This fic is first and foremost a birthday gift to blueincandescence, the ultimate BruceNat meta writer, whose amazing writing about Bruce, Natasha, and their relationship was one of the things that inspired me during my early days of becoming a BruceNat fic writer. And that was before I found out that she was also a breathtaking fic writer, a maker of astonishing fanvids, a great beta, and a lovely friend. So this is not only her birthday gift, but also a great big thank you for all the beta work through multiple fandoms, the random chats, and the absolutely fantastic content of her blog. If you even vaguely like BruceNat, follow her immediately. I can't include the links on this page, but you can find her under the name blueincandescence on AO3, YouTube, and Tumblr. Check them all out — you'll thank me later.

Happy Birthday, T! I hope it's a great one. Keep doing the good fandom work.

The Honeymooners

Bruce didn't consider himself egotistical, but he couldn't help but notice that Tony wasn't as upset about his departure as he normally was.

There was no how can you leave me, no heavy sigh of we've lost the old spark. Tony didn't even pretend to cry when Bruce stopped off at the Avengers Tower lab to say his goodbyes, his battered suitcase in one hand and Natasha's leather bag in the other.

"Not that I don't appreciate the late onset maturity," Bruce faltered when Tony waved from across the lab and didn't try to hug him, "But you do know that I'm going to be gone for two weeks?" He paused to let that sink in, pushed forward when it didn't seem to. "In a row?"

Tony finally sat back from the table he appeared to be clearing — Bruce gaped at the sight — and sighed his way into a smirk. "I've tried inviting myself along on your vacations, but you shoot me down every time. That, and Natasha made it abundantly clear that she isn't above reviving the assassination portion of her career if I try coming along anyway. She's scary," he added distantly.

He cherry-picked a few loose washers and screws from the table and tossed them into orderly bins on the desk behind him. Exactly one second of consideration passed before he shrugged, pulled up a larger bin and pushed everything on the table into it with one swipe of his arm.

"There," he pronounced. "And Pepper says my lab is always a mess."

Bruce pointedly did not comment on the clutter that clung to every other surface like a swift-growing fungus.

"Since when did fear keep you from doing anything?" he asked instead.

"Since I've discovered the horrors of third wheeling," Tony replied, deadly serious. "There's nothing more useless than a third wheel. And I say that as both an engineer and a playboy. Well, former playboy. Pepper's coming for the weekend."

The lack of despair over Bruce's departure and the pathetic attempt to clean up suddenly made a twisted sort of sense. In Tony logic, at any rate.

Bruce grinned. "Have fun."

The click of Natasha's boot heels and the rumble of her enormous rolling suitcase announced her arrival. Her evaluating gaze made a complete circuit of the lab before Tony could manage a greeting.

"Pepper's coming?" she concluded, smirking.

Tony's expression wandered through half-hearted irritation and settled on something mournful as he turned back to Bruce. "You're really leaving me."

"Yes."

Tony sighed as though his heart would break. "I lost you to Romanoff long ago."

"You act like it's a secret love affair," Natasha interrupted. "With Pepper," she clarified flatly, anticipating and then steadfastly ignoring Tony's exclamation of "It is!" as he finally stepped forward to hug Bruce with far too much zeal. "You're excited that she'll be here for the weekend," she continued. "How long have you been married now?"

"Well," Tony answered over Bruce's shoulder, although he was clearly throwing the words at Bruce and not Natasha. "We haven't lost our spark."

Bruce tolerated the overlong embrace with good humor, and even gave Tony a pat on the back before he pulled away. "Tony," he said seriously, but he knew he was losing the battle with his ridiculous smile. "I lost you to Pepper long ago."

Tony's negative reactions to his jokes were almost as much fun as Natasha's positive ones. He groaned and pushed Bruce toward the door. "I'm breaking up with you," he grumbled.

"See you in two weeks, Tony!" Bruce called.

"Tony?" Natasha chipped in. "You missed a spot." She gestured expansively around the lab.

"FRIDAY," Tony said sweetly, "revoke their security clearance, please."

"No can do, Boss. Ms. Potts was very clear that any security updates have to be approved by her."

Natasha tucked her arm through Bruce's, and they smiled together when the last word they heard before the doors sealed shut behind them was, "Dammit."

"Yes, I'm calling to confirm that we can skip check in? The honeymoon bungalow, yes."

Natasha suppressed a grin when she caught Bruce's disapproving headshake in the driver's seat beside her. He didn't protest, though. He'd argued against her constant cover choice of a honeymooning couple in the early days of their relationship, but he appeared to have given up on that particular fight. Or maybe he'd just gotten a taste for complimentary champagne and chocolates. And housekeeping staff that didn't barge in. Palette and privacy were two of Bruce's weaknesses.

Natasha was the third. He never stood a chance.

She smiled at him from the passenger seat of the car, and listened to the concierge rattling off the details of their bungalow and where the keys would be waiting. The woman also mentioned free champagne, to Natasha's eternal satisfaction.

"Thank you." She applied sweetness to her voice like a thick coat of varnish, and hung up. "We're all set," she informed Bruce, sliding her hand back into his once her phone was tucked away. "Two weeks of me, you, and the beach."

"Thank goodness for that," he answered, glancing between the dashboard GPS and the highway exit signs overhead. Bruce's stillness had drifted from relaxation into contained nervous energy during the last twelve hours. Two days was a long haul of driving for anyone, especially someone who worried as much as Bruce. But he always preferred driving to flying commercially, and she preferred to keep his stress levels as low as possible. It really was too bad that they couldn't exactly land the quinjet on the beaches of Key West and expect to maintain their cover as middle class vacationers enjoying their honeymoon in the humid warmth of Florida.

They finally hit the first of the bridges that would carry them from the mainland to the Keys, and Bruce relaxed a fraction. His eyes lingered on the broad expanse of blue-green water, and the bright, cloudless sky above. He loved the beach.

Not that he'd ever really said as much. As far back as she could remember, whenever the subject of taking an extended vacation together came up, he'd tried to let her pick the destination and readily agreed to her every suggestion. She'd retaliated by using every scrap of intelligence at her disposal to figure out where he wanted to go. Between years of the occasional offhand remark and her careful study of the fact that when Bruce had gone on the run, he had almost exclusively fled to places that were warm, Natasha eventually brought up the idea of Florida. He'd been almost excited about the idea of Key West.

Counting this trip, they'd come down to the Keys three times now, but this would be their first time staying at this particular resort. It wasn't hard to find; a large sign painted with sandblasted seashells led them past a reception building and onto a long, lonely drive that forked again and again to lead the way to bungalows that couldn't be seen from the main road. The final fork led them to their own little beachside bungalow, pale pink with white trim, a squat rectangle of a house with a tiny front porch facing the driveway and a back porch that overlooked the water. Natasha could hear the distant surge of the waves even before Bruce turned off the engine.

They stepped out of the car together, admiring the purples and pinks of the sunset sky and the sparkling churn of the water. The cool wind smelled of salt and sand, and there was nothing on the horizon but the dark outlines of palm trees and the roof of another pastel-painted bungalow in the distance. Just enough isolation to relax.

The lights glowed warm in the windows of their home away from home. When the stiffness of travel and stress left Bruce's shoulders, his smile was even warmer.

An inspection of the bungalow revealed not only complimentary champagne, but a scattering of flowers, along with assorted chocolates from a local sweet shop. The look on Bruce's face when he tasted one was enough to motivate Natasha to plan a trip into town to get him some more at some point during their stay.

It was a plan that she didn't rush to realize for the first forty-eight hours, taken up as they were with swimming and taking out the motorboat and cooking together in the evening, enjoying the sun and the fluctuation between light conversation and comfortable silence.

"Your ability to tan is disgusting," Natasha grumbled at him on the third day, glaring at his back as he pulled on his swimming trunks. He was already several shades darker than when they'd arrived. Natasha turned her glare to her still-pale arm and squeezed the bottle of sunscreen a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. When she looked up, Bruce was grinning sheepishly.

"Sorry?" he offered, and took the sunscreen, shifting to sit behind her on the bed. He made the act of rubbing the sunscreen across her back an apology, which she accepted graciously, giving him a quick kiss when he was done.

"I'm running into town," she announced, pulling on a navy blue wrap over her swimsuit, "but I'll be back to join you."

Bruce's look of disappointment was endearing, but he nodded. They tried to keep public sightings of the pair of them to a minimum. It decreased their chances of being recognized.

"You sure you don't want any company?" he asked anyway.

"Enjoy your swim," she said, and kissed him goodbye.

The bungalow came with a pair of golf carts for short distance travel in town, and Natasha decided that she'd like the feeling of a little wind in her hair. The drive was short, despite the relative isolation of their house and the speed limitations of the cart. Distances could only be so big on an island.

The sweet shop was crowded but pleasant; Natasha kept her sunglasses and hat in place to avoid being recognized. She settled the paper bag of boxed chocolates in the floorboard, and cruised past a few of the local restaurants on her way back, scoping out which places looked promising for discreet dinner dates.

It took her longer than she would have liked to notice the second golf cart trailing behind her that turned whenever she did.

If it was a tail, it wasn't a very good one. They kept in sight the whole time, and she could clearly make out the two passengers: both male, well-built, one tall and blonde, one shorter with hair hidden under a baseball cap. She strained her memory, but didn't recognize them.

A few purposeful detours around town later, Natasha's suspicions about being followed morphed into certainty. She gritted her teeth behind her carefully maintained expression. It was going to be that kind of day, apparently.

She steered back toward the resort. If she was going to have to fight, she'd prefer to do it away from the thick crowds of tourists and retirees. And she'd prefer some backup.

The sun was brushing the tips of the palm trees and setting the sky on fire as she finally drove past the reception house and slipped her phone carefully from her pocket. Bruce was at the top of her speed dial list. The phone rang once before the gunning of an engine heralded the crunch of fiberglass when the second cart abruptly rammed hers. Her phone sailed right out of her grip.

"Natasha?" Bruce's voice floated up from beside the gas pedal.

She really didn't have time for a damn golf cart chase right now.

She also didn't have her gun.

Her pursuers did, based on a quick glance over her shoulder. Tranqs, she thought, even at this distance. So they weren't planning on killing her. Either way, it was time to engage. Sometimes allowing a snatch and grab was the best way to gather intelligence. And it was usually a hell of a lot easier to escape from improvised holding spaces than it was to try to avoid tranquilizer rounds, especially when you were surrounded by empty road, rolling grass, and no cover but a handful of palm trees. Besides, she was curious about the two idiots who thought that pursuing the Black Widow was a good plan.

She stomped the brake, sending a spray of gravel ahead of her, and kicked the phone under the gas pedal and out of sight.

"You boys want to tell me who sent you, or do I have to wait for a big reveal?" she asked flatly, loud enough for Bruce to hear. I have a Hulk I'd like to introduce you to, she added mentally.

The whistle of a dart was her only answer. Definitely tranqs, then. She had just enough time to think you've got to be kidding me, before she pitched forward and the world went dark.

When she finally returned to awareness, she remembered flashes of sky and the feeling of being dragged up a short staircase. Whoever mixed up the knockout juice had evidently done a piss-poor job. She ignored the urge to smirk at the knowledge that she was very likely dealing with amateurs, and remained limp in the chair she was tied to. The ropes had also been poorly managed; she set to work on slipping her bonds and listened to the low argument happening nearby.

"You said we wouldn't have to hurt anyone!" hissed a male voice, early twenties, judging by the pitch and the vocal strength. But inside the solidity of youth, she caught the quaver of fear.

This wouldn't be hard, then.

"Look, we just need the DNA sample and then we can get out of here. Do you want the bounty or not?"

Natasha resisted the urge to grind her teeth. The Avengers had known about the Hydra bounties on their heads (and, in Bruce's case, a viable sample of his DNA) for a while. But there hadn't been any real attempts to collect. Apparently that had just changed.

You'd think that the Abomination incident and Bruce's troubled past of very public Hulkouts would have deterred people by now.

No such luck.

After assuring herself that the source of the voices was at least one room over, Natasha cracked an eye and scanned her surroundings. The angle of the fading sunlight slanting through the windows indicated that she couldn't have been out for more than an hour. Maybe only a few minutes. When she glanced at the palm trees and emerald green grass beyond the window, she realized the latter estimation was probably the correct one. They were still on the resort grounds, and they'd been stupid enough to bring her cart along and leave it parked in the yard. Hopefully with her phone still inside. She swept her eyes across the living room, taking in the wicker furniture, the cliche shell motif, the smell of potpourri, and shrugged.

Her honeymoon bungalow was nicer. This, she reflected smugly, was exactly why the honeymoon cover was always worth it.

The satisfaction passed quickly. All this stupidity was keeping her from much better plans. Bruce was making pasta tonight and The Thin Man was coming on. Bruce loved The Thin Man, and she loved his cooking. Irritation swelled hot and strong in her chest. As soon as she was sure the two losers didn't have bigger, badder backup, she was getting the hell out of here.

A shuffle of movement prompted her to fall back into her best simulation of unconsciousness. Two pairs of heavy, unstealthy footsteps tromped in, regarded her in silence, and then turned away. The clink of glass and metal rang from a table nearby. Prepping for DNA collection on Bruce, she guessed, however the hell they planned to pull that off.

It was the third set of footfalls that made Natasha crack an eye. She recognized the gait before she even saw him. Nearly silent. Hesitant, but determined.

Bruce.

The front door was cracked, having swung silently on its hinges. Bruce was standing beside the door that opened from the living room into the foyer, back far enough to be beyond the line of sight of anyone at the far side of the room. His eyes were locked on her, and his expression was thunderous. It was kind of cute, actually. She flicked a glance to ensure her would-be captors were facing away, and then raised her head to catch Bruce's eyes.

She winked.

Relief and anger, only one of which was directed at her, skittered across his face, but he funneled them both into a silent sigh. He flashed a tired smile at her and held up his cell phone, a tiny red dot blinking in the center of the screen. It was that damn tracking app he'd talked her into putting on her phone. He was giving her a definite I told you that this tracking app was useful, even for spies look. She rolled her eyes at him before shifting the motion into a faint nod at her would-be captors.

Would you mind? she asked by way of a cocked eyebrow. Bruce turned to regard the two men, and he looked more annoyed than worried as he planted himself between her and the Hydra wannabes. She was suddenly, overwhelmingly proud of him.

"Excuse me," he started, not so much as flinching when the two men swore a blue streak and whipped out their guns. One was a tranq and one wasn't. She was pleased to note that both barrels were shaking. Natasha let the ropes fall from her wrists. No more need for pretense, now. If they had backup they would have already been calling for it.

"Look," Bruce continued calmly, not sparing either gun a glance. "I'm sure you know who I am. I don't want to make a mess, but I will if I have to. Drop the guns."

They all-too-predictably didn't heed Bruce's very reasonable request. Maybe his calming tone gave them a false sense of security, or maybe they were too hyped up to surrender. Their loss, either way.

The taller of the two edged a single step to the side, dropping his gun at an angle meant to cover Natasha, but Bruce shifted to block him. Natasha could only see a fraction of Bruce's face, but the line of his back and the set of his shoulders was angry.

"I don't like to hurt people," he gritted out. "In fact, I try very hard to avoid it. But if you hurt her —" He paused and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, it was with the heavy, electric calm that came before a tornado. "If you hurt her, I won't try at all."

The clatter of a gun against the hardwood floor pulled every pair of eyes to the shorter man, who dropped to his knees and put both hands on the back of his head. "I surrender," he said, a little shakily. Natasha recognized the young, fearful voice from before. She nodded at him. The kid had sense, if not guts.

It was more than she could say for his partner in crime, who cursed angrily and trained his gun on Bruce's face.

For all the good it would do him.

Bruce shot her a questioning look, ready to follow her lead. It was almost identical to the expression he wore when he asked where she wanted to go for dinner.

They could just let the idiot fire at Bruce and get Hulk smashed for his trouble. But she really didn't want to put Bruce through an impromptu transformation, especially when they were supposed to be on vacation and far, far away from crapshoots like this one. So she'd tranq the guy and call for someone to come pick up the would-be bounty hunters.

She took a step toward the tranquilizer gun lying abandoned on the floor. "Alright, here's how this is gonna go —"

The crack of a gunshot hitting the wall a few inches to her left rudely interrupted her.

The idiot had tried to shoot her. Bad shot, worse manners.

Kids these days.

She tucked and rolled, snatching up the tranquilizer gun and bringing it to bear on the idiot's neck, but he wasn't looking at her and his gun was hanging limp at his side. She didn't have to look at Bruce to know that his eyes had flooded with green. Bruce's grunt was accompanied by the sound of straining fabric giving way under the swell of impossibly large muscles. Alright, then. Code Green.

Bruce's shirt didn't make it and his swim shorts were barely hanging on when the Hulk lifted his head to glare at the men in front of him. He was comically hunched, but his hair still brushed the ceiling.

She felt pretty sure that one or both of them were going to soil themselves. One of them whimpered when the Hulk bared his teeth.

"Go easy, Big Guy," she soothed, and she watched a little of the bunched tension in his muscles subside.

He flicked an appraising glance in her direction, huffed in annoyance, and haphazardly batted the man who'd shot at her into the wall. It was a very mild blow, barely a swat. The drywall was cracked, but his bones seemed to have remained intact. The same could not be said for his consciousness. His companion stared in wide-mouthed horror as Hulk turned back to regard him darkly.

Natasha sighed, and aimed a tranq dart at his neck before the Big Guy got any ideas. She put one in the idiot as well, for good measure. Hulk snorted in disapproval, but the boil of his anger settled into a simmer.

"We got 'em," she said, laying a hand on his massive arm.

His eyes were a warm brown when they finally met hers. "Okay?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm okay," she confirmed, voice sunny with assurance. "It's nice to see you."

He shuffled and ducked his head in the way Nathaniel did whenever she had the gall to call him cute. I'm not cute, Auntie Nat, I'm tough! She grinned at the memory, and at her instant decision to make that particular comparison in front of Bruce. He'd be as irritated as he always was when she compared the Big Guy to an oversized child.

But that had to wait. She retrieved the ropes that had bound her poorly a few minutes before, and made much better restraints for the two unconscious men. She picked Bruce's phone out of the ruined pile of his clothes and dialed Tony as she dragged one body and then the other into the nearest closet.

"I knew you couldn't quit me," Tony answered.

"It's Natasha," she interrupted flatly. "There was an incident and we need somebody to come take out the trash."

"Is Bruce okay?"

Tony's voice was tight and all business, for once. It was moments like this one that made Natasha glad that he was Bruce's friend. And hers.

The conversation was brief, despite Tony's descent into jokes once he heard that Bruce was fine. She waited until she heard him instructing FRIDAY to contact local law enforcement and the appropriate branches of much higher powers, and then hung up in the middle of yet another quip.

"Would you mind?" she asked Hulk, who had been standing with remarkable stillness, listening. He followed her gesture toward the heaviest sofa in the room, and pushed it in front of the closet door without effort.

"Thanks," she said, and reached up to grab his hand. Or, more accurately, his finger. "Come on, Big Guy," she said as she tugged him toward the front door. "The sun's getting real low."

It would be a lot easier to go through the lullaby indoors, but she really had missed him. Maybe she was feeling just a little sentimental. She convinced him to wriggle through the doorway, dangling her smile as motivation. He managed it, and only cracked the door frame a little. It didn't matter; she'd send Tony the bill.

They made the short trek down to the beach and she settled in the sand. Hulk dropped himself beside her. The sun was setting, turning the water gold and pink and black in the dying light. They watched the waves for a few minutes before he extended one massive hand, palm up.

She rested her hand against his and slid her fingers slowly across the deep grooves of his palm. He twitched, shuddered, and shrank until the fingers beneath hers were small enough to thread her own through. They were also irritatingly tanned.

"Sand," Bruce croaked when he sat up, looking exhausted but peaceful. "Why are we sitting in the sand?"

Natasha shrugged. "It's romantic."

"Not when you don't have any pants on," he countered, staring ruefully at the tattered scraps of nylon that were barely clinging to him. "Then it just chafes." But his tired smile was warm. "Did we do okay?"

She nodded a confirmation. "Just waiting on somebody to come take out the trash."

Her smile slid into a shark's grin when she turned to face him. "And you're wrong about the pants."

She'd anticipated an embarrassed smile, or any one of Bruce's repertoire of dorky responses. She was taken aback when his grin was even more devious than hers. "So you do like my tan lines," he fired back.

Natasha let her pained sigh stand as her answer.

Bruce laughed and flopped back against the sand. "You know," he said, "just for once, it might be nice to have a normal vacation." But his sleepy tone sounded almost content.

They sat in warm silence until a line of police sirens flashed behind them. Tony's name appeared on Bruce's phone, and Bruce sat up to accept the call. Tony's face appeared onscreen.

"This is a courtesy call," Tony droned. "Has your roadside assistance arrived?"

"They're here," Bruce answered with a nod. "Thanks for the help."

"Good, good," Tony replied. "Now that the shop talk is out of the way, I have two questions: are you at a nude beach and can I come? You chest hair game is on point. But Natasha, why are you dressed —?"

This time, Bruce was the one to hang up. He grimaced at the police climbing out of their cars and then down at his state of undress. Natasha smirked at him for only a moment before she pulled off her wrap and held it out to him.

"You'll look great in blue," was her only comment.

In fact, he looked utterly ridiculous, his arms and legs much too long for the flimsy, feminine garment, but he smiled at her. "You've always got my back," he said by way of thanks. She just nodded, and turned to walk down the beach to their bungalow. It was cold in just her bathing suit, but Bruce put his arm around her shoulder and that helped.

"Come on, Bruce," she said, covering his hand with her own. "The Thin Man's on."

It's not MY birthday...but you can give me a gift anyway. The gift of a review. ;)