Please Don't Ask About The Rage Thing.

Send a symbol and my Muse will admit one thing they regret.

@manwithamonster

Out of all the people she’d decided to see, and all the rounds she’d made, Natasha had saved this one for last. Although that was a generous statement, and she wasn’t so much saving as she was bargaining–for time and words tied to a tongue used to being clever. 

Natasha could’ve avoided it altogether. She could’ve disappeared into the wind and scattered upon call as she was needed. They were both used to chasing corners of the world where no one could round them up, and she was sure they could go on pretending as they had. 

The Black Widow didn’t wear a cape. 

No, she made tough calls for the fight and she fought messy and bit hard–because the end line was the mission. The ends did not, however, justify the means; it was a distinction she knew. Natasha understood that much. But the balance was never an easy one, and there were many things in her life she regretted for erring on the side heavy enough to tip. She had known. Natasha wasn’t sure if it was easier to pretend like she hadn’t–like the heat of the battle and the adrenaline in her nerves had set her off abuzz to some programming of cold and cruel intentions that had been hardwired into her. Maybe that’d be easier–not simpler, but easier.

But she had known. She had known what she was doing when she’d pushed him down that abyss (ha, literally and figuratively though Natasha wasn’t particularly thinking this the time and place to wax poetic), and she had known Bruce would’ve followed. Why wouldn’t he? They hadn’t been companions, but they had trusted each other in an implicit kind of way. She had understood him in the way that her skin had once sat upon her bones, and he had trusted her for it. Natasha knew what it was like to hate the things you had done, to feel out of your head and horrified by the very things your body did–so she knew what Bruce tried for when he sought the calm. They had found a kinship that found home in a friendship tied to a stated trust. It had been simple and surprisingly easy in its becoming. A whole lot of things became easier once you saw the front lines of war with someone. 

It was the only thing that tied them together, really–the trust. She broke that, she broke much of the rest of it.

And here she was anyways, breaking the unspoken resolution they had taken to the matter. She was trying for something of a teammate to teammate check in, but it was the pressing urge for the apology she didn’t know how to spill that pulled her to the labs. 

He’d actually been planning to run for a while before he did. It was just what he always did, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself to stay. He’d been running for so long, he wasn’t sure he remembered how to stay. 

It had been during the early stages of Ultron when Ross started requesting meetings with Tony and his ‘team of unique individuals.’ Steve had been in the wind, Thor had been off-planet, and Clint and Natasha had been with SHIELD still. It was common knowledge to a high-ranking official like Ross. He knew the man wouldn’t be letting it go, and Tony would give in eventually, because he had to. Bruce refused to stay and be a sitting duck, though, and bid his time until the risk of being kidnapped and tortured outweighed the urge to stay with his friend. It was coming up faster than he’d expected, and he had everything ready to run at a moment’s notice. All he’d needed was a push.

How ironic.

He’d been so sure that if anyone was pushed too far, pressured too much to turn on him, or even if anyone was afraid, at least she understood, her own fear put aside. He thought about long talks where they bared their souls because they had to, because no lullaby would work if a stranger was singing it. He remembered the sense of calm he’d always gotten from Natasha, so different from the relief he found in Tony’s fearlessness. 

Then he remembered her using him like the weapon Ross intended him to be.

“Do you wander a lot at night? That’s not very good for you.” He grins when he gets a closer look at the slippers, resting his chin in his hand. Tony would. He glances at his own feet, feeling proud at having avoided the post New York Battle merchandise phase, until he remembers the stuffed green fists in his own room, and the amount of Iron man t-shirts filling his wardrobe. 

“I have to say, they look so comfy and cozy. Maybe I’ll get some. One of the first things Tony and I talked about was being big Captain America fans when we were kids.” Some of that conversation had been extremely embarrassing, and some of it had been a big eye opener to Tony himself.

He starts at the intense stare Steve is giving him, nervousness creeping into his bones. He holds his breath when he sees him reach out, a reflex he’s still never really gotten over. He relaxes when a gentle touch is all that comes, and he smiles back helplessly, calming at the start of his favorite conversation. 

Bruce smiled at the little fluffball, much cuter now that it wasn’t chewing on his shoelaces. He reached out to take his dog’s leash, grumbling gently at David before startling at the fact that the young man knew his name. 

“I am.” He cleared his throat, stepping back from the other. Usually, his name being known wasn’t a particularly good sign. “How do you know who I am?”

He flushed, laughing softly at the compliment. “You have really weird tastes. But I’m glad you’re interested in little old me.” He wasn’t really sure why, but to each their own. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Catching sight of her twitchy fingers, Bruce nudged her gently. “We could always come back later. I don’t think my biology machines are going to be more interesting than Tony’s workshop, but I’ll let you in there. As long as you promise not to steal any world ending secrets. Or make any killer robots.”