I am beyond thrilled that people are enjoying this happy little fluff-fest of an AU I have going on here. Thank you to everyone who left reviews - every one of them brought a smile to my face. Hugs and heart eyes all around!

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Part II: Touches

Nick Fury halted the helicarrier's descent long enough to allow the quinjet to take off, and the Avengers (plus Colonel Rhodes and the purple guy that Tony kept calling "The Vision" with no explanation) sat through the last leg of their globetrotting journey in weary silence. Bruce looked as though he could sleep indefinitely, and Natasha empathized keenly; her whole body ached for sleep. She settled for sitting next to Bruce and leaning against him just a little. He started when she first slumped towards him, his shoulder going stiff next to hers. She felt him relax fractionally, and with every passing minute, he inched back towards his usual slouched posture. She shot him a tiny smile and he finally loosened his tense muscles and leaned towards her, too.

They arrived at Avengers Tower and Natasha felt as though her body was weighted with countless sandbags when she finally stood. Dozens of scrapes and bruises screamed for painkillers and rest, but she tucked every one of those nonessential thoughts away and focused instead on her mental list of what she needed to bring with her. Bruce staggered a little when he hauled himself to his feet, and she grabbed his arm with the long force of habit. "You okay?" she prodded gently.

"No," he answered, "But I'll get over it." Natasha glanced at his red eyes and slumped shoulders, felt the slight tremor of his arm under her fingertips, and made a decision.

"Okay," she began in her most businesslike tone, "Sleep first, packing second, running away from home third." Her concerns over Bruce's exhaustion were confirmed when he didn't even try to argue.

He trudged toward his room in the Tower, and Natasha stayed as close as his shadow. "Natasha, are you following me?" he joked halfheartedly.

"Just want to make sure you're alright," she replied. And make sure you don't pull a disappearing act, a traitorous voice in her mind whispered. She crushed it instantly. Bruce smiled sadly and she almost wondered if he could hear the voice too.

They limped together to Bruce's room and he typed in the security code for the door release. The room was dark and bare, just a bed (king-sized like every other bed in the Stark-funded Tower), a dresser, a closet, and a door that led to the bathroom. There were only lamps and a few books resting on the surfaces around them, and despite the fact that the closet was shut, Natasha knew there wasn't much inside. Bruce lived in his lab; he only slept in his room. The man in question sat heavily on the bed and let out a weary breath. "See you in the morning?" he asked softly.

"Sure," she answered in a whisper, not quite able to define the source of the dread that filled her at the thought of walking out the door. She took the first step anyway, and Bruce's face contracted with something akin to that same dread. "What?" she prompted curiously.

"I…" Bruce looked as though his every thought had instantly evaporated out of his head. "I don't…" He sighed and looked distantly frustrated. Natasha waited in silence.

"You could stay," he said finally. "If you want."

"To sleep?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not up for much else," he replied with a short laugh.

The dread slid away from her and something solid and comforting settled in the center of her chest. "Okay," she answered simply. Bruce's smile was edged with weariness, but it was the genuine one. He offered her the bathroom first, and disappeared inside with a change of clothes when she declined. She pulled open his dresser drawers and found the soft sleep shirts she had seen during his occasional nights of insomnia, selecting the dark blue shirt that had long been her favorite. She slid out of her jumpsuit and pulled the shirt over her head; it was too big for Bruce, so she was fairly swimming in it.

It felt wonderful.

She pulled back the covers and climbed into the ridiculously enormous bed and idly wondered why Tony Stark was so extravagant even in these details as sleep finally clouded her mind. Bruce emerged from the bathroom and paused for a moment in the doorway. "That's my shirt," he observed lightly.

"Yup," Natasha replied without remorse, but she could hear her exhaustion bleeding into her voice. Bruce laughed quietly. "Okay," he whispered and slid under the covers next to her. "See you in the morning, Natasha."

He took full advantage of the enormous size of the bed and she found herself staring at his distant back.

Unacceptable.

She crossed the space between them and curled up against his back, sliding an arm around his stomach and pressing her face against his shirt. That's better, she thought in satisfaction. Bruce's muscles tightened beneath her touch and she wondered for a moment if he would object. But after a moment he exhaled, his muscles went slack, and she felt his fingers curl loosely around her hand.

Much better, she thought to herself, and promptly fell asleep.

Natasha opened her eyes to find sunlight pouring through the curtained windows with far too much enthusiasm. A thousand aches and dull pains awoke when she did and she suppressed the groan that rose in the back of her throat. The fact that she was still tucked against Bruce's back and his hand still covered hers helped her to feel a little better about the situation. Bruce lay as still as a stone, but his shallow breathing would have alerted her to the fact that he was awake even if he hadn't been idly stroking her wrist with his thumb.

"Good morning," she whispered to his back. His thumb froze.

"You're awake," he said quietly. He shifted and sat up, but didn't untangle their fingers. "I didn't wake you, did I?" He winced. "Sorry…"

Bruce apologized more than any person she had ever met, and it was adorable and sad all at once. "You didn't wake me," she corrected gently. The sunlight grew brighter, warming the silence in the room. "Big day today," she commented lightly when Bruce seemed determined to stare at the wall.

"Yeah," he said absently.

"I need to make a few calls, but we can have new identities ready to go before the day is out," she started. Bruce finally looked at her.

"Oh, uh… I've already got myself a cover identity, actually," he said with an expression that bordered on embarrassment. "I got that ball rolling after… after what happened." She saw the memories awake behind his eyes like vengeful ghosts, and he sank into pensive silence. His gaze wandered back to the wall.

Natasha's surprise slid easily into understanding; this wasn't his first time disappearing, after all. He knew a thing or two about fading into the dark shadows of the world. She thought about tracking him down in Calcutta, a nameless Good Samaritan who the locals spoke of with fondness and smiles. She had developed the same reaction to the man, in the end. Although her attitude toward him eventually burned a little hotter than the distant love of those locals. She found herself staring at him and wondering how his competence with switching identities could make him seem even more attractive than a moment before.

Or maybe she just liked staring at him.

She indulged herself in admiring him silently, tempted to sit up and run her fingers through his hair to see if she could get a kiss out of him that she didn't initiate. But Bruce's stare had turned hollow and even the sunlight seemed colder in the face of his stormy expression. Natasha decided that different tactics were in order.

"Alright, hotshot," she started, relishing the way his gloomy look gave way to surprise. "Since you're already on top of this situation… I guess I'll make my identity match yours. I hope you picked out a good last name."

"You can pick whatever name you want…" he trailed off in confusion.

"True. But married couples always attract less suspicion."

Natasha struggled not to laugh as his eyes went wide.

"Um…" he started diplomatically. "What?"

"Married couples make for the best cover," she explained with the confident tone of long experience. "Or families," she added as an afterthought. "But unless Clint doesn't mind lending us a kid or two, we'll have to go it alone."

Bruce was staring at her with the look of a man who had wandered into a pathless forest. "I'm not suggesting that we get married, Bruce," she said with a smirk. "But I've been in this business a long time, and I'm telling you that nobody looks twice at a couple of newlyweds. But unwed couples or unrelated groups - people notice that. And people are nosy."

"Okay," he answered after a moment. But he still looked profoundly uncomfortable, so she decided to have a little fun.

"We could also do the brother/sister thing," she started, and smiled a little when his face fell. "But that will look awfully strange when I make out with you all the time."

Bruce cleared his throat and Natasha couldn't quite be sure in the uncertain light, but she swore that he blushed.

"That's what we're going to be doing?" he asked in a tone much too controlled for a man who had woken up to talk of false identities and real relationships. She looked at his unshaved face and his uncertain expression and felt a swell of affection in her chest.

"Yup," she answered, privately cursing the fact that she needed a shower and a toothbrush before she could get her make out plan started. Bruce absorbed her response with a thoughtful look.

"All the time?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh yeah," she replied immediately. She was extremely satisfied when his dark expression cleared and settled into a smile.

The sun was streaming into Bruce's bedroom from a much higher angle by the time Natasha returned with a travel bag, new phones, and the beginnings of a plan. Bruce's room looked much the same as before, with the addition of an open suitcase on the bed and the relocation of his books into that suitcase.

"You are packing clothes, right?" she asked dryly as Bruce struggled to fit one last book into his bag.

"What?" he asked distantly, his forehead creasing with concentration as he pulled out another book to make room. "Oh, yeah. They're just…buried." He finally managed to slide the final book into place and gave a sigh of relief. "I've dragged these books with me for a long time," he said, answering her questioning look. "It wouldn't feel right to leave them behind." Natasha thought of her bag, barely filled with a few articles of clothing and a handful of necessities, and thought that it must be nice to have a few sentimental things to carry with you through life.

"So," Bruce continued, interrupting her thoughts, "Where to?"

"You didn't already have a plan?"

"I did, but I wasn't sure... I thought we should probably decide this together."

Together.

The word sent a tingle up her spine that reminded her of the feeling she got in the pit of her stomach during particularly dicey missions - the feeling of having no idea what would happen next. Natasha couldn't conclusively identify the sensation as either excitement or terror. It was probably both, she decided distantly.

"What was your first thought?" she asked finally, forcing her thoughts to order themselves.

"I was thinking… and feel free to veto this idea… Peru. I know a guy who would be willing to let me rent a house outside Lima, so…" he paused and studied her face uncertainly. "What do you think?"

Natasha's mind was flooded with images she had seen of Peru over the years - cathedrals, beaches, brightly colored cities, and mist-topped mountains - and she realized that it was one of a very few places she had never been. "Who's the guy?" she asked, turning over the idea of a house near Lima in her mind. She imagined exploring the markets and sights of the city, walking on the beaches, climbing into the remote places of the mountains… and she found that she didn't care much where they lived or what the house was like, as long as the picture included Bruce. She abruptly realized how sappy and sentimental that was and suppressed a grimace.

"It's a long story," Bruce began, and laid out a convoluted tale of his time in Brazil a few years past, when he made a few friends as a factory worker under an assumed name. Natasha vaguely remembered reading various reports about the discovery of Dr. Banner and the "incident" that had resulted in the destruction of a factory… as well as a fair number of deaths. She was relieved when Bruce sketched the bare outlines of his time there and didn't wallow in any unpleasant memories. "He left the country after the factory was… destroyed." His jaw clenched for just a moment, and she saw him force himself past the memories. "He called me to say that he had family in Peru and he was going back there. Said he could get me a place to stay if I needed it. So I called him a couple of days ago… turns out he's moved on again, and he has a house I can rent. He doesn't know who I really am," he concluded quietly. "So it ought to be alright."

"Okay," Natasha said, and gathered up her bag. Bruce blinked at her, and she moved to zip up his suitcase. "You done packing this?"

"Yeah, go ahead. But… you're okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Lima sounds good. We better get moving, though - I have a plane standing by for us." She hefted her bag to her shoulder and turned to face him.

Bruce was wearing an expression of disbelief. He stared at her for a moment, before he blinked and reached for his suitcase. He turned into the light and Natasha caught sparkle of tears in his eyes. He took a deep breath and came to stand beside her, pulling his suitcase behind him. By the time he looked at her, his eyes were just barely damp. "You're amazing," he whispered, and gathered her hand into his. Natasha realized distantly that it might be the first time he had ever reached for her. She intertwined their fingers.

"Ready to run away from home?" she asked with a tiny smile.

"Let's do it," he answered. His smile disappeared as quickly as the flame of a match, but it burned just as brightly.

She started out the door and tugged him along behind her. Bruce halted suddenly.

"You said you have a plane waiting for us?"

"Yeah. Charter flight - we're the only passengers."

"What about the pilot?" he asked, and she sighed at the shadow that crossed his face.

"He's trustworthy. And I made sure there are plenty of parachutes on board for... emergencies," she answered his unspoken concern. Bruce relaxed a fraction.

"Okay," he agreed quietly. They finally made it out the door and headed for the elevator.

"I hate flying," Bruce remarked thoughtfully as they watched the floor numbers shift above the elevator doors.

"Hey." Natasha bumped his shoulder with hers. "Happy thoughts, Bruce."

In the blurred reflection of the elevator doors, Natasha caught his smile.

Natasha had spent the weeks since she had become aware of Bruce's feelings towards her in careful study of the man and his response to every type of touch. He tensed anytime their hands brushed, and his whole body went rigid when she hugged him. The response was immediate and deeply ingrained after so many years of running from any and all contact, so she wasn't offended at his reactions. But she did feel a swift stab of sorrow every time he drew back before reaching out. So when they climbed into a cab heading for the airport, Natasha made it her mission to acclimate him to affectionate touches the best way she knew: immersion therapy.

Bruce pulled the cab door shut as she called out their destination to the driver and she slipped her hand into his while he was distracted. His moment of reflexive tension melted away faster than she could have hoped and she tossed him a smile as the cab pulled away from the curb.

They made great time to the airport and she held fast to his hand the whole way, even refusing to relinquish it as they walked through the crowds at the airport. She watched him in her peripheral vision as they navigated the congested walkways. The nervous energy that always gripped him in crowds was there, of course, but she saw something else in the way he stood up straight and looked forward instead of at the ground, felt it in the growing confidence of his grip on her hand.

It took her a moment to recognize the difference in his stance and demeanor, but she finally spotted it: Bruce wasn't an outsider in this moment, because he was with her. And that fact even made him move differently. She had never been someone's anchor before, never had the chance to systematically support someone instead of undermining them, heal instead of destroy. There was strength in this thing that they had. Strength for him. (She brushed past the thought that it was peculiar for the strongest man in the world to need an outside source of support; of course, nothing was ever usual about Bruce Banner.)

She smiled at him reflexively, and noticed the warmth rising in her chest. It was a pleasant sort of fullness that filled in places she had never been aware of, let alone wondered at their vacancy. She stepped back from the feeling and examined it distantly as they navigated the rivers of people that flowed in every direction. She realized that she liked holding Bruce's hand, liked keeping their shoulders pressed together when they sat down, and liked letting her fingertips linger on his arm or back when it wasn't strictly necessary. All her life she had been trained and conditioned to use touch as one of many weapons in her arsenal; she knew countless ways to kill a man with her bare hands, and touch was also an integral part of any successful seduction tactics. Touch had always been about violence or about sex in her world, with each option carrying the same dose of lethal intent. Or it had been up until she met Clint and his family and learned that children liked hugs and kisses and handholding without goals or expectations or rewards. She had realized then that it could feel wonderful sometimes just to touch someone with casual affection, to reach out for simple connection. It was closeness and trust, she thought as she glanced down at their intertwined hands.

It was love.

The thought didn't stick in her mind like a shard of glass as it once had, long ago when falling in love had seemed simultaneously foolish and without purpose. Love is for children, the ghost of her own voice whispered through her mind. And maybe that was true. But she had observed that children were often far happier than their elders - happier and much more affectionate. A little of that innocent happiness rubbed off on her every time Cooper or Lila Barton reached for her hand or hugged her without a thought, like it was easy and obvious and natural. Those touches always awoke a fierce ache somewhere in her chest, a hollow echo that revealed a cavernous emptiness that lurked out of her reach and out of everyone else's sight.

She realized abruptly that she was almost as starved for this kind of touch as Bruce was. And maybe… maybe it was as easy as Cooper and Lila made it look. She halted in the middle of the airport and slid her hand from Bruce's grip. He looked momentarily bereft (but not surprised, and she hated how easy it was for him to think that she would pull away), but she offered him a smile and tucked her arm through his so they could be closer. This time he did look surprised. But he relaxed into her touch after a moment and they continued toward their gate and the plane that would take them away together.

Maybe, she thought, in this thing they had (this relationship her mind supplied after a moment), there could be healing and strength for her, too. Maybe she could rely on him to be there when that terrible ache echoed out of the empty places in her chest. Maybe trust and connection and even affection could be everyday occurrences and not just special occasions. She glanced at his face, and he looked as tired as always, but she caught a light in his eyes that wasn't so usual. It looked so foreign on his face that it took her a moment to recognize it as hope.

Maybe they could learn how to do this together.

They boarded their plane soon after, stowed their meager luggage, and settled beside each other in the private cabin. "First class all the way," Natasha deadpanned. Bruce smiled and glanced out the window as the pilot guided the plane towards the runway.

"I've never actually flown first class," he replied thoughtfully.

"Well that explains why you hate flying. Nobody's ever shown you how it's done. Just wait - once we're in the air, I'll find the champagne and the snacks." Bruce smiled and she realized that she hadn't touched him at all for the past few moments. She wouldn't make much of an immersion therapist at this rate, she decided, sliding her arm through his and slumping to rest her head on his shoulder.

"First lesson of long first class flights," she began in a strict tone. "Take naps."

The plane began to roll down the runway, picking up speed for takeoff. She felt Bruce turn towards her and smile faintly against her hair.

They landed in Lima after eight hours of sipping champagne and watching in-flight movies. She had fallen asleep during Casablanca (but it wasn't the first time she and Bruce had watched it together, so it wasn't that rude), and had awakened to find Bruce's head resting against hers as he dozed. It wasn't a bad way to wake up, she considered as she and Bruce disembarked into the milling crowds of the Aeropuerto Internacional. Bruce reached for her hand immediately and seized it like a lifeline. Therapy showing signs of success, she mused silently, and kept a tight grip on his hand.

Bruce immediately bought a car with faded blue paint and dubious mechanical reliability off the street for far too much money. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. "We need a means of transportation that's not traceable," he defended with a shrug. "Kind of rules out rental cars."

"No, you're right," she replied. "I was just wondering where Bruce Banner, mild-mannered scientist, got that much cash. Do you run a drug empire that I don't know about?"

"No," Bruce replied with a flustered look. He tossed their luggage in the backseat and climbed into the car. Natasha joined him - the car was ten years old at least and smelled like cigarette smoke - and he spoke after both their doors were shut. "I just… Tony set up an emergency account for me. As a birthday present." He shook his head. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he said that I might have to run one of these days and he didn't want me to have a hard time." His eyes grew unfocused and distantly sad and she realized with a shock that he missed Tony.

She would never understand friendships, she thought, and she pondered Bruce and Tony (and herself and Clint) as Bruce drove them to their new home.

They found the secluded, tree-lined lane that led to their squat, brown, two-story house. The grass was emerald green around the home, and a pond lay just behind it. It was quiet and private and Natasha liked it immediately.

She grabbed her bag and Bruce grabbed his, and they opened the front door. It was dark, dusty, and sparsely furnished. The tiny living area morphed into a kitchen and a staircase disappeared into the cobwebbed rafters. "So," Bruce said quietly. "It's kind of a fixer-upper." But Natasha didn't agree. The walls were painted a light cream, the wood floors were beautiful, and the rooms looked just pleasantly crammed enough to feel safe, somehow. (Or maybe none of that mattered, and it was just the company.)

"I like it," she said, and meant it.

Bruce stepped inside. She followed him, noting distantly the way their footprints left a trail in the dust. He reached for her hand again, and she slid her fingers through his, glad that he was reaching out to her with ease. He turned to look at her, and there was something bold in his eyes (the spark of hope finally ignited). He stepped close to her and paused for one breathless fraction of a moment before he kissed her, slowly and gently. Natasha thought she had never felt anything so wonderful in her life.

Therapy successful, she thought faintly and slid her fingers into his hair as she kissed him back.

Notes: The spooning scene (more like swooning scene amirite) was partially inspired by the artwork of murrmernator on Tumblr. I can't link directly, but look her up on Tumblr for some beautiful BruceNat artwork!

I thought it was particularly fitting for Bruce and Natasha to be watching Casablanca on the plane, because if you've ever seen Casablanca, you know that the ending involves some very emotional choices about whether or not certain people should get on a certain plane and I CHEATED FATE AND MADE THE HAPPY ENDING HAPPEN AHAHAHA.

Anyway.

All this Brazil mentions were references to The Incredible Hulk, although I made up that friend. Bruce had only one friend that we see in the movie, the young woman who he tried to defend from the group of jerks that he later Hulks out on. And I think a fair number of people were killed during that Hulk out. If you watch those scenes, a lot of people get flung through walls and crushed by tanks and all sorts of unpleasantness. It's kind of sobering to see the collateral damage of a Hulk out, even if all the characters who are hurt/killed are people the audience isn't meant to have sympathy for... poor Bruce. :(

Just a quick note on characterization... it's hard. In all seriousness, though, it's weird to write happy and functional Bruce and Natasha, because what we see in the movies is so very angsty and dramatic! But since I've maneuvered them into a situation where they're "running with it" and Bruce gets with the BruceNat program (instead of ruining my life by disappearing on the jet DARN IT BRUCE WHY), I've also placed them in the position of just being together and dealing with stuff together and that's kind of unexplored territory in canon. So... I'm trying my best. It feels like wandering into a desert where the sand is constantly sliding away under your feet and I'm just like "where is the solid character ground?" and the desert of fic writing is like "lol it doesn't exist" and I'm like "ahhhhhh!" It's all very dramatic. I would love to hear your thoughts about the way I decided to go with Bruce and Natasha and if your thoughts differ on how they would behave in this set of happy AU circumstances.

I also feel compelled to warn everyone that as I've been writing, I've realized that this story is devolving into a somewhat aimless, anecdotal fluff-fest. That was sort of my intention from the start - I wanted some BruceNat fluff and happiness like nobody's business - but I'm wondering how everyone else feels about that. So tell me - does the thought of a bunch of BruceNat fluff/relationship stuff sound readable? Or was everybody showing up to this party hoping for more plot? Weigh in, pretty please! (And don't forget to tell me how you liked this chapter while you're at it!)

Me: So do I fight this fic writing urge, or run with it?

You (in your review): Run with it, right?

Me: Alrighty then.

AU BruceNat: *is magical*

Please review!