Hello. I wanted to tell you, I made a few changes in the previous chapters, you can go back and look. For instance, Natasha will be born in '84 not '28, and I decided to not add Sam Wilson. The reasons I made these changes is because I have a lot planned for the this story, like a lot. To add that Natasha is almost as old as Cap, will be a little much. I'm not adding in Wilson because I'm not really sure what to do with him, plus it will be too many characters to keep track of. It feels like cutting parts of the story down, it will be easier to manage. I really did try to think of ways for this to work, by adding the age and Sam, but I couldn't. Besides, I really want to do a story with just the original six.

Basically, this starts off after CA:WS and it's AU from there. Seriously, this story line is going far, far off the rails. Thank you.

Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the show...eventually, you might want to grab a tissue box or two...hundred.

Natasha was in her bed, sound asleep. Well, 'sound' might not be the right word. She was dripping in sweat, thrashing at every slumbered thought. Having that conversation with Bruce, brought back some unwanted memories.

Falling, she was falling. But not just her, Bruce, too. Some debris fell on top of her pinning her down. Pained grunts filled her ears, Natasha turned her head and saw Bruce fending off the Hulk. The next few moments were kind of hazy after that. There was some agents asking if she was okay, but she managed to get them out of there, because as much as Natasha denied it, the Hulk was coming. She was saying his name in a way to coax him, to calm him down, but it wasn't working. So, Natasha went with a different tatic. "I swear on my life I will get you out of this. You will walk away and never, ever-"

"Your life?!"

The sound of clothes tearing, and pained grunts turning into growls echoed off the walls. It was instinct to run away, but Natasha couldn't, she was still pinned down by a pipe on her leg. It took some effort, but Natasha was able to get free. Next she thing she knows she was running. Running from the Hulk, in a very tight space. In his path of destruction was sparks and smoke.

It was a game of cat and mouse...expect so much worse. No training could fend her from the Hulk. She definitely couldn't seduce him. Natasha's muscles were burning as she forced them to work harder than ever. But it didn't matter, she felt the weight of his hand crash into her side throwing her against the wall. Natasha looked up and saw his snarling face, and in that moment, she only felt fear.

Before he could deliver the final blow something flew across her face. Natasha looked around and saw that pure, innocent snow was filling her vision. But there was nothing innocent about what she was seeing, or remembering. She was no longer on the helicarrier, but on the front lawn of her childhood home in Volgograd. The Hulk wasn't staring at her, but her Father was. Her Father who was at her knees, bleeding. Who was looking at her with wide eyes, scared and confused. Natasha was in her eight year old self's body, wearing that stupid pink sleeping robe. "Natalia?" he breathed out, before falling to the ground with glassy eyes. Natasha stared down at the bloodied knife in her hand "Papa?" she breathed out in horror.

Natasha woke up with a jolt, instantly her whole body started shaking. Okay, that was a new one. She hasn't thought about either of those things in a long time, one of them she's almost forgotten, and the other; she thought she already dealt with. Her throat was hoarse, her hair was sticking to her face drenched in sweat, and so was her tank top. She slowly removed herself from the covers and made her over to the bathroom, at the best of her abilities; it's a little hard to walk when there's no air.

She splashed cold water on her face from the sink, in hopes of waking up from the nightmare that was still plaguing her mind. But it didn't work, her whole body was still shaking, Natasha the edge of the counter with white knuckles, she still can't escape her demons with her eyes close. Natasha opened her eyes and looked up at herself in the mirror, it's in moments like these she knows she can never escape rock bottom, but she didn't exactly see herself in the mirror; instead she saw her eight year old self, coated in her Father's blood. She could still remember the smell, the smell of her Father's blood on her hands.

Natasha instantly went numb at the image, and backed away from the mirror with panic stricken eyes. She blindly reached behind her for the door handle of the shower, almost tripping on herself in the process. Natasha hoped that maybe letting her whole body be dowsed with water will put her mind at ease. She was still in her clothes when she turned on the water, but it didn't matter because she was already soaked in her sweat, nor did she care.

The water trickled down her face, Natasha closed her eyes and tried to feel at peace. But something still felt off, she opened her eyes and realized it wasn't water running down her body; it was blood. It stained the tile, her hands, her face, her hair, her soul. Her heart lurched into her chest and she immediately shut off the water. As soon as she did, the blood disappeared, it was no longer on her hands, or anywhere, but it was forever in her memory. Natasha felt herself sink down into the corner of the shower with shaking hands running through her hair. She could still feel the blood on her hands, the red in her ledger. Natasha knew at this point water won't calm her nerves.

She didn't bother to change out of her clothes, she just needed to get rid of this pent up...rage-for lack of a better term-and fast. Natasha knew that punching her way through wouldn't be enough, so before she left for the gym, she grabbed a bottle or two of vodka from her nightstand.

Natasha was in the gym, taking her frustrations out on a punching bag. She had already been there for two hours, but the thoughts still invaded her mind. Her hair was in the most lazy ponytail, since it was starting to cling to her face, obstructing her vision. Natasha didn't even bother putting on shoes; nor did she wrap her hands, they were black, blue and purple, probably bleeding, too. If her brain was telling herself she was in pain, she didn't register it. Natasha kept thinking over, and over about her night demons. With every punch it grew stronger, the hold it took on her mind.

Bruce turning.

Punch.

White snow.

Punch.

Green eyes.

Punch.

Fire.

Punch.

While punching her way through, it went over Natasha's head that Clint entered the gym. He merely watched her while leaning against the wall, crossing his arms and legs. It was normal for them to either hit the bar or the gym when they had nightmares. Clint was seeing sandy beaches, palm trees, and blood in his sleep, so he was going to shoot a few arrows to get Honolulu out of his mind.

But entering the gym, Natasha seemed more tense then usual. "Hey, what'd that punching bag ever do to you?" he jokingly called out, but she paid no mind. The more Clint looked at her, the more he worried. Natasha was in a Zombie-like state, it didn't even look like she was looking at the punching bag. Just staring into space. He looked at the floor and saw the two bottles of vodka, one empty, the other halfway through. "Wow. Bar and gym. Something must really be bothering you." Clint casually commented, but he was really starting to freak out.

Running through the helicarrier.

Punch.

"Nat."

Ivan smiling.

Punch.

"Natasha." Clint kept calling her out, but it was only white noise.

Natalia? Her Father's voice echoed in her ears.

Punch. It wasn't enough. Punch. Not enough. Punch.

"Natasha, stop!"

Anger, pain and fear surged through her, and her next land on the punching bag wasn't a punch, it was a kick. It was a kick that sent the bag up 90 degrees and back down.

"Woah..." Clint breathed out. Clint has known Natasha for years, and he knows how strong she is. But he's only ever seen her do that once before...it was after Budapest. For a second it look like Natasha was about to go back to attacking the defenseless punching bag, but she didn't. Whatever anger or fear she had pent up inside her seem to subside after that kick. But she didn't move either, just stood in front of the punching bag, staring into nothing. It was kind of terrifying.

Clint finally got a good look at Natasha, she looked awful. There was bags under her eyes, strands of hair falling out of her ponytail, dripping in sweat, barefoot. She stared into a void, the only indicator that she was alive was her moving chest. He moved slowly towards her like approaching a wild animal, he didn't want to scare her away. "Natahsa..." Clint slowly called to her, but Natasha didn't move. He walked over until he was in front of her and grabbed her hand. "Jeez, Nat." he said, wincing at the sight of her bloodied and battered hand.

Clint walked her away from the punching bag, and slowly had her sit on the floor. Clint bent down on one knee while Natasha kind of just dropped. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured it on her hands, that woke her up. Natasha's eyes widened and her jaw clenched, but she made no noise at the burning in her hands.

"Screw you, Clint." It didn't feel like much of a threat, by her tired and sweaty form. Guess the pain made her more alert. For at least a second, and then she went back to her haunted stare.

It only made Clint laugh, he tried his best not to release a breath of relief that inched it's way up his throat by hearing her voice. "You wish."

He was hoping for a signature smirk, or something, but her face went completely blank. Which was never a good thing. It meant Natasha was hiding in her hole, dangling off a cliff, that he was never sure how to pull her back from. Clint's eyes softened and he cupped her cheek, dragging his thumb across her cheekbone "Nat..." he hated whenever she got like this, it didn't happen often, but when it did... He knew the only thing Natasha needed right now was some sleep, and maybe a shower. He stood up, and outstretched his hand towards "Come on," Clint's face held a warm, sad smile. Natasha didn't move, she didn't even look up. After a few seconds had passed, Clint gently grabbed her wrist, avoiding her injured hand, pulling her up. Natasha slowly followed behind him, Clint kept holding her wrist, she was still in her zombie-like state.

She couldn't really feel anything, or her brain wasn't registering it. Was she cold? Was she hot? Was she in pain? Natasha had no clue, after that nightmare, her brain just shut off, like a kill switch. She had no clue why her Father dying affected her so much. The only memory Natasha has of her parents is them dying. Clint was pulling her along, right? Natasha can tell he's holding her wrist.

She can hear something, rushing, like water. Not water. Not water. Not water. Blood. Have to escape. The fear causes Natasha to gain a little bit of focus, she recognizes that Clint has taken her from the gym to her bathroom. He probably turned on the water for her to take a shower. Natasha can feel herself shaking, but not moving. Why can't she move?

Clint watches as Natasha begins to shake as soon as he turned on the water. He could see it in her eyes, she was absolutely terrified. The only other time he had ever seen Natasha this terrified was at the railroads in Budapest. She slowly backed away from Clint and the water until she hit a wall, to which Natasha sunk down and wrapped her arms around her legs and hid her head.

He absolutely hated seeing her like this, it didn't feel right to see her so...broken. Clint went down on one knee in front of her with eyes full of worry, he put his hands on her arms. "Nat?" but she didn't answer, if anything, she started to shake even more. With a sigh he stood back up and went over to the shower and turned off the water. All of this is too much like Budapest, and all Clint wanted to do was forget it. Clint went back down on his knee if front of her, soon the shaking stopped. He tentatively reached out for her wrist, afraid Natasha would back away, when she didn't he grabbed to gently pull her up.

Natasha felt herself being propped up on the sink counter. Then she heard the sink turn on, and the water went down. No. No. No! Blood. Papa! I'm sorry... She was pulled out of her thoughts when Clint's hand grasped her wrist, and that grounded her, and she knew she was safe. But Natasha still couldn't bring herself to move. Something cool, and wet brushed across her face. It was Clint with a wet washcloth, wiping away the sweat. It was cold, and soft; it felt nice.

At a very plodding pace, Natasha started to feel everything else, she felt her muscles, every stroke of the washcloth. She saw Clint watching her with gentle, kind eyes. Even though she felt everything again, she decided not to move. To have someone bathe her, because she couldn't do it herself, it was degrading. Just because of a nightmare, she can't bathe herself; it was slightly humiliating. And that, in a way...froze her all over again.

Natasha knew Clint didn't care, he bathed her once before, after Budapest. She's even bathed him before, it was after Honolulu. It wasn't out of love, most people would think that, but they don't love each other. They aren't husband and wife, or boyfriend and girlfriend; what the two are, though, is best friends, former partners. Natasha could understand why people would think they're in love, Natasha, herself, could see how she could be in love with Clint.

That is, if love wasn't for children. But she's never felt anything for him, and Natasha knows Clint isn't in love with her, either. After Honolulu, Clint could never love again. A debt turned into a friend. A target turned into a partner.

(Well...that is until Natasha got transferred over to work with Rogers. They've been partners for almost a year.)

Soon, all of the sweat was cleaned from her body. She looked a lot better, the color was slowly entering her eyes once more. But Natasha's clothes were still soaked and dirty. "I'm gonna take this off, okay?" Clint pointed out her grey tank top, he waited for her to say something; the only thing he wanted right now, was to hear her voice, but he was only met with silence. Clint was a little hesitant a first, due to fear of bodily; but when he was her vacant eyes, it didn't matter anymore. He grabbed the hem of the shirt and gently pulled it over her arms.

Clint pulled Natasha off the counter and walked her outside of the bathroom into her walk-in closet. He sat her on the ottoman in the middle of the room, while he looked for one of his hoodies. Because he knows Natasha has stolen several of his hoodies, probably some of Steve's too, she even stole one of Tony's, it was the he was wearing during their mission in Quebec. Now that she's living in the tower, the rest of the guys will begin to mysteriously loose clothing.

Natasha recognizes the grey she stole from Clint being wrapped around her, it smelled like coffee and guitar picks. It smelled like Clint. "Thanks," she finally found the courage to use her voice. She didn't look up at him, but felt the relief in his gaze pooling through.

He slumped down next to Natasha on the ottoman with a shrug. "Eh, it's what we do." Clint knew there was a more pressing issue at hand. "You wanna talk about it?" Natasha shot him a look, like she was saying 'are you kidding me'. Clint chuckled "Yeah, I know. Stupid question." It felt good to know Natasha was back to herself, but it didn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows Natasha has had nightmares before, but they've never done that to her before. Watching her like that, scared the crap out of him. "It's just...I've never seen you react, like that-to a nightmare." Clint sheepishly added.

Natasha huffed out a breath, she has reacted like this before, he's just never seen it, but Clint doesn't need to know that. "The Hulk." She half-lied. Natasha hoped that would satisfy him, she really doesn't want to talk about the rest.

Clint doesn't believe it for a second. "I won't deny that running from the Hulk would be terrifying. I'd probably need a change of pants," that made Natasha smirk. "But it wouldn't do this. Not to you." Clint knows how tough Natasha is, first hand. It was one of the first things he noticed about her when they met. Actually, the first thing he noticed about Natasha-was how tired she looked. But he also knew that the Hulk incident shook her up, even though she would never admit. Well, technically she did just admit it. She always avoided Bruce, and vise versa. But Clint knows that Natasha probably didn't even notice it, she keeps herself in denial when it comes to emotions. Clint is well aware that her past memories could make a grown man die of fright, even he doesn't know all of what happened to her, he's not even sure he wants to know. Clint may never sleep again.

She could see that he was truly terrified, Clint tried to hide some of it, but was failing. Natasha didn't want him to worry, she knows Clint care, and before she could stop herself, the words came out. "My first kill." she swears Clint stops breathing for a second. Natasha looks over to him, but his face is completely casual.

"That aught to do it." he dryly inputted.

She could see in Clint's face he wanted her to lead on, but without pressure; but it took all Natasha had left in her to say that. She can't burden Clint with the details, plus he should never have to know that she murdered her own Father. Natasha doesn't want to see the look of disappointment and horror, but she should tell Clint, she deserves it, but she can't. "Thank you, Clint." He tilted his head at that, he was concerned and knew that Natasha was putting this conversation to a halt, but Clint also wanted her to get it out, because she never does. "It's okay," Natasha reached out and grabbed Clint's hand that was resting on the ottoman. "I'm okay." she gave it a light squeeze, with a small smile. Natasha was anything but okay, but she won't tell Clint that, she won't even tell herself. Clint still looked unsure, he didn't want to leave her alone, after seeing her like that. "I promise."

Clint gave out a small chuckle, knowing he couldn't open her up. But he also knows that if she ever does, he'll be there. "Liar." Natasha snorted a laugh at that. He knows her too well. Clint placed his hands on either side of his face and lightly kissed her forehead. "Get some sleep." Making Natasha open up when she doesn't want to, is never a good idea. He knows that she isn't okay, but he also knows that she will be. And that's all that matters.

He was almost out the door of the closet, when Natasha stopped him. "Are you okay?"

Clint turns around to Natasha, and sees her looking at him with a hint of concern. "Sorry?"

"You only go to the gym in middle of the night if you can't sleep. You didn't come because of some magic telepathy signal, saying I was going off my rockers." Clint knows Natasha very well, probably the only one that knows her like this. But she knows him too, she can read anything off of anyone. It was impossible to keep a secret from her.

From her saying it like that, Clint almost wants to tell her, but after tonight, he can tell Natasha already has too many burdens.

Silence is all he can hear, and the silence is deafening. All he can smell is blood, and it is putrid. The only thing he can see, is the body. Screams that he is holding back, is all he can taste. Emptiness, is the only thing he feels.

"I'm fine." Clint lies. It's lie's, it's all lies. Whenever any of them say 'I'm fine', it's a lie. But that's how you get by, right? It's a part of being human.

"Liar." Natasha quipped with a smirk. Neither of them are okay. But that's okay, because if one of them starts to fall, they can lean on the other for support. Right now, Natasha and Clint are not okay, but give them time, and they will be. One day, maybe..."You thinking about Honolulu?"

The Clint way Clint freezes-only for a second, barely noticeable-meant Natasha was right. She knows Clint too well, she can tell through his haunted look, that it's the only possible thing on his mind. He manages to pull out a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Natasha doesn't want to talk about anything, and he doesn't want to talk about Honolulu. "Get some sleep, Nat." he's almost out the door again, but she stops him a second time.

She knows what Honolulu did to him, she's not sure if Clint will ever be the same. That kind of loss...will destroy someone. It destroyed Clint, but Natasha is there to pick up the pieces. "It wasn't your fault." Natasha assured him. It's like a reflex. When one of their minds starts to drift to mistakes, or losses; they will tell them 'it's not your fault', because that may be the only thing keeping them grounded. Not just Natasha and Clint, but everyone. Steve blames himself for Bucky, Thor blames himself for his brother, Tony blames himself for every death by his weapons, and Bruce...Bruce blames himself for too much. They're all broken in some way.

Clint turns around and looks at Natasha, with sad eyes and a morbid smile. "Liar."

As soon as Clint left her room, any energy to look somewhat okay, left her. Natasha laid her back down the ottoman, staring at the big, circular light on the ceiling. She know no matter how much she tells Clint that it wasn't his fault, it will never matter. Honolulu took a part of Clint, that he will never get back; and Budapest, Oh, Budapest...Budapest took what little soul Natasha had left, and left her empty. Images and sounds of Budapest invaded her mind. It burned through her mind, she felt a heavy weight on her chest. It was like a reflex, anytime Clint thinks about Honolulu, she thought about Budapest. Each made cracks in their skin that could never be repaired, permanent burns in their DNA. Natasha closed her eyes, hoping to get the noises out of her head.

Cold. It's so cold. I'm not sure how much longer I can last. Can't stop, though. Clint will die if I stop. I won't let him die. Just a littler farther.

The sounds of wheels screeching, people screaming, and explosions fill her ears. Natasha immediately opened her eyes and the noises stopped, but they never left her mind; and they will never leave her memory...or her ledger.

Natasha managed to a little bit more of sleep, not much, though; but at least it was some. As per usual, Natasha woke up without a hair out of place, this is one of the many reasons girls don't like her. She looked down at filthy clothes that were on the receiving end of her nightmares and memories, and flinched.

Oh, right...

The favorite part of Natasha's day is when she first wakes up, and just for a second, her demons aren't at the reign of her thoughts. That one second of peace...and then it all goes away. All the pain come running back at warp speed. Every memory, and every thought, every punch, and every drop of sweat entered her mind. It was like the plague, you can never escape it. But it doesn't matter right now, today's a new day. Stupid, cheesy notion. It sounds dumb to even think it, but sometimes it's the only thing that works.

Natasha went into the bathroom, stripped down to her underwear and stared at her reflection. Full lips, green eyes, perfect porcelain skin, blood red hair; and she only had one thought running through her head.

I'm fine (I'm broken)

If you would take a closer look, you would see the bag under her eyes, bruised and battered knuckles, and scars...everywhere. Natasha didn't see herself as vain, she didn't give a crap about what she looked like; but every scar has a story, and every story haunted her.

The gunshot on her hip from James in Odessa, the scratches on her upper right arm from...that's a story for another time. The gunshot on her shoulder, another gift from James. Another freaking gunshot when she was with Tony in Quebec. Imprints on her wrist from the...handcuffs. Straight from Natasha's right shoulder to the underside of her rib cage on her left side, was a long, straight scar. The story of that scar...was one of true loss.

On the inside of her other forearm was something special, Natasha lifted her arm to get a better look at it. On her forearm were words, words that were burned, engraved onto her skin, forever. But not just Natasha's skin, her soul, too.

The word was 'чудовище.' It's Russian. Translation: Monster, or monstrosity.

It was a gift from a friend. The part that cracked a little bit more of Natasha's soul was it was true. She's not just a killer, an assassin, a spy...she's a monster. The thing that sleeps under children's bed at night and slits their throat, slowly. It burned every time Natasha thought about everything she's done; it was too much. The killing, the screaming, the begging, the blood, the tears; too much.

Natasha dropped her arm back to her side, and tried her best to inhale a large breath, and exhale. It came out shaky; so, she she did it again, inhale, exhale; and it came out clearer.

Those were just to name a few. If you looked closer there were even more scars, more stories, more pain, more death.

Natasha realized then she had to actually get dress. She started to put on leather black pants, and a black tank top. She put on a leather jacket, but the sleeves only went a little past her elbows, and it didn't cover her scar that reminded her who she truly was; so Natasha pulled out a bottle of concealer. She dabbed it along the scar until completely disappeared, she also put it on her knuckles until the bruising was gone.

Conceal. Don't feel...I'm gonna kill Clint.

No one else knows, but Clint is a super big fan of Disney movies. He keeps making Natasha watch them with him. The thought of it makes Natasha feel a little bit lighter. Happy thoughts. Natasha will tell herself; but it doesn't always work.

Natasha went down to the kitchen. She was sitting down one of the bar stools watching the sunrise. Probably could've gotten a few more hours...oh well. She didn't realize how early she woke up, but Natasha knew she got as much sleep as herself would allow. It was weird to think that this is where she's going to be living for now on. And only after one freaking conversation with Stark. She was basking in the sunlight, enjoying the peace and tranquility...well, she was until she heard foot steps coming from the entrance of the kitchen (which is part of a glass staircase) that came to a sudden stop.

"Crap. You're here." Okay...usually it takes a little longer for Natasha to tick someone off. This must be some kind of record. Natasha turned around and saw Thor at the top of the stairs, with a very annoyed look on his face. His hair was all in disarray, half of it was up in a hair tie. He was still in gray sweatpants and a red hoodie that was partially unzipped, revealing a black tee shirt; all covered in wrinkles. It took some effort to swallow the chuckle that inched it's way up Natasha's throat at the sight of him.

"Well, hello to you to." She dryly quipped with a raised eyebrow.

It took a second, and Thor finally realized what he said, and his face morphed from tired and annoyed, to fear and horror, and quickly tried to backtrack his previous statement. "I meant, heeey you're, uh, here..." Thor said with feigned enthusiasm. He awkwardly shifted under Natasha's gaze, while slowly making his way towards the kitchen island. "woohoo." he lamely added.

"Any particular reason for that, special greeting?" Natasha coyly asked Thor, who looked like he was about to pass out. She knew that he didn't mean it (hopefully), but the opportunity to mess with Thor was golden; and it was to much to pass up with that look on his face.

"Uh..." Thor awkwardly, shuffled his feet as distraction from this very uncomfortable situation. They don't really talk together very often-sometimes-but not often. And now here they are, having one of their very rare conversations...and he opens up with that. Good thinking, idiot... Thor looks out the window at the rising sun, then his feet, and the ceiling-basically anywhere but Natasha. Finally, he looks at her "I'm sorry," was practically the only thing Thor could think of to say. "I am glad you're here. Truly, I am...but" there's always a 'but'. Thor hesitated on telling her this next part, mostly because he was embarrassed. "Yesterday when Stark was telling us you moved in, I didn't exactly believe him...so..." he trailed off, trying to get the next part out.

"How much is Stark taking from your back pocket?" Of course, it was a bet. It's always a bet, these boys never learn.

Thor immediately went red in the face. How the heck did she know? At first, he thought about telling Natasha differently, but then he realized that she's a professional spy...so that would be pointless. Thor nervously rubbed the back of his neck "Thirty..." He sheepishly gave in.

"Ah..." Natasha made a noise of acknowledgement, she's lost count of how many times Clint has made a bet to Stark, and lost.

After that, the room entered a very awkward silence. You could hear a pin drop, and it would sound like an atomic bomb. This is the longest conversation the two of them had ever had together. There definitely was not a lot to talk about. In this moment, Natasha was seriously regretting that she ever listened to Stark. This was almost as bad as when she tried to have a conversation with Bruce the night before. Eventually, Thor cleared his throat, snapping them out of the silence. He walked over to the fridge "Hungry?" and he started to pull out ingredients.

That definitely caught Natasha off guard. "You cook?" The thought of Thor standing over a stove, waiting for the peas to finish is very...odd.

"Had to learn," Thor told her, not looking up from cracking eggs into a bowl. "Jane has a steady diet of Red Bull, and expired products." he moved over to the stove to put eggs on the pan. Natasha's not really surprised at this, she's met Jane once or twice, the only way to describe her, really is...frazzled.

"My kind of woman," Natasha casually muttered.

For a couple of seconds, Thor didn't say anything. Natasha might have accidentally stumped him again. "Yeah, well, she's already taken." Thor told her with a hint of pride, still over the stove. Falling for a human girl, an astrophysicist, definitely never crossed his mind...but he wouldn't change it for the world. "Besides, I'm the only one here," Thor turned back to Natasha and put his hands on the counter. "that know's their way around the kitchen."

Natasha quirked her eyebrows at that. "Really?"

"Yep," Thor nodded.

"Five guys running around, and only one of them can make a proper meal?" She already knows Barton can't cook if his life depended on it. But seriously, only Thor? That seems kind of ridiculous. He's not even from here-and when I say 'here', I mean Earth.

That managed to get a little chuckle out of Thor. "Stark prefers to experiment, so he's not allowed to cook." Natasha quirked an eyebrow. The thought of Stark cooking, sends a chill down Natasha's spine. It's already terrifying enough to know that he deals with explosives everyday. "Banner manages to burn everything." Thor said with raised eyebrows and a somewhat horrified look. Guess he was thinking the same thing.

Out of everyone, she would've thought Banner would be the best in the kitchen. He has steady hands. "I would've thought Doc would've been the one to look out for." Natasha said while crossing her arms and resting them on the counter.

While the eggs were cooking, Thor went over to the cupboard and grabbed a glass cup. "Nuh-Uh," He muttered with a shake of his head and a chuckle. He turned around and went over to the sink, turned it on and poured a glass of water. "Banner cooked once," Thor turned off the water and gestured the kitchen with the glass in his hand. "Brand new kitchen."

He lifted the glass of water to his lips, and Natasha saw a perfect opportunity. "Glad I didn't bet on it." She muttered under her breath, while turning her head to look out the window.

Thor choked on his water and gave a slight cough. Natasha turned her head back and gave him a slight smirk, while he was glaring at her. "Haha," he sarcastically quipped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I assume you already know about Barton?"

"Yeah..." She drew out. There was silence for a second, but not from awkwardness; they were both thinking about the times they've seen Clint cook. It is never a good thing to have Clint cook...unless you want a visit from the CDC. He cooked once while he and Nat were staying at a safe house, now-no more safe house. It was sort of nice to know that silence wasn't really uncomfortable anymore.

"And then there's Rogers," Thor said, breaking the silence. He started to put the ingredients he didn't anymore, back in the fridge. "He told me he wouldn't be a very good cook because he only grew up with canned food." Thor said 'canned food' with a bit question in his tone; at the time when he was asking Steve, he didn't really understand what that had to do with cooking. He turned back around to gather the rest of the ingredients he didn't need. "I should've heed his warning." Thor told her with a grim expression.

"That bad?" Natasha questioned with a hint of amusement in her voice. Geez, man; Tony and Bruce already sound bad enough-now Steve?

"His cooking skills are somewhat..." Thor tried to think of a nice word to describe his cooking skills...it proved much harder than he first expected. Subpar? No, that's weird. Burnt garbage wrapped in expired meat? It's very true, but too mean. " Sub...standard?" Thor offered almost like a question while shrugging his shoulders; hoping that was passable.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at that. Substandard...really? What kind of lazy, half-way answer is that? "So basically; it sucked?" Just say it like it is, it makes things so much easier.

For a couple of seconds, Thor didn't say anything, he didn't even move a muscle; but you could see behind his eyes, he was thinking. Not to mention, he was sweating profusely. It was like he was thinking of an answer to combat it; but eventually he caved. "Yes," Thor went back to fridge walking with a hint of defeat. He figured that eggs might not be enough for everyone, so he pulled out a package of bacon. He turned on a burner and put on a skillet; as he started to put the bacon on the pan and a sizzle filled the air, He asked Natasha a question. "So, we've established that Stark, Barton and Rogers, make vile concoctions; and Banner just makes ashes." The way Thor worded that statement almost made Natasha laugh."But what about you?" Thor stopped putting bacon on the pan and turned to face her.

"Me?"

"Yep," Thor acknowledged with a nod. "Can you cook?"

Can she cook? Natasha's not even sure. Will she cook? That sounds more like the proper question; because the answer is 'no'. It's not because Natasha's lazy or anything. It's just...

Inessa

That name burns through her, more than anything else. The scar on her forearm burns, I am a monster. Natasha can feel the bile rising, and she realizes Thor is still expecting an answer. What the heck was she suppose to say? There's not really a clear-cut answer for a situation like this. Distract him, throw him off. Buy yourself some time. She puts on a playful smirk. "Thor, are you insinuating that because I'm a woman-I should know my way around the kitchen?" That should definitely give herself some time.

Thor immediately gains a panic stricken face. "Oh, n-n-n-n-no-no-no-no," He was practically tripping over his words, it was slightly adorable. "Wo-wo-women are s-strong; they kick butt. They, uh," He makes one of his hands into a loose fist and slaps it into the palm of his other hand. "don't need to cook." He wraps up his tiny rant with a sheepish smile.

Natasha almost feels bad for making Thor freak out like that-even though it was the funniest thing she's heard all week-but then she saw her opportunity to escape. "Fire," Natasha told him. Thor didn't see it, but right behind him was the bacon in a blazing fire; and the the smoke billowing out from it.

"Uh, what?" Thor asked in confusion. So, Natasha just pointed right behind him at the blazing fire. Thor turned around and his eyes must've grown twice their original size. "Oh crap," he ran over to the stove with an oven mitt; he put the lid over the top of the skillet. Thor started to wave the oven mitt in the air, in hopes it would get rid of the smoke, but it only made it worse.

As the smoke started to spread, Thor let out a string of curses. Natasha allowed herself to put on a small smile while quietly slipping out of the kitchen. This life isn't meant for her-a happy life. A life the consists of who's in charge of Friday night dinners, and what are they going to watch on Sunday night. She was never meant to have that life.

Inessa

Tony was right. She hasn't given herself a second chance at living; and she never will.

The smoke just kept coming, and coming. Eventually, Thor stopped waving the oven mitt around, because he finally figured it was pointless. Soon, there was a loud blaring noise from the fire alarm. "ALERT. FIRE, FIRE. ALERT. FIRE, FIRE. ALERT." It repeated over, and over again. It took all of Thor's willpower to not punch out the walls just to stop the noise. So, Thor just settled for yelling back. "I noticed!" All of sudden, the sprinkler system came on; soaking Thor to the bone. It's almost as if the alarm system talked back. He just stood there, getting wet, with the same expression he had when he first saw Natasha in the kitchen.

"Mr. Odinson, I'd suggest moving away from the water. You're getting wet." The A.I. came over the speaker system. All of Thor's patience is gone at this point, so he did the only thing he could think of. He flipped Jarvis off. "I see Mr. Stark has taught you well."

I'm out of place. I'm not meant to be here.

Natasha kept thinking those words over and over again. She's not meant to be here, it wasn't what she trained for. She wasn't trained to settle down, she was trained to kill; to disappear into the night, like a shadow. It burned Natasha slightly, because a small part of her really just wants to stop, and settle down. She is just so tired. So tired of running. So tired of living in places where to you have to keep one eye open at night. So tired of being the bad guy.

Everyone says she's not the bad guy anymore, Clint pulled her out of it. But it's not true, Natasha is still the villain. She will put a bullet in someone with hesitation, or an ounce of remorse. All Natasha's been doing for the last twenty years is add to her ledger, she's been fooling herself thinking she could ever clear it up; and pretty soon, she's going to drown in it. Every time Natasha tries to clear her ledger she just makes it worse, Budapest is probably the best example.

While lost in thought, Natasha opened the door to the stairwell and saw the one person she didn't really feel like seeing.

Bruce.

For a second, Natasha's heart stopped. Just by the presence of himself, Natasha could hear the yelling, growling, and tearing of metal. It vibrated throughout her entire nervous system. But she didn't let it show. Natasha just shoved it deep down inside, and put a lock on it. She refused to accept this was a problem.

Bruce looked just as shocked as she was. To be honest, he didn't really want to see her either. Last night's confrontation was so weird and awkward, it probably just made things worse. For a while, neither of them said anything. Just silence, and the silence weighed about ten tons. Natasha didn't look like she was about to say anything, so decided to speak up first. Better than the silence, right? "Natasha." He said awkwardly, in terms of greeting.

Natasha ineptly fidgeted, because all she wanted to do was walk away. But Bruce decided to make contact, so, that option is no longer viable. "Doctor Banner." It felt weird to call him that, but it was the only thing she could think of to say. Even though, they never really talked, they were still teammates. The only time she's ever called a teammate by their official title, is when she met Clint. But Natasha remembered the vivid details from last night; the drinking, the bruises, kicking a punching bag up 90 degrees, and the bathing. She couldn't bring herself to say 'Doc', not after last night. Maybe tomorrow, after thing have cooled down a little.

Bruce internally cringed when she called him his official title, it was worse than 'Doc'. Yep, things are definitely worse.

The silence consumed them once more, neither of them had anything else to say to each other. They were both terrified by each other's presence. What were they suppose to say to each other? They didn't like the other ones presence, to be honest. Bruce, or the other guy, tried to kill Natasha; made her feel vulnerable, which is not an easy thing to do. Natasha acted a little too strong headed in Bruce's mind, like Tony; and one Tony is more than enough. She acts like nothing can harm her, which is not true.

Bruce knows he is absolutely crazy-when the only thing he wants-is for Natasha to be afraid of him. She's seen want he can do, up close. But he never actually smelled the fear from her until this very moment. He didn't smell it last night, so what changed. A part of him is glad he can smell the fear, fear keeps you alive; and the other part is...well, Bruce doesn't really know how to describe the other part.

All they want to do, is leave; but neither of them moves. It's like they're both afraid to make the first move. It's not like this is chess or anything, just move. But they are both completely still.

Natasha doesn't make a single move, because the entire time in her head she kept thinking, You're safe. But it didn't help, a part of her wanted to run; a part of her wanted to pull out a gun for protection; a part of her wanted to hide in the corner, like a child, pathetic; and part of her wanted to tell Bruce to go screw himself. But none of those options seemed very sane, so Natasha opted for the fifth option; silence.

Bruce didn't make of move out kindness, running away in the middle of the conversation seemed rude. He was on his way to see Tony in lab, apparently he had something important to show him; when all of the sudden he opens the door and sees Natasha. He immediately can tell she's afraid, which he has never been able to do. He can tell that she's trying to control her breathing, and heartbeat, hoping that Bruce won't notice she's afraid of him. But Natasha doesn't realize that because of the other guy, his senses are heightened.

When the long uncomfortable silence is becoming unbearable, the last one they'd expect to come to their rescue does. "Dr. Banner, Mr. Stark requires your assistance in the lab." Jarvis called out.

He doesn't let it show, but in that moment Bruce has never been more grateful for the idiot/genius. This is when he actually realized what that meant and Bruce grows a very annoyed expression. Because earlier, Tony just wanted to show him something, now he needs help...not again, that can only mean one thing. "Is he getting himself killed?" Natasha immediately quirked an eyebrow at that. Now, that topic is off of them some of tension had been released.

"It appears we might be heading in that direction." You can almost hear the sigh when Jarvis replied to Bruce.

Bruce doesn't waste a second, and walks away; Natasha walks right past him into the stairwell. As soon as the door closes behind her, Natasha finally let out the breath she realize she was holding in. She dropped both hands on her knees in an effort to compose herself, the was still feeling a little thin. As she took a shaky breath, after shaky breath, after shaky breath, Natasha slowly gained control of her lungs. As she leaned back against the wall with her hand lightly around her throat, sucking in the oxygen she momentarily deprived of.

"Are you all right, Agent Romanoff?" Jarvis comes over the speaker. Sometimes, it's really hard to see that Jarvis isn't actually human.

"I'm fine, Jarvis." She lied, while still gaining back her breath. "And it's not 'Agent', anymore." Seriously, people really need to get the memo. That part of her life is over, it's weird to think of that. Then Natasha actually remembered the problem at hand. "Is Stark going to kill everyone in the process? Because I would really like a heads up." Natasha forgot that with Stark in the tower, all sorts of things are going to blow up, or something worse. Fun. He's already pretty bad on missions-using all sorts of toys-now, imagine him in his own home. Crap...

"Mr. Stark is not doing anything drastic or life-threatening...for the moment."

Wait a second...what? That doesn't make any sense. "But you just said-"

"You didn't hear it from me...Miss Romanoff." Jarvis, almost smugly replied; and changing to her name to something more suitable for her.

Natasha wore a confused look for a second, then it finally clicks what Jarvis did. Tony never needed any help, but Bruce and Natasha did. Her confused look morphed into smirk. "Hear what?" She innocently asked. It is really, really hard to remember that Jarvis isn't human. "Oh, and Jarvis?"

"Yes, Miss Romanoff?"

"Thank you."

There was a couple seconds of silence before Jarvis replied. "My pleasure."

Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha caught something glistening. It was sunlight bouncing off the other buildings and glass from the window. Natasha moved up the stairs to next landing and looked out the window. The city was absolutely beautiful, every building was shining from the sun, like crystals. The sun was slowly setting in the distance. The sky was painted with oranges, pinks, and purples. It was gorgeous; breathtaking. Something out of a painting, or a dream.

But for Natasha it was something out of a memory, she has only seen a view like this once before in her life. Years ago, long before Avengers, it was when she first met Clint. 'A parting gift' is what she called it. He came up upon the rooftop with an arrow drawn, then the plan was thrown out the window.

That was a completely different time of her life, killing whoever she saw on the street, torturing children without a care. Dark times. And then she met Clint, but she still couldn't see the light.

She still remembers what she told him. Every time I close my eyes, I can hear them screaming.

Natasha can still hear the screaming, it haunts her dreams. She can still smell the blood, the blood that she spilled. The worst part is, Natasha is still spilling blood, everyday. Actually no, that isn't the worst part, the worst part is when she kills them and feels nothing. While slicing throats, stabbing hearts and putting holes in them, she feels nothing. It's because it's what Natasha was trained to do, to kill-no, to destroy.

Which brings her back to what Natasha was thinking before the whole...'unfortunate incident'. I don't belong here.

She doesn't. She doesn't deserve it. Natasha doesn't deserve the happiness, to have something constant. Natasha at first, thought she had that with Clint, but then she had to switch partners to Steve (but he's actually not too bad of partner, would be nice if he actually accepted dating advice) ; and then SHIELD collapsed from the inside. But also, she doesn't know how.

Natasha doesn't know how to be content, she's never had a reason to content. Her entire childhood consisted of being tortured and taught to kill. Even with Clint, she was always on edge, always looking over her shoulder. This is new territory.

"You know, you keep staring like that; you're going to burn a hole in the window." It was Steve. She turned around and saw him standing in the middle of the next set of stairs. He was wearing a little smirk.

Natasha found that she couldn't look at him anymore, and turned back around to face the city. Because when Captain America is smiling, then everyone is smiling; it's like yawning. And Natasha really didn't feel like smiling at the moment. Being alone, sounded really nice. "Yeah, well, isn't that the dream?" She said in a very monotone voice.

She could feel his facial expression change to concern through her back. He knows that she would always sound more sassy with a response, but Steve could only sense dread. He could always tell whenever she was upset, it might be a side effect of the serum; or maybe that's just the way he was built. For example, when they were in D.C. right after the bombing, and they were at Sam's place.

I thought I knew whose lies I was telling; guess I can't tell the difference anymore.

Natasha thought she finally turned over a new leaf, but she didn't. She can never escape the darkness. Natasha was meant to kill, meant to lie, it's in her DNA. She thought she was finally doing some good, but Natasha never did. The rest of the Avengers, they're good guys; they don't deserve to be surrounded by her, and her blood.

Steve slowly made his way down the stairs until he was standing right next to Natasha, looking out the window. The city reflecting the golden sky looked like it was on fire, burning through their memories. He could sense Natasha's dark thoughts, he knew something was one her, she was deep in thought. Steve waited a couple minutes, leaving them in complete, pure silence, before asking. "Alright, talk. What's going on in that head of yours?" But She stayed silent, the words couldn't form within her. With every passing second, her haunted look grew, the demons of her past grew closer to the surface. And Natasha did not want to talk about, all she wanted was to be left alone, but because she was with Steve, the chances of that happening are very slim. So, Steve decided until she could talk, he would do the talking. "You know, when Stark said he got you to move in, I thought he had one too many brownies."

That made Natasha snort. Why is everyone so caught up on that? First Thor, now Steve. At least Clint didn't bring it up; but probably because she was acting like a zombie, gained his full attention. "Popular subject, today."

"Popular for a reason," Steve retorted. "Nobody would've pegged Stark to be the one to get you here." It definitely surprised him when Tony told them all that is in the tower. Clint even started to laugh, but here she was, right in front of him. Well, not all of her, part of Natasha's mind is somewhere else, drifting towards a cliff. A cliff that she goes to quite often.

And before Natasha could even stop herself, she found herself saying the words. "I don't belong here." The words that kept going over, and over again in her head. It burned like a mantra. Like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, or the thing that's making her float away. Natasha finally turned her head away from the city and towards Steve, who was looking at her with concerned and confused eyes. But he didn't say anything, knowing that Natasha wasn't finished talking, which she was grateful for. "I don't...I look around and I see a normal life-domestic even," She shrugged, trying to find the words to finish her thought. "And I'm...I'm out of place."

Steve's eyes softened when she said that. He knew he couldn't get the answer out of her right away of why Natasha thought that, so he waited it out. Gave her time. Because he knows if tries to open her up too fast, Natasha will clamp up so fast, and jump off the cliff. "You think living with the Hulk, an alien god, Tony Stark-" Steve added Tony because as weird as it is to live with an alien god, nothing is as weird as Tony Stark, but then Natasha cut in.

"You.." Natasha muttered.

"Me," Steve said with a chuckle. Sometimes it's weird to remember that some people consider him one of the wonders of the world. He noticed Natasha's eyes went right back to looking out at the city, it's as if she's looks at the city and can pretend she's not here. "That's your version of normal?" Steve quickly added, knowing he can't lose her in her thoughts.

There was a couple seconds of silence before Natasha said anything. "Most normal I've ever had..."

And then it finally it Steve. He thought the same thing too, when he first came to the tower' but probably for entirely different reasons. Crashed in the ice and woke up seventy years; everything was different. Steve thought he was fighting with good guys, but he was wrong; he's with the good guys now though...even if two of them couldn't see it. Natasha was one, he's read her file, he knows all the things she's done, but it doesn't matter; Steve trusts her with his life. And the other is Bruce, a monster right beneath the surface, that must be maddening, to have something that could destroy an entire city right inside of you.

"When I first came out of the ice, I was lost." Steve let his vulnerability show to Natasha, he knows he can trust her; besides, letting his walls down a little might let her walls down. An eye for an eye, a show of good faith. But if Natasha doesn't want to open up, Steve won't force her. "Everything I knew, was gone; but then I came here," Natasha let herself turn back towards Steve, and in his baby blue eyes, concern was no longer the overwhelming expression-it was wonder. "At first, I felt even more lost, to think things could ever go back to normal. But then it hit me,"

At part of Steve isn't really telling this for Natasha, but for himself. He's never told anyone this, of he was when this all started. Steve is definitely still concerned about Natasha, but telling her this and reminiscing of how this all started-made him really content. "I live with the Hulk, an alien god, a few master assassins, and Tony Stark." Dating back to earlier in their conversation, but adding Clint and Natasha. Saying how he lives with all of them, almost makes Steve laugh, because there is never a day of peace in tower; and he loves every second of it; well, almost every second. "Eventually I realized that they're just as lost as I am, and that made it a little easier. One day-as cheesy as it sounds-'' Steve's mouth curled into a smile, thinking of this next part. "This place became my home."

Natasha felt her walls cracking a little bit, but then she immediately steeled herself back up; an impenetrable force. "That's your plan to win me over? A heart wrenching backstory?" She knew that was a little rude but Natasha really didn't want to get sentimental.

If that got to him, Steve didn't let it show. This is what Natasha does, when her walls are close to breaking, she makes them twice as strong. And if he can't break them, then oh, well; but Steve's not going down without a fight. He makes a sound that's a cross between a sigh and a chuckle, while shaking his head. "What I'm trying to say is...take it one day at a time." It's really the only thing that ever works, finding a new home isn't like going to grocery store; it's entirely new territory. "You're not going to love this place overnight," Then Steve's face twisted into a slight grimace. "I know I didn't."

Steve begins to turn back and walked towards the stairs. As soon as his hand grabbed onto the railing he stopped, he turned his head slightly and called over his shoulder. "I just.." He gave a slight sigh, maybe he'll break Natasha's walls one day, but that day is not today. "Give it time...you'll find your place eventually." And with that, Steve was gone.

When Natasha was left again, a part of her really wanted to laugh. Laugh at the cheesy lines Steve was using. Laugh at him saying she'll find a place here...laugh at the fact that she really wanted to believe. To laugh at the fact that a part of her was hopeful, that maybe this place will really one day, be her home.

That makes Natasha want to punch herself, punch herself for letting hope sink in just a little. And as quickly as she can, the thought that this place could ever be her home escapes her mind. She can't think like that, ever. Natasha wanted to laugh again, because she realized that Captain America made her believe in something, that's like getting into bed with Tony Stark...okay, she doesn't want to laugh anymore, now she just wants to throw up.

But before Natasha could stop it, the thought of enjoying it there crossed her mind once again. Now, that she's had time to process everything, Natasha realized how ridiculous it sounded. There is no way that would ever happen...so why isn't she leaving? Of course...Captain America, he made her believe. She can't believe, though.

Give it time.

All of sudden the word crossed Natasha's lips. "Home..." and for the first time in a long time, Natasha laughed; even though it was kind of morbid.

Bruce was in the elevator, wringing his hands nervously. Mostly because of the 'conversation' he just had with Natasha. Which just consisted of exchanging of names, and uncomfortable silence. He wasn't sure after the conversation they had on the rooftop last night how they would get along, turns out-not well. Even before almost killing her, Natasha already made him uncomfortable.

She was the one who pulled Bruce back into the game, a game of which he had no intention of playing; because he knew he would win every time, and that isn't a good thing. The first time he met Natasha haunted him every night, it left Bruce thinking, what if he did say no, would everything be worse or better. If he stayed in Calcutta, billions of people wouldn't be at risk of being crushed by a green rage monster everyday.; and his mind wouldn't be screaming at him to leave everyday.

But if Bruce stayed in Calcutta he would have never met Tony and everyone else. He would still be all alone, still wishing he could swallow a bullet; living at the bottom of a barrel everyday.

Sometimes, Bruce still wishes he could swallow a bullet, it would make things easier, it would make things safer. What's one sacrifice for the rest of humanity? One less perilous threat lurking around the corner. At this thought, he starts to worry his knuckles a little bit harder.

The reason Bruce wrings his hands or rubs the back of his neck isn't really because he's nervous. It's more so to remind him, remind him that he is touching human skin. It's to remind Bruce that a part of him is still human, even though something akin to a monster is always lurking beneath the surface. And it's just waiting to get out and destroy...everyone and everything. Always haunting the back of his head, he will always voice his opinion by grunting or growling, every time he does it, it sends a shiver down Bruce's spine.

Up until a few minutes ago, Natasha never really seemed afraid of him, even though they never talked. But something changed, Bruce just isn't sure what exactly changed. They actually had a real conversation last night, but somehow it made them grow apart.

That little incident in the stairwell began to consume his every thought. Bit that's okay, Bruce is used to having his every thought consumed; at least this one can't fight back.

Bruce thought after seeing the other guy up close, right on your tail, the hand of death within reach-Natasha would be absolutely terrified. He thought she would hate him, go running for the hills, but no; Natasha remained perfectly calm, it was almost infuriating.

So what the heck happened, to make all of that change? She should be scared, she should not want to be anywhere near him. So, this is a good thing...right?

The 'ding' of the elevator doors opening awakened Bruce from his thoughts. Then realized why he was the elevator, Tony. Oh crap...just what exactly has he done this time. Jarvis will usually alert him if something is going wrong in the lab, because without fail, once a week, something goes wrong. One time, Bruce walked into the workshop and saw Tony taking apart a nuke. Bruce then proceeded to spend the next two hours in the hulking cage.

But when he walked into the lab Tony was sitting at the desk with his feet propped up, reading a magazine. Uh...what? This isn't what Bruce imagined would be happening, it seems so normal. Nothing's on fire, no one's screaming, nothing on the verge of exploding. It's calm...too calm, something's wrong. After a few seconds of just blinking, Bruce finally asked. "Uh, Tony?"

Tony didn't even notice Bruce enter the lab; so if he was startled, he didn't let it show. Tony looked up from his magazine and saw Bruce staring at him with wide eyes. "Yes..." He drew out.

A very confused Bruce asks, "Jarvis said you needed my help," hoping that someone could put the pieces together. Bruce stuffed his idle hands into his pockets. Something doesn't add up.

Now it was Tony's turn to look confused, but then he turned it into a little smirk, catching onto what was happening. "Oh yes, flipping through a magazine is so difficult. If you want, you can flip every other page." he quipped sarcastically.

Bruce sighed at the comment and dipped his head, trying to get his bearings straight. "Okay, this doesn't make any-" Bruce cut himself instantly when he realized what happened. He immediately to the ceiling, imaging Jarvis winking at him. Jarvis played him...or helped him; Bruce isn't really right now. He can hear chuckling in the back of his mind, and it takes all of Bruce's willpower not to punch himself.

Tony had bite back the laughter that was inching his way up his throat at the sight of him, and then remembered he actually did need Bruce for something; but it's more like Bruce needed Tony. But Bruce hasn't realized that yet. "I wanted to show you something earlier," then Tony waved it off with his hand. It was a video of Thor trying to put out a fire, which just became the highlight of his day. "But that's not important anymore." There were more pressing matters at hand.

"What do you me-"

Tony cut Bruce off, getting straight to the point. "I saw your 'conversation' with Romanoff at the stairwell; And I use the term 'conversation' very lightly, it was more like a run in." He said casually with the word 'conversation', in air quotes. Bruce immediately sucked in a breath. Oh no...If Tony saw the interaction between him and Natasha then he would definitely want to talk about it, and Bruce does not want to talk about it. Bruce, himself, was still trying to wrap his head about what exactly happened in the stairwell, he has never found himself in such an uncomfortable situation. He literally smelled the fear coming from her, in all the times Bruce has seen Natasha stare down the barrel of a gun, or be surrounded be ten, armed men, he has never smelled fear.

The thing Bruce wants most in the world right now, is to leave this conversation. Maybe Jarvis will come in for help again. Someone could magically need his help at this moment, and the phone will start ringing. Bruce could say he's feeling a little green around the edges needs to spend a few hours in the hulking cage. "If you're trying to think of ways to get out of this conversation, none of them will work," It was almost as it Tony could read his thoughts. Tony moved his feet off the desk and used a foot to draw out another chair from the other end of the desk. "So, sit down."

Bruce knew if he ran, Tony would just hunt him down and badger in his ear. So, he obliged and sat down in the chair. "Of course, you saw it..." Bruce admitted with a sigh while rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Bruce knows very well that Tony is a very nosy person. The first thing he did when he got Natasha to move into the tower was run to find Bruce just so they could make nice; and look how that turned out.

"Yeah, I did. I've seen more conversation between a penguin and a hamburger," Only Tony could ever say things like that in the middle of a conversation. "Bruce, what the heck was that?" Tony sounded genuinely concerned, he knows how hard it is for Bruce to make friends. He knew that it would be even harder to make friends with someone who was almost splatter on the pavement. But, he didn't expect it to go that bad.

Bruce took a deep sigh, knowing that there was no way to escape the conversation. "I don't know," He really didn't. Bruce kept playing over every scenario in his head. What happened within twelve hours that made Natasha so afraid of him. The kind of fear he would have expected two years ago, but it just now showed up. It doesn't make any sense. "I think the talk we had on the rooftop last night just made things worse." Worse. So much worse. Bruce wasn't even sure if her being afraid of him was a good thing, or a bad thing.

It could be a good thing, Natasha is finally afraid of him like she she should be. But a part of Bruce also felt like it was a bad thing, it was a bad thing because she's afraid of him. Even though Natasha should be afraid of Bruce, he really hated it. It killed him to know that one of the few people that weren't afraid of him, that trusted him-actually was terrified of him. And it killed Bruce, to know that he made the Black Widow terrified.

"I really thought you guys at least made," Tony twirled his hand in the air, making his point. "Somewhat nice."

Yeah, that's pretty much the exact opposite of what happened. They did not make nice, at all. Bruce is pretty sure their 'relationship' was better before their talk on the roof. One of them said something every two minutes, and rest was utter and awkward silence. Sure, they never talked to each other before, but at least Natasha wasn't afraid of him. Now she is, and Bruce isn't really sure how he's suppose to take that. On one hand it killed him, and on the other...it was a good thing. But it didn't change the fact that it was killing him.

Bruce just wished that talk of last night never happened. Then maybe Natasha would never be afraid of him. Because Natasha Romanoff isn't afraid of anything, he's seen her in battle. But in that moment Natasha was absolutely terrified. Because of him. Yesterday, Bruce would've thought that was great, finally she came to her senses; but now he isn't so sure.

He always thought Natasha was too cocky for her own good, thinking nothing could kill her. Sometimes her only weapon was her thighs. It really annoyed Bruce to no end, Natasha acted like she was invincible, and one day that would be her undoing. If she was injured, Natasha would barely even flinch, it was as if nothing could hurt her. But that's not true, Bruce almost killed her and Natasha barely even flinched.

But now Natasha is finally afraid, and it's haunting him.

Bruce sighed at this. "I thought we did, too. I thought..." Natasha is afraid of him. Everyone is afraid of him. Just like they should be. No one should be anywhere near him, so he has to accept this. Natasha is afraid of him, and it's a good thing. "I don't know..." He doesn't really what to think of anything at this point. It's a good thing. It's a good thing. It's a good thing. So, why is it eating me up inside? Bruce can't think of anything else, not the color of the sky, not the smell of his shampoo, not his parents; and Bruce is always thinking about his parents. The horror of that night. But no, the only thing on his mind is the incident in the stairwell, the stone cold look on Natasha's face, the smell of fear that was overwhelming.

Tony saw how much this conversation was killing Bruce, so he knew he had to wrap this up quickly. Bruce looked even more tired and worn out than normal. And that's saying a lot for Bruce, usually it's a match between Tony and Bruce of who looks more worse for wear. Bruce is the clear winner right now, whatever happened in the stairwell, is wearing him to the bone.

Bruce looked Tony whenever he woke up drenched in sweat after dreaming of Afghanistan. It was a little mortifying to see Bruce like this, and it scared the crap out of Tony. "Look Bruce, I don't know if you two will ever be friends," He knew asking for Bruce to make nice with Natasha yesterday was beyond wishful thinking. Natasha isn't exactly the most open person out there, and to be honest, neither is Bruce. How the heck would the two most close minded, and cut off from society people, be friends? "But I also know it won't happen over night, these things take time." It was going to take a lot more than time. Time heals all wounds, big lie. Nothing would ever fix this. "Let her come to you."

Oh, like that would do any good. "You don't get it Tony," Bruce was starting to get very frustrated, he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be anywhere. Tony looked at him very confused, but remaining silent, waiting for Bruce to continue. "She was petrified, I've never seen her like that before." Bruce couldn't look at Tony while he was saying, it was too much. He was saying it like the world lost all color, as if he was on the brink of exhaustion waiting for a wind to sway him one way or another. When Bruce said it out loud, it made it real; and it felt like the only real hope left in the world was a bullet...but it's pointless.

For the record, Tony only looked a little horrified, and then he turned away, too. "Wow..."

"Yeah..."

For a few minutes, nobody said anything. Drowned in the silence of the thoughts consuming their minds. Tony was the first to speak up. "Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

Tony finally looked back to Bruce. "You're going to be okay." That definitely surprised Bruce. It wasn't 'It's going to be okay' or 'She's going to be okay'. Tony said 'you're'. It was like Tony knew exactly what Bruce was thinking, ending it all, everyone is afraid of him. He finally looked back at Tony, and he's looking at Bruce with sincere and kind eyes. Which is not a look Tony where's often, but more often than people may assume.

As nice as it was to hear Tony say that to him, for him to know Bruce so well. It's not true. Bruce will never be okay, and no one will ever be okay around him. Far as Bruce is concerned, he died when he created the Hulk, and he's been living in a corpse ever since.