A/N: I continue to be so grateful for your kind and supportive words about this story! This week, I'm very excited to introduce you to Aunt Susan, who is a character from the comics, but this is my own take on her. My fancast for the role is Susan Sarandon. Hope you enjoy this first glimpse into Bruce's childhood, and that you'll let me know what you think! Thanks, as always, to my beta malintzin. (And if you're an Agents of SHIELD fan, especially a Phil Coulson fan, check out our latest co-authored endeavor, What's Missing Is What Hurts the Most. We have big plans for the winter hiatus!)
2. Meet the Banners
"Oh my God, Bruce!" said Aunt Susan from the doorstep of her red brick Foursquare house as he and Natasha came up the front walk, the cab that brought them from the airport sloshing through puddles of melted snow as it pulled away from the curb.
"Aunt Susan." He glanced back over his shoulder as the wheels of the suitcase he was pulling caught on an uneven part of the sidewalk. Natasha gave him a small reassuring smile before he proceeded toward his aunt, pace quickening, along with his pulse. "I feel the same way. It's incredible to see you."
Why hadn't he sooner? He let go of the suitcase as she stepped down to the bottom of the porch, arms extended. Instead of hug him, however, she touched his face, stroking his beard, and he understood the reason for her look of round-eyed amazement.
"You're so grey."
Bruce gaped at her. Behind him, Natasha snorted.
"And you're…not." He tugged at his shaggy hair in back as he took in Aunt Susan's, as vivid red at seventy as it had been in her fifties. God, he was almost the age she'd been the last time he saw her…Older than she'd been when he lived with her…
Her hand slid down from his cheek to rest on his shoulder, pulling him in for the hug he'd expected before. He felt her smooth cheek against his, and though she was going to kiss him, but again she surprised him by murmuring close to his ear:
"Bruce, dear, that's the wonder of a good hairstylist. You scientists aren't the only ones working to defy the ravages of time, you know. You keep your super serums. I'll stick to my salon products."
"Amen," said Natasha.
Susan pressed her lips to his cheek, then drew back, sidestepping him. She put on her glasses, which dangled from a chain around her neck; the tendency to lose glasses was a genetic predisposition.
"So this is the erstwhile Black Widow."
Struggling to get the suitcase up the steps and avoid the icy patches at the edges, Bruce winced-he'd almost forgotten how blunt his aunt was-and shot Natasha a look of apology. But of course she looked as unruffled as always, her pursed lips quirking upward at once side.
"Erstwhile. I like that. Most people go with infamous."
"It's the right word for a retired Avenger, isn't it?"
"Does that make Bruce the Erstwhile Hulk now?" Natasha asked, apparently deciding to acknowledge the elephant in the front yard right away and get it over with.
Aunt Susan laughed and looked back at Bruce. "Oh, I like her." But when she faced Natasha again, her smile fell as she eyed her extended hand. "I was going to hug you, but if that's too presumptuous, we can shake hands instead."
"Definitely not too presumptuous," said Natasha, lowering her hand and returning the hearty embrace.
"Welcome, Natasha."
Bruce's own self-consciousness dissipated as she met his eye over Susan's shoulder and he saw how relieved and pleased she looked to have his Aunt's approval right off the bat. She'd never admit it, but he knew she'd been nervous about this, despite his best efforts to reassure her she didn't need to be. Certainly he empathized with self-doubt.
"Why are we all standing around out here in the cold?" Susan released Natasha and pulled her oversized cardigan knitted in a southwestern pattern tighter around herself.
"It's not that bad," Bruce said. "We're used to New York."
"And Russia," Natasha added.
Looking distinctly unimpressed, Susan said, "Well I'm going to go in and make some tea and cinnamon toast."
She squeezed past Bruce and the suitcase in the narrow hall to go to the kitchen, and Natasha hung back to say quietly, "That went well."
Nodding, he scratched his beard. "Maybe I should've shaved and gotten a haircut."
"Don't you dare."
With that admonishment, Natasha went ahead to the kitchen while Bruce wrangled their luggage up the two flights of stairs to his childhood bedroom. The day before, Susan had actually called him, because there wasn't time to send a letter, to ask if he'd feel more comfortable in his old room than in the guest room where he'd stayed with Betty the last time he'd been here. Flushing and fumbling for words, Bruce agreed his bedroom was a better option, although as he stepped inside and found it exactly as he'd left it when he moved to Desert State for undergrad, he started to second-guess that decision. The Einstein poster over the desk wasn't exactly the view you wanted from the bed you were sharing with your girlfriend. He took it down, but as he rolled it up, it occurred to him that the original Star Wars trilogy posters over the bed weren't much better.
Before he went on an undecorating frenzy, he went downstairs. Anyway, it wasn't like Natasha didn't already know he was a nerd…geek…dork. She'd used them all.
The aroma of cinnamon sugar wafted to him before he reached the kitchen, as did Aunt Susan's voice:
"...used to make this for Bruce, when he first came to live with me."
She stood at the marbled yellow laminate counter, spreading butter creamed together with cinnamon and sugar-and the secret ingredient, vanilla-over slices of white bread, while Natasha leaned against the cupboards, cradling a teacup in both hands.
"It's good comfort food," she said, glancing at him as he came through the door. "Bruce makes it for us fairly often."
He'd started that back when they were at Avengers Tower, following Code Greens.
"I didn't know how to make much else," Susan went on without looking his way, as though she didn't know he was there. "I think that was why my marriage ended, honestly. I just couldn't be bothered to cook, after I taught five hours of piano lessons."
Picking up the baking sheet, she turned to carry it to the oven, the soles of her slippers scuffing over the tile, and finally noticed Bruce. "So glad you decided to join us. What were you doing, thumping around up there? Thank you, dear." The last was directed at Natasha, who'd opened the oven door.
She'd probably heard him stumble when he hopped down from the chair he'd stood on to take down the Einstein poster.
"Oh, you know," he replied, avoiding making eye contact with either of them as he shuffled to the table and pulled out a chair. "Jumping on the bed for old time's sake."
"You wild child," Natasha said, seating herself kitty-corner from him, rubbing her foot against his beneath the table.
Aunt Susan set the timer for the toast, saw him at the table, and let out an abrupt burst of laughter that made Natasha's eyebrows go up.
"I'll never forget one night," Susan said, shuffling to the stove, where she picked up the kettle and filled one of the teacups on the counter beside it. "Bruce was sitting right where he is now."
"On top of a couple of telephone books, probably," he interjected, and she nodded, bringing the two cups to the table. She placed the still brewing one in front of his seat while he hopped up to draw out her chair across from Natasha.
"He was a gentlemen back then, too." She patted his hand, looking up at him with her warm hazel eyes that made him feel loved after he'd loved the only person in the world he'd thought ever would. "And he was the cutest little thing, with that mop of dark hair and those big brown eyes. But so quiet. I'd never met a quieter child, though of course that was to be expected after what he'd been through."
The back of Bruce's neck prickled, and he reached up to rub it, feeling the snarl in his mind as an almost tangible rumble. He wasn't used to making even oblique references to his childhood, and his aunt's almost casual way of mentioning it made the Other Guy stir. Bruce concentrated on his slow deep breaths through his nostrils, on Natasha's foot resting against his shin.
Aunt Susan sipped her tea, then continued her story, "One night he piped up and said, 'Aunt Susan, I like cinnamon toast, but we shouldn't eat it all the time. It's not very healthy, and it gives me a tummy ache.' First opinion he offered. So, we learned to cook. Together."
"That's worked out well for me, too," said Natasha. "He makes killer chicken tikka masala in the crock pot."
The oven timer went off. Susan set down her teacup, but Bruce touched her shoulder as he pushed his chair back from the table.
"Don't get up, I've got it."
She smiled up at him, but he saw the shrewdness in her gaze, too, reading his mood as she had so many times over the years.
"How did you two meet?" she asked over the creak of the oven door as he opened it. "Avengers matchmaking service?"
Turning around with the pan of toast, Bruce caught Natasha's eye as she smirked around the rim of her teacup. As he looked at her, whatever mood Aunt Susan saw, or thought she saw, retreated.
Natasha swallowed and said, "It's a desperately romantic story."
"We were in Kolkata," he added.
"Bruce was caring for the sick."
"I saw Natasha across a shabby room. She had on a burgundy blouse a soft flowing turquoise skirt. And a red shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Right?"
Her eyebrows twitched upward, as if she were surprised with the level of detail he remembered. She waited until he'd moved to set the baking sheet on a trivet, then said, "He pretended he was going to Hulk out."
Bruce opened the cupboard above and took out a plate to arrange the toast on. "And she pulled a gun on me."
When he returned to the table with the cinnamon toast, Aunt Susan reached for a slice and said, "Believe it or not, that wouldn't be the strangest love story I've ever heard."
After their tea and toast, Bruce led Natasha through Susan's house, showing her around. It was an older home, built in the 1920s, so the hallways were narrow and the rooms small. They were also packed: a concert grand piano dominated the front living room, flanked by an upright for the younger students' lessons, and every spare inch of wall was covered with shelves to accommodate her library and music collection. That, combined with nothing having been updated in decades-it was exactly as it had been when he lived here-gave the whole place a cluttered feel, even though it was in fact very organized. Or maybe Natasha was just used to the spacious minimalism of the Tower and now their home in Ithaca.
Nevertheless, though not to her personal taste, she liked the house. It reflected its owner; Susan Banner had a put together yet still slightly frazzled demeanor, not unlike her nephew: two highly intelligent people whose madness did have a method. How much of that did Bruce come by honestly, and how much had he learned living here during his formative years?
As Natasha followed him up the paneled staircase, where three bedrooms, a study, and a bathroom branched off the hall, frazzled didn't describe him accurately at all. Hands clasped, shoulders hunched, he looked nothing so much as contained. She'd observed him in this state many times over the years, as if he were making himself smaller in uncomfortable situations, when he felt the Big Guy close to the surface. He didn't get this way often anymore, and not recently. Were the memories of this house too much for him?
"This is where we'll be sleeping," he interrupted her musing, pushing open one of the oak doors open. "My old bedroom."
"I could've guessed," she replied as he stepped aside for her to pass through. "It's like a shrine to eighties nerdom."
"I'm just trying not to think about the fact that you were barely born at the time."
Natasha thought about making a face at him, but couldn't tear her gaze from her first proper glimpse into Bruce's mysterious youth. Although none of it was actually unexpected at all, least of all the Star Wars trilogy posters hanging over the bed on the far wall. Spying what appeared to be another poster rolled up on the desk, she went over and unfurled it, snorting at the enlarged black and white photo.
"Is this what all that bumping around up here was about?"
Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't think you'd appreciate Einstein sticking his tongue out at you while you're in bed."
"Good call. I'll take Han Solo and metal bikini Leia, though." Natasha rolled the poster back up, laying it on the desk beside a dusty Macintosh Plus. "Hey, tech that's ancient, yet still younger than Steve. Does this thing still run?"
She felt for the power switch, her question answered by the beep.
"I read this article once about a guy who got an old Mac on the Internet," she said. "We should totally try it."
"And you call me a nerd." Joining her at the desk, Bruce picked up the boxy mouse, connected to the computer with a cord. "I saved up my allowance and did so many odd jobs to save up for this. Got a paper route, walked neighbors' dogs, shoveled driveways, washed test tubes in the school lab, delivered pizzas, once I could drive… I wrote all my high school papers on here."
"Award-winning work," Natasha said, tapping the diploma with the Valedictorian seal, a faded tassel with a tarnished '87 and his many silk cords hanging from the edge. She stepped away from the desk to look at the ribbon and medal-covered bulletin board over the dresser, which served as a trophy case. She picked up one of the gold-painted plastic cups and read the engraving on the faux marble base: 38thOhio State Science Day, Senior Division, 1st Place.
"I should have put all this stuff away," Bruce said as he come to stand behind her. "It's just collecting dust."
She glanced at him over shoulder. "And deprive me of the chance to be impressed with your genius?"
Chuckling, he ducked his head. "Yeah, I'm sure you're really impressed."
"Thor may be proud of his Nobel-winner girlfriend, but I have the king of the science fairs. If the adoption goes through, we'll have to make a place in the house for all the awards you'll help them win."
She replaced the trophy and turned to face Bruce fully. He had a real smile now, that hopeful light making his eyes warm.
"Did the other kids even try?" she asked. "Or did they just throw up their hands and give up knowing Bruce Banner would enter and sweep all the awards?"
"Hey, I had a pretty heated rivalry with Lisa Chen. Note the years I won second. Although I really should've had first in at regionals in '86. Her math was wrong."
Natasha did the math for how long he'd been hanging onto that-thirty-four years ."Did you say anything?"
"I didn't want to be that guy who made the judges look stupid." Bruce gave a diffident shrug. "And her project was really good. It was a-"
"Sorry for not being a member of your Lisa Chen fanclub," Natasha interrupted, taking a lowering herself to sit at the edge of the bed. "What was your coolest one?"
"Well…I built a fusion reactor in the basement."
"Fusion. As in nuclear?"
"Uh-huh. Aunt Susan may have it, if you want to see. You probably noticed she keeps a lot of stuff around."
"All I want for Christmas is nukes," Natasha joked, but Bruce didn't appear to have heard her as he looked around the room.
"It seems so small," he mused, more to himself than to her.
Well-that confirmed what she'd read into his body language.
"They say that's how it is when you revisit your childhood home as an adult," he went on before she could decide whether to do any digging yet. "Guess I just didn't notice last time. Or maybe I did. That was so long ago…And I didn't sleep here."
His gaze met hers, eyes widening slightly, as though he'd just walked into the room and was surprised to find her there. She patted the mattress beside her, and he moved toward her, eying it critically.
"Will the bed be too small for us? It's only a full size."
Natasha reached for his hand. "We'll just have to stay close," she said, and pulled him with her onto the bed.