3. Getting To Know You
Descending the narrow stairs into Aunt Susan's basement the next morning, Bruce found himself holding his breath.
As a kid, he'd been afraid of basements-as many kids were. Damp and dark, with their unfinished walls exposing plumbing and wiring, the only floor the cold, concrete slab of the house's foundation, filled mainly with unwanted or unused items strewn haphazardly about, collecting cobwebs, which anything could be hiding behind, or under-roaches, rodents… If his mother asked him to take a load out of the dryer he'd brave it for her, but the worst punishment his father could devise was cleaning out the basement. Mostly because he knew Bruce was afraid, and mocked him for it. There are no monsters more terrifying than the one you carry inside you. Bruce hadn't understood that then, of course, but now…
Now his fingers tightened around the stair rail, which rocked slightly beneath his weight. It wasn't anchored tightly enough into the wall, screws pulling free of the sheet rock. He relaxed his fingers, let out his breath, made a mental note to take a look at that later. It wouldn't do for Aunt Susan to come down here to do laundry and have it fall off, or worse, for her to have a fall. She was seventy years old.
And she was watching him from the bottom of the stairs.
He came the rest of the way down and pretended to have been looking around at the clutter in dismay, stacks of boxes and piles of bags. It wasn't quite like an episode of Hoarders, but he couldn't immediately spot the washer and dryer, either.
"The real reason why you invited us for Christmas is suddenly clear," he said. "You wanted me to help you clean out your basement."
"I'll pay your going rate. What was it again? Grossly in violation of child labor laws, I'm sure. At least that's how my students look at me when I ask if they'd like to earn a little extra money doing a few odd jobs for me."
"It's too bad Natasha got tied up with a work call. She'd love a little extra pocket money to support her leather jacket and boot habit."
Susan hmmed. "I never was a leather jacket kind of girl, but that one she had on yesterday made me wish I had been. Guess I'm too old now not to look like I'm trying too hard. But are you telling me consulting for the government doesn't keep a woman fashionably dressed and buy a house in Ithaca?"
Honestly, how did Tony live as a billionaire? Bruce felt self-conscious enough with his aunt remarking on his single piece of real estate. It was less mortifying that they'd bought it on a dual income, he supposed.
"Do you still keep the Christmas decorations over there?" He asked, squeezing himself between stacks of boxes, cutting a path to the far corner of the basement.
"So after Natasha pulled the gun on you, how long was it till you started dating?"
Aunt Susan did that sometimes: ask questions of her own instead of answering other people's. Bruce never was sure if she hadn't heard him, or if she chose not to answer questions they could figure out for themselves. It might've been the result of forty years of teaching music lessons.
She didn't wait for an answer, but elaborated, "Only I thought the whole reason you ended it with Betty was because your…alter ego…complicated relationships. Don't get me wrong." She put on the glasses dangling from the chain around her neck, and her hazel eyes found his across the basement, where he'd paused in the middle of the narrow path between boxes. "The last thing I want is for you to go through life all alone. I've never thought you should. Nothing makes me happier than to know you're not, that you're teaching and living a normal life again. I'm just curious. What's different now?"
"Well the common denominator in both relationships is me, so…Clearly I'm different."
Bruce tried to huff out a laugh, but it caught in his throat. He didn't want to talk about Betty. He'd resolved all of that-as much as it could be. At the same time he understood that Susan would be curious, confused even, about his situation and how it accommodated the life he'd lost with Betty. When he'd brought Betty home in college, Susan treated her like family. He supposed that was why the question unsettled him. He'd been sure she would be just as welcoming to Natasha-and she had been, so far. It just hadn't occurred to him she might need closure with regard to his love life.
Picking at the edge of a strip of tape on a battered box, he began, "After I ran off from her twice and cut off all communication, Betty was done with my bullshit."
"Hmm. Doesn't sound like her."
With a sigh, Bruce conceded the point. "She would've given up everything for me, but I didn't want that for her. I didn't want her to miss her window, waiting for something that might never happen."
"What is that something, exactly? Control? You can make the transformation happen now, can't you? Although other people can make you change, too? Like the girl with the mind control powers in Johannesburg?"
"Yes…"
Bruce had tried to put the destruction of Johannesburg behind him as best he could, to forgive himself for not being able to stay in control, but hadn't succeeded entirely. Although they'd been writing to each other for years, they'd avoided this topic. It was weird hearing his aunt talk about it dispassionately, to know she'd watched the news and seen the rampage…the carnage. His stomach churned with shame and guilt, but he forced himself to face her, not to tuck tail and run.
"It's a little like…unleashing a mad dog. Calling him back's the hard part. But Natasha came up with a way to do it. She's been through a lot herself."
"She seems like an old soul," Susan said, winding her way through the maze of boxes toward him. "And she's a soulmate?"
Bruce managed to avoid an audible sigh of relief that Susan was moving on from the subject of Betty. Natasha he could happily talk about to her heart's content.
"It was a really intimate experience," he said, "but by the time we figured out what we felt for each other was more than friendship, we'd missed our window. Or we thought we had." He let out a shuddering exhale, amended. "I thought we had."
Having peeled the tape back, the box flaps sprang open, and for a moment Bruce was distracted by what was inside. Immediately, the scent of newspaper filled his nostrils, taking him back not only to the all but bygone era of reading the news in print form, but to Christmases past, unwrapping and wrapping the breakable Christmas decorations in these same sheets of The Dayton Daily News, featuring headlines about local government elections in the 70s, and Peanuts strips from before it was in reruns, an ad for sales at Rike's and the department store's annual Christmas parade and famous animated window displays; it was a Macy's now.
"After Johannesburg," Bruce went on, "Natasha still wasn't afraid of me. Or of having a life with me. It took a little longer for me not to be. And then, um, I was in space."
"I've always believed long-distance relationships are difficult enough without light years involved."
"Just ask Thor and Dr. Foster."
Was it the basement lighting? The trick of so much red in the box of Christmas decorations? Or was Susan flushing?
"Oh, I could never speak coherently to Thor." She glanced away, and giggled.
Accustomed as Bruce was to the legion of women who got swoony over Thor-and men; he'd felt a little weak-kneed in the God of Thunder's presence himself, though of course he'd never admit it to Tony-he never imagined Aunt Susan joining their ranks.
"So…" He scratched his chin. "To answer your question…"
"Did I ask a question?"
"Natasha and I have been together, officially, for a little over two years."
"Are you planning to get married?"
"We…"
Just when he'd started to feel comfortable with this conversation-or at least to not feel completely not comfortable with it-Susan put him off balance again. She must assume since he'd planned to marry Betty, he still wanted that. It had never been a part of the conversation with Natasha. Not for lack of commitment, just…it didn't seem necessary. Put like that, though, it sounded lame.
"We've started the adoption process."
They hadn't discussed whether or not they'd tell Susan that-they hadn't discussed a lot of things, it seemed-and Bruce blurted it out without thinking. Despite her not being an old-fashioned or judgmental person, he wasn't sure how she'd feel about this, since she had asked about marriage.
But her face lit up like a Christmas tree, as she dropped the ornament she'd been unwrapping and seized his hand over the box between them. "Oh, Bruce, that's wonderful. When you used to babysit Jennifer, I always thought what a good father you'd make."
The back of his neck prickled, and with his free hand he reached back to pull at the shaggy hair that curled over his collar.
"It's not a sure thing," he said. "We've got a long way to go, but our application was accepted. We're having our home study after the New Year."
"Domestic adoption, then?"
"Initially we thought we'd try international. Russia or India since those have personal significance for us, but neither government has lifted its sanctions. And we decided that there are lots of orphans of the Battle of New York and the Infinity Wars. It would be our way of doing our part to rebuild."
Susan gave him a wry smile. "Because saving the world wasn't enough?"
At the sound of heavy objects thumping downstairs, Natasha glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Way past time to wrap up her call.
"Okay, Dana," she said to the agent at the other end of the line. "When I talk to him, I'll be back in touch. No guarantees on time, though. It's Christmas."
As she rounded the bend of the staircase, tucking her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, she saw Bruce in the entryway, wearing his coat and standing on one foot, balancing himself with a hand pressed against the wall as he tugged on an old snow boot with the other.
"Get all the decorations lugged up from the basement?" she asked.
"In the den and ready to deck the halls," he replied, switching hands and legs to pull on the other boot.
"Sorry I couldn't help."
"I know how you like to shirk. Everything okay with work?"
"Are we in a Dr. Seuss book?"
"So far the Other Guy's never tried to steal Christmas, but he might, if he had the chance." Bruce's words were joking, but his dark eyes remained serious; she hadn't answered his question.
With a glance down the hall, where sounds of Aunt Susan bumping around were followed by the muffled strains of an old Christmas album-Bing or Sinatra or Andy Williams, Natasha couldn't tell which-she stepped closer to Bruce and lowered her voice.
"FBI's had an eye on a crime ring they want to hand off to SHIELD. They want me to call Coulson."
She followed the roll of his Adam's apple down into the scarf Bruce had started to wind around his neck, then back up again. "If there's a crime ring that the FBI thinks is SHIELD's jurisdiction, isn't there a pretty good chance it's already on SHIELD's radar?"
"Pretty good," Natasha echoed, moving even closer to help him knot the scarf. "Then again, you're thinking about Fury's SHIELD. Coulson's works and plays well with others." His eyebrows twitched upward, and she conceded, "Plays better with others."
"Still seems a little…involved for a retired agent, don't you think?" Bruce turned to take a knitted cap off the coat rack. He pulled it down onto his head. Or tried to; getting his hair under it presented something of a challenge, and curls stuck out every which way from under it. "Do you even have security clearance to talk to Director Coulsonon the phone?"
"I transcend security clearance. I know his direct line."
His mouth formed a smile, but it lacked conviction. Natasha hadn't missed the swallowed sound of his voice, either, the way he measured his words and even the way he spoke them. Bruce would never be one hundred percent comfortable with SHIELD, old or new. She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, the edge of his beard prickling her chin.
"Don't worry. I have no intention of getting involved. I'm not even going to call Coulson right away. He's missed out on too many Christmases with Audrey."
"Never stand in the way of a musician's holiday plans." Bruce's eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile reached them now.
"So, what can I do to prove I'm not a shirker?"
"I'm going to hang the outside lights before it gets dark," he replied, delving into his coat pocket for his gloves.
"It's ten in the morning."
"It could take me that long."
"Are there that many lights, or are you that bad at hanging them?"
Bruce paused in adjusting the fingers of his gloves. "You may have noticed I'm not very tall."
"The Other Guy is."
"But not exactly the holly jolly green giant. First I need to shovel the sidewalk and driveway."
A fresh layer of snow had fallen overnight, and the dropping temperatures froze the puddles underneath.
"You can help me in here, Natasha," called Susan from the hall.
Natasha started to go, but Bruce caught her arm and drew her back. He leaned in close, making her think for a moment he was going to kiss her, then his eyes darted over her shoulder into the hall before he spoke in hushed tones.
"If we have time later, could you come to the mall with me and help me find Aunt Susan a leather jacket?"
"A leather jacket?"
"Apparently I'm not the only Banner with a green-eyed monster," he replied.
Without further explanation, he pecked Natasha on the lips and ducked through the front door to let her work it out the uncharacteristically cryptic statement as she made her way down the hall. The more pressing concerns as she could hear the crooner over the stereo more clearly was differentiating between Bing or Ol' Blue Eyes-at least she'd eliminated Andy-and, most importantly, what to talk about with Susan. There were lots of questions to ask Bruce's aunt, but none of them seemed like great conversation openers.
Fortunately, Susan had that covered.
"Would you mind turning the CD player down a notch?" her voice greeted as Natasha entered the cozy back living room, which now contained so many boxes that it more closely resembled a storage closet. At first she didn't see Susan, then spotted her over the back of the sofa, kneeling on the floor in front of the window to secure the bottom section of an artificial Christmas tree in the base. A writing desk had been pushed aside to make room for the tree.
"I don't know what's happened to the remote," Susan went on. "Maybe the Grinch…"
"I've got it," Natasha replied, spotting it on the coffee table. She adjusted the volume and joined Susan assembling the tree.
"You're probably regretting not staying home for your first Christmas in your new house," Susan said as she glanced and the room, as if noticing the mess for the first time.
"It wouldn't have been very festive, since we don't have any decorations."
Neither one of them had been much for the holiday. When she wasn't working, she spent most of hers with Clint and Laura. They'd had parties at the Tower, of course, but Pepper had hired a decorator rather than depend on the Avengers to get crafty or creative-both dangerous when Tony was involved.
"Bruce was talking about after-Christmas clearances."
"That's the way to do it, only beware getting overrun by wrapping paper. It seems like such a bargain at the time, but no one really needs twenty rolls of Christmas gift wrap."
"Sage advice."
Natasha thought of Laura's craft room at the farm and her collection of Christmas gift wrap, which she went through annually with three kids to get presents for. Would that be her and Bruce next year? Fighting the Black Friday crowds at Toys R Us? Could be a potentially more dangerous prospect than the Chitauri or Hydra. Would they stay up all night wrapping or assembling bikes from Santa?
"I usually do this earlier," Susan's voice drew her back to the present, "but it seems like every year it's more work getting ready for my holiday music programs."
"How many students do you teach?" Natasha readily pursued this conversation thread, glad for the distraction from the turn her own thoughts, which were getting a little too optimistic for comfort.
"Only around twenty out of my home, these days. I also teach some group classes at one of the community colleges, and I lead the choirs at church."
"You're religious?" Bruce never mentioned a churchgoing background.
"Don't look so worried," Susan said, laughing. "I'm Unitarian Universalist."
Natasha nodded; she didn't have much experience with any church, but she knew Unitarians were the co-exist types. Not surprising, given Susan's artistic, slightly hippie aura.
"And busy," Natasha remarked.
"I didn't even mention the music therapy sessions," Susan added with a grin.
"Are you sure you aren't a superhero?"
Their conversation lapsed for a few minutes as they fluffed the branches of the assembled tree and hunted through them for the power cords to connect the sections of lights and listened to the deep baritone. The CD changed, an out of date sound that Natasha didn't immediately recognize.
As the jazz piano soundtrack of the Charlie Brown Christmas movie crackled out of the speakers-O Tannenbaum, appropriately- Susan spoke again, as if there had been no break in the conversation.
"You know, a few of the kids I work with have been in the foster system, or are adopted. I can give you some resources or connect you with some music therapists in New York if that's something you and Bruce would be interested in. You might find it very helpful. Now why isn't this middle section lighting up? Did we miss a plug?"
It took a lot to surprise Natasha, but here she was, staring at Susan as she put on her glasses and leaned into the Christmas tree, pushing branches aside in search of the culprit of their light malfunction.
"Bruce told you we're trying to adopt? Voluntarily?"
"No, everything seems to be hooked up," Susan murmured, straightening up. "Guess there's a bulb out…I think I've got a tester somewhere, in one of those boxes…" As she stepped away from the tree, leaving Natasha to wonder whether she'd heard her question at all, she answered it. "I don't know if I'd say Bruce volunteered the info so much as blurted it out when I cornered him about whether you two had marriage plans."
The track ended, and for a few long seconds, the only sound was a scraping sound outside the window-Bruce shoveling, Natasha realized after a moment.
"I'm not sure we're really the marrying kind," she replied.
"Bruce is. Or he used to be. But then people do change. I'm not judging, dear," she added, turning back to touch Natasha gently on the arm.
"I didn't think you were."
"How interesting-I always imagined I'd never be able to guess if a super spy was lying to me."
Natasha had to smile at that, and Susan returned it.
"I'm thrilled you've opened him back up to love and a real life. He's a tough nut to crack." With a squeeze, she released Natasha's arm and pulled back the flaps of the nearest box to rummage inside. "That's the reason I became interested in music therapy, you know. He was so withdrawn. I took him to see a counselor, but he just wouldn't talk, to her or to me. I think he was equal parts sad that I wasn't his mother, and scared that I'd be like my brother…One day I noticed him sitting on the stairs while I taught a piano lesson, listening through the French doors. It was the first time I'd seen him look relaxed. Or smile. So, I exposed him to all the music I could. Made sure it was always playing in the house…that he heard it live. I didn't have a lot of money for concerts, but there were student and faculty recitals at the university. We attended all of those we could."
"He told me," Natasha replied, and Susan looked pleased. "Listening to music's still a big part of how he comes back to himself after a transformation."
She pictured him on the quinjet with his headphones on, oblivious to Tony complaining about how the cool image was so deceiving when was listening to opera.
"Does he play?"
"I gave him lessons," Susan replied, moving to the next box, finding a zip-top baggie containing the light tester and spare bulbs right on top.
"Was he any good?"
"He was…accurate. I never could decide if he was afraid to play with expression, or if he just wasn't naturally very musically inclined. In any case, he didn't seem to get as much pleasure from making music as he did from listening to it. Which was fine. I don't expect all my students to be musicians. And Bruce certainly has his areas he excels in."
She fell silent as she tested the section of lights, and Natasha recognized that the tune playing was What Child Is This?
"Aha! There are the culprits. Hand me the spare bulbs, please?"
Dropping the burnt-out ones in Natasha's hand, she went on as she replaced them. "People always said how good it was that I was able to take him in. That he was lucky to have family rather than get passed through the foster system after a trauma like that. Certainly that was one reason why I offered. What I didn't realize at the time was how good it would be for me."
The new bulbs in place, and the middle section of the tree lit up.
"Brian-Bruce's father-wasn't the only one of us who didn't plan to have children after the way we grew up. Then my divorce put me off the idea of marriage altogether. Having Bruce, though…It healed some of my own wounds that I thought never would. Helped me finally put the past behind me. I hope that'll be his experience. And yours."
"Me too," Natasha said. Especially the part about Bruce putting his past behind him. She started to tell Susan that he'd told her very little about his childhood, but before she could, he appeared in the doorway, having shed his layers of winter clothing.
"How do I still hear shoveling if you're in here?" Aunt Susan asked.
A sheepish look crossed Bruce's face as he reached up and ruffled his hair, which was flattened against his head from his hat. "Some neighbor kids recognized me and said the Hulk shouldn't be shoveling. So they took over."
"Maybe they'll volunteer to do the lights, too," Natasha said.
"Dayton's very proud to be the hometown of an Avenger," Susan said. "There was a petition a while to change the city's nickname from 'The Birthplace of Aviation' to 'The Birthplace of Smash.' I'm not sure it was a joke."
"Oh, it had to be a joke," Bruce said. "The Wright Brothers?"
Aunt Susan shrugged. "Their descendants weren't thrilled with the idea, of course. Speaking of which, if there's anything you want to take back to New York with you, Bruce, please do. I need to clear some things out of the house, and I'd be thrilled for you to take some of the heirlooms for your family."
If he'd looked uncomfortable with his celebrity, the stiffness of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, indicated this idea was downright painful to him. But he reached into a box, forced a smile as he drew out a homemade ornament, a star constructed from drinking straws and plastic beads. "Is this what you mean by heirloom?"
A/N: Happy holidays to you all! This will be the last update before the New Year, so I hope it'll tide you over. (I will have a holiday one-shot to post later this week, to keep the BruceNat in Christmas. ;)) This fandom has been such a gift this year, and I appreciate each and everyone of you who has read, reviewed, and followed my fics, and I hope my stories have been a small part of keeping your days merry and bright. 3