A/N: I felt badly about chapter 6 being on the short side, so this week's installment is super-sized! It also introduces a character from Agents of SHIELD, Glenn Talbot, who is one of my favorites and I hope he returns in season three. (If you're a non-show watcher or behind, don't worry, there's nothing spoilery.)He's a lot of fun to write, so maybe from my lips to the SHIELD writers' ears. ;)
Readers, you guys continue to be awesome. I appreciate each and every one of your comments, which bring lots of smiles to my face all week long and motivate me as I work on the next chapter. If I could, I'd throw a big Avengers-style party for you, although like Bruce, my version of entertainment is probably pretty dorky. Thanks so much! And as always, thanks to my awesome beta reader, malintzin.
7. Secret Agent Man
This was a horrible idea.
Bruce thought it, said it, before he agreed to take part in Natasha's mission to the Fridge. Now that it was actually under way, he regretted not standing by his original opinion.
He closed his eyes against the image of the rocky terrain, tilted at a nauseating angle far below the helicopter. He'd gotten better with travel in general-being on the run necessitated it, and spontaneous cross-country jaunts with Tony hadn't been infrequent occurrences over the past two years. Still, there was a big difference between a private jet with a friend, so luxurious Bruce all but forgot he was confined to a flying metal container, and a military helicopter seated across from a high-ranking officer to whom he was lying about his identity.
"Earth to David, come in please, David..."
The voice in his headset, female but not entirely familiar, laced with a Southern twang, was accompanied by a tap on his arm. Bruce glanced at the young woman beside him, pushing the large tortoise shell glasses up his nose as though that would allow him a clearer view through her disguise to the Natasha Romanoff he knew.
If he really knew her at all. Funny how this was probably the most natural state he'd seen her in- unmade up as far as he could tell except for a dusting of blush across her pale cheeks and barely tinted lip gloss-yet if he met her on the street he might not recognize her. Though not exactly frumpy, her outfit wasn't the fashionable, feminine, but still a force to be reckoned with style he was accustomed to. Her recently cropped auburn hair was covered with a dishwater blonde wig, which cascaded her shoulders in waves that looked as though she'd let it air dry, with thick bangs in need of a trim. She'd traded in the skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and fitted leather jackets (which she seemed to have in endless supply) for loose khaki slacks, a flowy cardigan over a button-down blouse, and loafers. Natasha would blend perfectly into the sciences department of any university campus, which wasn't a setting he'd ever imagined her in.
Although her lips curved gently in a smile of amusement, her serious eyes seemed to have gone a darker shade of blue than usual. Or maybe it was just a trick of the lighter hair color.
"Colonel Talbot's tryin' to get your attention," she drawled.
Bruce looked to the opposite bench, where Glenn Talbot sat in his camouflage utility uniform, clearly no more amused than Natasha despite the smirk he wore beneath his mustache.
"I said your name three times, Professor," Talbot said. "Forget it?"
Bruce's scalp prickled beneath the bald cap Natasha insisted on; his own mop of hair too was recognizably Dr. Banner, she'd said. A bead of perspiration slid down his nose, making the heavy plastic-framed glasses slip again. He missed his own lightweight wire frames, but these covered more of his face. For all the good it did, as Talbot surely saw through the disguise. Knew they weren't actually Dr. David Huxley and Susan Vance, former SHIELD scientists.
The tightly clamped headphones heightened Bruce's sensation of the blood roaring in his ears. He drew deep breaths, tried to calm his racing pulse with thoughts of the conversation he and Natasha had about their aliases before the mission. He'd asked if he could pick them-just trying to get into the spirit of things.
She merely gave a nonchalant shrug. "Why not? As long as it's not anything dumb and obvious. So no Mr. Green, Flagg, or Hogan."
"Hogan?" Bruce was scratching the back of his neck, self-conscious that she was aware of his past Mr. Green, only to be even more embarrassed by his slow uptake as he got her joke. "Oohh."
He'd blurted out David Huxley and Susan Vance, the names of the two leads in Bringing Up Baby, but Natasha apparently found them satisfactory enough. "Let's just hope Talbot doesn't spend as much time as you do watching classic movie marathons," she said, then went off to create their falsified IDs and files before he could argue that he didn't watch that much TV.
"I wouldn't put it past David to forget his own name," she said now. She giggled, too, then darted an uncertain glance at Talbot before returning her gaze to Bruce. "He forgets his glasses are on his face."
"Are they?" He put his hand up as though to check that they were there, and was rewarded with another laugh from Natasha. It wasn't the one he'd heard several nights ago in the kitchen of Avengers Tower, but it nevertheless sent a rush of relief through him, his heart rate slowing as he let out his breath.
"I'm afraid I do live up to the absent-minded professor," Bruce said as he pulled off his glasses.
His inspiration came from the dinner conversation with Tony and Pepper, and Natasha had to recognize it. But what had she said when they improvised a scene from an old movie? Just run with it. Spying was just like that. Kind of. Except that their roleplay was currently staged on a helicopter and included a third character, his nemesis' protégé.
Talbot had no response to Bruce's apology, except to continue staring with eyes slightly narrowed beneath his thick peaked eyebrows. Although maybe that boded well for a lack of knowledge about classic cinema?
Delving into a pocket of his tweed sport coat, Bruce bumped shoulders with Natasha as he fished out a handkerchief.
"I don't travel much," he said, straightening up to buff the lenses. "Guess I got lost in thought as I enjoyed the view."
"Didn't do much field work for SHIELD?" Talbot asked.
"They kept me chained to my workbench in the lab." Too late, Bruce realized how this might make SHIELD look, given that it was infiltrated by rogue Nazis. "Not literally, of course," he added, mopping his brow with the handkerchief.
"Of course," Talbot replied. "What about you, Ms. Vance?"
"They occasionally released me to go to the library and write about my findings." The sunlight reflected in Natasha's eyes, lending a faraway look to her accompanying wistful tone. "I'm sure gonna miss that lab."
That was a nice touch for a brilliant young scientist, Bruce thought, but Talbot's snort crackled in his headset.
"The FBI doesn't have SHIELD's budget, but I'm sure you'll find everything state of the art. That is, assuming you're hired."
He launched into a rant about the government resources that had been squandered on SHIELD without any real oversight. Bruce tuned out, stifling a snort of his own. Clearly, Talbot had never seen SHIELD's science facilities, or if he had, couldn't appreciate what had been lost to Hydra. Even the lab aboard the Helicarrier had been enough to make Bruce temporarily suspend his wariness of the agency to work in it.
And then he'd nearly destroyed the whole thing in a Hulkrage.
"It says here you joined SHIELD in 2012, Ms. Vance?"
Bruce returned his attention to Talbot, who had opened one of the thick manila folders on his lap, containing the falsified records of two scientists' education, employment, and personal backgrounds.
"One of the many recruits inspired by the Battle of New York, I presume?"
"Yes. Well, um." Natasha fidgeted in her seat, uncrossing her legs and then crossing them again the other way. She pushed the hair out of her eyes. "Professor Huxley was my undergraduate advisor. He'd been after me since grad school to apply to SHIELD and continue my work there. I wanted to finish my PhD first or I knew I never would." She cut her eyes up at Bruce, a grin slanting. "Which I was right about."
"You'll finish it, Sue," Bruce said, slipping easily into the part of encouraging professor.
Once upon a time, that had been more than a role. He smiled slightly, feeling nostalgic, and rubbed his chin, surprising himself with the prickle of beard-another part of the disguise Natasha insisted on.
"I look like I escaped from the cast of a Fiddler on the Roof revival," he'd said as he scrutinized his disguise in a full-length mirror before they met Talbot: bald head, full dark beard, slightly shabby tweed jacket over a sweater vest.
"We pull this off, and I'll pour you a drink and let you sing 'L'Chaim'," Natasha replied.
"Only if you do a Cossack dance."
"Sure thing."
"Can you?" Bruce had, too eagerly. "With a bottle on your head and everything?"
"I can't believe you even need to ask that question, Banner," she said, then left him to mull over whether she was offended that he thought she would ever do such a thing, or that he doubted her ability to do it.
The memory made him grin, but Bruce smothered it behind his hand so that he looked appropriately serious as he listened to Natasha's reply to Colonel Talbot.
"The Chitauri invasion gave me the impetus to leave the safety of academia and really make my work mean something."
She fairly glowed as she said it, eyes shining with the earnestness of youth. She really was fantastic, Bruce thought, but Talbot remained unaffected.
"It must've been a blow to learn that work may have meant the opposite from protecting humanity. You would've been better off joining the military than SHIELD."
"If aliens attacked before I took out all those student loans, maybe," Natasha quipped, but Talbot shifted his attention to Bruce, who hadn't been able to suppress his reaction to the Colonel's previous statement.
"What's that, Professor Huxley? Does the idea of military service make you uncomfortable?"
Bruce resisted blurting out that he was a pacifist. "My old man was in the Navy. As I'm sure you already read in my file."
He indicated the folder with a jerk of his chin, but Talbot didn't spare it a glance.
"You never wanted to follow in your father's footsteps? All my son ever talks about is growing up and becoming a soldier like his dad."
"I guess we all end up following in our parents' footsteps." Bruce felt his fingers curl into fists on his lap; he clasped his hands together instead. "Whether we intend to or not."
For a moment no one said anything. In the reflection of the window, Natasha glanced back and forth from him to Talbot. It was perfectly in-character, but Bruce sensed her concern about him.
"Colonel Talbot," she began, "how old's your-"
"Are you like your parents, Ms. Vance?"
"My biological parents, you mean? I never knew them, so I couldn't say."
She'd stuck with the truth for Susan's backstory? Bruce turned from the window, watching her out the corner of his eye as she went on.
"I can tell you that I believe in nurture over nature. My adopted parents and mentors taught me to be the best version of myself, the one that can do the most good."
Who was she talking about? The mentors, the parent figures, as he knew she'd never been adopted. Nick Fury? Agent Coulson? Was that why she'd been so preoccupied with Coulson's girlfriend? What about Barton? Mentor never struck Bruce as precisely the dynamic between him and Natasha.
"Unfortunately," she went on, voice low, almost as if speaking to herself, "that wasn't as an Agent of SHIELD."
The loss was so raw in her voice that Bruce wanted to offer some word or gesture of comfort. Before he could decide what to do, Natasha pushed her hair out of her eyes and went on:
"Which is why when Agent-Maria Hill, I mean-approached us about assisting you with this project, neither of us hesitated to accept."
"That so, Professor?" Talbot asked.
"We just want to help," Bruce said, trying to channel some of Natasha's conviction. "There's a lot of dangerous stuff at the Fridge-well, not so much anymore…We don't want what's left to fall into the wrong hands. Or, you know, inadvertently harm the right ones."
As he fumbled with his words, he reached up to clutch his hair between his fingers, only to feel the smooth disguise.
"I'm sure you can appreciate how Nick Fury's deception with regard to the Fridge's contents doesn't make me willing to trust the former SHIELD higher-ups," Talbot said, "regardless of how desperate Maria Hill is to make amends. SHIELD was stockpiling weapons, and now Hydra has them. That's an act of terrorism, in my book."
Bruce wasn't sure what that said about him that he actually agreed with Talbot on this. Not that Fury was a terrorist, per se, but one man in possession of this kind of weaponry? What did Natasha make of it?
"Relax, Professor," Talbot said, and Bruce realized he'd been rubbing his beard again. "You act like I'm suspicious of you. Believe me, you two are transparent. I can see why they never put you in the field. Hydra would chew you up and spit you out. It's lucky you were able to get out of their way."
If Bruce had been able to relax and enjoy the remainder of his flight, then it would have been undone the moment he disembarked the helicopter anyway. The Fridge's only entrance lay on the roof-a detail which Natasha neglected to mention-one hundred stories up. Not that Avengers Tower wasn't practically that tall, or that he never ventured out onto the balcony. But back home the skyscrapers of New York City surrounded him; here, there was nothing. Braced against the wind from the swirling chopper blades, he looked all around. In one direction, water stretched out for miles, and in the others only open land. There was something disconcerting, to say the least, about being up so high, and so isolated.
The armed troops that converged to escort them inside probably had something to do with that feeling, as well. Natasha glanced at him as they proceeded, playing the role of the young scientist out of her element, but no doubt trying to get a read on his stress level. Was she thinking, as he was, of walking out of that shack with him in Calcutta, revealing that she hadn't been honest about coming alone to recruit him?
Unsettling as the rooftop was, the elevator ride down one hundred levels was worse. It didn't take long, but the weight of every floor between him and the outside compounded the lower they got. Unless the Other Guy decided to make an exit, of course- in the most literal sense-which seemed like a distinct possibility when they were searched outside the entrance to the basement storage room. Bruce clenched his jaw and his fists as a soldier patted him down, the growl which had been at the back of his mind that he was not safe now much nearer to the surface.
"You're tense, pal," remarked the guard. "What's the matter, never got a pat down at the airport before?"
"He doesn't travel much," Natasha said, with the hint of a nervous laugh, as if she were trying to relieve her own discomfort at being searched with an attempt at humor.
Of course Bruce knew she wasn't really bothered by the search; she'd warned him about the likelihood.
"How will you conceal a weapon?" he'd asked, which earned him one of her smirks.
"I won't. We'll be surrounded by soldiers with very unconcealed weapons. Comes to that, I'll be spoiled for choice. But it won't."
At the time, Bruce found it reassuring. Now, however, the Other Guy wasn't entirely convinced puny Banner would be adequately protected by the tiny woman whom Bruce wasn't sure the Hulk recognized in disguise. And to be fair, they didn't have a great track record when it came to military encounters.
As soon as the search of their persons was finished, Natasha came to stand beside him as the inspection of their belongings continued. Close beside him. Her shoulder touched his arm, the back of her hand against his. And then her fingers skimmed beneath the sleeve of his jacket, brushing the sensitive skin of his wrist.
With a sharp intake of breath, Bruce flinched away. Natasha glanced up at him, brows knit beneath her bangs.
"Ticklish," he whispered.
Smiling slightly, she reached for him again, fingers circling his wrist just below the leather band of his watch. The pad of her thumb scuffed his pulse point, and for a moment his heart hung in his chest. When it resumed beating again, it was at a less frantic tempo than before, gradually slowing to keep pace with the strokes of her thumb. The Other Guy receded back to the recesses of his mind, replaced by the echo of Natasha's voice: I will get you through this.
"They're clean, Colonel Talbot," announced the soldier overseeing the search of their bags.
"Then let's send 'em in, Sergeant."
Natasha looked up at Bruce, eyebrows arching upward in an expression that clearly said, See? I told you this was child's play. He supposed it had been, considering the childhood she'd had.
"Your turn, Doc," she murmured, then with a gentle squeeze released his wrist.
Bruce's stomach fluttered. He moved to retrieve his bags, then stepped through the bank vault-like door that had been opened for them.
Storage room proved something of a misnomer as he looked around the vast underground space. More like the warehouse in Indiana Jones, with its shelves full of crates full of antiquities of mystical origin, only this one had been ransacked. He surveyed the damage, containers overturned and emptied of their contents, or taken entirely, even a number of the shelves themselves toppled, like dominoes.
The heavy door clanged shut behind them, followed by the mechanical thunk of the lock turning over.
"Why the grin?" Natasha asked.
Was he grinning? Bruce let the bag slide off his shoulder, then shrugged out of his jacket.
"Just that there's not usually destruction before I arrive on the scene," he replied, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "Makes for a nice change."
A change to not have to change. To know that it wasn't just the Other Guy who had a place on the Avengers, but that Dr. Bruce Banner had his uses, too.