from behind a folding screen and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Her body was wrapped in a skintight black jumpsuit made with panes of… "Is that – is that snakeskin?"
"Dragonskin," she corrected. "Bullet-resistant, invulnerable to most spells, and, when treated, very breathable."
He swallowed thickly. It looked like it left her with a pretty good range of motion, too, and he absolutely needed to redirect away from that thought and towards work. "Have you tested against Stark tech?"
"That's tomorrow's project. I don't think Happy's very happy about it. How do we feel about the cape?" Heavy black fabric billowed behind her while she paced. "Apparently it's modeled after Thor's. Bullet-resistant as well." She turned around suddenly, like she had been caught by surprise, and it tangled around her ankles.
Bruce stifled a laugh. "I'd lose it. Seems like a liability."
"Agreed." Hermione pulled her chin to her chest and with a quick gesture cut the cape along her neck and let it fall to the floor. "I looked like one of my old professors with it anyways."
"Or Darth Vader."
She untied her hair, the curls bouncing out in their escape. "That feels much better."
"Looks good, too," he found himself saying.
It was 3 hours to midnight when Bruce gave up straightening his bowtie any straighter. He bared his teeth in the mirror (freshly flossed), gave himself a few good sniffs (cologne), and calmed his racing pulse (long-practiced meditation). "It's now or never, Banner," he told his reflection.
Meeting your not-really-a-date in the den of a shared building felt awkward, and he wished they'd decided to meet down in the lobby, away from the others. Hermione was perched on the edge of the sofa, attention bouncing between Steve and Natasha like she was watching a tennis match. Their banter was distracting enough that she didn't notice him walk in, but Clint elbowed her in the side and nodded towards him. Her face lit up, and she stood and walked toward him.
Hermione looked radiant. She wore a sleeveless gunmetal gown with a draped thin sparkling train and heels that brought her up to his height; her long white gloves and pearls went beautifully with her Old Hollywood-esque curls. She was an absolute vision. When she came near enough, he was surrounded by her usual floral scent.
It took him a moment to find words. "You look great."
"Thank you." Her eyes dragged down his frame, then back up. "You clean up pretty well. Is that a rental?" she teased.
He could give as good as he could take. "Is that one of those outfits Tony bullied you into?"
She grimaced. "That obvious?"
The man himself pushed himself between them, draping one arm over Bruce's shoulders and the other around Hermione's waist. "You're welcome for the wardrobe, you're welcome for the pretty dress to check her out in," Tony said to first her then Bruce. "I'm not sharing my limo," he announced to the room at large.
Hermione rolled her eyes and tactfully ignored most of what he said. "Wasn't going to ask."
"Then go call a cab," Tony commanded. "I'm not having you upstage my arrival by showing up right after in that dress." He drew away from the two of them and went to grab Steve by the bicep. "You two, too! No one gets to overshadow Iron Man at his own event, not even Captain America!"
"I don't even want to go," Steve complained, but he was clearly fighting a smile when Natasha took his hand in hers.
The five of them were packed into one elevator like elegantly-dressed sardines, and thirty-something floors took a while to descend. "I feel like I'm going to prom," said Tony. "I need a corsage."
"I never went to prom," Steve admitted, and Natasha patted him on the shoulder.
"Me neither," said Bruce. He looked expectantly at Hermione.
"I went to a ball with a professional athlete," she confided to Natasha.
She ooh'd. "Very nice!"
Outside, the group split up when Tony climbed into the back of a limo. The two pairs elected not to share a cab, with Steve and Natasha catching the first one.
Hailing a second was quick work, and Bruce made sure to open her door first before going to the other side himself. "Such a gentleman," she commented lightly.
The gala wasn't very far, and the drive wasn't very long. They sat in contented silence, Bruce hyper aware of her fingertips not far from his on the middle seat. He certainly felt more like a teenager at prom than a fully grown man attending one coworker's gala with another.
When they arrived down the block from the gala, he slipped the driver a generous tip with a Happy new year and tried to get to the other side of the car fast enough to open Hermione's door. She was already out and standing, though she offered him her arm. "I'm independent, but this is cobblestone, thank you."
She still held onto his arm once they were safely onto the long red carpet and having their photo snapped. "I wonder what they do with the pictures when they have no idea who's in them," Hermione said as they wandered into the main ballroom.
"Trash 'em, probably." He glanced down at their interlocked arms. "You know, I was surprised you asked me to come with you. I thought you and Cap…"
She smiled almost shyly. "No. He misses Peggy, but he can tell the difference. Besides, I'm interested in someone else." Bruce's mouth went dry. "Plus, Nat might've killed me."
He looked around the room, not spotting a soul he knew. "This is fun. Want to grab a drink?"
"Yes, let's." She reluctantly pulled her arm from his, although she stayed close as they made their way across the room to one of the wet bars. Since they'd arrived on time – before their esteemed host, as insisted – the line was short.
"A caipirinha, if you can?" Bruce asked. The woman behind the bar nodded and turned to Hermione.
"Make it two, please," she said politely.
Once the bartender walked away, Bruce gave Hermione side-eye. "Have you ever had a caipirinha?" She shook her head, just like he knew she would. "I've heard it's an acquired taste."
She straightened her back and shoulders and told him imperiously, "I'll manage."
Drinks in hand, they made a toast ("to 2013!"). Hermione nearly choked. Bruce gingerly traded her glass for a napkin. "What the bloody hell is in that?"
"Cachaça," he said with a grin. "Like Brazilian rum."
"An acquired taste," she echoed. "To be sure."
"Don't tell me; you gave her a caipirinha," a friendly voice said behind them.
Bruce laughed at Hermione's expression. "She ordered it on her own!"
Steve chuckled before turning to her. "I haven't touched this beer yet, wanna trade?"
For a moment it looked like she was going to decline, then she folded. "Yes, please."
They swapped, and Steve tossed back the drink like it was water. "Not like I'm gonna get drunk," he joked. He perked up, then looked over his shoulder. Bruce followed his gaze and saw Natasha listening with intense interest to a man in a suit. Her arms were folded, and she was rapidly tapping one hand's fingers. Steve groaned. "Ugh, the Senator's on her again. Hope the beer is good, hopefully we'll talk again later."
And like that, they were alone in a growing crowd.
Hermione looked amused. "Let's sit before these heels start to hurt."
They made their way to a small lounge area and settled into a square loveseat with less space between them than the cab had had. Hermione looked almost comical, her elegance and the modern furniture and finishings of the place in stark contrast with the stout-filled pint glass she gently set on the glass coffee table in front of them. They both seemed to struggle to start a conversation.
"I'm glad you agreed to come," Hermione said stiltedly. "This would've been a pain alone."
"Honestly, I'm just here for the food," he joked. He earned a loud, surprised laugh.
Turning in their seats to face one another, they had a string of small-talk: theories and developments they hadn't discussed at work ("We know the Chitauri are a combination of alien tech and magic – I think they hold the key to integrating magic into our tech!"; "Tony and I are making progress on a way to incorporate JARVIS on a way larger scale, as a protective measure!"), comments on the other people in attendance ("That Senator is talking up Nat again?" Hermione asked in disbelief).
Eventually, Bruce couldn't make himself avoid the question that had been hammering the back of his head for two weeks. He took a deep sip and finished his drink. With a bemused smile, Hermione did the same. "Why did you force me to fight you?"
Hermione smiled. "I wanted to prove I'm not as fragile as I look."
His brows furrowed. "Okay, but why?"
She looked down at her hands in her lap with a familiar expression. She was thinking, weighing options, and after a second she seemed to have made a decision. Looking back up at him, she leaned towards him and beckoned him closer. Chest hot, he followed her lead. In the same sultry tone she'd used before their spark, she murmured in his ear, "So you'd realize you're not going to break me."
Bruce felt blood flow suddenly below and a thrill shot through him like a bolt of lightning. His head spun for a moment. Their faces were less than an inch apart and he knew his mouth was hanging open. "Yeah…" he tried, "about that…"
Hermione leaned back to her own side of the small sofa, a little pink and not making eye contact. "I think I'm going to get another drink, do you want another drink?"
"Yeah," he said slowly, trying to piece himself together again. "Yeah, sure."
She snuck a peek. "Another caipirinha?" He nodded wordlessly and stared after her as she walked away.
He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "I don't know how you drink that," said Tony as he dropped unceremoniously into Hermione's seat. "Nasty stuff."
"Rio," Bruce said, eyes still hanging where Hermione disappeared into the crowd. Tony snapped his fingers and Bruce returned to the world, tearing his gaze away to the other man. "It's good stuff," he defended.
Tony leaned back, arms spread on the back and arm of the loveseat as if he owned the whole place. Maybe he did; Bruce had no idea. "So, looks like this is going well." He waggled his eyebrows lecherously. "What are you two lovebirds talking about that has you all…" he gestured at him, "this?"
"I'm not telling you that," he said shortly.
Tony's eyes widened. "Ooh, so it was some good stuff!"
Bruce stayed on the defensive, successfully not answering questions, until Hermione returned with their drinks. She set Bruce's in front of him and raised a brow at the man in her seat.
Tony peered through her glass. "Gin and tonic?"
"Yes," she said primly, clearly sensing the incoming mockery.
"What are you, an old man?"
"Aren't you ten years older than me?"
Tony grinned and gestured at Bruce. "Isn't he?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't you want to walk away and tell Pepper how beautiful she looks?"
Bruce finally let out the laugh he'd been holding back, and Tony rose out of Hermione's seat and started walking towards his assistant-turned-CEO-turned-probable-lover. "Touche," he said, still grinning, over his shoulder. "Good luck, Brucey!"
He frowned and took a sip of his replacement drink. "He's right. I'm an old man."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't make me stroke your ego by telling you how good you look. Besides," she said faux-imperiously, "you thought I was into Steve, and he's almost a hundred."
He cracked a smile. "So you're into me."
"I thought I made that clear," she said breathily.
He couldn't come up with a good answer to that and was pleased when a waiter stopped next to them and offered: "Champagne?"
Bruce glanced at his drink and thought, Why not? His metabolism, like Steve's, was higher than typical. What surprised him was when Hermione accepted a glass as well.
As if she could sense his line of thought, she shrugged when the waiter walked away. "I'll just vanish the gin."
The crowd started to chant and something in Bruce's chest started to bubble. "Ten, nine –"
Hermione stood and offered him a hand. "Eight, seven –"
He took it and they were standing at eye level. "Six, five –"
She switched the glass to her left hand. "Four, three –"
Hermione smiled at him, neither wickedly nor innocently, just genuinely. "Two, one –"
She pulled him in by the shirt and Bruce's eyes fell to her lips. "Happy New Year!"
He leaned in to kiss her gently but they rapidly got carried away and suddenly she had an arm wrapped around his body too tightly for public and he had a hand on the nape of her neck starting to card through the underside of her hair and neither of them was coming up for breath – remembering suddenly where they were, he pulled away to end the kiss. Their hold on one another loosened but didn't drop.
Hermione blinked away a dazed expression and his blood rushed in his ears and elsewhere as he started imagining what else he could do to make her feel that way. "You taste like cachaça," she murmured.
"Sorry," Bruce whispered.
She smiled. "Don't be." Her gaze dropped to his mouth and he felt a dopey grin pull across it. "It's growing on me."
Note: I'm tempted to start calling rum "Caribbean cachaça" given how often people call cachaça "Brazilian rum."
Official word count: 7,418
