17. Green-Eyed Monster
"Waco," Natasha turned her head where it lolled against the couch cushions. "That's where that cult was, right?"
"Branch Davidians," Clint replied, not taking his eye off the TV.
"David Koresh?"
"Mmm-hmmm," he murmured around a mouthful of burger.
"Huh." Natasha reverted her gaze to the screen, where a Texan husband and wife design team were renovating a farmhouse for a physician couple with a growing family. "I guess having an HGTV show set there's a smart PR move for the city."
"Guess so." Clint took another bite. "Think some of the Branch Davidians are still there."
"Didn't their compound burn down?"
"Lucky this couple's close by. Fix 'er right up."
Natasha's mouth was too full of French fries to make a reply other than to give a snort of laughter; after she swallowed, talking seemed like too much effort. Apparently Clint thought so, too, because their conversation lapsed for the next few minutes. At the commercial break, he muted the TV, swigged his beer, and flopped his head back against the cushions, rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose.
"We really gotta find that scepter soon, Nat."
She agreed, technically, though right now she hoped that by soon he meant later. They'd only returned from taking out a Hydra cell in Siberia an hour ago, and it would be nice to at least let this burger digest before Hill sent them out again.
"But if we do that," she replied, swirling a couple of fries through the paper burger wrapper spread on the sectional, "you'll have to go back home, where there's no cable. Then how will you make me sit through endless episodes of Fixer Upper?"
"You can come with me. Watch a little of the live version."
"Yeah, I'm not falling for that ploy. You're just trying to recruit cheap labor for your own fixer upper farmhouse."
"Cheap? When did I ever pay you?"
"My point exactly," Natasha said. "I know I have a debt to pay, but construction wasn't really what I had in mind."
"Hey," he said, nudging her foot with his on the coffee table. "No more of that debt talk. We're even, remember?"
They never would be, of course, but Natasha nodded.
"Anyway," Clint went on, "I do have a form of payment in mind."
"Don't bother. It can't compete with my Avengers salary."
"I'll name my third born after you." He un-muted the TV, but talked over the designers' Texas twangs. "Wait, you get an Avengers salary?"
"We all do. The useful Avengers-Did you just say your third born?"
"Not up to your usual speed, Nat. You'd think hanging out with the geek squad would keep you sharp."
Her brain did feel like it was working like an old computer to process this new development a. At last it got there, and she felt the slow stretch of a smirk. "Well I guess we all know what you got up to during your summer vacation, Barton."
"Cute."
"Just think how cute little Natasha will be."
"You know, on second thought…"
He trailed off, and she caught him in a hug before he could see her blinking against an unexpected sting in her eyes and make fun of her for getting all mushy on him. Her slightly choked voice betrayed her, though.
"I'm really happy for you and Laura."
"Me, too," Clint replied, but he let out a long breath and leaned heavily against her.
Natasha rubbed his back, lightly at first, then harder as she kneaded the knots along the edges of his shoulder blades. The muscles between them pulled as tight as his bowstring. If she didn't know him as well as she did, she would've assumed the tension was from the battle; her own aches and pains certainly were. But his body told her a deeper story than that, deeper even than the weight of knowledge he carried into every mission, that he might not return to the farm to the wife and two-soon to be three-children he was fighting to make the world safe for. Loki's scepter had done something much worse than take him from them. It had destroyed him, for a time, made him into the very thing he fought against. She would never forget the way he'd looked at her with desperate eyes and asked, Do you know what it's like to be unmade?
"We'll find the scepter soon."
Whatever he said about her debt to him, she owed him that. She owed anyone that.
Over his shoulder, she saw a head of dark curly hair duck into the hall.
"Bruce." She released Clint, and the bespectacled face re-emerged around the edge of the doorframe. Was it just the lighting, or was his face a little red? "Thank God, I thought I was gonna be stuck watching remodeling shows all night."
"Uh, you are, unless you're ditching me?" Clint said.
"Sorry," Bruce replied. "Got a little absorbed in the data we found in Siberia."
He tended to disappear after missions, either to rest, if there was a Code Green-what Tony had taken to calling intentional Hulkouts, in a slightly less offensive fit of naming than Veronica-or to research, if there wasn't. Today there hadn't been-hence the rest of them being a little sorer, and more tired, than when the Big Guy helped out. But relations between the US and Russia since Viktor Petrov took office had regressed to a Cold War mentality. Infiltrating the country under his watch, which was full of his old KGB buddies, required subtlety, and the Hulk was anything but that. Bruce had actually been relieved to stay on the quinjet. He'd agreed to work with her on a de-Hulking process, but he was leery of doing so until all Veronica's bugs were worked out.
"Find anything interesting?" Natasha asat up straighter on the sectional, and Bruce stepped a little further into the room, a slight smile curving on his lips, although he clasped his hands together, thumbs working in that awkward way of his.
"Maybe. JARVIS is sifting through it all now."
"So, still have time for The Thin Man?"
Bruce looked pleased at her reference to the plans they'd made during the flight from Siberia for movie night, but his smile fell as his eyes flickered to Clint, who'd apparently gotten bored with them, eyes glued to the TV as he stuffed fries into his mouth.
"Um…" Bruce scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, unless…"
Natasha grabbed the remote control off the coffee table and switched to the classic movie channel.
"Hey!" Clint protested, "I was watching that!"
She patted his thigh. "Just preparing you for life after the scepter."
The first time the Hulk took out the Hydra agent Clint had in his crosshairs, no one on the team, including Clint, thought much about it. It was a Code Green, after all, and Cap hadn't called one for shits and giggles-not least of all because he'd never use the word shits. They all had their own backs to watch, with camouflaged soldiers as abundant as the mosquitos in this swampy Congolian forest where Hill's source had sent them.
And the Widow's Bites might as well be bug zappers, Natasha thought, gritting her teeth as she drove her fists into a combatant. Old tech. SHIELD would've upgraded her by now; she'd have to see what Stark could come up with, now that Veronica was more or less operational.
The second time it happened, Stark's voice crackled over the coms: "Barton, you know that saying, You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take? Yeah…Think we're gonna need to change that: You miss one hundred percent of the shots the Hulk takes for you."
"I'll make a memo to let Wayne Gretzky know," Clint deadpanned.
"That's the greatest hockey player ever, in case you were lost, Cap," said Stark.
"Eh." Natasha let the body drop, spasming, into the mud.
"Of course the Russian has an opinion on that," Stark said.
"Less chatter over the comms, please?" Cap requested, and Natasha saw his shield go spiraling past, taking out a couple of soldiers like bowling pins.
"But hockey's as Canadian as maple syrup and royal mounties. Would you be okay with chatter if it was about that great American pastime, baseball?"
Natasha could almost hear Steve's longsuffering expression over the comms. "That's the problem with Stark. You shush one poorly-timed joke, two more come out of his mouth."
Cap actually huffed out a chuckle at that, but Stark-of course-took her comment as a challenge to rise up to.
"I prefer the terms witty banter or clever wordplay. Barton, incoming."
"Got 'em."
With a roar, the Hulk sloshed through the marshy ground, sloshing more slime onto Natasha as he thundered past her. If she didn't know better, he threw an almost apologetic glance backward over his shoulder before he leapt onto the agent Clint had just fired on from the trees.
"Dammit, Banner! I had that guy!"
Natasha had a moment to glance up at Clint's perch in a tree, where he glowered as he nocked another arrow, before she was rolling out of the line of fire.
Usually the Hulk was silent over the comms, but he growled, almost as if in argument.
"The Big Guy disagrees," Natasha said. "You should be glad you've got your own personal bodyguard right now."
"Not really the vibe I'm getting from him."
"Maybe if you stopped calling him Banner. Big Guy doesn't like that, even though it's not an insult."
"I can think of a few insults, if he'd prefer."
A soldier leapt over a fallen log, and she took his legs out from under him so that he dropped his weapon as he fell. She took it and turned it on him, relishing the weight of the heavy artillery in her hands, the familiar ricochet of her body with its momentum when she fired.
"Maybe he wants to be your new partner," Natasha suggested. "Strike Team: Gamma."
"He's going to have to learn about teamwork if he wants to be anyone's partner," Cap said.
"I can find little fault in a man-or monster-who thirsts for glory in battle," Thor's booming voice rang in Natasha's ear.
"You know what I'm starting to find fault in? Barton's aim," Stark said as a massive green shoulder became the target for the arrow Clint had just fired. "Need glasses, Hawkeye?"
The clever wordplay hovered over the swamp like the morning mist burning off the river as the Avengers collectively held their breath to see how the Hulk responded to being accidentally shot by a teammate. Natasha's gaze flickered upward, where Iron Man hovered over the tree line, and hoped this wouldn't be the time for Veronica's first appearance.
The Hulk reached back, plucked the arrow from his shoulder as if it were no more than a splinter or a thorn he'd brushed against, and examined it. The green eyes narrowed, then swung up to meet Natasha's as one corner of his mouth hitched in a smirk.
"Puny arrow." He tossed it over his shoulder and splashed off through the swamp in the direction of a rumble of engines.
"We got boats coming in from up the river," Stark said. "Also, I'm pretty sure the Hulk just compared dick sizes."
"Yeah." Clint at last put an arrow into a straggling soldier, now that the Hulk had gone. "That's the vibe I got."
"Of course we'll never know for sure, thanks to the magical growing pants."
"For which Bruce is eternally grateful," Natasha said, trudging off through the bog after the Big Guy.
His usual post-Code Green mortification would be worse than usual when Tony inevitably told him about the…male rivalry…he'd displayed. First things first: finish off this Hydra cell, and bring Bruce back.
By the time she and Clint caught up to the others, the Hydra soldiers were more or less finished off. A few bodies littered the marshy ground down to the river, some still in their death throes. Cap loomed over one, presumably questioning him, but he left off and approached the latecomers.
"The base is upriver," he told them.
"And Banner?" Natasha asked, still breathless from the muddy hike and the fight before.
Cap jerked his chin down the riverbank. "Stark was keeping an eye on him till you got here."
"Yeah, well. Some of us aren't gods, super-powered, or wearing flying suits," Natasha said, raking off through the reeds.
Behind her, Clint's boots splooshed in the mire as he started to follow, but Cap called him back.
"Barton, you're with Thor and me. After what happened back there, I don't think seeing you will make the Hulk too eager to change back. Stark's got her back."
Even without seeing Clint, it was clear as soon as Natasha stepped out into the clearing at the edge of the river that the Hulk wasn't going to be eager to change back. He stood knee-deep in the water, a speedboat-or what remained of it-in each hand. Muddy, with bodies floating around him, he looked like a macabre imitation of a little boy playing with toy boats in a drainage ditch after a storm.
"Hey, Big Guy," she said.
He looked up, lip curling in a petulant expression as he raised the boats over his head, then brought them crashing down. Natasha recoiled at the spray of swamp water-which now included dead people as well as who knew what other pollutants of western Congo.
"Oops," said Stark, circling above, "forgot to warn you that if you stand in the Splash Zone, you will get wet during the show."
"You haven't been working and playing very well with others today," Natasha said, approaching the edge of the water.
"Are you talking to me or Banner?"
"Shut up, Stark."
"Hmm…It could also apply to you."
Ignoring him, Natasha waded in, the mud sucking at her boots.
Hulk scowled and slapped the water again. This time, his boats splintered so that there was barely anything left, just the motors.
"See, that's why we don't throw tantrums. Otherwise we break our toys, and then there's nothing left to play with."
The green eyes glinted at her before he turned and hurled the motors downriver with a roar.
"Are you finished?" Natasha asked when the sound ceased to echo, wading in still deeper. "Because I wasn't. I was going to tell you we couldn't have done it without you today."
He grunted, and some of the ragey lines that contorted his face relaxed their hold, revealing more of Bruce. She held up her hand. His heavy brow furrowed above skeptical eyes, but he shuffled toward her, the pull of his powerful legs making waves that lapped against her uniform.
As his fingers brushed hers, she added, "We're a team, Big Guy. You, Stark…"
Hulk rolled his eyes upward, where Iron Man hovered to give him a wave. "Hey, buddy."
"…me…"
A low sound, not a growl, emitted from the Hulk's throat, so deep that Natasha felt it vibrate through her.
"Barton."
Now the low sound was definitely a growl, and the huge hand withdrew so quickly that Natasha lost her balance, only remaining upright because her boots were suctioned to the riverbed.
"What's the deal?" Stark asked. "He was fine with He-Who-Apparently-Must-Not-Be-Named on the last mission."
"I don't know." Natasha backed out of the water as she watched the Hulk stomp around, flinging broken bits of boat and bodies around.
"Hulk seems to like who Bruce likes and dislike who Bruce dislikes," Tony went on. "We're his favorites, obviously."
Natasha hoped he couldn't see her grin from his vantage point, or whatever visuals he had inside the suit.
"Have he and Clint ever even, you know, spoken words to each other?"
"One or two."
"Maybe it's just a guy thing."
She didn't reply right away, a thought occurring. After she'd asked him about the state of things between him and Betty Ross, he'd asked about her and Clint, as if they were a couple. At the time, she hadn't chalked it up to anything more than his usual awkwardness, but now she wondered…He couldn't be…jealous?
"What are you smirking about, Romanoff?"
"You said maybe it's a guy thing, but he just seems like a big kid right now."
"Uh, duh. If you haven't noticed by now, men are just big children."
"Oh, believe me, Stark. I've noticed. You're the biggest of all."
"Size does matter."
Well, she'd set that one up.
Wading back into the water, Natasha called, "Hey, big guy. You're looking really tired out there, and the sun's getting low." It wasn't, in fact; her eyes went to the sun, which had just climbed above the treetops, but Hulk didn't seem like a stickler for time. "Why don't you get some rest? You deserve it, after that big fight."
Fight was a poor choice of word, because, like a child, he did fight it. Or try to. Soon, the Hulk was stumbling toward the shore as his body contorted back into the smaller, less green, and less clothed form of Bruce Banner. She turned her back to let him come to with a semblance of privacy.
Later, when they were aboard the quinjet, Bruce dressed in the spare set of clothes he'd brought along in case of a Code Green, Tony said, "You know, now that Veronica's kinks are worked out-well. I mean, she's still got kinks, if you know what I mean. Which Steve doesn't, cover his virgin ears, someone. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, we have time on our hands again. We should design some pants that grow and shrink with you. Or at least solve the mystery of why yours don't. If Romanoff's going to be holding your hand through these transformations, we should spare her the sight of your pasty ass. And you the indignity of awkward public nudity."
Bruce had remained silent during Tony's speech-not that anyone could've gotten a word in-although some of his feelings had flickered across his face. Now, he spoke up in a voice hoarse with fatigue. "That's…surprisingly thoughtful of you."
"It is," Natasha agreed. "Although for the record, it's not awkward for me. Banner's got a pretty nice ass."
"Didn't I tell you, Bruce?" Tony pointed at Natasha. "Of course we owe it all to your personal trainer."
Bruce blushed, and Natasha glanced away, smiling to herself.
Until she accidentally made eye contact with Steve, who was watching her with a very interested expression.
"Don't even think about it, Rogers."
"What's that they say about payback?"
"It's a word you don't say."
A/N: After I posted last week's installment, I realized I'm much nearer to the ending of this fic than I was aware of! If all goes to plan, Chapter 20 will be the final one, which means there are only three more to go. I hope you enjoyed this one! It was fun, if a little nerve-wracking, to finally write a bit of proper battle action, including the Big Guy. I couldn't resist letting Clint watch more HGTV, or making a House of Cards reference. Did anyone catch it? Since the MCU seems to avoid referring to real-world political leaders, I thought there was no one more perfect for a Putinesque Russian president than Viktor Petrov. ;) I hope you'll let me know what you think, and I also hope everyone who has so far knows how much I've appreciated your enthusiasm about this story. It's kept me writing and updating regularly!