AN: Hey so this little (ok, so not so little) piece was inspired y the lovely Anon on tumbler who keeps asking the best questions and makes the tag get filled with positive posts and gets some people to share their wonderful metals and opinions. The question was in regards to BruceNat's first kiss, and what AU scenario you liked. I am a fan of their kiss, I thought it was fitting (of course I would have liked it longer and with a different outcome *ahem* Bruce staying *ahem*), but the question got me thinking if I would have liked their first kiss to have been sooner in the movie. And then I asked myself when? And then how? And then this happened!

So it's a little long, sorry about that, but the muse invaded my mind and controlled my writing for the two days in which this came into the world.

It's basically a re-write/continuation of the farm conversation they had.

-Not mine, will never be mine. The only thing I own are my mistakes.

Numb. It was what she felt and how she felt. A numbness and dullness that engulfed her, protected her from the horrible memories and created stories which her mind had been exposed too. The little she could actually think on the subject, she couldn't decide which was worst, that sinking and unreliable sensation of fogginess, or the shattering and traumatic stance she would enter if her mind let itself wonder through the scenes and smells of the Red Room.

But even if blocked, even if groggy and disoriented, her mind didn't need a fresh reminder to remember all too well what she had been taught inside those walls, how she had been raised. More than clear memories, there was the feeling, the sensation of utter darkness and emptiness, of dominance and superiority. It was more than being simply hit with her worst fear, with that which she most dreaded, no, it was being hit with the obscure reminder: she already was the thing she most despised, a monster they had carefully and skillfully created.

Clint had chosen to come home, to surround them with the warmth and safety house Barton was excellent at providing. Natasha, if she concentrated hard enough, could understand his motives, the drive which had made him sacrifice that which he held most dear: his family, so the team could gather strength (both mentally and physically). But as much comfort and warmth the Barton's could provide, as much as Natasha tried to shake the feeling of someone pulling her back down the rabbit hole she had long climbed out of, this time it didn't seem to be enough.

Between trying to beat her own mind and trying to persuade Lila Barton to show her a picture the kid had drawn, Natasha had missed the opportunity to call out for the use of the shower. She ended up not minding her missed opportunity, finding some small enjoyment in watching how Tony and Clint called dibs, as if they were merely children fighting for their turn. She had also noticed that neither Steve nor Bruce had even said anything in regards to showering opportunities, and so she hadn't bothered either. She didn't think she had enough energy to put up a façade in front of the adults in the room.

She was wrapped in a robe she had borrowed from Laura, the older woman chatting comfortably and gently as she had informed Nat about the sleeping arrangements the Avengers would have to make if they planned on staying the night. Natasha had some recollection of her pleading for Bruce to not be roomed with Tony, but her mind failed her when she tried to remember if she had suggested Bruce stay with her? Laura hadn't said more than necessary, but had simply given Natasha a pure smile, one filled with the sort of love Natasha would normally associate with the Barton family: pure and honest.

Not for the first time, Natasha was immensely grateful for Laura Barton and her all too knowing gaze.

The bathroom she went after was the one in the guestroom, where she could hear the shower was turned off and inviting her aching body in. She had her clothing pressed tightly to the front of her body, her eyes focused out front and missing the normal details they would normally catch on in less than a second.

If her mind hadn't been dazed, then she could have noticed the perfectly folded pants on the side of the bed and the rumpled shirt which rested on the chair. But her mind was still protecting her, still fighting to get her through her basic needs before even trying to restore itself to its original and normal stance.

She turned the knob and for the first time in a long time, Natasha was startled as she found herself face to face with Bruce Banner, his image suddenly invading her mind in more ways than one. She could see him, tired and wounded, traumatized by what had happened to him; she could smell him, dirt and a hint of sweat mixed with tears.

Bruce had been standing inside the bathroom for a while, he didn't exactly know for how much time, his mind suddenly not being capable of registering any of the little mundane tasks it normally could. But the turn of the handle had gotten his attention and had made him turn around, his eyes opening, yet not softening as she had come into view, a look on her face which mirrored his own.

It was suddenly hard to look at her, to stare at the same semblance he normally carried around reflected back to him. Bruce couldn't decide if the pain which came from staring at her was because he got reminded of his own suffering, or because he had never wished that same suffering upon anyone else, much less, someone like her.

It was probably a combination of both, he concluded.

"I thought no one was in." She opened up, her voice a bit rough and shaky, two things which pained both Bruce and Natasha to hear.

"I thought I'd use this before we run out of hot water." He answered her, his voice hoarse and low.

They looked at each other with matching expressions once again, expressions which claimed they had both been thrown out of their element, out of their normal persona. But there was lingering doubt in them, a thought brewing inside their minds, that maybe those people standing at the bathroom's entrance, with broken souls and distraught minds, were exactly who they were.

It was a collective thought.

"I guess it's better if I join you, huh?" Natasha eyes were on him as she spoke, her smile trying to make itself known but failing halfway through her weak attempt at humor. It was the only way she could talk to him without breaking. If she let herself be serious about what was happening, Natasha knew she would crumble, and she couldn't, it wasn't something she did.

"Um, I mean you're welcome to use it first, if you want of course." He stammered out, his eyes flicking over her robe and then back towards her face, a face he noticed, couldn't decide which mask to wear.

They were a mess, both of them.

"I think it's best if I'd join you. Wouldn't want you running out of hot water, wouldn't we?" She managed a weak smile as she answered him, but her eyes were lost, lost in a cloudiness Bruce wished he could match, then maybe he could throw a line back at her and they could pretend they were back at the Tower, that they were fine. But he couldn't, his brain had already been invaded by the disastrous images he could remember from his transformation, and by those he had been able to catch on the news.

"No, I guess not." He tried, a very weak and very false smile appearing on his face, before shaking his head and moving out of the way, using his arm to let Natasha know she could have the ensuite.

Natasha appreciated his effort, but knew it to be as fruitless as her own attempt of lightening things up, at trying to ignore the obvious. But she furrowed her eyebrows, both at him and herself as she realized that maybe she hadn't uttered those last words out of pure defense and protectiveness, that maybe -they could mean something.

All of her life they had told her she was nothing, no one but a piece in someone else's play. For a long time she had thought she had corrected that, that she had been in control of whose lies she was telling, convincing herself that just because she had changed directors she had been free. Oh, but how had she been wrong. From one handler to another, it didn't matter if Nick Fury's intentions were honest and that she still respected the man more than anyone in the spy business, he was still someone whom had given her orders.

All of her life, orders and limitations, always silenced whenever she expressed or thought of anything she might want for herself, there was always something in the way, something far more important than her own needs.

So she reached for his arm, bare, as he only had a towel wrapped around his waist, his chest in display, without a trace of shyness in him, a consequence of many lullabies and having his brain meddled and prodded by an enhanced.

Natasha was suddenly hit with the realization of how much she wished his lack of modesty were due to simple trust and -comfort. The thought made her shiver, but it also made her bolder.

She grabbed him and made him stop on his way out. He turned to her with that look in his eyes, the look she hated seeing on him, one of disgust and shame, all directed towards himself.

"Natasha, what-?"

She didn't let him finish, didn't want to continue seeing him in that state of despair, of defeat.

"I thought I was joining-"

"Are you out of your mind?"

He didn't let her finish either, his defensive walls, ones Natasha had prided herself in being able to cross and meet with him on the other side of them, coming back up and protecting him.

Natasha couldn't help but wince as she felt him pull away from her, both from her physical grasp and from an emotional one as well.

"Bruce-"

Again she couldn't finish her thought before he stopped her, his tone wounded, his eyes begging -for what, Natasha wasn't sure. Salvation? Forgiveness? Death? All of those ideas crossed her mind, all of them made her shiver in dread.

"What are you doing?"

It was as if he didn't even trust his own eyes, as if everything in front of him he had to second guess, to doubt and to question it. The usual look of curiosity Natasha would always find whenever Bruce would be confused or puzzled by something gone from his face, the only expression left she could read was horror.

"I'm running with it." She answered, taking a bold step forward, her body on autopilot, her brain freezing every other thought that wasn't Bruce from her mind, trying desperately to cling to the only thing which was managing to somehow bring her back from her original haze without disrupting her brain, without bringing back the pain and nauseas of the Red Room.

Bruce couldn't react as fast as he would have liked, to doge Natasha's touch as she came near enough to lay a hand gently on his cheek, to stare into his eyes, searching almost desperately for the man she had been getting to know over the past months.

His brain froze as he really looked at the former spy in front of him, not a trace of any known mask on her face. Bruce couldn't back away from her, not when it was her the one who was looking at him like that.

"With you. If running's the way to go, then, as far as you want." Her voice was soft, tentative, filled with something which resembled sadness, but laced with a hint of hope Bruce wasn't used to hearing when the conversation involved the future, especially a future with him.

He averted his gaze from her ever piercing orbs, and her small and delicate smile, the one he knew she had probably only ever offered to him and probably to Clint, a smile which Natasha only reserved for those whom she loved.

"The world, saw the Hulk, the real Hulk for the first time. You know I have to leave." He walked away, his face looking down, not wanting to see her, not trusting his own will and control around her. He needed to disappear, needed to go before he hurt anyone else, either physically or emotionally.

"And you assume that I have to stay?" Her voice and sentence came as a surprise to both of them, and it made Bruce turn to her, because he needed to see her, her face and posture, needed confirmation in her eyes of what she was implying.

Natasha was treading on unknown territory, on allowing herself something for once, on putting her wants and needs before a team and before the greater good. But if there was one thing the vivid dream from the little -Scarlett Witch- had left her with, was the sudden urge to prove it wrong, to prove that she wasn't the monster, the worthless living weapon they had created. And so, for once in her life, she allowed her emotions and needs to dominate, to rule her body and mind, to remind her that there was something she could have that was exactly the opposite of what she had been trained to do; she could break free of the ever persistent haunting of Russia and the dreaded Red Room.

"No, but-" He stammered out, not sure on how to proceed, his brain suddenly tightening, hurting from the excessive amount of thinking it wanted to do.

"I can't have- This is not- Natasha I am a ticking bomb, with an easy to manipulate detonator. Where in the world can I go where it will be safe, where I'm not a threat?"

The answer came as natural to Natasha as hacking a computer did, something which would have scared her and probably should have made her run, but not on that day, not when all she wanted, was to be free of the burden she carried.

"You're not a threat to me." She answered him, the honesty in her voice almost making herself cry; the raw and vulnerable way she stood in front of him, her eyes piercing through his own, her lips clenched in a soft but determined manner, her arm and hand reaching for him, for his own hand.

He was hesitating, his mind trying to form a coherent way of explaining to her why everything about what she was insinuating they should do was wrong.

Natasha could tell, her mind clear enough for her to read the way he hunched a little more, how he squared his jaw and tucked his arms in -he was pulling away.

"I trust you, Bruce." Her words were honest and raw, her eyes almost pleading to him to accept her offer, to join her and meet her halfway down the road. It was a broken, messed up, dangerous road, but it was one they could try and make their way down together.

It was wrong, against everything he knew was sane and proper and right, a bad idea which he was certain nothing good would come out of it in the end. His experience told him to run, but his present day, Avenger mind told him to stop running, to take the hand offered by the woman in front and -run with it.

And so, he did.

Natasha didn't react, didn't show the full range of her emotions: the sudden happiness she felt consume her, the odd sensation of belonging as he stepped inside the room with her, close enough again so she could touch his cheek, his bare torso, and slowly relieve him from his towel, baring him -not for the first time- to her.

There was a soft blush which crept unto his cheeks. Bruce couldn't help it as he was under one of the most intense stares he had ever come upon, a stare which penetrated through his eyes and tried to dig deeper, tried to get past his exterior shell and into his broken soul.

They didn't speak, the only sounds surrounding them were the soft patting of feet that could be heard from downstairs, and the soft creaking and tapping sounds which came as Natasha turned the shower on.

His hands trembled, moving on their own accord, ignoring the internal screams that the idea was horrible, that he should get out while he still could, that it wasn't worth putting Natasha at risk for it.

Natasha grabbed his hand in hers, the movement an echo of what the lullaby consisted of. She could tell he made the connection as his trembles subsided and his breathing hitched before evening out. He was nervous, but in that moment, Natasha concluded that being nervous was a far better feeling than being haunted.

He was tentative, but she hadn't expected anything else, for all his boldness in the lab and when joking about Stark and Barton with her, she knew him to be shy, modest, and most of all, respectful. It was hard not to kiss him them, to give into her most primitive instincts, ones which she hadn't known still resided within her before opening herself up to Bruce Banner.

His eyes locked with hers, a question in them which she was tempted to kiss away, but she wouldn't, she wouldn't risk this moment, not when everything else felt as if it were falling apart yet this seemed like a firm enough building.

Bruce mind was shut off, most thoughts of the Hulk and the destruction he had caused, temporarily removed from the front of his brain as he moved closer to her, as his hands took hold of the soft and loose belt holding her robe in place before pulling it.

She let the garment fall, stepping closer to him, her lips quirking into one of the smallest smiles she had ever given him, small and sad, but oh so honest and filled with something which Bruce had never thought to see in someone's face when looking at him again.

"Natasha, I -"

"Bruce", she pleaded. She didn't want to ruin this, and she didn't want for him to dismantle it either, not when she was finally feeling like somebody again, like she could belong somewhere.

"I trust you." Was what he said, his voice a strange combination of adoration, trust, sadness and longing which Natasha was sure only he could combine.

She pulled him inside the shower, their bodies getting wet, their eyes fluttering upon the sensation of water pouring over them. But their gazes never wondered down, always staring into the other's face, towards their eyes, their mouths, their brows. Because both had that trait in common, they could read people and into people.

It was clear that neither of them knew how to do this, that both were lost and still healing; but it was also obvious, that even if it was untimely and a bit unfortunate, they both wanted it.

It was Natasha the one who turned her eyes away first, allowing herself a quick view of him, taking him in, trying to imprint his body to her memory - because there was a murder-bot pinning after them with two enhanced people doing its bidding, and she wasn't sure that this time, having a Hulk (as Tony had put it so many times) made much of a difference.

She reached for the shampoo and was genuinely surprised as she felt Bruce's hand come after hers, gently laying it on top as she grabbed the bottle. She felt his body next, slowly, but firmly pressing into hers. She shivered, despite the still warm enough water.

Natasha was genuinely surprised at his sudden boldness; she had thought it would have taken a bit more prompting before he even dared to move. But for once, she was glad in having been wrong.

His lips ghosted over her shoulder, the hand that wasn't with her own, gently touching her hip, a grasp so feather like, unlike any touch Natasha had ever received from anyone before.

Bruce felt her sigh against him and if his mind had already surrendered to her, her action put him into overdrive, parts of his brain that hadn't been used in a long time suddenly taking over and allowing him to enjoy the moment, to feast on the little flare of hope she now represented.

Natasha turned as she felt him press his lips firmly over her shoulder and travel upwards, the bottle of shampoo falling from her grasp as she did.

It was sudden and rushed, but somehow slow and exploring. He was the one who reached for her, and Natasha was more than happy to let him take the slight control, allowing him that which he most craved in his life, as he gave her what she had been longing for far longer than she cared to admit: a sense of belonging.

His lips were stiff, but warm, wet with water, and out of practice, but they were giving and she found herself enjoying the press of him against her far more than she ever thought possible.

She was intoxicating in a way he had never even dared to dream, her scent filling his senses and overwriting anything else on his mind. She was soft and tough and tender and demanding all at once and he tried to match her with every move, tried to surrender to instinct and pray that it was enough for her, because it was all he could offer.

His hand gripped her waist harder as she deepened the slow kiss, wanting to fully taste him, to loose herself for a couple of more seconds before returning to the world. He matched her rhythm and even went as far as to give a quick nip at her lower lip, the action startling Natasha, allowing his tongue entrance.

She was the first to moan, a deep sound at the back of her throat which prompted him to move his other hand to her back, up her neck to cradle her head.

It was half an automatic move and half a fully conscious one when she reached for him, her hand landing on his torso and slowly moving downward, feeling every muscle twitch beneath her fingers, every breath he released.

It was her hand, dangerously low on his torso which snapped him out of the trance he had allowed himself to enter. He broke their languid kiss off, his eyes clouding with a lot emotions, the strongest of them, fear.

Natasha could see it, and her expression was one of question as he moved as far away from her was possible in the small space they had, the water starting to run a little colder now.

"Natasha", he started. His voice was defeated, tired, as he added, "What are doing?"

"I told you, running with-" She took a step towards him, away from the direct spray of the shower head, her eyes open and bare.

"Why? I can't- I can't - What kind of future could you have with me?"

His question offended her, his assumption wounded her, but she still wouldn't stop him, willing to hear him completely, giving him a chance at clearing his brain and thoughts.

"Everywhere I go I am a threat, I can't have stability. I can't have -this, a family; do the math I physically can't."

He was hurting, and Natasha knew that there were a lot of reasons for it. Same as her, he was haunted both by a past and by a future; by the thing he had become, the potential killing machine, incapable of feeling anything when doing its job. She realized he was hurting because he thought that it was only him, that he was alone in fearing for the future. But he wasn't, oh how he wasn't.

"Neither can't I."

It was not something she found easy to do, to speak of the Red Room, she had only ever written about it, once, when she had joined SHIELD and Fury had asked for her story, her real one. She had written three fake biographies before she had been able to pen her true life down, the details a bit sketchy, the timing not always right, but every word of them true to her memory. She had told some aspects of her life as a member of the KGB to Clint, but never about the Room itself; the memories of ruthless training, of carefully constructed lies, usually made her enter into a catatonic state - much like the one she had been in earlier.

Bruce stood still, listening to her narrate part of her life, the terrible and nightmare inducing past she had been forced to live. His eyes welled up with unshed tears, as hers did as well, not being able to control herself in front of him, not wanting to build up more walls in a place where she felt they were almost all down.

The urge to hug her was strong, but he resisted, knowing that more than appreciate it she would probably be offended by his assumption of needing comfort. He could see behind her confession that there was already a slight irritation towards him. But she had just spoken words he was sure she hadn't ever uttered to anyone else, not even Clint. Bruce found himself at a loss for a proper response.

"So we just disappear?" He ended up asking, his voice broken and heavy, matching their eyes.

"Why not?" She answered him back, her eyes on his, searching for his answer in their confusion, surprise and -warmth.

"Natasha, this will only implode."

"We don't know what will happen. We don't know if we'll be able to hold Ultron off and get him off the net. We don't know a lot of things, Bruce." She reached for him as she said it, cupping his cheek in her hand, appreciating how he leaned in and how he covered her own hand with his. He wasn't totally lost to her, not yet.

"But that doesn't keep us from trying."

He stared at her, at her face framed by her wet hair, at her lips, red and still a bit swollen from their previous kissing, her shoulders and her body, soft under his touch. He had learned to control himself long ago, but he had never even dared to get this close to anyone, not after…

She kissed him this time, and was more than glad when he didn't push her away but responded to her, slowly pushing her back unto the spray of water, now close to freezing. They both shivered as their warm skin got touched by the cooler droplets. But neither cared, far too engrossed in the other to mind the fact they had used up all the hot water.

"We can stop if you want, just don't shut me out again." She whispered to him, a hand on his cheek, the other fisted in his hair, playing with the long curls she had grown to like so much.

He nodded, his eyes closed, his breathing in perfect control, his heart rate slowing down as he listened to her voice.

"I'm sorry if this seems- I haven't-"

He went from frightened to nervous in less than five minutes. Natasha couldn't help the small, knowing smile which came upon her face.

"Bruce?" She called for him, waiting until he opened his eyes to finish her sentence. "You're a huge dork." She smirked as he scrunched his brow in confusion, almost making her laugh. But she went in and kissed him again, slower than the rest of their kisses, but firmer, with a goal in mind.

Bruce was startled, but relaxed once he remembered her words and her teasing eyes as she called him a dork, something she apparently liked to do. He took a deep breath before diving in again, this time taking control of their kiss, his arms engulfing her, pressing her towards him, finally clearing all thoughts that weren't her from his mind -if only at least for a little while longer.

They each had a towel in their hands; he was finishing up drying his hair, only wearing a pair of pants as he looked for a shirt to wear; she was just starting to dry her own hair, dressed again in the robe Laura had given her. Each was concentrated on their current task, both less traumatized than they had been before, but still a bit stiff, still a bit thrown off their usual game.

It was a lot to take in, your worst nightmare being thrown in your face and then your best dream following. But both were still standing, the silence surrounding them not awkward, but comforting, a peace both had been searching for ever since the attack had ended.

"It's a good thing we went last, we finished up all the hot water." His voice was small and childlike, filled with both amusement and weariness, as if he were afraid of what her response to him would be. It was -endearing, and Natasha could not help but smile, a full and honest grin as she looked towards him, watching how he tried to put a shirt on, struggling with the arms.

She went towards him, laid a hand on his back to calm him down and proceeded to help him with his shirt.

"Hey", she greeted him, a small, shy smile on her face, one which matched his demeanor perfectly.

Bruce gulped, still not used to having her so close, but never doubting the fact that she was there, open and looking at him like the hero he wanted desperately to be. He supposed, he looked at her the same way too.

"Hey", he answered, their bodies close again; his in full clothing now, with messed up hair; hers in that same robe, with her change of clothing clutched to the front of her body.

She stood on her toes to give him a light kiss, just a simple press of her lips against his, a reminder that she was now free to do so. She broke it before Bruce could respond properly, a tingling sensation left on his mouth, as if she had imprinted herself on him.

"We should hurry, before Clint barges in looking for me, or Tony decides to check up on you." She informed, leaving him standing there as she went over to the other side of the room, laying her clothes out before beginning to dress herself.

Bruce gave a light chuckle as he watched her teasing eyes leave him and watched her head for the bed, enjoying a little too much just how comfortable she could make herself around him. It was an unusual happenstance, finding someone who didn't walk around him as if he were radioactive (even if he sort of was).

"I'm not the one who still hasn't changed." He replied, diverting his gaze from her as she turned towards him.

Her eyebrows raised in amusement, the hint of a smirk on her face.

"That can easily change, Dr. Banner." She teased and threw her shirt on.

Bruce's eyes widen and Natasha found his reaction adoring.

The sun was getting low, the last rays of the day seeping through the widow. Outside she could hear Steve and Tony, both letting off steam with the other, verbally sparring as only they knew how.

Below she could hear Laura and the kids, the woman trying to get dinner on the table while the little ones bombarded her with questions about their guests. Behind her -behind her she could hear and feel Bruce. She heard his slow breathing and she could feel the heat radiating from his body, she swore she could also feel his intense gaze on her.

"We're damaged goods, all of us. We've been pretending to be a team for so long now." He whispered to her, a sadness in his voice Natasha was figuring out would take even more than her to get rid of. But he was right on something, they were damaged goods, all of them, in one way or another.

Her hand sought out his, and she was grateful when he accepted it, intertwining their fingers, both of them looking out the window towards where Stark and Rogers were starting up a cutting-wood contest.

"We are a team," she responded. "A very messed up one, but we are good together. Better than what I had originally thought." She looked at him when she said that, her eyes calm and observant.

"You look tired, Bruce."

"Yeah, well, it hasn't been the best of days." He answered, a sarcastic small chuckle leaving his mouth.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him, desperate for some light humor.

"Well, it hadn't been anyway." He corrected, smiling at her, a sadden smile, but at least it was honest.

"Rest. I'll let Laura know you'll be sleeping, so she won't wake you up for dinner. Unless you're hungry then I suggest you better hurry down before Clint gets to the table and empties it before anyone of us can have a go at it."

"You know, I'm not the only one who looks worn out." He answered.

"I'll be fine." She tried to hide her exhaustion, but she couldn't bring herself to fully mask her fatigue, not to him, not after what had just happened between them.

"Natasha…"

She diverted her gaze, focused it on something which would help her organize her thoughts again.

"I'm telling Laura we won't go down for dinner, then we'll both rest up. We need it."

Bruce nodded, content with her answer. It baffled Natasha for a moment, how someone was concerned for her, how someone was willing to put her needs before their own. She had spent so long either blaming herself or carrying the weight of others on her shoulders, she had forgotten that it could be possible.

"Of course that won't raise any eyebrows." He joked, looking down at his bare feet.

"Look at it this way, at least it won't be a rumor, because it's the truth." Her tease only got him to fully blush and Natasha had to bite her lip to keep herself from giving him a full sized grin. He truly was a great dork.

"Ah yes, that does make it better." He added, a whimsical smile on his face as he sat down on the bed.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, but smiled nevertheless before leaning over to give him another chaste kiss, her lips barely touching his before she pulled back, their foreheads touching as she uttered "No running without me Bruce."

She felt his breath hitched as she spoke the words. She had read his files, she knew his MO.

Bruce opened his eyes as she straightened up, a serious stare coming from her, almost as if she were threatening him -but one couldn't really threaten when out of the eyes, fear could also be detected.

"No running." He spoke.

"Not until we finish the job, until-"

"The monster I help create is stopped. I promise."

She smiled at him, a bashful grin, one she would sometimes send his way after a lullaby had been successful, or after he had finished explaining something to her in his lab.

"If we run, we run together." She added, a wink following her sentence as she turned towards the door, already picturing the little smug smile Laura would give her when she informed the woman to neither disturb Bruce nor her for a little while longer.

"As far as you want." He whispered, with an astonished and disbelieving tone. Because as much as he wanted to believe her words, that they could run, that he wasn't a threat to her -it was still hard to conceive the Other Guy as nothing more than chaos and destruction, and he was now certain that if there was one person he wanted to protect from exactly that -it was Natasha. She had suffered enough in her own life to be burdened with the sufferings of his.

"I adore you." She whispered, not really knowing if she wanted him to hear her admission or not, not sure of whether they were doing something right. But she was sure of one thing, and that was what she had just whispered. She adored that man more than anyone else she had come to know, and she wanted it, a future with him in it.

For the first time in her life she wanted something and felt as if she could maybe get it, and she wasn't going down without a fight for it. Ultron would be stopped and they would run, rest from a world of lies and deceits, of murder and chaos. They would run with it, and see where it could take them.

AN2: I took some artistic liberties (I guess) with the time, because I don't exactly remember what goes on when during that entire sequence (my brain usually freezes every time Nat or Bruce come on screen, in any movie), so what I basically wrote was that Steve, Clint and Tony get to the shower first. Clint goes off with Laura once he finishes and Tony and Steve go off to chop some wood and let out a little of the steam they had been harvesting for the day. And Bruce was going to shower but gets interrupted by Nat around the same time.

(I saw the movie three times at the cinema and I can't bloody remember the timeline! Not my fault BruceNat robbed my attention every single time!

But anyway, hope you enjoyed.

x

Feriferfer

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