14. Born on the Fourth of July
Bruce groped around the nightstand for the ringing cell phone. He found his glasses first and put them on, blinking blearily behind the lenses until the blurred green digits on his alarm clock sharpened: 5:47. Who would be calling him this early? And where was his phone?
He rolled out of bed with a groan, ankles and knees cracking as he settled his weight on them, and shambled like the walking dead to the chair he'd draped his clothes over before falling into bed mere hours ago, the session in the lab having gone later than planned. Didn't it always? The ringtone sounded louder.
"Getting warm, Banner," he muttered. A moment later he retrieved the phone from the pocket of his slacks.
TONY CALLING, the screen read.
"Are you still in LA?" Bruce croaked.
"Morning, Sunshine to you, too," Tony replied. "Were you asleep?"
"It isn't even six AM, what else would I be doing?"
"Brilliant science."
"That's valid." Bruce padded back to his bed and sat at the edge, running his free hand through his disheveled hair. "Why aren't you in bed? It's not even three there. If you're there."
"What are your plans for the Fourth?" Tony asked, ignored the rest.
Was it the Fourth? Bruce twisted his stiff neck to consult the bedside clock, which displayed the date beneath the time. Sure enough...
"Do I ever have plans?" he replied, grumpy from the early wake-up call.
"Once upon a time I'd have said no, but since you took up with Romanoff, you're like a stranger to me. I never know if you've got secret spy ops. JARVIS tells me you've been going out with her a lot lately."
"If I was on secret missions, I certainly wouldn't tell you. What about you? Any plans?"
"There's this concert. Patriotic thing."
"I'll have to see what Steve and Natasha want to do," said Bruce.
"Cap's at the Tower?"
"Yeah."
"Huh. This changes everything. You know he was born on the Fourth of July?"
Tony was dizzying enough in the middle of the day; Bruce gave up trying to follow him now, in the wee hours of the morning. "I thought that was just in the comic books."
"Nope. Well, gotta go. See you later. Until then, don't do anything I wouldn't."
"Glad to have plenty of options," Bruce said, but Tony had already hung up. He shook his head, contemplated going back to sleep, then stood and stretched. "Tony definitely wouldn't get up before six."
He showered and dressed, then went down to the kitchen. As he stepped off the elevator, he met Natasha and Steve, headed out for an early run.
"You're not joining us today?" asked Steve, noting Bruce's lack of workout clothing with a hint of disapproval. When he'd learned Bruce was training with Natasha, he'd given a curt nod and said they all needed to be battle-ready in a soldier's tone that made Bruce squirm.
He spread his hands. "It's a national holiday."
"Come on, Bruce," Natasha said, affecting a pleading tone. "It could be your birthday present to Steve to let him beat you in the race. That's what I'm giving him."
"Romanoff…" Steve shook his head.
"How is that different from every day?" Bruce asked, exchanging a grin with Natasha. "I'll have breakfast ready when you get back from your run, that can be my gift."
"How is that different from every day?" said Natasha.
"In all seriousness, are we doing anything to celebrate?" Bruce asked. "Steve's birthday, or America's?"
Natasha regarded him from beneath an arched eyebrow, and he reached up to rub his neck as warmth prickled beneath his collar.
"I guess as a Russian, displays of American nationalism aren't really your thing."
"Less because I'm Russian than because I'm a former employee of the US government."
There was no missing the bitterness in her voice. Although part of him found satisfaction in not being the only one disillusioned and skeptical about the government and its security organizations, past and present, and their use of people like them, he wished he'd thought this through a little more carefully.
He lowered his hand, shoving it and the other one into his pants pockets. "So I should forget about asking if you want to go watch fireworks in Central Park?"
Natasha's expression softened. "I didn't say that. Like you said, it's not just America's birthday."
They both looked at Steve, who held up his hands as if to physically push away the suggestion. "After the Met, I'd rather not go out and be recognized again."
"Fair enough." Bruce didn't love the thought, either, although he wasn't often recognized; he'd learned to blend in. Not that he'd ever been the sort of person to get second glances, even before he became notorious. "We can probably see the Macy's fireworks from the helipad. It faces the East River."
"You two go on," said Steve. "Enjoy the Fourth down on the ground."
"You're sure?" Bruce asked. "I'd feel bad, ditching you on your birthday." He'd spent enough of them alone not to wish that on anybody.
"I wouldn't mind a quiet night in," Steve assured them. "Never did watch The Dark Knight Rises. Besides, I'm meeting with Maria Hill later about the state of the Avengers."
Pulse quickening, Bruce's eyes darted to Natasha. She wasn't looking at him, yet her untroubled expression had a calming effect.
"It's your birthday, Rogers," she said with a shrug. "Do what you want."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Bruce asked later that afternoon as he and Natasha set out on foot for Central Park.
After the past few days with Steve making them a trio, it felt strange to be on his own with her again. Or maybe that wasn't the right word. Self-aware, maybe? The bag of picnic supplies he carried slipped down his shoulder, and he hitched it up again.
"We really don't have to," he went on. "If it's not your thing…"
"I'm finding out what my thing is, remember? Maybe it's a little bit of patriotism."
"Does that mean I can expect to hear you sing along to I'm Proud to Be an American?"
"I said a little bit, Banner."
But as they passed a street vendor selling Avengers merchandise, Natasha caught his arm and pulled him back. Before he knew what was happening, she told him to put his bag on the ground and stand up straight. He obeyed, and found himself being sized for a Captain America t-shirt.
"Fourth of July special," said the vendor. "Two for thirty dollars."
"How patriotic of you to boost the economy." Smirking, Natasha pulled a few bills from the pocket of her jeans. "We'll definitely take two."
"Wait," Bruce protested, his brain registering belatedly that she was buying them matching t-shirts. To wear. In public. "Won't that draw attention?"
"Don't you trust my super spy skills?" She arched an eyebrow, looking so genuinely offended by the suggestion otherwise, that whether she actually was or not, Bruce had no choice but to nod emphatically.
"Of course I do. It's just…That woman at the Met-"
"We'll just be another couple of New Yorkers. Now go in that restroom and change."
"Couldn't it at least be a phone booth?" he grumbled, but as he unbuttoned his shirt in a muggy toilet stall, hanging it gingerly over the hook on the graffitied door, he had to force his thoughts not to linger on the word couple. Not to interpret it in a way she obviously didn't mean.
When he exited Natasha was already outside, changed and waiting beneath the shade of a spreading oak. He made his way toward her, formulating a quip about her skills as a quick-change artist not being rusty, when she waved to him. Slightly confused, he nevertheless returned the gesture, and she burst out laughing.
"What?" he asked when he was close enough.
"Oh say, does that star-spangled Banner yet wave…" she sang in a voice shaky with laughter.
"Keep making jokes like that," he replied, "and you'll lose your status as the cool member of the team."
"Is that my status?" she asked as they fell into step once more. "What about Stark?"
"He likes to think he's the cool one."
"I'm just glad I'm not the girl."
Although the fireworks wouldn't begin for hours yet, the park was already crowded. They found a place on the lawn to spread out their picnic blanket and settled down to wait. Some kids, aged eight or nine, zig-zagged through the maze of blankets and lawn chairs, and stopped to stare at them. Bruce turned to Natasha, about to tease her about his trust in her spy skills being misplaced after all, but they only said, "Cool shirts!" and scampered off again, eventually flopping down on the ground with their parents.
As he watched them, he breathed in the scent of the broken blades of grass they'd trampled underfoot, mingled with the mouth-watering aroma of hot dogs cooking in a food cart, exhaling again with a sigh.
"Nostalgia?" Natasha asked.
"Huh?" Bruce looked to her, then followed her gaze back to the kids, who were pestering their parents to let them play their iPads or have money for junk food. "Oh…"
He looked away from the family scene to his knee, noticed a loose thread in his jeans. She had to know about his childhood; that wasn't the kind of detail that that got omitted from the dossiers of people on SHIELD's watch list. Natasha didn't need to ask, but she did anyway. No one ever did. Not Tony, either because he assumed Bruce wouldn't want to talk about it, or because he was afraid it would piss off the Other Guy. Most of the time Bruce didn't want to talk about it. Now, though…
Well, he still didn't wantto talk about it, but he did want to talk to Natasha. She didn't make assumptions. She wasn't afraid.
"My Aunt Susan took me to stuff like this, after I went to live with her. Sometimes my Aunt Elaine would come, too, and bring my cousin Jennifer. It made me feel like a normal kid, with a normal family."
He wasn't used revealing so much, and his first instinct was to feel like he'd been caught with his pants down. Which, unfortunately, he had far too much experience with. As Natasha remained still and quiet, though, his self-consciousness eased enough for him to look up. Her expression was one of understanding. Of course it was.
Emboldened, he said, "Maybe that's why I wanted to do this today. You make me feel normal." The intensity of her gaze made him go on, quickly, "You plural, I mean, you guys. Steve, Tony… Barton…" Maybe not Thor, although he had a pretty weird family situation, too.
"True confession," Natasha said. "I'm not actually the Grinch Who Stole Independence Day."
"Now there's the crossover sequel I never knew I wanted."
"Dork."
She nudged his shoulder with hers before leaning back on her elbows. Bruce couldn't help but look at her legs, lean in her skinny jeans stretched out alongside his and crossed at the ankles. She'd kicked off her shoes to reveal toenails painted red, although he wasn't sure if that was for the occasion or just because. It matched her lipstick, he noticed when her voice drew his gaze back to her face.
"Clint's got this place in the country. We go to roadside firework stands and spend way too much money on bottle rockets and Roman candles and Saturn missiles, then we shoot 'em off over the field. After we run out, we break out the rifles and shoot those, too."
Bruce goggled, not immediately convinced she was serious, but gradually accepting that she was. "You SHIELD agents represent Middle America more than I realized."
"Why Doc," she said with a twang, "I do believe you mean Murica."
Chuckling, he said, "You may find Central Park a lot less exciting than what you're used to."
"Oh no. I've almost blown myself up too many times. Last year I actually singed off some hair with sparkler. I'm good being a spectator this time."
"Is that the only reason you're not there this year?"
Normally Bruce was as wary of prying into other people's personal lives as he was of other people prying into his, but she started it. And his curiosity about the exact nature of her relationship with Barton had at last gotten the better of him.
"Only I wondered…since he didn't stick around the Tower long…Are you and Clint good? Things between you…?"
"Things?" Natasha echoed, pushing to sit more upright. "What do you mean? What kind of things?"
Something in her voice sounded amused, but Bruce couldn't trust his ears. They were flame hot, blood pounding in them.
"You know...guy and girl…things."
"Oo-oh." She drew out the word, definitely teasing. "Relationship things. If we're done talking like middle schoolers."
"Uh-huh."
"Nonexistent."
At her flat tone, he felt the color drain from his face and looked up. The apology died on the tip of his tongue when he saw the twinkle in her eyes.
"Always have been, always will be. Clint's my best friend, but so not my type."
"So not?"
"So not. And I'm not his. He likes brunettes. Speaking of which…How are things between you and Betty Ross?"
That was unexpected. Even more so how easily he answered.
"She got married. Shortly after the Battle of New York."
He'd called her-how could he not, after his very public return to the country?-and asked if she wanted to meet. Of course she said yes, although with a caveat. I'm engaged, Bruce. She'd met a man who wanted to marry and start a family. I'm glad you found someone who can give you that, he'd told her, so let's have coffee and you can tell me all about him, and I'll tell you about the Avengers.
"We exchange Christmas cards," he said. "Last year she had her first baby." At that, his throat tightened, just slightly, but he smiled. "I'm happy for her. Truly."
He wasn't sure how convincing he sounded, although he'd never been more convinced of anything than that he needed to let Betty go, but Natasha didn't challenge him on it.
"Closure's important," she said.
"It takes the edge off the disappointment. It's more than I could have hoped for, all things considered."
"Just don't let it be all you ever hope for."
Natasha turned her head, eyes lifted upward. Bruce followed her gaze over the tops of the thick border of trees that surrounded Central park, to the rebuilt and repaired skyscrapers towering above, the light from the setting sun beaming out between their varying silhouettes. Was she thinking of Steve, alone in one of them, brooding?
"There's a lot to be said for watching the city you saved celebrate its independence," she said.
Bruce hmmed his agreement-but he was watching the woman who helped him save it.
"Good evening, Dr. Banner, Miss Romanoff," JARVIS greeted when they returned to the Tower after the fireworks. "Mr. Stark asked me to inform you that you will find everyone on the helipad."
"Stark's back?" Natasha asked at the same moment as Bruce mused, "Everyone?"
Even before he'd pumped himself full of Gamma Radiation and acquired an unwelcome plus one, Bruce had been wary of walking into social settings without adequate preparation. Now, especially, he and surprise parties weren't exactly the best of combinations. Fortunately, he had an eighty-floor elevator ride with an unflappable woman who adapted effortlessly to any situation to convince himself that whatever awaited him on the landing deck-and there really was no telling what Tony had up his sleeve-he would be okay.
The elevator door slid soundlessly open, admitting an assault on his senses in the form of a live band and the smoky smell of a barbecue. He followed Natasha as she bee-lined for Steve, who stood talking with Maria Hill, Pepper Potts, and a black man Bruce didn't know but hypothesized to be Sam Wilson.
"You throwing a party without us, Rogers?" Natasha asked, crossing her arms to size him up as though he didn't loom over her by about a foot.
"Stark Industries, actually," Steve replied.
"First annual New York division Fourth of July party," added Maria.
"I was halfway through my movie when the chopper landed carrying a string quartet, Barton, and an alarming amount of explosives."
"Explosives?" Bruce echoed.
"Don't worry," said Pepper, drawing him in for a hug. "No bombs bursting in air tonight, and the only rockets' red glares are of the bottle variety. Agent Barton apparently has a favorite fireworks stand somewhere in the Midwest."
She released him, and Bruce caught Natasha's eye. "Guess you'll get a little bit of tradition tonight, after all."
"Where is Clint?" she asked.
"Tending bar." Steve indicated with a nod where a crowd gathered. He called after her, "Nice shirt, by the way. You, too, Bruce."
He looked down at the Captain America emblem on his chest. He'd forgotten about their wardrobe change.
"Fourth of July special," he mumbled. "Two for thirty."
"I wish I'd known," said Pepper. "That would've been so cute, to have all the guests wear Captain America shirts for Steve's birthday."
"So cute." Maria smirked at Steve, who ignored her.
"Bruce, I don't believe you've met Sam Wilson."
Although Bruce was glad to have the attention off his shirt, he extricated himself from the conversation as soon as he politely could. He wandered around the deck, dodging Stark Industries employees, a few whom he recognized from other company parties Tony forced him to attend. He paused for a while to listen to the quartet play covers of rock and pop songs. The cellist, Audrey Nathan, remembered him from the concert he'd attended and gave a small smile, although he wasn't sure if it was because they were virtual strangers, or she was wary of him, or just couldn't muster more of one due to her recent ordeal and lingering grief.
Eventually he moved on, at last spotting Tony himself, presiding over the grill that was the source of the barbecue smell. He wore an apron emblazoned with the word GRILLMEISTER and wielded an oversized pair of tongs which Rhodey had to keep dodging as they bickered over grilling technique.
"You've never done so much as fix yourself a sandwich. What makes you think you're qualified to cook ribs?"
"Besides the fact that my palate hasn't been…um, what's the opposite of refined?" Tony saw Bruce approaching and snapped his fingers.
"Dulled?" Bruce offered.
"Yes. Precisely. Your taste buds have been dulled by decades of mess halls."
"Thank you for that contribution, Dr. Banner," said Rhodey.
"Great idea," said Tony, putting down his tongs and stepping around the grill. "Brucey here can contribute a little more."
"Please don't call me Brucey," he mumbled.
When Tony introduced him to Rhodey two years ago, Bruce hadn't been sure what to call him and erred on the side of politeness, sticking with Colonel. Rhodey in turn, called him Doctor, until one day Pepper heard this and told them for Pete's sake to please stop talking like people from a costume drama and call each other Rhodey and Bruce. "Great idea, Pep," Tony had said, "only I have one slight modification. Can he be Brucey, you know, just for the sake of consistency?"
Now, Bruce had another problem than an irritating nickname. Tony whipped off the apron and looped the strap over Bruce's head.
"I dub thee Grillmeister." As he smoothed the apron over Bruce's chest, Tony's brow furrowed. "Do you even lift, science bro? Is this how it works? I go away for a few weeks, and come back to you looking all svelte. Doesn't he look svelte, Rhodey?"
"Very svelte, Bruce," Rhodey replied.
"Er, thanks." Bruce fumbled to tie the apron in back until Rhodey excused himself to speak to someone who'd waved to him. "You should have told me you were coming back tonight," he said to Tony, testily, when they were alone at the grill.
Tony looked confused. "Didn't I?"
"You mentioned a concert. That implied you were going back to Portland, not bringing some of the Philharmonic to New York."
"Ah, you say I implied, but I say you assumed. And you know what they say about assumptions."
"That you like to make an ass of me," Bruce said as he made his way around the makeshift outdoor kitchen to stand behind the grill.
Tony followed, and let out a low whistle. "An ass has been made, but not by me. Romanoff should be commended for what she's done with yours."
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you have surveillance cameras in the training room?"
"Relax. She cut the feed. Which was what made me suspect shenanigans were taking place in there."
The smell of the ribs as Bruce opened the grill distracted him from attempting to explain to Tony about his workouts with Natasha. Explaining things only ever gave Tony more fodder for his dubious brand of humor, anyway.
"Anyway, that's why I didn't call you when I got back in town. Cap said you two went to see the fireworks, and I didn't know if that was a euphemism or not. I didn't want to ask because, you know, can't corrupt those virginal ears."
"It's not like that," Bruce said, flipping a rack of ribs. "You know it can't be like that."
"Well…tell that to the man in matchy outfits." Tony patted him on the shoulder, then strode off to mingle. "I expect to see you both wearing Iron Man on my birthday!"
"If you think I'm going to let you harass me and still cook your ribs, you'd be wrong."
Bruce started after him, only to resume his position at the grill because he couldn't sacrifice baby backs for the sake of proving a point with Tony. Which he'd be unlikely to do, anyway. Anyway, the task of tending the meat, ensuring that it was cooked to smoky, fall-off-the-bone perfection, restored his sense of equilibrium after the unexpected party and Tony's jokes left Bruce feeling slightly more off-balance than they merited.
After he removed them from the grill to a platter, which was immediately set upon by hungry party guests, he started to pull the apron off over his head when he remembered it was tied in back. As he reached around to tug at the strings, Natasha emerged from the crowd, approaching with two beers, one open and the second apparently for him.
Her eyes fixed on his chest. "Grillmeister, huh? I prefer the ones that say Kiss the Cook."
Bruce wanted to believe his face was hot from the grill, but he knew he was perfectly capable of blushing at innocent flirtation.
"Please," he said as he lifted the apron over his head, hoping to achieve a normal complexion by the time he emerged from behind the fabric, "don't give Tony any ideas. Our t-shirts-"
A crack that shook the Tower, accompanied by an explosion of light in the night sky, cut him off and thankfully diverted Natasha's gaze heavenward.
"There wasn't a thunderstorm in the forecast." He looked up, too, only for his head to snap back down as Natasha's hand-she'd disposed of the beer bottles-curled around his bicep, drawing him back, as though toward cover.
"That's not thunder," she murmured, eyes trained on the sky where a glowing object hurtled down like a meteor or a space capsule re-entering the atmosphere.
A cheer went up from the party guests, who assumed the fireworks had begun and moved en masse out onto the helipad to watch. The music had stopped.
"Is Tony doing a flyover?" Bruce asked. "Or Rhodey?"
"Um, that would be a no," Tony said, coming alongside him.
"It's Thor," Clint's voice joined the conversation.
"He knows he can just take a plane from London, doesn't he?" Steve asked.
"I called him kind of last minute," Maria Hill said.
They all turned simultaneously to look at her.
"Nice of you to invite him to the party," Tony said. "I knew HR was a good fit for you. Although maybe we need to tweak the title slightly. Human and Asgardian Relations."
"I didn't call Thor so he wouldn't be left out of the party," Maria replied. "I called him because the party's over."
A/N: If you follow me on Tumblr, you might have recognized the 4th of July park scene from a ficlet I posted there during the summer. It's one of my favorite BruceNat ideas I've had, and as it fit well within my timeline for this story, I decided to expand it and use it as a setting for a heart-to-heart before the Avengers assemble and the story takes on an action-packed pace.
There likely won't be an update next Sunday, as summer has ended and I'll be getting back to work and adjusting to a new schedule. Not to mention my beta reader is going on vacation and I depend on her to remind me of crucial details like Thor actually being in London at this point in the timeline. ;) I'll do my best to have Chapter 15 ready on the 30th and to keep up with the weekly update schedule if I can. Thanks for being patient, for following this story and for all the lovely feedback you've given. 3