Author Note – I haven't forgotten about From the Ashes, the next chapter is being edited and I hope to post it soon – very soon. Hope you enjoy small offering.

Spies and Scientists – chapter five

Welcome Home

"Home isn't where you're from, it's where you find light when all grows dark." ― Pierce Brown, Golden Son

Natasha weaves her way through the sea of people in front of her, tightening her hold on the bag slung over her shoulder. If she was in a hurry, she could find a quicker path except she's content to mull along with the crowd at a steady pace and fit through the gaps as she can. It's been a long week and this is the first moment she's had for herself with no one interfering. Her neck and back are stiff from the long flight and it's a relief to stretch her legs on the way to the taxi rink beyond the glass doors.

Natasha manages to sidestep a child who stops suddenly in the middle of the arrival's terminal. Her mother quickly notices and somehow puts her three bags onto one arm while sweeping up her child with her free one. The little girl drops her teddy in the quick movement and Natasha's stride doesn't break as she swoops down to retrieve it. The mother rewards her with an understanding eye-roll aimed in the direction of her oblivious child and a breathy "Thanks". Natasha hands the toy to the little girl who giggles and the mother interrupts with a gesture indicating that they have to dash before blending back into the crowd. Natasha watches them for a moment, the little girl hanging onto the mothers' neck and waving the teddy at Natasha over her mothers' shoulder till they disappear.

Recovering from her stall, she propels herself back into the throng. She almost falters again after a few steps when she feels the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Most people are attuned to being watched, it's an instinct not everyone is fully cognizant of. She's been watched more in her life than she hasn't. Be it a handler or an enemy, her senses are honed to it. It only takes a subtle crane of her head to determine whether she's being observed by a friend or foe.

She spots him waiting for her leaning against one of the pillars near the exit. A dark wool coat shrugged on over his rumpled work clothes and she notes with a wry smile that he's actually remembered to take his lab coat off before leaving work. He's wearing a sheepish expression as their eyes meet. He drops his chin at her appraisal, trying to figure out what about his outfit has caught her attention. When he looks back up, absolute confusion written across his face, she offers him a small shrug. Brightening at her response, albeit with a self-conscious smile, he shrugs back and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat. Dork.

She adjusts the strap of the bag, holding it tighter and moves quicker. She's more than capable of hailing a cab to the apartment they share – one of her boltholes, once upon a time – and his sudden appearance is an unexpected, yet appreciated the surprise. The thought of sitting inside of a cab with a driver making an inane attempt at conversation, after a ten-hour flight from Brussels to New York with no less than three screaming children – each competing with the other to be the loudest- on board, was the last thing she wanted. She begrudgingly admits she's been spoilt by years of travelling with Stark in personal jets and the Quinjet. If this trip had been a mission, she would have been travelling via the Facility.

She wasn't comfortable staying in the Facility after it was overrun by Ross's regime, or how they broke under it, Bruce less so once he learnt what transpired in his absence. Wanting to keep him close after two years apart spurred her to offer him her couch to sleep on. It wasn't much but they were all too exhausted after the battle to organise anything else. They needed time to recoup and come to terms with what's happened and they haven't found a place big enough space yet to house the whole team and their needs.

They were in contact daily and met regularly at the Facility to check in. The politicians point blank refused to relinquish it back to their full control during the talks. The team had agreed not to return unless they had free reign; they would assist where ever and whenever they were needed but not reside in any capacity. Stark had returned to a Stark Industries property in Manhattan, complete with a new lab for him and Bruce, while Steve managed to find somewhere in Brooklyn to share with Sam.

It's nearly the two-month anniversary of Thano's attack and confusion runs rife amongst the surviving population. People seemed to skip past the denial of grief for their loved ones to anger and the resulting riots and call for action were growing louder by the day. People want more than empty promises and bargaining for more time wasn't going to cut it much longer. With the tumultuous turn of events, the UN was eager to revise the Accords quickly as they could so the world could start putting itself back together.

With Fury and Hill missing, it is down to her to advise the new committee set up by the UN to oversee and regulate the enhanced following Thanos's massacre without drawing attention. So, she departed and returned via commercial flights from JFK. None of the politicians were impresses with her inclusion but the majority tolerated her presence and experience without dismissing her outright. The look on Ross's face when she asked him a question that he had no answer for during one of his speeches was priceless and worth the trip alone.

Almost.

They'd managed to whip up a fair yet all-encompassing set of guidelines to follow, eventually coming to the conclusion that they needed to protect the world and prepare for the worst; of what they haven't quite established. The loopholes were tiny and with heavy consequences. Ross had fought her every step with his jaded opinions and a smug expression.

Her days away reminded her of the days before they split to have their own little war. She kept it to herself though she knew the others felt it too and stayed away because of it at her insistence. They wouldn't distract her with worrying about them. Though they reunited against Thanos, the tension hasn't dissipated completely and at times, it's still strained. They trusted her to protect their interests and it was difficult knowing their freedom was on her shoulders. It's risk she chose when she inadvertently let them into her life. She doesn't have any biological family, this is the one she chose, but she doesn't know how she would care more for someone with blood ties. There was a moment during the summit when she thought the politicians would vote against her and they'd lose everything.

Again.

It terrified her more than she could admit to herself or any of them during their nightly calls. She's become so accustomed to being with others, stuck in a bubble which makes her too complacent, she was doubting her ability to protect them when she was facing the committee alone. But she'd rather that than risk the rest of her team after what happened last time so she fought back and won the majority vote.

She breathes out to temper her frustration because she doesn't want it to affect Bruce. His sudden appearance means more to her than she can say.

"Hey Doc," she greets him as he pushes off the pillar to stand upright and takes half a step to meet her.

"Hey," comes his sheepish reply looking down at his clothes once again.

That familiar warmth surges in her chest at the endearing reaction, she barely resists the urge to tug one of the open lapels of his jacket just to tease him. Only just though as the back of her hand brushes the fabric anyway. Bruce sucks in a breath as the movement doesn't go unnoticed. Serves him right for surprising her, she thinks. Both gestures scream a deeper intimacy than either has displayed since he returned to Earth.

"You actually remembered to ditch the lab coat," she explains chancing a glance at his face.

Warmth colours his cheeks, his nose twitching adorably as his lips curl up, bashfully admitting, "Only because Pepper reminded me."

She tips her chin downward as the now familiar, loaded tension clouds her head. It's moments like this when she's on the verge of throwing caution out of the window and making a move she's not sure they're ready for.

Bruce is the safe, predictable part of their dilemma.

He's been the perfect picture of understanding, following her lead, giving her space considering they share a one bedroom apartment. Without saying as much, Bruce has made it clear that he's willing to settle for whatever she is comfortable with. They've worked well with what they've done so far and it hasn't interfered with their work or respective roles with the team and she's worried that'll all change if they even broach it in a half-hearted attempt to test the waters between them.

There's a huge question mark hanging over their heads and no one can figure out where they go from here. They're not the only ones in limbo, it would affect how the team functions and she doesn't want to be responsible for another fracture now that they've reunited after so long.

Bruce softly clears his throat to drag her out of her thoughts. "Your chariot awaits," he tells her quietly.

"I don't want to come across as ungrateful but you didn't have to come."

He scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, well I feel guilty that you had to handle this solo. Hoped this would go some of the ways toward making it up to you."

"Some of the way, what else have you got?" Natasha teases.

"Clean apartment, dinner," he offers, raising an eyebrow in askance.

"Is it only clean because you've slept in the lab?" His pause is all the answer she needs and she hopes he hasn't over-exerted himself with work while she was away. She smirks at him. "Are we picking up dinner on the way home too?"

"Uh, no, that is in the slow cooker as we speak; chicken stew," Bruce promises. She was pleasantly surprised to find that he actually enjoyed cooking soon after moving into the Tower after SHIELD fell; where he took on most of the team evening meals and Natasha never complained when he set a plate down in front of her. Stark dabbled in the kitchen but his repertoire was predominantly breakfast dishes and burgers. Steve was kind of useless unless it was bacon so he had been quickly relegated to regular clean-up duty; which he was okay with as long as he ate. "Unless there's something else you would like," he adds, looking at her earnestly for her answer.

"No," Natasha blinks back. His chicken stew has become one of her favourites and just what she needs after her journey. "That sounds great."

"Right…Um…How was the flight?"

"Better than the summit," Natasha says, falling into step with Bruce when he starts for the exit. "But I survived."

"You always do," Bruce tells her with a sympathetic glance. "It looked rough from what I saw on the news."

"They're still not happy that they can't sic us on whoever they want, which is why no one else volunteered to take my spot on the plane."

She doesn't mind being a part of the talks, her mind is suited to the strategies and she can talk them around without resorting to the techniques she used in her previous life as an assassin; though it would've been nice to have someone to tag in or at least have as a sounding board. And she needs to keep her boys on their toes and let them know she isn't the only one who's going to be fending off the politicians. Rhodey would've been an ideal partner in this; military background as well as experience dealing with committees. Though he is currently on the West Coast taking on one of the latest gangs to test the new order of the world post-Thanos. None of the others has the patience to contemplate going anywhere near the summit and they trust Natasha with their best interests.

"I'm not diplomatic enough for something like that." Bruce wrinkles his nose at her; he's not going to be front and centre during any kind of public appearance let alone a gruelling summit under intense scrutiny. That's fine; they each have their areas of expertise. He can go toe to toe with the next tank which comes at her.

As soon as the automatic door opens, the sky releases a downpour which reminds her that she's back Stateside. The rain drenches them in seconds yet neither falter under the shower as Bruce takes the lead in the direction of the short stay parking. She follows close behind as they weave through the others running for cabs or the parking lot, many opening umbrellas or shielding themselves without stopping. They jump over puddles nestling in depressions in the tarmac and dodge cars lining up for the exit.

He unlocks the car with the remote control when they're about ten feet away. Bruce moves around to the drivers' side while she throws her bag into the back before jumping into the passenger seat. With practised ease, Bruce wipes his glasses off one-handed with a damp tissue from his pocket while his other reaches for something on the backseat. A dark blue sweater is plopped into her lap.

"You need to dry off," he says by way of explanation, slinging his wet jacket through the seats to land with a splutter.

Natasha refrains from replying, just shrugs out of her jacket and tosses it to join his before slipping his sweater on over her slightly damp shirt. Her trousers are soaked through but bearable till they get to the apartment. While Bruce isn't much for self-care, self-preservation taking a priority, he thrives in taking care of others he cares about with little things which are meaningful because they are rare experiences, such as warm clothing after being caught in the rain.

The engine roars to life as soon as he turns the key in the ignition and after the requisite checks, he pulls out of the space, blending in with the traffic as people start the next, and hopefully final, leg of their journeys.

Reaching out to the dash, Natasha flicks the heating then the radio on. She suppresses her smile as the now familiar opera which Bruce listens to stay calm while driving fills the car. The whole scene screams domesticity. While a foreign concept to both of them, it's something they have slowly adapted to. Relaxing into her seat, his jumper warming her, she's not sure she wants to fight it either.

8888

The smell of chicken hits her as soon as they open the door. She follows him into the darkened apartment, shuffling forward so she can shut the door behind them while he heads further along the hall to find the lamp on the table. Soft light filters through the shade and their eyes meet. His eyes drift over the cable knit jumper and skinny black jeans she wore on the plane before meeting her gaze again. She holds it as she closes the distance, smirking at the bobbing of his Adam's apple as she slips past him into the living area.

"If you want to shower and change, I've just got to cook the vegetables," Bruce tells her, heading toward the kitchen.

Nodding she enters her bedroom to find it exactly as she left it a few days ago. Bed made nothing on the floor, her small Hulk figure on her bedside table. She nods to it as if she would the Big Guy himself. Dropping the bag by the door she goes to the ensuite bathroom and starts the shower. She quickly shucks her jeans and let them land on the tile floor. Bruce's jumper is next but she hangs it over the radiator just outside the bathroom to dry from the few drops of rain that caught her during the run from the car to the building. She quickly divests herself of her shirt and underwear.

The hot spray washes away the chill from the rain and the weariness from the last few days. There was a strange sense of relief when she stepped off the plane tonight. She's moved around a lot in her life, never settling, never feeling safe enough. It was the nature of her life. The SHIELD base came close before Barton's farm but there were times she felt like an interloper. They accept her; not in an over the top way which seems fake. Their affection for her was more taxing on her brain; looking back she hates herself for doubting it, assuming it was some form of manipulation because that's what she was taught. It had been the kids who finally convinced her of their true trust; Lila falling asleep on her, Cooper leaning against her while they watched a film. Their faith instilled by their parents' trust in her. Clint and Laura knew about her indecision and stuck with her without imposing themselves. It took a long time for her to accept their love without questioning it.

She finishes the shower quickly and dries off in the steam filled room, wrapping a towel around herself before cracking the small window to let it seep out. Clicking the door shut behind her, she redresses in sweats and a tank top before slipping Bruce's now warm sweater over her head. She pads barefoot into the living room and finds Bruce pouring tea into two cups next to two steaming bowls of stew and vegetables

He looks up from his task and his mouth falls open to say something yet he stops himself as his eyes fall on his sweater. "I'm never getting it back, am I?"

"Probably not," Natasha tells him, wrapping her arms around her. From his responding pause followed by his slow nod, she's pretty sure he likes the look of it on her.

"Well, it's a good thing I don't get emotionally attached to clothes," he quips. "Between you and Hulk, I don't keep them for long."

Natasha rolls her eyes. A few of the shirts which manage to dodge a Hulk-out may have found their way into her drawers either to sleep in or jumpers to wear when she has to admit she's cold. In her mind, her stash doesn't quite equate to those ripped to shreds by Hulk but she'll let him have the point.

"Go sit down, I'll bring this over," Bruce says picking up the bowls.

Natasha complies and swipes the cups of tea as she passes the counter to help him. Making her way to the sofa in the den, she sees cutlery already on the coffee table. Leaving the cups there she crosses the short distance to his laptop on the table in the corner, her feet sinking into the soft pile rug to distinguish the two living spaces. She kills the main light and flips the lamp on as she passes, illuminating the room with a warm glow. Behind her, there's a soft rustling as he moves some of his papers from the sofa, which doubles as his bed, to under the coffee table so they can sit together. He relinquishes the bowls to the table briefly as he sits down and waits for her to join him. She can feel his eyes on her as she turns the laptop on, the bootup sequence running a quick analysis before asking for a password. Without asking him for permission or the password, she types it in only for him to chuckle lightly when the home screen appears, touched to find the group picture taken on their last team meeting. She throws him a look over her shoulder, daring him to challenge her. But he just shakes his with the concession and she turns her attention back to the laptop.

She taps a few keys to pull up his music selection. Finding his jazz playlist, she presses play and adjusts the volume so it's not intrusive on the neighbours or them. Taking her seat on her side of the sofa, he offers her a bowl and a fork as she inhales deeply, closing her eyes as her stomach growls at the first home cooked meal in days. It smells divine but she won't spoil it be admitting she's just as happy as when he makes her a peanut butter sandwich. She tries to fight the idea of how co-dependent this all feels and focuses on the fact that it's okay to let others do stuff for you.

"Thank you," Natasha offers sincerely.

They don't stand on ceremony, just dig in. It's as delicious as it smells and she barely manages to tell him about the summit between successive bites. She doesn't mention Ross or his cronies; she doesn't want either of them to lose their appetite. In turn, he tells her about his latest project with Tony and how their prototype exploded earlier that evening. Before long, their food is gone and Bruce is holding his hand out for her bowl.

"Would you like more?"

"Yes…but I'm full…" she smiles and relishes in the smile which reaches his eyes. She looks over the back of the couch to watch him stacking dishes and utensils for washing. "I'll clean up later, Bruce."

"You sure?" Comes his answer as he finishes washing his hands.

"You cooked; you shouldn't have to clean up." He made dinner for her and he's not messy in the kitchen. She doesn't have the energy to do it yet now she's relaxed.

She breathes out contentedly, crosses her arms and folding the sweater around her body, letting her eyes slide closed. The music slows into something sultrier and she lets it sooth her as he comes back into the living room. Her foot moves of its own accord, the sound absorbed by the rug. Bruce mills quietly in the kitchen, putting the leftovers in the fridge and lets her unwind after her journey. She loses track of time as she drifts with the music. In her head, she goes through the motions of one of the training routines she was taught as a child. Even imagined, the movement soothes her, it gives her the opportunity to process.

Natasha senses Bruce approach minutes later, softly clearing his throat to alert her. Opening her eyes, she finds his shadow at the side of the couch, looking down on her.

"Are you tired?"

"No," she answers regardless of how he found her. Still, she remains in her slumped position, watching him as he tracks his gaze down her body till he stops at her feet which are tapping to the rhythm of the music.

Stepping forward, he extends his hand toward her invitingly. She looks at it for a beat before starting to rise.

"I thought I would be the one asking you to dance Doc," she drawls as she slips her hand into his and lets him draw her to him. She ignores the indecisive part of her brain. Something's got to change this stalemate.

Their hands shift as they come to rest on his chest between them. Her other arm inches its way onto his shoulder, her fingers toying with the curls on his nape. His free arm curls around her and pulls her closer, his hand settling in the small of her back. They start to move to the music slowly.

Bruce isn't as awkward with this as she imagined he'd be and after a few minutes he switches it up by spinning her to break the tension. When he swirls her back to him, both laughing this time, she settles against him easier. The soon lapse into an easy rhythm and she finds herself staring at his Adam's apple.

"Thank you, Bruce, this is just what I needed," she whispers softly and he dips his chin to look at her.

"You've done so much for me, letting me stay here, the Lullaby, I wanted to show some appreciation."

"You're forgetting that I read up on quantum physics to make conversation with you," she reminds him and his eyes darken.

She feels safe enough to let him see what she needs him to, the little fracture which has made her so quiet. His eyes linger on her and she sees the indecision there as he lets their moment pass. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Her sigh is too loud. She stopped questioning his ability to read her long ago. As much as she doesn't want to talk about it, she appreciates that he won't let her get confused or let her distract him from what's bothering her.

"You know when everything is going well, you're terrified of screwing it all up and losing everything? But there is always the risk you could lose it anyway without screwing up?"

"All the time," Bruce intones carefully. She left it open to interpretation for a reason. There's so much she could be referring to. Clearing up after Thanos, the talks, them.

"Does that feeling ever go away?" She tilts her head to the side.

"I'll let you know when it finally does," he promises her gently. He tightens his hold on her waist and she drops her head to his shoulder. She doesn't need to hold on to the façade here. "Welcome home, Nat."

"What is home? My favorite definition is "a safe place," a place where one is free from attack, a place where one experiences secure relationships and affirmation. It's a place where people share and understand each other. Its relationships are nurturing. The people in it do not need to be perfect; instead, they need to be honest, loving, supportive, recognizing a common humanity that makes all of us vulnerable." ― Gladys Hunt, Honey for a Child's Heart: The Imaginative Use of Books in Family Life