This is quick, barely checked over, my first Avenger's fic, and full of feels from my Avenger's 2 high. There will be spoilers. I don't own anything related to Marvel, except a few issues of comic books I dug out of a 50% off bin, and I don't think that counts. It's mainly introspection. I'm thinking about extending it into a full length story. Do tell me what you think!

Hurt and betrayal weren't new to Bruce Banner, and in hindsight, putting his trust in an already not so trustworthy spy that switched allegiances a lot in her career was stupid. She lured him in, the way she did with any mark. It was cruel of her to act like she wanted the same things as him. She spoke of running away and living somewhere quiet, but of course, when the time came, when he decided that he had enough and thought that when he ran, for once there would be someone to run with him, she disappointed him.

No you dumbass, she didn't disappoint you, she pushed you into a pit.

"I adore you."

Her words haunted him ever since he woke up. The Other Guy seemed to make the decision to leave for him. He didn't know what he would have done if he woke up to see Natasha staring down at him, no doubt with a proper explanation ready. The master manipulator would always find a way to use him. No doubt she would have soothed him, just enough to keep him calm until they needed him again.

But isn't it nice to be needed?

Not when Natasha Romanoff was involved.

It was ironic that the place he ended up was Russia. He hadn't meant it to be that way, but he figured that Natasha wouldn't think to search for him in her homeland. Then again, Natasha probably wouldn't be looking for him anyway. He lived in a quiet rural area, in nothing more than a shack overlooking the mountains and a small creek. It was also freezing all the time. The empty barren landscape did nothing to bring peace though, not the sort of peace he felt when Natasha brought him a cup of tea in the morning or whispered something funny about Steve or Tony in his ear. Bruce was fully aware that he was lonely, but couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

He figured that when he was needed, he would be found.

Besides, in the end, the best way to calm him down was a lullaby, and he figured that Natasha was still the only one that would be able to do it.

Before

Bruce just wanted to disappear. He wished that he could fold in on himself over and over again until he was as small as a single atom. His teeth clacked together painfully and he shivered, very much aware of the fact that he did not have any clothes. He saw her black shoes before she threw a blanket over his body, and hauled him up into a sitting position. It was the first time he lost control since he chased her, since he almost—

"Banner's down. He's fine." Natasha's voice was low and businesslike for a moment before she switched off her set, "Dr. Banner? Dr. Banner—it's time to move—"

"I killed—I almost—"

"You didn't kill anyone, Bruce." He blinked, peering around at the wreckage, he could have sworn he heard screaming—"

"How'd you do that, Romanoff?" Barton called out to her.

Bruce was confused, but the pressure of her hand against his back told him it was time to go. His tired, aching body had to be supported by Natasha, but she carried him with grace and dignity, up into the shuttle where everything was safe and quiet—but it wasn't, not with all the blinking lights and bleeps, not with everyone (except Barton, Barton was flying the aircraft) staring at him like he did something more freakish than usual. Natasha was still beside him, rubbing the blankets for some form of friction.

"Once we're back, we'll get you some proper clothes." She told him, her voice was still clipped and short, but there was a soothing quality.

"Seriously, though. Usually it takes hours for us to chase him down." Steve rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I mean, how did you do that?"

"I'm not sure."

Bruce flinched away from Natasha. "W-what's g-going on?"

"Well." Tony Stark's unmistakably cocky voice sounded from whatever speaker was nearest, "Our resident black widow talked the Hulk down with a pretty little lullaby."

"What? That isn't—"

"It worked." Natasha's voice was as cold as the day he met her. She stood up, "That's what matters."

Hours later, Natasha perched on the edge of the sofa, lazily surfing through files on a tablet. She gave Bruce no delusions about being able to sneak up on her, immediately looking up the moment he entered the room.

"I—uh—wanted to thank you—"

"For what?"

"I don't know." Bruce shook his head, feeling as if he was under a microscope.

"I don't know if it could happen that way more than once." Natasha immediately closed out of what she was working on, "But if it is replicable, we should try to do so, because it's far more efficient than tranqs or guns or really anything."

"What—what did you do exactly?"

Natasha gestured for Bruce to sit next to her on the sofa. She was close, not as close as after he transformed, but close enough that he felt nervous. Shouldn't she be the one more afraid of him?

As if reading his thoughts, Natasha spoke, "A healthy dose of fear keeps you alive."

That was it. Natasha was the only one that knew just how dangerous he was, and the only one that treated it with the same level of severity. Everyone else joked and laughed it off, but Natasha knew what it was like to be on the other end of the Other Guy's rage. Yet, she still smiled at him and offered her hand. She was humming something slow and sweet while she did this, running her hand up and down his arm.

"The sun's getting real low." She whispered, and a faint memory of her saying that flickered through his mind, almost immediately chased away by the feeling of her fingertips on his skin, "It's been a long day. We're all very tired."

Bruce laughed weakly, "You've been training it in me. Ever since the helicarrier, you've been saying things like that—humming that—are you attempting to control my mind?"

"No. I'm hoping to control the Other Guy. Subliminal messaging." She gestured outside, "The sun's getting real low, doctor."

"So this is your way of controlling the situation." Bruce tipped his head back, closing his eyes as she slid her hand down his forearm one more time, "And it worked?"

"Yeah. Yeah it did."

"Sun's getting real low huh? Where'd you get that one?"

"You say it when you're tired."

"Oh—" He didn't expect her to know things like this, but then again, she was a spy. Spies observed.

Natasha didn't have time to be upset.

She purposely made it so. Getting the new Avengers team together was hard and difficult work that required hours of planning, practice, and the occasional mission. Really, she didn't feel like she had the right to be mad that he left. He was always wanting to run and run and run but that last time, she thought that maybe she could run too. It was a happy fantasy while it lasted. A beautiful delusion that she constructed for herself when it seemed like things wouldn't be so dire without her. Of course, the long list of people, robots, aliens, and who knows what else shattered that. Natasha would never be able to run away from her work, without constantly wondering if there was someone else she could help, someone else that needed to be terminated, another life lost, another life saved.

Her ledger still wasn't clean and running away wouldn't fix it.

Natasha couldn't allow herself to be mad at Bruce because she wronged him. She used him one last time, and fate of the world be damned, that was all it took to rip apart the tentative trust they developed. He would assume that she was still the operative that lied her ass off on their first meeting. In many ways, she still was. The Red Room bent and twisted her from the moment she was orphaned, but she was allowed to choose now. She was allowed to be a better person, even if by helping far better people, she had to dirty her hands, or let Bruce go on yet another sabbatical.

She chose to go with Barton.

She chose to be Aunt Nat.

She chose to push Bruce.

She chose to fight.

It was better for the fallout of her choices to rain down on her own tattered body, rather than that of to what others believe (except maybe Barton and Laura, they understood her better than anyone she had ever met) she wouldn't simply throw them under the bus when it suited her. She wanted to be helpful. She wanted to be good. She would continue to fight for their sakes.

It's the only thing you know how to do.