A/N: Whew! This week got busy and I didn't have as much fanfic time as I wanted. I was afraid I wouldn't have a new chapter ready for you today, but your lovely responses to chapter three really inspired me. That, and my awesome beta malintizin helped me make up my mind not to include a third planned scene in this chapter, which wrapped things up sooner. ;) Thanks to all of you! Now, enjoy the promised one-on-one time for Bruce and Natasha. And do let me know if you do.

"You've been holding out on me, Banner."

He'd just taken a bite of biryani when Natasha spoke to him. It was so typical that when she finally struck up conversation after weeks of keeping out of his way, he could only blink at her like a dork with his mouth full. This always happened to him when he ate out, too; waiters inevitably approached his table just as he took a bite and had to stand there waiting for him to finish. With his past decade of Hulk-related embarrassments, he shouldn't feel self-conscious about people watching him chew, of all things. But his life defied logic.

Mercifully, Natasha swung her gaze down to her own plate as she speared a cauliflower floret and cashew together. "I've been living off whatever takeout you two order since I moved in, assuming that's how things roll in Avengers Tower-"

"What?" Tony asked Pepper; she'd made a sound that wasn't quite a cough at the word takeout. "Why are you looking at me? Bruce is an equal part in this problem. You could even call him my enabler."

"Or you could not," Bruce muttered.

"And you." Tony pointed his fork at Natasha, who eyed him tolerantly from beneath an arched brow as she swirled her cauliflower in the gravy on her plate. "You assumedthe Tower was the world's tallest bachelor pad. I'm wounded by your stereotyping. Aren't you, Bruce?"

Bruce was chewing again, and shrugged at Natasha as he swallowed. "Not really."

The corner of her mouth quirked upward, briefly. "I assumed more nutty professor."

"Jerry Lewis or Eddie Murphy?" Tony asked, and Bruce could only shake his head as he reached for his glass of rosé the speed at which Tony's brain could shift gears. "Because if you're talking about the Eddie Murphy version, then I'm frankly insulted by your opinion of our science."

"My opinion of your science is that you're so absorbed in it that you forget to eat."

"Oh," said Tony, his faux outrage dissipating as he leaned back in his chair, "then you mean more absent-minded professor than nutty. Hmm." His eyes rolled upward, and he scuffed a hand over his chin. "Tough. The remake is terrible, but Robin Williams..."

"Robin Williams had nothing on Fred MacMurray," Bruce said.

Across the table, Pepper nodded in vigorous agreement as she lowered her wine glass. "Mmm. They don't make comedy actors like they used to. That old Hollywood debonair…"

"That's definitely who she means," said Tony, draping his arm across the back of Pepper's chair as he picked up his wine glass with the other hand.

"For someone so insistent he's not a stereotypical bachelor," she said, "you're referencing a lot of movies."

"Not a lot," Tony argued. "Just two. And their remakes."

Natasha exchanged an eye-roll with Pepper across the table, then turned again to Bruce. "What I'm trying to sayis…You're a good cook, Bruce."

It was nothing short of miraculous that he didn't have food in his mouth this time, although he still felt a prickle inside his collar as he thanked her.

"And you're right, I do get absorbed in my work and lose track of time. I used to…"

He trailed off. He used to cook for Betty, he'd been about to say. She'd come to the lab or his office at Culver, long past hours, not to remind him that he needed to eat, but that she was hungry, so could he go home and make dinner already?

In the midst of the daydream, he suddenly he became aware that there were three pairs of eyes on him, waiting for him to continue. Avoiding looking at Tony, who probably had a pretty good idea of where his mind had wandered, Bruce turned toward Natasha and smiled slightly.

"I used to cook all the time," he said. "I enjoy it. What about you?"

Although Natasha must be nearly impossible to surprise, she didn't look as though that was a question she'd been expecting. "Oh, I-"

"Are you stereotyping now, Bruce?" Tony interrupted. "Because I'm offended on Natasha's behalf that you would even insinuate that a woman's place is in the kitchen."

"That's not at all what I-"

"Do they even teach culinary arts at spy school, Romanoff?"

"Tony…" Pepper said in a warning tone, but Tony was seldom one for heeding warnings.

"In Soviet Russia, food eat you. Ow!" He turned to Pepper, who'd kicked him under the table. "You can't be saying you've never heard Soviet Russia jokes before. They're the best genre-"

"I can find my way around the kitchen," Natasha replied. "I've had to for a few undercover jobs."

Her gaze held Bruce's, as though she were waiting for him to respond. Something in her expression indicated there was a right answer and a wrong one. The heat in his collar crept up the back of his neck, and his fingers toyed with the end of his fork where it lay on the table as he fought the urge to reach up and tug at his hair. How could he answer correctly when he wasn't even sure what the question was?

"So I guess that means if we ever see you cooking, we know you're up to something?"

The joke went down like a lead balloon. Why Bruce expected it to do otherwise, he couldn't say; no one ever really did laugh at his jokes, except for Tony, though rarely for the reason he was supposed to. Pepper, always charitable, mustered a weak smile for him, but Natasha silently resumed eating. Bruce picked up his fork, too, but only pushed the basmati around his plate, wracking his brain for something that would relieve the tension he'd unintentionally created before Tony said something even more offensive.

Thankfully, Pepper was as adroit in social settings as he was awkward.

"I was thinking about the conversation we had earlier, Natasha. If you really need something to do while you're staying at the Tower, I'm sure Maria can find something suitable. She'll be back in Monday morning. That is, if the private sector's more appealing than boredom."

Even though it had been a total change of subject, Bruce let out a relieved breath when he heard the soft puff of a chuckle beside him, and saw Natasha's drawn lips relax into her lopsided smirk.

"Talk about a choice between the lesser of two evils."

"Wait, you're bored?" Tony said. "That's unacceptable. I can come up with so many things right now you could do."

Natasha glanced sideways at Bruce. "This should be interesting."

"Not necessarily the word I'd chose," he replied, and her grin pulled a little wider.

"With me out of town," Tony said, "Bruce'll be all alone in the lab."

"Maybe I'll actually get some of my own work done for once, instead of being dragged into your hair-brained schemes."

"Yeah, kicking and screaming," Tony deadpanned, and Bruce had to laugh at himself. "Anyway, I worry about his social skills. So, I'm thinking you could be his assistant. Excuse me-his lovely assistant."

Bruce's cheekbones burned.

"That makes him sound like a magician," said Pepper.

"A lot of people have tried sawing me in half," Natasha replied. "No one ever succeeded."

This joke got the laugh his earlier one had not, but Bruce's chuckle was short-lived as the reminder of her grim line of work turned his thoughts to other dangers she'd faced. Did she mean to remind him about the Helicarrier? He knew Tony intended no real harm with the mad scientist jokes-God knew Bruce made them often enough himself-but he was desperate to deflect the attention from himself.

"There is one thing I could use a little assistance with right now," he blurted out.

"Oh?" she asked, picking up her wine.

Her cool demeanor made him feel suddenly foolish. He pressed ahead, cringing a little. "The dishes?"

Was it his imagination, or did he glimpse a slight smile before her lips touched the rim of the glass? "I did say I know my way around the kitchen."

After the meal, Natasha immediately began to clear the table, stacking the dinner plates and piling the silverware on top of them. Bruce scrambled to follow, collecting the wine glasses two in each hand and contemplating the wisdom of taking another sip from his own, which he'd barely drunk.

"This isn't what I expected," came Natasha's voice from the kitchen.

He stepped through the doorway to see her staring at a kitchen disaster straight from a bad comedy: pots and pans, mixing bowls and utensils were piled up in the sink and on countertops and the stove.

"No wonder you wanted help." She turned from the mess with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, about that…" Bruce actually hadn't been aware of the extent till now; his mind tended to wander when he cooked.. "It was a joke, kind of. To get Tony off your back."

Her eyebrow hitched a little higher. Skeptical, and rightly so.

"You really don't have to help," he said.

"No, I really do." Natasha's heels clicked on the slate tile as she strode to the counter. She placed her dishes on it and turned on the tap, water drumming full blast against the stainless steel sink. "What kind of teammate would I be if I made you cook and clean up all by yourself?"

"So this is an Avenger thing?" Bruce stepped toward the counter; finding a space for all four glasses presented something of a challenge. "Seems a little anticlimactic after the Chitauri."

"Not to sound like a broken record, but…this is kind of an epic mess. Your lab is always so tidy."

"Now you know my secret."

"You're sometimes messy." The silverware clanked as she dropped it unceremoniously into the sink, then took the top plate from the stack to rinse off gravy and clinging grains of basmati.

"It's not just the Other Guy." Bruce watched her face for a reaction to this, testing her as she'd tested him earlier.

"Would you mind…?"

Natasha gestured for him to move, and Bruce shuffled back from her, heat prickling on his face until he realized he'd been standing in front of the dishwasher. He stood stupidly for a moment, tugging at his hair as he watched her put a plate on the bottom rack, then he pivoted back to the counter as she finished rinsing a second one.

"Here, I can at least load." He reached for the plate, but Natasha maintained a firm grip on it.

"Depends on how you load a dishwasher. Do you just cram everything in haphazardly?"

Her eyes left his to sweep the room, a smile slowly spreading as her gaze met his again.

Bruce couldn't help but return it. "No, I use a good Tetris technique."

"Okay then." Natasha relinquished the plate to him and picked up another. "Although I could kick your ass at Tetris, Banner."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Romanoff."

"In Soviet Russia Tetris play you."

She slipped into an accent, and Bruce laughed.

"Is that the plan for while Tony's out of town, then?" he asked. "Tetris challenge?" Tony would be delighted if it was. Or disgruntled that they did it without him.

"Oh there would be no challenge. Didn't I make that clear?"

The humorous moment passed, for the next several minutes the only sounds those of the trickle of water as Natasha rinsed the dinner plates and silverware, the clinks as Bruce loaded them into the dishwasher. By the time she filled the sink with soapy water to wash the wine glasses and cookware, he began to feel that the persistent silence was an awkward one.

He raised the dishwasher door, fiddling with the controls as he cast about for something to say. Would it be prying to ask what she did plan to do this week? Had too long had elapsed since they joked about what they would do in Tony's absence for the topic to still be relevant? He considered his friend's earlier advice-if you could call it that-about how things stood between him and Natasha. I hear you're on General Ross' shit list now. Welcome to the club! seemed like a bad conversation opener, even to Bruce.

"It's been nice having Pepper in town," Natasha said, pulling a dripping glass from the under the tap. "Want to dry?"

In his relief at being spared coming up with conversation, he snatched the glass too eagerly, only to discover he had no idea where in the mess the dish towel was.

"She's great, isn't she?" he replied absently, scanning the cluttered countertops for it.

"Looking for this?" Natasha held out the dishtowel, procured from he didn't see where. "Does she make it to New York often?"

"A couple times a month," he replied, buffing the glass. "When Tony's not in LA with her."

Which he was, frequently. He jetted back and forth, sometimes in one day. At first Bruce thought it was because of him, not wanting him to be alone in Avengers Tower. When he mentioned this, Tony accused him of being a narcissist. I'm racking up these frequent flier miles for myself. Pepper's always in the office, and I hate being in the Malibu house alone. Bruce suspected Tony made him play therapist in part to punish him for pointing out that you didn't earn skymiles when you traveled in your own plane.

He was about to ask about Natasha's friendship with Pepper, which clearly had a history, but she had another question.

"Or in Portland?"

"They have season tickets to the Philharmonic."

"Pepper told me. To be honest, Tony never exactly struck me as the classical music type." Her brow furrowed as she scrubbed gravy off the copper handi he'd cooked the biryani in, but then she glanced up at him with eyes glimmering in amusement. "Guess I shouldn't judge a book by its Black Sabbath t-shirt?"

Bruce hesitated, sensing that beneath the seemingly innocuous questions, Natasha was, in fact, probing for information.

"The cello's an exception for him," came his careful reply.

"The cellist's an exception for him."

Not careful enough. Then again, this could only have to do with Agent Coulson, and Bruce didn't exactly have an abundance of information to leak about him. SHIELD had been full of double agents. Maybe Natasha doubted where Coulson's true loyalties lay? Tony and Pepper certainly didn't.

"Some mornings I'll go into the lab and the Bach Cello Suites will be playing, and I know he's thinking about Agent Coulson. We do good work those days."

Natasha gave him an intent look, eyes narrowed just slightly, as though she were trying to get a read on him, although her lips curved in a soft expression.

"So classical's your jam?" she asked, handing him the pot. "Now that doesn't surprise me."

"Because I'm a nerd?"

"Because you seem like a guy with refined tastes."

Natasha submerged her hands into the sink of soapy water, and Bruce was glad she couldn't see him blush.

"One time Pepper couldn't make it to a concert. Tony still wanted to go, so he invited me. I'd never heard Vaughan Williams' Dark Pastorale live before," Bruce added, as if he needed to explain going to a concert with Tony. "The next day-"

"Is that how the tabloids got the idea that Iron Man was having an affair with the Hulk? I remember the headlines."

"I wish you'd forget," Bruce said.

"Iron Man's Heart Melted by Incredible Hunk?"

"Please, stop, no more."

Natasha smirked, but mercifully said, "Okay. That was my favorite, anyway."

"Actually the paparazzi aren't totally wrong," Bruce said when his embarrassment ebbed enough to resume their conversation. "I mean, about me they are, but Tony...he's a big softie. He looks after Ms. Nathan. Audrey. The cellist."

"That's kind of him. I didn't think he and Coulson were on especially friendly terms."

"Are Tony's terms of friendship necessarily the same as anyone else's?"

Natasha gave a snort of laughter at that, but she soon became serious again. "I also didn't know Coulson and the cellist were that serious. Pepper said she's still having a rough time?"

Again, Bruce had the sense that this was more than merely a polite inquiry. "Yeah. I think so. I mean, I don't really know her, and I barely met Agent Coulson before…" Before you were all so busy fending off a Hulk attack that Coulson was left alone with Loki.

"Of course."

There was a finality to Natasha's tone, but as she scrubbed a skillet, Bruce sensed she was far from thinking about the subject. Waiting for her to hand him the pan, he twisted the dish towel in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. Everything associated with the events on the Helicarrier, maybe. "You and Agent Coulson worked closely together...it must be difficult to have the past dredged up again when you've begun to move on from it."

Natasha looked up at him, her face a study. Had she even heard him?

"Attachments are messy for people like us."

Like Agents of SHIELD? Like Avengers? Like her and him? Whether she meant him or not, he could relate.

The skillet thunked against the bottom of the sink, disappearing beneath the suds.

"That's going to have to soak." Natasha dried her hands on the dishtowel. "I'll come back to it later."

"Hey," Bruce said, following her out of the kitchen. "While you're waiting, you wouldn't want to finish the movie, would you?"

The instant the question left his mouth, he regretted asking it.

"Rain check?" Natasha said. "I've got some stuff to do right now."

Bruce knew that would be her answer would. He'd seen that look of focus and determination on her face before, on the job. Their conversation had its playful moments, but Natasha was at work now. You could take the agent out of SHIELD, but not the agent out of the woman. Or something like that.