New story image! Here's another installment, right on time. I also have some more things I've drawn for reference and such. I compiled it all in an imgur link that will be posted on my AO3 version of this story. So go there if you want to see some draws.

I really recommend you guys listen to Walden Pond by Atta Boy. It's on Vimeo and Spotify. It's nostalgic and just a really good song!

Dark World spoilers ahead.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Marvel's

Chapter Thirteen - My Sleep That You Stole

Amira woke the next day on her couch, her eyes opening and closing slowly as the recollection of her brother's death crashed down upon her. She thanked her lucky stars that she couldn't remember her dreams. A growl emitted from deep within her chest at the unkindness the glaring sunlight did to her eyes. She sat up, her hair snagged and snarled from being grated against her pillow all night. Her feet, still sheathed stockings, touched down on the cool tile floor. She hunched over and soberly looked down at her toes. Her hair fell in a shroud around her head. The couch was so comfortable and her room so well furnished and fine yet, she would give every luxury to wake up again and see her brother. She was excited about her room only days ago but now it felt alien and uncomfortable to wake up there.

With a sniff she rose and removed her dress. The mass of fabric thumped mutely onto the floor around her feet. Simple, unapologetic nakedness was something she never got to partake of in the past. However, her enjoyment of standing in the middle of a room in only her underwear was a hollow feeling. She glanced down at her piteously small breasts, her scared legs, her bruised stomach. In that moment, she was relieved that shiva called for the covering of mirrors. She was thoroughly ashamed of how she looked. Instead of ruminating on it any longer, she sought to force herself into taking a shower.

She escaped into the bathroom, dragging her feet behind her.

She took a very short, utilitarian shower. The water was cold, as was required by the tradition of shiva, and she didn't waste a minute dawdling. Her wounds stung in the cool water and she took care to avoid them while washing. She left the bathroom, wrapped in pristine white towels, to retrieve the materials for a bandage change in her bag.

She thought of Bruce as she clumsily changed her bandages. Her bracelet worked steadfastly against her inner wrist, like a soothing sensory mantra. The man was entirely enigmatic to her. She could almost never tell what he was thinking, or the intent of his words. She wasn't even sure if they were friends. It made her feel guilty since she had relied on him for so many things.

"Amira, why?" She groaned to herself. She was struck, viscerally, by the embarrassment of remembering how she had cried like a mewling fawn on his shoulder. He held her so rigidly. She had also let her lips hover too long near his cheek. She wrote it off as an act of emotional imbalance but it would have been easier to bear if he didn't look so uncomfortable afterward.

"God, but he was so warm." The thought wormed it's way through her attempted mental wall. She had to physically shake her head to scare off the shame. She didn't have time to deal with a stupid, un-reciprocated crush.

She finished up with her bandages and changed into the only clean clothing she had that was suitable for sitting shiva: a black cotton t-shirt and a pair of black athletic shorts. It would have been prudent for her to choose something more formal if she were expecting visitors but, since she wasn't, she went with comfort. Besides, she didn't own anything else. After working her hair into a state she assumed was fit to be seen, she tossed her reliable little pillow onto the floor and sat down, cross legged, with the intent of remembering Aaron.

An enthusiastic knock came at the door.

"Uh, who is it?" She called out.

"It's Tony!" Came the muffled reply.

"Oh." She said. "Hi, Tony."

"Is this a bad time?"

"Yes." She grumbled under her breath. She closed her eyes and put on a smile. She had heard if you talk with a smile that it reflects in your voice. "N-no, what's up?"

"You know, this is great. I love shouting at people through doors. We should do this more often."

"I'll be right there." She said, still forcing her smile. She walked to the door and swung it open.

"Good God, it is depressing in here." He said, his eyes scanning her dimly lit apartment. She had made sure to close all of the curtains after waking up. She didn't have a positive response, so she said nothing and returned to her sitting pillow. Tony hummed, an impressed sound.

"Oh, this is interesting." He sat down across from her. He put his hands together as best as he could with his arm in a sling. "Namaste." He bowed.

"Wrong religion." Amira said. Tony chuckled. There was a silence, a rare occurrence when Tony Stark was in the room. Amira rushed to fill it.

"Any word about Emil?" It disgusted her to sculpt her mouth around that monster's name.

"Bruce and I were up all last night looking." Her hopes were up in an instance. "Nothing has turned up so far." Her heart sank. Firstly, because they were no closer to bringing Emil to justice and secondly, because while they were up all night looking, she was hiding in her room like a coward. He looked as downtrodden as she felt so she changed the subject.

"How's your arm?" Tony looked down at his sling.

"It's coming along. I play basketball with an orthopedic surgeon so I had him check it out. He's actually Jewish too."

"Say no more." Amira pointed to the ring finger on her upheld hand and her eyebrows waggled. "Is he single?"

"He's sixty-seven; has a decent lay-up."

"Just my luck. All the good Jewish boys are either married or geriatric." She snapped her fingers and feigned disappointment.

"The point is, I asked him what kind of flowers to send you and he said that flowers were no good. I asked him his recommendation so," He pulled a crisp envelope out of the pocket of his jacket, "this is for you." He passed it to her. She looked down at the envelope and then back at Tony.

"I can't accept this."

"You don't even know what it is yet." He said, insistently.

"Well, what is it?" She asked, examining the object in her hand.

"It's tickets to Six Flags!" He said mockingly. "Just open it." Amira pressed her lips together in a firm line and admitted defeat. She carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a small folded certificate. It was a paper certifying that trees had been planted in Israel in memory of Aaron. Her heart welled up with sentiment. Her eyes scanned down the page and she scoffed in disbelief at what she read.

"Tony. This says you had seven-hundred trees planted." She said. Tony looked at her as if she was crazy.

"Trees die, okay? It's a numbers game."

"Tony that's too many trees." She laughed in disbelief.

"Well, y'know, he was a good pilot and well worth seven-hundred trees- More than seven-hundred! I probably couldn't quantify it in trees, is the point." As Tony became tangential she realized that he might be unaccustomed to broaching the subject of loss.

"Thank you, Tony. This is very thoughtful." She held the folded paper to her heart.

"I just want to do what I can for the Holy Land." He reverently bowed his head. Amira laughed at him. It was a true laugh, free of sounding forced.

"Chin up." Was the last thing he said. After that, he smiled and stood. She was selfishly glad when he was gone but she didn't regret that he had come in the first place. Despite being only a slip of paper in her hand, the certificate held a greater weight in it's meaning. She set it down on the glass coffee table and took her seat on the floor. She tried to pray but it felt awkward and contrived so she settled for sitting in silence.

At noon, Clint came by to pay her a visit. She let him in, with no reservations. He was one of her good friends and he knew Aaron better than any of the other Avenger's.

"Did you and Natasha have any luck? I heard you had a contact who might know something." Amira hopefully asked.

"Yeah, we had a guy in Kharkov."

"The arm's dealer?" She asked. Clint affirmed with a nod.

"Vadim Koval. Apparently, he was a close comrade of Emil's before he turned into the Abomination." Clint explained.

"But you're not in the Ukraine. You're here." She said. She pinned him with a questioning gaze. Clint sighed and set his mouth into a frown.

"We got a last minute tip that he was killed." Amira cursed. "Presumably unrelated. A casualty in a faction war."

"Tony hasn't got anything either." She grunted.

"I know. Fury is on the case. We'll get him soon enough, kid." Clint said. He had never failed in cheering her up. Especially back when she was a recruit, as awkward on her feet as a colt and a completely incompetent marksman.

"You doin' okay?" He asked, sitting on the floor across from her.

"Yeah. I'm just trying to keep the good things in mind. The good memories." She said. Clint nodded.

"You two were closer than any siblings I'd ever known."

"We had to be close," she picked at a stray thread on the hem of her shirt; her voice was small, "the way things were with Dad." There was a comfortable silence between them. Clint dug into his pocket.

"I recovered these for you." Clint opened his palm. Within, was Aaron's kippah, folded and neat. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. Tears pooled in her eyes. She had completely forgotten about these things- his treasures. He gave her a little gesture, urging her to take it. She took it from him and cupped it in her hands. She unfolded it and his Star of David necklace glimmered from within the material. She draped the delicate chain over her fingers and brushed her thumb over the star.

"And Maria sent this." Clint procured Aaron's small, warn copy of the tanakh. She took it from him and sobbed once before giving him a desperate look.

"Clint, I- I-" She struggled to speak, not wishing to humiliate herself by wailing fully in front of her friend. Clint looked down and sighed once more.

"I know, kid. I know." He gave her knee a single pat and then stood. He knew that she was grateful. Amira had known him long enough to infer as much.

At the sound of the door closing, she pressed the material of his kippah to her forehead and let loose her weeping. These were his most prized possessions. Three completely mundane things were all she had left of him. She reminded herself to fervently thank Clint when she saw him next as she thumbed through Aaron's tanakh. Reverently, she read every passage that he highlighted and noted, cherishing them as things that he found important and relevant to him.

He tried so hard to be a better person where Amira scraped by in life, just trying to keep her head above water.

She wore his necklace now; a secret symbol marking her as a mourner.

The clock struck eight and Amira had successfully spent the entire day doing nothing but sitting on the floor. The reality of this suited her just fine. She was well adjusted for sitting for long periods of time with nothing to entertain her thanks to her intel gathering missions in Africa. It was a lovely sort of dark and quiet in her room, she wondered idly if she could coax her body into hibernation. Perhaps she could sleep for years and years until she had completely forgotten what it meant to miss her brother. She could wake up and not feel quite so empty as she did today.

This was the very thing that frightened her, the emptiness. Of course, whenever someone loses a close friend or relative they are always told that 'time heals all wounds'. But Amira was beginning to suspect that something may be permanently broken within her. Everything she thought of that brought her joy would somehow remind her of Aaron. She wondered if it was a poor choice to sit shiva, if being alone was hurting her. It was possible, but she far preferred being alone than having to be around anyone else at this time. Besides, Aaron would have wanted her to sit.

She rose from the floor and strode over to the window. Peeking from behind the slits of her curtains was the light pollution of the city below. She dared a glance up at the sky and she was disappointed to see clouds hanging high above her. It was for the better. If she were able to stargaze she might find that, that too, was no longer something she could enjoy.

And who should knock on her door at that precise moment but the prince of Asgard, himself. She was surprised to see him. It never occurred to her that anyone would visit her this late, let alone the Avenger she barely knew.

"Good evening, Amira." He said, his voice subdued and accompanied by a small bow of the head. He had dropped the 'Lady' honorific, much to her relief.

"Good evening to you." She replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She tried to maintain as little eye contact as possible. He was intimidating in his size and heritage and she didn't know him very well.

"Are you well?" She marveled at how large he was. The room seemed like a scaled down set compared to him.

"Yes, thank you."

"I've just come from Asgard."

"You're back? Already?" Amira would admit to knowing very little about how Thor came and went between worlds, but it did seem rather soon for him to have traversed across space and back

"I bore urgent news. It was necessary that I return immediately." Thor's pale blue eyes held hers and he was holding something- a parcel wrapped in leather.

"Clint told me you have a friend that might be able to see Emil." She pressed optimistically. The magic of Asgard was incredible. Perhaps at another time she would have liked to grill Thor about it.

"Heimdall, yes." The large blonde man sidled in place and looked around uncertainly.

"So what did he see?"

"He saw nothing. Not after the attack in New Mexico." He delivered the news in such a way that he might have known how disappointed she would be.

"I see." Who could find Emil if not the Asgardian who could hear birds chirping in another world? She frowned and laced her fingers together, letting them hang down uselessly.

"Even when he summoned me and told me that you were all in danger in New Mexico, he was somehow barred from seeing the monster clearly. It was instinct alone that urged him to alert me." Thor said, stepping closer. "Worry not, Amira. We will find the creature that took your brother's life."

Amira didn't have any clever words. She was feeling withdrawn and didn't have the strength to think very hard about maintaining politeness. After a heavy moment of eye contact avoidance from her, Thor spoke up.

"Clint explained to me the many traditions you celebrate. I can't imagine how you remember all of the customs in your religion. There are so many of them."

"I don't even remember all of them, to be honest. Aaron was far more devout than me. In these matters, I would usually defer to him." They were standing far apart from one another. The light of the moon and the city cast contrasting colors on them both.

"I feel as though I can relate. My brother was the more studious of the both of us." She didn't miss the tense he used to describe his brother. "As for Asgardian tradition, it is usually fairly simple." It took Thor only three long-legged steps to reach her coffee table. He set his parcel down upon it.

"We drink."

"I can get on board with that kind of tradition." Thor gave her a sporting laugh and untied the string that held the parcel together.

"Then please accept this as a token of my sorrow for your loss." The leather wrappings unfurled and there sat a small wooden cask. It was a dark walnut container with ornately carved steel hoops holding it tight around the circumference.

"We call this sjaund." He said, dusting off the top. "It is a mourning mead. We drink it only when we have lost someone close to us." He was clearly prideful of the tradition but something about his tone of voice suggested a sort of sadness.

"This is incredibly generous, I couldn't possibly accept it." It was not really customary to receive gifts during shiva. Obviously, Thor wouldn't know that but she still felt strange accepting such a beautiful thing.

"I know what it means to lose someone close to you." He said, resting a hand on the cask and staring at it, entranced. "My own brother – Loki, he was called – died fighting for me and the woman I love. My mother gave her life, as well." She knew that name. Loki was the one who orchestrated the attack on New York. She hadn't heard that he had died.

"I'm sorry." She squeaked. She admired how well he kept it together. He seemed so determined to be pleased in her few interactions with him. She never would have guessed what hardship he had seen.

"He was misguided but I loved him. There is not a day goes by that I do not miss him." Amira closed the gap between them. "My goal is to make their sacrifices mean something." He spoke with a dark purpose that warned of vengeance. She placed a small hand on his forearm. He turned, the spell of dwelling on angry thoughts broken.

"Thank you." She said.

"It is but a trifle. Drink it and you will find it imbued with a sweet magic that brings back memories with clarity, a quality that makes it perfect for honoring the dead." He was smiling again. She was glad of it.

"I suggest sipping it. This cask is a warm up for an Asgardian but for a Midgardian..." He cocked his head and sized her up, "and such a small one, at that – it could prove dangerous."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I shall take my leave. There are other matters that call my attention." He said cordially, gracing her with another small bow of the head.

"Thank you, again, Thor. This is a very lovely thing you've done. Very thoughtful." She said. If Thor had a tail, it may be wagging at this very moment. He hosted a restrained smile and he bobbed his head in an affirming nod.

"Farewell, Amira." And at that he turned and left the room, his fine crimson cloak billowing behind him.

The door clicked shut and Amira released a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. He was so kind to her. Perhaps because, unexpectedly, he understood what she was going through better than anyone else. At first, she thought of him only as the very capable warrior that he had proved to be. She could see now that he hurt as keenly as she did and was ten times more thoughtful and courageous in the face of such devastating loss.

And then something came upon her so suddenly that the force of it almost bowled her over.

She couldn't stand the interior of her room. The dark of it reminded her of the contorting, reeking tunnels beneath Desert Base. Horrendous thoughts of the Abomination infiltrated her mind, try as she might to will them away. Panic crashed over her; her inhalations came shallow and desperate. Amira was a canary in a coal mine, neither singing nor breathing. She clutched her chest and rushed into her closet where she would find a pair of sweats. After pulling them on she dashed for the door.

The hallway was well-lit with high-end fixtures that emitted an aureate glow. She fell back against the wall and hunched over, heaving in and out. He breathing echoed down the hallway where she was alone. It still wasn't good enough- she was sweating and nothing she drew in satisfied her lungs. Her knees threatened to buckle. It was as if she was trapped behind that overturned desk again. Blood pounded in her hears in time with the footsteps of the Abomination approaching her, ready to crush her like he promised.

She ran, staggering down the hallway towards the elevator in search of fresh air.

Bruce shut his eyes tight, trying to relieve them of the burning. He had been sitting, gazing into his computer screen for far too long. Still, there wasn't a single mystery about Emil that they had solved. They had achieved nothing in the twenty-four hours they had been working. Morale was low. One after another Clint, Natasha, and Thor slunk back without a single answer to show for their toils. Bruce and Tony hadn't had any luck either. Bruce stretched in his chair, unfurling his limbs and relishing the popping in his shoulders.

"I think I'm going to step out for a little bit." He said, rising to stand.

"Sounds good, pal." Tony was maniacally manipulating a levitating, three-dimensional image, his gaze completely transfixed. Were it not for the fact that Bruce had spoken up, he might have not even realized that the quiet scientist was still in the room.

"What are you working on?" Bruce asked.

"Just tinkering with a potential new toy while I wait."

"Ah." Bruce knew he wouldn't get anything more out of Tony. When he became obsessed like that he didn't offer very much in the way of conversation.

"Oh, Bruce, before you go, remember that charity gala that I was going to hold here?" Bruce gave him a withering stare.

"The one two days from now? The one we all asked you to cancel?" He said, knowing full well that was the exact gala he was talking about.

"Yeah, I'm not canceling it."

"Tony-"

"I have to keep up appearances! If Tony Stark cancels a party people are going to know something is up. Twitter would probably break." Tony sounded like a teenage girl and Bruce, his beleaguered father. So Bruce decided to go with the Avengers equivalent of 'ask your mother'.

"Run it by Steve. I doubt he'll be happy to hear about your decision."

"My tower, my rules."

"Goodbye!" Bruce said insistently, headed toward the door, his back to Tony.

He took his leave, his limbs begging for a reprieve from stagnancy. He could hear Tony conversing with his AI companion as he left.

"JARVIS, let's talk logistics for this puppy. Lay it on me."

"Well, sir, the design itself is simple enough, it is the materials, however, where you will have difficulty..."

The door shut, silencing the exchange. Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets and leisurely strolled towards the elevators. There were very few employees in the tower at this time of night, even fewer on the floor that Bruce and Tony used. The silence was disturbed by his footfalls as he walked down the hall.

The image of Amira being swatted across the room from the security camera feed wouldn't stop looping in his head. He remembered why he had buried himself so thoroughly into his work. It was so he could forget things like that.

He took the speedy elevator all the way up to it's highest point. There, he switched over into the service elevator that took him to his roost. The service elevator was stripped of all luxury. It had a dirty plastic floor from workmen and custodians using it to haul their tools and creaked it's way up and down in a most disconcerting way.

The door slid open, squeaking across the poorly aligned track, and Bruce stepped out. He passed through the door simply labeled 'Roof'. His steps crunched along the gravel and tar roof and the calm winds unsettled his shirt collar. When he rounded upon the large transformer he was surprised by a shrill yelp. He almost fell back, himself, at the exclamation but when he regained his composure he couldn't see the culprit.

"Who's there?" He called out, adrenaline flooded into his system.

"Sorry." Amira flickered into view, her cloak fading. She was sitting on the ground with her legs criss-crossed, a hand resting on her chest. "You scared me." He sighed.

"Oh, it's just you." He had to consciously think about relieving his muscles of their rigidity. His heart still thumped. He suspected she could feel it. "I'll leave you be." He said, disappointed that he would have to settle for relaxing in the lounge.

"Don't go." She said. She was cradling herself and staring straight at him. He didn't move. "I could use some company."

Company was really the last thing he wanted but there was something lonesome in her voice that disarmed his ability to refuse. He gave in with a shrug and walked over to the faded lawn chair. The rusting old thing scraped along the rocks as he dragged it up next to her. He lowered himself carefully into the seat and then set into cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt.

He glanced over to see that she had changed her bandages. It pleased him to see that she didn't neglect to do so. He saw her in profile, the column of her neck outstretched and delicate. She rested her chin on her closed fist. She wouldn't look skyward. There was nothing up there to observe but gloomy clouds. After a long silence, she spoke.

"Thanks for hanging out with me."

"No problem."

"I just couldn't be in that room anymore."

"Isn't leaving the house technically not allowed during shiva?" He asked. She gave a small snort.

"Not technically but if your house is technically a massive high-rise there's a bit of a gray area." She looked downward and her hair tumbled around her head. "Normally, you sit shiva with your family. I'm sort of going it alone this time."

Now he started to feel uncomfortably hot. This conversation was steering into a territory that was completely out of his emotional jurisdiction. He attempted to rapidly change the subject.

"Did you, uh-" It was a risky thing to ask and he was already regretting it, but he couldn't un-say what he had already said. "Did you leave anyone special behind in Africa?" Amira started a little at the question. But after a moment, she did smile, though it looked to be out of embarrassment more than anything else.

'People talk about this kind of thing, right? This is normal, Bruce. You are being so normal right now.'

"No." She laughed, as if the notion were ridiculous. She cleared her throat and then forced a serious demeanor. "No, it was impossible. Fraternization, I mean. Nothing like that was allowed under Fury's regime. Not that there were any interested parties in the first place."

"Oh." He said.

"Disappointed?"

"Surprised." He spoke truly.

"What about you, Banner?" She nudged him with an elbow. "Do you have someone special." She said, gently teasing him with his choice of words. He was now very dissatisfied with his topic adjustment. This was much worse.

"No, wait." She said, giving him a foxy smile. "I know."

"Do you?" He chuckled.

"Sometimes, I see it in your eyes. My father had the same look." She was looking right at him now, her irises black in the low light, her smile bitter-sweet. "It's heartbreak." With those final words she brought her knees to her chest and nestled her chin in between them.

Bruce swallowed hard and repeated her words: "Heartbreak." He wasn't surprised that she had guessed it. Knowing the caliber of baggage that he was hauling, what else could it have been but heartbreak?

"I'm sorry." She said. "I shouldn't have said that. I wasn't thinking."

"It's fine. You're fine." He said, finally. It was difficult to process the fact that he was about to have this conversation with someone. "Betty." He surrendered. "Her name was Betty."

"Pretty name."

"I think so too." There was a pause. Amira cautiously turned towards him, her mouth twisted into a grimace of contemplation.

"What happened." She said, her voice barely reaching him over the breeze.

"She died."

"I'm sorry."

'Me too.' "Don't be."

"You were married?" She asked. Her tan skin was painted a dull yellow from the lights below.

"Yes." He wouldn't show it outwardly, but his heart felt as though it were being squeezed in a merciless vice. He hadn't even talked to Tony about Betty. He assumed that the nosy genius had found out about it on his own, however, they had never spoken of it. Perhaps in another instant, he would have asked to talk about something else, but there was a special sort of catharsis he was granted in talking about her.

"What was she like?" The squeezing is intensified.

"She was smart- much smarter than me." He distractedly smoothed down the front of his shirt as he reached back into most hidden away parts of his psyche and dredged up those painful memories. "Patient. Attentive." His voice was low now, and gruff. "So beautiful."

"Of course she was." Amira said. Her voice wasn't bitter in the least but she did have a ghost of that devastated smile she wore yesterday in their hallway. She looked up at him again, invigorated by yet another question.

"What's it like to be in love?" She glanced up at him. Had she never even been in love?

"It's- It's, um..." Something distracted him, suddenly. He furrowed his brow as he studied her. There was an anomaly in her eyes that he couldn't pinpoint. Was it something in their roundness? His gaze traced down the shelf of her cheeks until it came to rest on her lips. There, he found another confounding anomaly. It rested in the soft curve of her cupid's bow. He was beginning to feel the urge to touch her, when he realized that he had been staring for an almost vulgar amount of time. He looked away, pretending to survey the skyline, and cleared his throat.

"Well, love is just a series of chemical reactions." He said, leaning forward, determined not to lose track of himself again. "For you, a female, it's an influx of oxytocin. For a male it's vasopressin. They create different reactions in either sex but the purpose is to encourage pair-bonding, which of course, aids in the continuation of the species." He hazarded a glance at her. She was giving him a mocking smirk, one of her eyebrows raised.

"Try not to romanticize is too much, Shakespeare, I'm practically swooning over here."

"Sorry." He chuckled.

The two of them conversed easily with one another now. Broaching the subject of Betty made him feel less guarded around her. She knew his two most sensitive secrets. The Hulk and Betty. There was nothing more he had to keep from her.

Well, almost nothing more.

She seemed a little more animated than the day before. He was perfectly happy to help her forget about her loss for a couple of hours. The conversation lulled for a moment and he realized just how long they had been talking. Tony must be wondering where he went off to. And then Bruce was reminded.

"Oh, I almost forgot," He began. She perked up, "Tony is holding a gala here. It's been scheduled for months now."

"A gala?" She snorted at the absurdity. "Mr. Banner, I do declare!" She put a condescending hand to her chest and did her best impression of a debutante.

"It's in two days."

"Two days?! Is that a good idea? I mean, with everything that's happened."

"We tried to get him to cancel it but Pepper has been planning it for months." Bruce said. "Besides, there would be a lot of questions if he canceled it." Tony had made a good point down in the lab. Stark's never cancel a party. Tony might even have that adage sewn into a decorative pillow.

"Still, a gala." She looked, starry-eyed, out onto the city. "I've never been dancing before."

"It's usually a pretty good time. The Dutch Prime Minister was unapologetically drunk at the last one."

"Aw, I wanna meet a drunk Prime Minister!" She cried, excitedly.

"Will you be sitting the full seven days?" He asked. He was peculiarly invested in her getting to go. She had never seen a drunk Prime Minister, it really was a shame that she should have to miss out.

"God, no. My ass is already killing me from sitting on the floor all day." She scoffed. "I was going to finish tomorrow. I figured it was best if I got back to work as soon as possible."

"Then I'll see you there. Unless Steve cancels the entire thing.""Boo. He had better not." Amira gave him a weary look and wrinkled her nose. An action that Bruce could not deny finding absolutely adorable. He grit his teeth at the revelation. "Perhaps it would be for the best. Emil is, no doubt, planning his next attack." She snorted. "And I'd look horrific in an evening gown all bruised up."

He was a shy, reserved man normally, but something was getting to him. Currently, it was the way her mouth curled at the edges into a pretty smile. He looked away from her and nodded hesitantly as she went on asking more and more questions. His present state certainly did not bode well for him. He couldn't do this. He couldn't have a crush.

He made a note:

He had to snuff this out while it was still in it's fledgling stage. After all, it could only ever led to more of what Bruce Banner had in spades: heartbreak.

Well, it wouldn't be a bad fanfic without an excuse for everyone to don evening wear, would it? A gala! Hurray! Did you get a case of the cutes from this chapter? I got some cutes writing it. Tbh, trying to describe the process of developing feelings for someone is hard enough as it is but I also have to keep Bruce in character and he's just such a tough nut to crack.

Sjaund is not traditionally a mead. It's an ale. There actually wasn't very much information about this on the internet but I loved the idea of drinking a special mourning beer. It's a Norse tradition.

I also claim to know barely anything about the chemicals that fuel companionship. I just scanned an article from PBS. It's PBS, though. It's gotta be accurate.