A/N: Back after a Christmas hiatus, thanks to the awesome malintzin, who betaed for me after a long road trip. The holidays are over, but hopefully you all won't mind a little more Christmas in this chapter. Happy New Year to all my readers. I appreciate you all so much and am looking forward to a MARVELous 2016 with you all. 3

4. What I Can, I Give

The engine purred as Bruce watched his aunt through the windshield, foggy with steam and the swirl of exhaust fumes visible in the chilly night air. After he'd given her a hand out of the back seat he'd tried to walk her to the church door, but she'd declined the offer of assistance.

"There comes a point when gallantry just makes you feel geriatric. Anyway," Susan added, warm hazel eyes twinkling as they caught the light from the car, "I saw you slip on that icy patch a second ago. I think I'll take my chances with the sidewalk."

Although Bruce slid back into the driver's seat feeling a little chastised, he didn't immediately pull away from the curb, or even shut the door all the way behind him. Instead, he let the motor idle as he kept an eye on her. Apart from walking a little slower now than she used to, with her shoulders more hunched, which may have been in concession to the black ice on the sidewalk, he had to concede that Aunt Susan really had aged well.

"I didn't mean to make her feel old," he commented to Natasha, who sat in the front passenger seat. "Force of habit. I must've dropped her off at choir practice a thousand times. We only had the one car, and I had to get to the mall…I worked at the pizza place..."

Natasha's eyebrows went up. "We're going to the mall after this. Are you taking me out for pizza at your old job?"

"I hadn't planned to, but I guess I could…" Bruce chuckled, rubbing a hand over his beard. "I don't even know if it's still there."

The church door swung open as Susan reached it, and after she greeted the fellow church member who'd gotten it for her she turned back to wave. Bruce raised one hand from the steering wheel, leery of whoever it was coming out to speak to him. It was needless worry; his aunt disappeared inside, and at last he shifted into drive and pulled the car around the parking lot.

"Sorry for abandoning you this morning," he said as he turned out onto Yankee Street, "I hope it wasn't awkward for you, after you only just met."

"Susan's one of those weirdly easy people to talk to," Natasha replied. "Maybe because she does most of the talking."

Bruce heard the wryness in her voice even before he glanced at her and saw her smirk in the brief flash as they passed under a street light. That was his aunt to a T.

"What did she do most of the talking about?"

"Well…She wanted to know if I intend to make an honest man out of you."

Although Natasha's words were jokey, Bruce hadn't missed that nanosecond of hesitation before she said them, which hinted at something not at all jokey.

"Yeah…she mentioned that to me, too."

"Before or after you told her we started the adoption process?"

Damn it. He braked to a stop at a red light. They hadn't discussed whether they would tell Susan about their adoption plans or not. Probably not, given how early they still were in the process. After he spilled the beans, he'd hoped his aunt would have the sense not to say anything about it to someone she'd met only the night before. Shouldn't have relied on hope…

"Before," he admitted. "That's why I blurted it out."

"I'm not following."

Bruce's fingers slid into the grooves of the steering wheel as he worked to piece his own scattered thought process together in a cogent order for Natasha.

"I don't know," he began. "I felt like she was questioning our commitment, and I had to prove it."

Did he? Was Natasha questioning it? Was that why she'd brought this up? They'd bought a house together, made a life and plans for the future…were attempting to start a family against odds nearly as impossible as the biological ones. If that wasn't commitment, then he didn't understand the meaning of the word.

"Light's green," her voice rasped gently into his musings.

Overcompensating for not noticing the signal had changed, Bruce gunned it off the line. Fortunately there was no one in front of him to rear end.

"Sorry," he said through his teeth.

In his periphery he saw Natasha watching him steadily. Her hand came to rest lightly on his thigh.

"This isn't the conversation we need to have right now," she said.

She was letting him off the hook. Bruce knew in the pit of his stomach that he should probably deal with the uncomfortable topic-or the other one her the indicated they did need to be having right now-but, coward that he was, he took the reprieve she dangled out to him and changed it.

"I'd prefer to have the one about where we can find an age-appropriate leather jacket for Aunt Susan."

"Depends what's at the mall," she said with a shrug, withdrawing her hand to face forward in her seat. He felt the absence of her touch at once.

Felt alone, right next to her.

Bruce repeated that he didn't know which stores were still there and which had changed since he'd last been in Dayton. A number of the landmarks on the way to the mall had, and conversation lapsed altogether as he got a little lost. When they did finally pull onto the mall drive, even parking felt odd to him because what used to be Rike's Department Store was now lit up by the glowing red star of Macy's.

"Appropriate for Christmas, though," Natasha quipped, "a wise man and woman from the East, following yonder star."

Snorting, Bruce said, "To the mall, though? Charlie Brown's right about the commercialization of Christmas."

The joking diffused the tension, and they held hands as they made their way across the parking lot. Having come from New York City, they'd expected shopping at a mall in not even the largest city in Ohio to be a piece of cake, but he'd forgotten the insanity of even small shopping malls two days before Christmas. They entered Macy's at the shoe section, where Natasha was instantly distracted by the displays of boots.

"You've already taken up half our closet with your boot collection," Bruce teased as gently pried one from her hands that didn't look all that different from a pair she had back home, except that they laced up the back, which was an interesting fashion design choice. How did that work, practically?

"But we have four more bedrooms with empty closets," Natasha replied, but allowed him to take her hand again and pull her away from the shoes.

Once they found the coats, they chose a jacket for Aunt Susan relatively quickly, Natasha having a laser focus for that sort of thing.

"There's another career possibility for you, if you get tired of security consulting," Bruce suggested. "Personal stylist." He was only half-joking, after what she'd said about the morning's phone call about the space crime ring, or whatever it was.

"Potentially more dramatic and dangerous than the superhero gig."

They had time to kill before Susan's choir rehearsal ended, so they walked around the mall. Some of the stores had changed, but the overall look of the mall hadn't, and when they walked past the food court, Phantom Pizza was still there. For old time's sake, they got slices and sat down at a table by the railing that overlooked the central plaza, where the Santa Claus display was. The line wound around and around like an amusement park, and some of the kids seemed to be seriously testing whether they were on the naughty or nice list. Bruce wondered whether they'd make it to the front of the line before the mall closed.

"Not exactly New York pizza," he said, biting into his slice.

"But it does give me a sense of your very middle-class Midwestern upbringing."

Natasha turned from watching the families in line for Santa and faced Bruce, the amused lines fading from her face as her eyes settled on him in a way that made him squirm inwardly. Worm on a hook.

"Being around Aunt Susan, hearing allusions she's made…I'm realizing how little you've actually talked about your past. I hardly know anything about it that wasn't in your file."

"I showed you all my science fair awards and bought you pizza from my old place of employment."

He tried to play it off, but despite how much time he'd spent with Tony, that wasn't a skill he'd mastered.

"That's surface stuff," Natasha said, wiping the grease off her fingers with her napkin before folding her arms on the edge of the table. "You know that's not what I mean."

"It's not like you've opened up to me about yours."

"True." When her gaze flickered down, Bruce hoped it meant point taken, but then they snapped up again. "Maybe I should."

He shook his head slowly. "Some doors are better left closed, Natasha. To keep the monsters inside."

She didn't respond. Or move. Bruce resumed eating his pizza. Only when she scooted her chair back from the table and picked up her tray as she stood did it occur how she might have taken his words. How she had taken them.

The scrape of his own chair's legs against the floor underscored his breathless apology. "Natasha, I'm sorry…You know I didn't mean…"

"I know."

She emptied the contents of her tray into the trash can, the flap swinging on its hinges as she placed the tray atop. When she turned back she avoided his gaze, side-stepped him to return to their table. He followed, stammering an explanation as she put on her jacket and slid her purse strap over her shoulder.

"It's just…it's Christmas. We're in a mall full of parents shopping for their kids and kids seeing Santa…We're looking at the future we hope to have. Is this really the place to open those doors?"

"You're right," she replied, gripping the handle of their shopping bag. "But Bruce…sometimes I feel like your doors aren't just shut, they're locked. "And you've thrown away the key."

In the bleak mid-winter

Frosty wind made moan…

Choir rehearsal hadn't ended yet when they arrived back at the church to pick up Aunt Susan. The drive from the mall had been about as comfortable as if the Other Guy had tried to squeeze into the Honda, and when Natasha suggested they go inside to wait, Bruce readily agreed.

Earth stood hard as iron,

Water like a stone…

Only about a dozen singers stood at the front of the sanctuary, not so much directed as accompanied by Susan on the grand piano at the center of the stage in front of the choir risers, but their voices carried to the back, where Bruce and Natasha stood just inside the doors.

Snow had fallen, snow on snow,

Snow on snow,

In the bleak mid-winter

Long ago.

As the song went through the Nativity story, he stole a glance at her, curious what she was making of the overt religious references. Her expression, though, was blank, unreadable as she listened with her head slightly tilted.

Bruce returned his eyes to the front, settling on Aunt Susan at the piano, a sight he was deeply familiar with, both at home and right here in this church. Natasha had been surprised at the religious upbringing he never spoke about, but the truth was, he didn't think about it all that much, either. Attending or not had been his choice, when he was old enough, and more often than not he hadn't, preferring to sleep in on Sunday mornings. Special musical performances were the exception. Music had always soothed him, long before Hulkouts, and his taste in music-or utter lack thereof, as Tony said-had been partially formed sitting in this small sanctuary, the voices of the choir floating up into the exposed beams of the vaulted ceiling as golden morning light beamed the high window slots that lined the side aisles, and filtered in a rainbow through the stained-glass.

In the dim light of the winter night, the gentle melody of the Christmas carol was having that effect on him now, calming his erratic heartbeat and clearing his head. Maybe this was the sort of thing Natasha meant when she wanted him to open up about his past.

What can I give Him,

Poor as I am?

Maybe it was the imagery of the stable and the manger that turned Bruce's thoughts to Barton's farm. He pictured himself there, with her, in the midst of another argument.

If I were a shepherd

I would bring a lamb…

If I were a wise man

I would do my part…

Natasha's fingers curled around his. He looked at her again, but her eyes were fixed ahead, on the choir.

Yet what I can, I give Him -

Give my heart.

Playing Santa on Christmas morning, Bruce pulled one of the neatly wrapped packages from beneath the tree and held it out to Natasha. The hopeful light in his eyes, the soft smile on his lips almost undid her, but rather than take it from him, she arched an eyebrow.

"I thought we agreed no presents this year, what with the new house and everything."

He ducked his head, caught his lower lip between his teeth. "We did, but…Did you really think I was going to stick to that? Did you stick to it?"

Natasha pursed her lips to squelch a smile, but failed. She reached out and accepted the present from him.

"Nice gift wrapping, Doc," she commented as he stood behind the couch, looking over her shoulder. She was always slightly amazed at how tidily he wrapped, when he himself existed in a perpetually rumpled state.

"Nice unwrapping," Bruce replied as she slid a fingernail beneath the piece of tape at one folded end, carefully reaching in to slide the box out from its wrap without tearing the paper or compromising the shape.

A shoebox. A boot box, to be exact, and she looked up at him, lifting her eyebrow again. "You went shoe shopping for me?"

"That was brave," Aunt Susan said. "Then again, you are a superhero."

Bruce just nodded at the box. "I had a little help."

Natasha lifted the lid, imagining Bruce looking as befuddled in a shoe store as he had the first time he was aboard the Helicarrier, enlisting a salesgirl to help him shop, but as she pulled back the tissue paper, she burst out laughing.

"These are the boots I was ogling the other day in Macy's," she said, drawing out the cognac boots that laced up the back. "When did you sneak back for them?"

Sometime after their fraught shopping trip to the mall; with a pang she realized that they weren't just a Christmas gift, they were a peace offering.

"Let me have some secrets, if I can't shop for you all on my own."

"Why would you, when she has such wonderful taste in fashion?" asked Aunt Susan, admiring the boots from across the room, where she sat in a chair near the fire. "Although they look a little complicated to put on."

"I'm glad you agree with Natasha's taste," Bruce said, going back to the tree and stooping for another gift. "Because she helped me pick this out for you."

"Oh, Bruce," she said, taking out the rich brown blazer-style leather jacket, "you really shouldn't have."

"Of course I should. After I made you feel old the other day, this seemed like the perfect way to make up for it."

"You don't think I look like I'm trying too hard?" Susan asked, though she'd already shed her cardigan to try on the new jacket.

"You look fantastic," Natasha assured her. "I knew that color would really bring out the russet tones in your hair and eyes."

Susan stepped out of the living room, presumably into the hall powder room to check her reflection in the mirror.

"I think you did well," Natasha told Bruce.

"You did," he said, bending to pick up the discarded wrapping paper and add it to the trash bag.

"With our powers combined, we make a super jacket shopping team."

"Amen to that," Aunt Susan said, coming back into the room. "Thank you so much." She hugged Natasha, then Bruce, pecking him on the cheek. "Now," she said, drawing back, "I have something for you."

Still wearing the jacket, she stepped around him, avoiding the discarded Macy's box her jacket had been wrapped in.

"Here, let me-" he started to say, but stopped when Susan glanced back at him. "You can't think I look like an old lady with this jacket on, can you?"

Natasha moved her feet so Bruce could sit at the opposite end of the sofa, thinking as he did that he only the beard kept him from looking every inch the compliant boy he'd once been. Even with it, the look on his face as he tore off the gift wrap-which looked like Susan had it since the 80s-made her feel she was somehow seeing a ghost of one of Bruce's Christmases past. Which was likely as much as she was going to get, if he continued to clam up about his childhood.

His exclamation of Oh my God as he opened the flaps of the box pushed the thought to the back of her mind, and she uncurled her legs to scoot closer to him on the sofa as he said, "Now these are a blast from the past."

By these he meant a big stack of vintage Captain America comics.

"Are they first editions?" Natasha asked, noting the dates of the issues were all from the 1940s.

"Yeah," Bruce replied, "though not exactly mint condition."

The covers were faded, tattered.

"I found those when we were down in the basement the other day," Aunt Susan said, running her hand along the sofa as she came around it to resume her chair. "I remembered how much you loved them when you were little and thought you might want to give them to your kids."

Your kids. She spoke about them as though the adoption were a sure thing. Natasha's pulse quickened, but she didn't let herself smile until she looked up at Bruce and saw one curving on his lips, a nostalgic look lighting his eyes.

"Definitely," he said. "These meant a lot to me as a kid."

"They did to us, too," said Susan, smiling as she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the arm of her chair, rubbing her hand over the supple leather.

"Us?" Natasha asked.

"Hm? Oh, my sister and me. And Brian."

Bruce had been rifling through the stack of comic books, turning the pages and looking at them as though he were meeting long-lost friends, but now he went absolutely still.

"There used to be a lot more," Aunt Susan went on, oblivious, "but our father destroyed them. He fought in the war, you see, and he wasn't very happy to come home and find his son idolizing a Super Soldier when men like him were on the front lines. Those are the only ones Brian managed to hide."

"You never told me that," Bruce said, lips barely moving as he half-swallowed the words. He stared down at the comics in his lap, the nostalgic expression gone, eyes hard as if the books had changed into something he'd never seen before.

His aunt considered him for a moment, then went on, "Elaine and I would sneak out of bed to read them with Brian after bad days with dad. It helped to think that there was someone out there who fought for justice and right. Never knowing someday our nephew would be his brother-in-arms. With his girlfriend," she added with a smile at Natasha.

She made herself return it, turn to Bruce and say lightly, "You'll have to show these to Steve. Get him to autograph them," but her voice scraped over the words.

"Yeah. Thanks, Aunt Susan. This is really thoughtful."

He packed the comics back into the cardboard box, and Natasha could tell by the set of his mouth as he closed the flaps that he was packing away any further discussion on the subject, too.

The bedroom door stood ajar when Natasha emerged from the bathroom later that night. She slipped silently through it, although the squeak of the hinges as she pulled it shut behind her gave her away. Not that she was trying to sneak in.

Bruce, already in bed, didn't stir at her entrance. He wasn't asleep. Enough light poured through the open curtains that she could make out the stillness of his shoulders. He wasn't the heaviest of sleepers, but even he breathed more deeply than that when he slept. He lay on his side, facing toward the window and the waxing gibbous moon.

It gave her an idea about how to break the silence. To his credit, he hadn't let himself slip into a brooding mood after the painful moment when they were exchanging presents, though by the end of the night it had been obvious the veneer of happiness was wearing thin. He'd been quiet and distracted while they watched It's a Wonderful Life after dinner, ordinarily one of his favorite Christmas traditions.

Untying the belt of her robe, she sang low: "Buffalo gals won't you come out tonight, won't you come out tonight, won't you come out tonight...Buffalo gals won't you came out tonight, and…." Like George Bailey in the movie, Bruce's voice joined with hers, a little off-key as he harmonized. "…dance by the light of the moon."

Not the most beautiful duet ever sung, especially not in the house of a musician, but Natasha didn't care. As her robe slipped off her shoulders and pooled on the floor at her feet, he rolled onto his other side to face her, lifting the blankets for her as she joined him in bed and putting his arms around her to draw her close.

"What is it you want, Tasha?" he murmured. "You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and-" He stopped short, the pillowcase rustling beneath his head as he shook it. "I can't give you the moon any more than George Bailey could give it to Mary."

"She didn't want the moon," Natasha replied, stroking his cheek, the softness of his beard. "And neither do I."

She wanted him to be open with her, to trust her enough to open up, but she knew from personal experience how hard-earned Bruce's trust was. She'd been patient before to make the lullaby work. She would have to be again.

"Bruce Banner," she said in his ear, his beard prickling against her cheek and chin, "I'll love you till the day I die."

In answer, he pressed his lips to hers with an insistence she understood even if he couldn't put it into words. Natasha kissed him back, wrapped her arms and legs around him as he covered his body with her own. For now, actions would have to speak for them.