#endlame

"Have a seat," Bruce said and filled a copper kettle with water and placed it on the stove before reaching into the cabinet for cups and saucers. Natasha collected Bruce's jacket and hung it up with hers on a peg near the door. She offered to hang up Strange's cloak but he kept it draped over his shoulders as if he were still warding off a chill from the evening air.

"Darjeeling, oolong, green, herbal, some other kind of herbal, or Earl Grey?" Bruce asked as he checked through the containers on the cabinet where the loose-leaf teas had congregated.

With a mischievous smile, the sorcerer suggested, "Surprise me."

"All right, but I doubt you came here for the tea, Stephen."

Strange looked at both Bruce and Natasha, moving around each other with the ease of an experienced pit crew. "No, but I did come for the company and to compare a few notes on certain loose ends, which have turned out to be something more like an unraveling than a tying up of threads."

Bruce sighed. "No neat dénouement for the Time Heist?"

"No, apparently not." Strange studied Natasha who had found Bruce's oversupply of Girl Scout Cookies in the pantry. Without missing a beat, Bruce handed her three small plates to go with the teacups and saucers he'd just set on the counter. The sorcerer was still marveling at how well they coordinated and in-tune they seemed, despite being separated for so long. "Please tell me you have the peanut butter ones dipped in chocolate," he requested. Those had always been a weakness of his.

Natasha dispensed with formality and handed the physician an unopened box of his apparent favorites. She stacked half a box of Thin Mints on a plate for Bruce and pulled out a few butter cookies with chocolate backing for herself. She placed the opened boxes in the middle of the table since it might take the remainder to get through the conversation even if it was brief. Bruce passed her some spoons and napkins to lay out, too. The honey and sugar were already in the table's center. None of them took cream with their tea.

Natasha sat down across the table from Strange whose back was to the mudroom door while Bruce stayed leaning against the higher section of counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. She'd missed seeing what type of tea he'd put into the stainless mesh ball, so it was going to be a surprise for her, too.

Strange cleared his throat as he slid the remainder of his box of cookies into the middle of the table with the others. "First, Ms. Romanoff . . ."

"Natasha, please."

"Natasha, I'm very happy to see you are among the living. I spoke to Wanda earlier, and she passed along the good news. I've since communicated with Fury and Captain Danvers, so I have some information about your captor to pass along if you'd care to hear it."

"Of course," Natasha affirmed.

"Please do," Bruce said with his burly arms folded across his chest.

"As you've already surmised, your impersonator was indeed a Skrull, Natasha. The assumption was the Skrull was either from a different group that Earth hadn't encountered before, one which split off during their diaspora, or perhaps he was some kind of a rogue agent. However, once Fury's allies, the Skrulls under Talos' leadership, compared cell samples collected from the craft in the lake to their database, it became evident that there was a connection."

"So, Nat's fake is related to some of Talos' people?" Bruce asked.

Strange nodded, "Four of them to be exact."

"I hope we're talking siblings or cousins," Bruce said with a frown.

Natasha cut to the other possibility, "Would they be grandparents?"

Strange nodded toward Natasha in acknowledgment, "In a manner of speaking, you were dealing with a being who doesn't exist yet."

The kettle's whistle gradually crescendoed to its full-throated high note as the implications sunk in. Bruce removed the kettle from the burner and turned the gas off. "Something tells me there's a common thread between this issue and what's been happening since the Time Heist. Clint told us there have been more paradoxes turning up."

"Yes, more than just the ones we've been dealing with concerning the Sousa family. In that case, it does seem to come back to a certain individual."

"Speaking of him, have you had a chance to sit down with Steve?" Bruce asked.

"We spoke about a week ago at a coffee shop in the Village, the day after he arrived (or reappeared?), but I can't say that he was extremely helpful. We went over what he'd done and where he said he was for all that time he was absent from our reality, but there were discrepancies almost from the beginning. Before I came here, I stopped by his apartment in Brooklyn, but he doesn't appear to have been there in some time if at all since Tony's funeral."

Bruce continued to frown. "I was hardly able to speak with him the day our Steve left and the old man arrived before that version left the Compound grounds. I asked if he understood the implications his little side junket might have for our timeline, and he clammed up tight. Sam and Bucky got in my face when I asked him again, so I thought it was better to back off before heavier things than words were flying. Do you think he's skipped?"

Natasha was imagining Sam's over-protective reaction and the possible outcome of a three-on-one fight with Bruce and the control it had taken on his part to avoid one. Even with those odds, a damaged arm, and a reluctance to harm the others, she'd have still put her money on Bruce. Nevertheless, the whole thing bothered her. She'd been at Peggy's funeral, and Natasha knew just how much Peggy had meant to him. Natasha also remembered seeing Peggy's husband Daniel there, not an older version of Steve. Selfishly throwing the rest of the universe into chaos and creating multiple splinters of the timeline—multiple conflicting realities—didn't match up with Steve's character or ethos at all.

The sorcerer shook his head. "I believe you were right not to press the matter, under those circumstances, Bruce." Strange thought a moment before answering the physicist's question, "If he's still in our reality, it seems likely he's gone underground. I've not been able to track him, and I suspect that's because he's not who he claims to be."

"Or he's found a way to cloak himself from a magical search since I imagine that's what you've already done," Natasha suggested. Strange nodded his confirmation. He'd used a hair from Steve's apartment to weave a tracking spell, and the magic had completely failed. "Do you have any idea exactly what he did to affect the timeline?" she asked.

Strange tried to keep from rolling his eyes with frustration before he dove into his explanation. "It appears he created a parallel timeline in which he lived out his life with Peggy Carter and then renounced that reality after her death to return to our own long enough to drop off the older version of his shield to Colonel Wilson. I'm not completely certain why he felt so compelled to return it, except that he seems to have wanted to pass along his mantel to Sam."

Bruce shook his head, feeling just as frustrated as the magic user. "Why would he want us to think he'd lived his past out in our timeline? Are you sure this really was our Steve?" the physicist asked.

"Those are good questions," the sorcerer stated.

"Was he human?" Natasha asked.

Strange shrugged the slightest bit. "That's also a good question."

"So, we really don't know if this was our Steve, another version of Steve, or a Skrull or something else?" Bruce posited. He'd warmed up a large ceramic teapot and steeped the tea, so now he poured their three cups full and settled them on the saucers for the other two.

"Correct, and that also leaves us with the anomalies involving the Souzas' background shifts and other exchanges or apparent 'edits' of digital footprints," the physician noted and blew on the steaming tea in his cup. "Mmm, white tea, ginger, and . . . bergamot?"

"You're good," Bruce said and placed his larger-sized cup and saucer at the head of the table and sat down in his extra-sturdy seat between the other two. "Whether this was our Steve or not, I'd seriously like to know where he acquired the Pym particles necessary to do the extra hop back to our reality," Bruce groused.

"Although I couldn't get him to say as much, I imagine he stole an extra vial or two when he returned the Space Stone," Strange surmised.

Bruce nodded, "That's the most likely explanation, but I'm amazed that didn't sabotage the whole Time Heist. Damn, it likely created at least one more splinter." The physicist clenched his jaws and then his right fist tightened. Now, he wished he'd thought faster, swallowed his pride, and called in Carol as soon as the old man had appeared on the lakeside bench. Things might have gotten messy, but they also might have had definitive answers to some of their questions. He felt Natasha's hand on his left forearm and realized his frustrations were getting the better of him. Bruce relaxed his jaw muscles and quit grinding his teeth as he loosened his clenched fist, flexing his damaged hand.

"Is Carol the only one who can detect a Skrull?" Natasha asked as she reached for a jar of honey in the middle of the table. Strange flicked his finger to levitate the jar gently into her grasp and unscrewed the lid. She raised an eyebrow and smiled her thanks.

"Please tell us you've figured out some method of detection, Stephen," Bruce said a bit forlornly.

Strange chuckled. "That actually brings me to another interesting piece of news," he said and unfastened his cloak to expose a familiar artifact resting on his chest.

The scar behind Bruce's right thumb heated up even before he realized what was once again housed in the amulet. A green light flared behind the metal housing, making the connection unmistakable. "How did you get it back?"

"As you might know, Stark returned the broken amulet that housed the Time Stone to Master Wong who had it repaired and returned to the place it had previously been kept. Two days ago, the Time Stone reappeared in its housing. I and several others have been investigating this phenomenon since then."

"How is this possible?" the scientist asked in disbelief. "Did Steve pocket it and bring it back?"

"I don't think so. Our surveillance cameras would have detected that" the sorcerer noted. The couple both gave him slightly incredulous looks. "What? We're not allowed to use both magic and technology?"

"You're right. That makes perfect sense," Natasha said. People were only human even if they were powerful magic users.

"What was on the recording?" Bruce asked, moving on with his inquiry.

"There was a green flash and the Stone manifested, once again whole and seated in the amulet just as it had been before."

"You wouldn't happen to have had a spectrometer nearby?" Bruce asked ruefully, wishing there had been more solid data collected.

Strange sighed, "No, but we can talk about adding one if you think that would be useful in the future."

"I'll start the paperwork for you myself," Bruce offered.

Natasha had grown quiet, her mind racing through possible scenarios and ramifications. "Is there any way to check for the presence of the other stones? If the Time Stone has returned, it must be possible for the others to do the same, right?"

The men looked at each other before Bruce spoke. "That's why I wish we'd gotten an energy signature and a reading on the Time Stone's manifestation; then, we might know what we need to look for with more specificity."

"Don't you have some of the data from the testing you and Tony and later Shuri did on the Space and Mind Stones?" she asked.

"You're right. We have data on those two energy signatures, which leaves . . ."

"The Power, Reality, and Soul Stones," Nat finished for him.

Strange held up his hand. "Perhaps another angle of inquiry that would help narrow a search would be to focus on the most likely places each Stone might manifest." The couple looked at each other and nodded. Strange gave a little snort as he watched them telegraphing and ending each other's thoughts. "Are you two sure you've been apart?"

Bruce went a little pale and then flushed beneath his verdant complexion as he looked at her with adoration. Natasha simply smiled back at the sorcerer and patted Bruce's muscular thigh beneath the table. "Now, Doctor, you're sounding like Tony Stark, except he'd have said something more embarrassing, and Bruce would be blushing less."

Bruce started to object but stopped himself. "True," he admitted with a thoughtful nod. "Anyway, as you were saying, Stephen?"

"I think it would help facilitate our search if we looked in the other Stones' last known locations," Strange suggested.

"You mean before Thanos 'acquired' them," Nat clarified.

"And using them and destroying them," Bruce added.

The sorcerer stroked his beard in thought. "Yes, and I believe I may know whom to ask for help with some of that. Bruce, can you still contact the Benatar?"

"That depends upon where they are and whether or not they're using a jump port," Bruce said. "Have you spoken to Fury about this? He may have better equipment and more contacts."

"Fury already knows and is checking through his channels, but I suspect the Guardians and Thor might be closer to Nowhere, Morag, or the remains of Xandar and Asgard than Fury's contacts."

"I have the prototype communication linkup that Rocket and I first put together if you'll give me a few minutes to set it up," Bruce said.

"I can spare it, especially if it gives us some answers," the physician responded.

"Back in a minute," he said and stood up from the table. Sirius watched as his master disappeared out the back door and headed to the warehouse, but he stayed at Natasha's feet.

"How about the Mind Stone?" Natasha asked. "Would Wanda be able to sense if it reappeared?"

"So far nothing," Strange admitted. "She was the first person I contacted after returning from the Kamar-Taj."

"And the next?"

"Wakanda."

"To check on Vision?"

"Yes, but nothing new, no manifestation. His body is still an empty shell."

"But Bruce, Shuri, and Helen are all working on it now," Natasha said.

"That's my understanding," Strange said. "The last time I spoke with Bruce they were working on integrating the programming and data from different sources, but still searching for a power source to replace the Stone."

"That's my understanding, too," she said, not wanting to get ahead of what Bruce may or may not have shared.

Sirius stirred and Bruce entered the kitchen with a reinforced metal case in hand, which he laid out on a clear spot in the middle of the kitchen floor and opened. "Give me a minute. This wasn't designed for hands my size. Friday, bring the array online and prepare the reactor for a higher power demand."

"Already on it, Doctor Banner," the Interface intoned brightly.

The physicist tapped a tile in the wall next to the counter to expose a variety of ports and outlets. He'd looped a coil of cables over his shoulder, which he unrolled and attached to the outlets first before connecting it to the device.

As Natasha rose from her seat, she looked at the open case that was unfolding onto the floor around itself to create a circular pad. She recognized some similarities to the diagnostic device at the medical facility from earlier in the day and the holographic communication array Bruce had designed for the Avengers Compound. She'd used it for almost a week to communicate with Okoye, Rocket, Rhodey, and Carol before the Skrull replaced her, but that device had been larger and less portable. Nat was certain this was the beta version of the machine, on which Bruce had kept tinkering after Rocket and he had designed it. Luckily, he kept it because the larger one was probably destroyed. "Do you need some help with the controls?" she asked.

"If you could flip the input lens up and handle the keypad, I'd appreciate it," he said as he handed her a modified Stark-pad and pointed to a manual set of switches on the base that stood out from the sleeker parts of the design. "That should give control of the contact calculations over to Friday." Nat did as he'd requested and adjusted the lens when it flipped into position. "Friday, engage please," Bruce said.

"Aye, initiating. Doctor, whom would you like me to contact?"

Strange caught himself before answering and Bruce grinned back. Having another degree holder in the kitchen was only slightly unusual. "Whoever is on the Benatar—Rocket, Nebula, or Thor will do. I imagine we'll be talking to all of them if this goes through."

"Please, not Drax or Quill," Strange said half under his breath.

The device hummed slightly and they waited a few moments. "Where is your antenna set up?" Natasha asked.

"The warehouse roof. It's the one place flat enough and big enough to hold the communication array, the telescopes, and some other equipment. The local Historical Society would have thrown a fit if I'd stuck anything on top of the house."

"And the reactor?" she asked as the pad in her hands began to display a map that looked like a detailed, three-dimensional star chart.

"It has a lab to itself. Why? Are you worried we'll need more juice?"

"Just thinking ahead to the Christmas lights," she teased back. "Can I display this with the holographic projector in the device?"

"There should be an option for that in the dropdown menu at the upper left," Bruce explained. She quickly had the images flashing into life in a gold column of light, and Strange moved around the table to get a closer look.

"I've found them," Friday said. "Do you want me to hail the Benatar?"

"Please," Bruce said.

In a moment, they heard a crackling that quickly resolved as the channel cleared. "Awwww . . . Did ya miss me, Big Green?" Rocket Racoon's voice asked as the golden image of the stars broke up and reformed into a life-size image of their friend that almost looked solid.

"Just the person I wanted to talk to," Bruce said.

The Guardian tilted his head and squinted. "Holy shhhh... .? Natasha?" Rocket sputtered as he recognized her. His fists went to his eyes and he wiped at them with disbelief before staring back again. "Nice haircut. What's going on? This better not be a joke!"

"No joke. Long story," she said, stepping further forward. "I lost about five years, but I did get to work with you for about a month and a half on the policing council we were setting up before I was grabbed."

"Sweet sushi! Then who was I working with? Who died? Who said she wouldn't let me in the kitchen anymore if I ate something out of the garbage can again?"

Natasha looked at Bruce for direction, and he raised his eyebrows and gave her a small shrug. Strange nodded briefly when she looked at him. "It was a doppelganger, a double who was also a very talented spy," she said.

"A Face Dancer or a Skrull?" Rocket asked.

"A Skrull. So, you've heard of them before?" she asked.

"Well, there aren't a lot of them around since the Kree went all empire on them, but they are known for their shape-shifting talents. I've never heard of one doing it for a whole five Earth years though. That's a hell of a commitment."

"Natasha! I knew I heard your voice!" Thor rumbled as he came into the column's projection field, pushing Rocket a bit to the side as the little technician protested and held his nose.

"Thor?" Natasha asked, sounding quite puzzled by his shaggy and fleshy appearance in exercise shorts and a tank top.

"Damn, I meant to tell you about him," Bruce whispered apologetically. "He got very depressed."

"Sorcerer Strange, do we have you to thank for her resurrection?" the Asgardian asked.

Bruce and Stephen looked at each other, and the sorcerer cleared his throat and stepped closer to the communication device's input lens. "No, I believe Natasha managed to free herself."

"Then you escaped Vormir on your own? That is truly auspicious!" the thunder god assumed.

"No, Thor, I was held in stasis for about five years."

"Five years? Baldur's ghost," he stammered and looked away, calculating how long she'd been a prisoner. "I . . . I'm so sorry. Then who did we work with? How did it happen?"

"A Skrull spy, you smelly dope," Rocket growled and slapped Thor's belly to back him up a bit.

"Is that who died?" Thor asked.

"Yes," Natasha said with a nod.

"I guess that explains some of her behavior and the shabby way she treated Bruce. You've told Clint, right?"

"He knows. He was here earlier," she explained.

"Ah, good," Thor said with a nod. "I'm glad you called me."

"You weren't the only one they called," Rocket said irritably as he elbowed in front of the gigantic blonde again. "Why don't you go back to helping Quill put that Bo-Flexier thing together?!"

"Looks like you've lost some weight," Bruce noted.

"Only because we're outta beer," Rocket snapped.

"Thank you for noticing," Thor said with a pleased smile.

"Actually," Strange spoke up, "there is another matter we wanted to discuss. If Nebula is there, we'd like to include her in the conversation." It took about ten minutes of discussion to get everyone up to speed between interruptions as the rest of the Guardians joined the conversation, except for Groot who mostly rolled his eyes as he worked a newer handheld game in the background before leaving the cabin. No, they'd not heard any news of the Infinity Stones manifesting, but they'd been mostly focused on following Gamora's trail and looking for Asgardian survivors. There was confusion, but also a lot of joy after Bruce's Snap returned people.

The Guardians had good news on that front. The spaceport where the heavily damaged hulk of the Ambassador had been hauled after its destruction at Thanos' hands had doubled its population of 1,200 as unsnapped Asgardians and even some resurrected ones rejoined the living along with a few Sakaaran gladiators as well. Thor teared up as he thanked Bruce for including so many of his people in the Hulk-Snap.

"It was the least I could do. I really wasn't sure if it had worked. Were Loki or Heimdall returned?" Bruce asked.

"No news of them yet, but we've not given up hope," Thor said with a shrug. "Most of the survivors will be immigrating to New Asgard to join the rest as ships become available," he explained.

Rocket chuckled, "It's not like we could get them an Uber Lift, but the locals seemed pretty motivated to get them all off the station and resettled."

"Before they eat them out of lauder and breathe them out of oxygen," Nebula added. "We're headed toward Nowhere next as we search for my sister. Perhaps we'll hear something about the Power or the Reality Stone there."

"Hope so," Quill added. "We've heard stories that don't match up. Some reports say there's nothing left of Xandar, but others say only the capital was damaged and it's slowly and quietly being rebuilt. When we get closer, the information should get more reliable."

"If there's something to see, we won't know till we see it with our own eyes or not," Draxx said stoically.

"I hate to break up this love fest," Rocket intoned, "but we are nearing the jump port. Has everyone made their requests, kissed their moms, and said their good-byes?"

"Please let us know as quickly as you're able if there's news of a Stone manifesting," Strange entreated.

"We certainly will," Nebula replied in her husky all-business tone. Bruce had a good rapport with Rocket and an abiding friendship with Thor, but he placed most of his confidence in the tall blue cyborg.

"Just a moment," Thor said and got close to the device as the others receded from view. "Let me know when the wedding is, okay? I'd like to be there." Before Bruce or Natasha could respond, he'd winked and signed off.

“I could tell that from some of the scans you sent, but let’s get inside the lab, and I’ll judge for myself.” Bruce was just able to fit his oversized frame inside the freight elevator with the two scientists by ducking and crouching a bit. Squeezing through the doors on the staircase would have been worse. When they arrived at the correct floor, Dr. Cho led them into one of her lab spaces where the third generation of “the Cradle” and its related research projects now resided. “I’m sorry for the mess and disorganization. The program and our research agenda continued in my absence, but I’m almost back up to speed.” Bruce noted everything looked as neat and well-organized as it always had in the past.

Helen kept grumbling to herself in both English and Korean as she helped him take off his clothing from the waist up before tackling the protective sheathing and nutrient treatment wrap shielding his right arm. The irony of their character reversal—her anger and his calm—wasn’t lost on him, and he bit his lower lip to avoid smiling too much and antagonizing her. She still shot him a deadly glance. “Don’t you dare smile unless that’s from the pain meds, Banner,” Helen threatened. He doubted there were currently any pain meds involved since they’d never been effective for long after his original “accident” altered his metabolism. He was used to being stoic about it as Banner and irritable when he’d been just Hulk about three years ago. Now that he’d co-integrated, he was enduring it as good-naturedly as he could.

When Bruce had Skyped Helen very early that morning (tomorrow afternoon for her with the 13-hour time difference), her husband Philip had to reassure her she wasn’t being pranked. A much larger and greener Bruce explained to her that while she was gone for five years, he had made peace with his anger-prone alter ego and “merged” with the Hulk. If it weren’t for his voice and facial expressions, she wouldn’t have recognized her old colleague in the new Bruce. Even face-to-face, she was still feeling a bit unnerved by his floor-to-ceiling size, but he was surprisingly nimble and coordinated as he maneuvered around the delicate equipment. She had to admit, especially with the geeky glasses and easy-going confidence, the new Bruce was pretty charming.

The U-GEN staff had brought in a reinforced examination table for Helen to use, so she could examine him since he was now roughly seven and a half feet tall and about 900 lbs. Not as big as his former temperamental Hulk form had been, but this Bruce was now closer to Hulk physically than Banner’s spare 5’ 9” frame. Thankfully, his intellect and puckish sense of humor were as prominent as ever; still, this was a lot to wrap her head around on top of everything else she’d missed in five years. To be honest, having a project like rehabbing Bruce’s arm helped her focus since she was having difficulty fitting back into her own projects that had moved on without her. In cutting-edge science, five years felt like a lifetime. She wondered what Nat thought about this metamorphosis since he hadn’t mentioned her yet, and they’d seemed to be getting so close. They were all definitely going to have to catch up and talk about this later. Right now, the geneticist needed to see what they had left to work with function-wise and determine a course of treatment or make some tough decisions about whether or not to remove the limb. She guessed this was just one of several likely reasons for the Wakandan wunderkind to be involved since she’d reportedly redesigned Sergeant Barnes’ prosthetic.

Now that Bruce’s upper body was exposed, Helen studied the extensive wrapping protecting his arm and shoulder. “Here, may I please assist you, Helen?” Shuri offered as she caught back up to them in the right section of the interconnected areas. She’d gotten a little lost in thought as she’d curiously looked around the cluster of labs on that floor. (She could hardly wait for the tour!) She’d been taking a lot of mental notes since the final showdown at the Avenger’s Compound as she’d met many interesting people.

As soon as Tony’s body had been taken away from the battlefield crater, she’d approached the exhausted Hulk as he collapsed onto his knees in the rubble. It didn’t take a genius to see he was obviously injured and overwrought, but she was surprised to learn he was not the angry alter ego she was expecting, but the good-humored physicist she’d teased about Vision’s neural configuration who was now broken down before her. Bast forgive her, how she’d mercilessly critiqued Banner and Stark’s work on the synthezoid just before the Snap! Now, it felt like a lifetime ago, and so much had changed while she was “blipped.”

On the day of the second battle, Shuri had quickly sent an assistant to look for Natasha Romanoff, knowing that’s who should have been there to share their loss together only to be told by one of the Dora Milaje that the warrior and spy had sacrificed herself before the battle had even started. Shuri had quickly stepped forward and taken charge of Banner’s care on the battlefield. It was devastatingly obvious to her he’d lost the two most important people in the world to him, but she’d be damned if he was going to lose his life or his arm next.

Tents were set up in a field away from the blast crater where the Compound had been. Only a few of the storage buildings and a maintenance facility toward the very back of the property had been spared due to the angle of attack, so the survivors took Bruce and the other wounded there where they still had electricity and running water. Her initial scans showed he had unusual radiation burns, similar to what Stark had suffered. “So, are you the fool or the hero responsible for bringing us all back, Dr. Banner?” she surmised.

“It was a team effort,” Bruce acknowledged, yet he demurred taking credit even after paying such an awful price. She estimated he had paid about 160 pounds of flesh to return half of all life in the universe—including hers and T’Challa’s—so maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal? Of course, that put a lot of people in his debt. She, however, was one of the few in the unique position of being able to pay him something back now when he needed it.

“Joint effort or not, you alone wore the Gauntlet and made it happen. Thank you, Dr. Bruce Banner. You don’t even have to say, ‘You’re welcome,’” she added pertly.

Despite the pain, he’d smiled and nodded. “You are welcome, Shuri. I just wish Tony had let me do it the second time.”

She shook her head. “Even I, who never met Mr. Stark, know he wouldn’t have let you, and it was not your fate.” The older physicist simply sighed and shook his head as the tears started to fill his eyes again. “Whether you like it or not, Bruce Banner, you are the one who is going to survive, especially if I have anything to say about it.” He looked at her and almost laughed through his tears. That’s when she was sure he had some fight left in him. “Besides, who am I going to teach how to make synthetic synapses work properly if you don’t stick around, hmm?”

That had gotten a small chuckle out of him, so she and an assistant had set to work removing the burned purple, grey, and black tech suit from him. The tricky part had been separating it from where the material had melted onto his tough skin, especially the spots on his back and hand where the healthy tissue was starting to regenerate around the fibers. That wouldn’t have been an issue if the uniform had been made out of Vibranium, which she could easily have made to separate or meld with organic tissue by merely adjusting it with one of her Kimoyo Beads. This was a different carbon-based weave that incorporated organic materials with the high-tech microstructures. At Bruce’s suggestion, the healers used their Beads to apply cold and the fibers shrunk enough to be removed with a dental water jet. They were nothing if not resourceful that afternoon. Next, they applied a Wakandan cooling nutrient wrap to disperse the heat and protect the burned tissue from infection. It was no secret that aloe was a major ingredient, and it also had a pretty powerful anesthetic. However, her patient didn’t need to know that. Eventually, he’d slept stretched across four cots.

His rural property was a quiet place, but it had a lot of old small-town charm and was within walking distance of anything he needed day to day. He’d also wanted to be part of a community and not a hermit. Happily, he’d found a home there in Bridgewater. Bruce had initially picked it because of the extensive grounds and the lack of zoning, so he was able to add cutting-edge lab spaces into the older gutted buildings yet still keep the overall appeal of the Arts and Crafts and Victorian exteriors. After his metamorphosis, he’d redone the interiors to a larger scale to match his increased size and height. Everything was off the grid and sustainable, so he was rather proud of that. At some point, he began to think of it as his permanent home.

Tony had even worked with him on modifying his Hummer HX and switching it over to run on a modified Arc Reactor. Bruce was really glad they’d been able to talk as they worked because they’d both felt like they were trying to get over breakups of a sort, yet really feeling guilty deep down for enjoying themselves and finding some normalcy and even joy after the Decimation. Little Morgan had never known him as anyone other than big, green Uncle Bruce, so she didn’t judge. Thankfully, Pepper hadn’t either. She and Tony both saw that he was finally comfortable as himself. No tip-toeing. No overwhelming fear of destroying those he loved. No debilitating pain from the transformations or from holding his larger form. In many ways, Bruce was at peace. With one huge exception, he was happy, too.

He never could get Natasha away from her station at the Avengers Compound, not even to see the gardens he’d added so naively three and four years ago for her. Rhodey had even offered to step in for her to take the helm at the Compound, so she and Bruce could spend some time together. That proposition had really brought things to a head, and Nat and he had quarreled . . . loudly, over her fixation with saving what was left of the universe and what it was costing her psychologically and physically. He had begged her to come with him, just for the weekend, for a day or two, no pressure, separate bedrooms, and she’d scornfully told him he was selfish. He only cared about himself and his desires.

Bruce had finally had enough. “They used to be your desires, too, Nat.” During the first three weeks after they’d killed Thanos, the two of them had started making plans, but the day he’d returned from his trip to Willowdale, Virginia, to see Leonard Samson and start therapy, she’d ignored and avoided him, acted like he was a complete stranger and then a leper. Not three days before that, he’d poured his heart out to her about needing to find a compromise between both halves. He’d explained that might require serious changes, a lot of digging down deep to find the root of their anger, if he was ever going be whole. She’d said she understood and would be his . . . their partner in this journey. She sincerely wanted this for him . . . for both of them, and by extension their own relationship.

After he arrived back at the Compound from Virginia, her sudden coolness had shocked him. What had he done? He must have done something to offend her, but she’d never say. For crying out loud, they’d shared a bed for nearly two months! Suddenly, she wouldn’t even stay in the same room with him unless he physically cornered her. After a month of that icy treatment and tension, he’d been forced to embark on his journey alone. Maybe if she’d been there with them like she’d promised, the changes might have come about differently or seemed less drastic and more of an organic progression like he’d experienced them. Even if he couldn’t convince her to engage with them, they’d been very satisfied with the “upgrades” once the physical and mental integration process was complete. In 18 months, what was done was done. No going back. He was finally whole. Maybe he’d made it permanent to burn their bridges and give her the excuse to be repelled by his size, his color, his “monstrousness”? If she was really that shallow . . . Yet, the thing that still didn’t make any sense, the issue he couldn’t reconcile, was that she’d pursued him . . . waited for him . . . said she loved him and wanted a life with him. Bruce knew she’d been sincere, that she hadn’t lied to him. He would have known.

Yet, that day in the conference room, all of that frustration boiled over as she attacked him and refused to let him help her or give their relationship one last chance. Bruce had crossed his massive forearms across his chest and asked if she was too embarrassed now to even be seen with him much less touch him like she once had. Natasha admitted she was repelled by the sight of him because he’d “mutilated” himself. He didn’t even look human to her.

Bruce had left, but not before pointing out that he’d repeatedly asked for her input before he started, and she’d ignored him and his requests. Yes, maybe he was selfish, but he was willing to put in the hard work on himself to find some peace for him and safety for others. There was no “mutilation” unless she counted her cutting his heart out. Whether or not she approved of the results, he was happier and healthier than he’d been since 2003, maybe even before that. He did not feel guilty about that one bit. He’d asked her several times to go to counselling, and she’d made every excuse to avoid it. Where had her “mission” and her unnecessary martyrdom gotten her? Try looking in the mirror. She was a wreck inside and out. When she was ready to start living again, she knew where to find him. He’d be damned if he’d stand by and watch her slowly, needlessly kill herself any longer. After that, he’d taken a page from Tony’s playbook and mostly washed his hands of anything to do with Avenging.

He hadn’t seen her face-to-face again until Steve had called and asked him to come meet with him and Scott about a new possibility to science their way out of the Decimation, so Bruce had picked a diner where he’d been often enough they had a chair made especially for him. He’d been completely surprised when she walked in with Steve and Scott. Natasha looked even more chronically fatigued than before, but she was still beautiful to him. He’d half expected her to be “with” Steve, but their body language said otherwise. Bruce did his best to be cordial, which made him feel down right manic. He was in a good place, and when she threw out the line about what he’d done for himself having seemed impossible, Bruce didn’t fight her stoking his vanity and wrapping him around her little finger one more time. Despite how she’d treated him and abandon what they’d agreed they both wanted, he’d still loved her, and he still desired what they’d almost had. She’d meant that much to him. Now, he knew he’d never really been over her at all. “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”  He wasn’t so certain he agreed with Tennyson because he certainly hadn’t learned from the experience. He hadn’t moved on. Now, all he could do was mourn her, and it hurt.

Bruce took a deep breath and filled his large set of lungs with crisp morning air. Now, it was fall and the oaks and maples were finally showing their colors. Bruce walked the grassy strip with the blast crater on his right and the lake on his left. He was feeling melancholy, mostly because he was trying to plan Natasha’s memorial. He’d Skyped earlier that morning with Lee and talked to Betty for the first time since she’d been back. She’d returned to a son and daughter who’d jumped from three and five years old to eight and ten. Lee said that deep down he had held onto the hope she wasn’t lost, and it had paid off thanks to Bruce. Betty had thanked him, and Bruce was too happy for them to say anything. He was just thankful they’d had their reunion, their resurrection. She’d wanted to have a look at the arm, and he’d agreed to come down in a month or so. He’d already gone through two treatments with Helen and Shuri, which had the limb looking and functioning a lot closer to normal. Thankfully, Betty hadn’t given him any negative feedback about his looks or the “changes,” so at least he’d not had to deal with that. No doubt, Lee had given her a heads-up, but still, it was a kindness and he appreciated it.

Bruce had been having fun over the past week or so discovering what Shuri had packed into the Kimoyo Bead she’d given him. He was not wearing the glove or the prosthetic sleeve that morning because everything was healing so well. He used his scared right hand to roll the Bead on his left wrist to see what the new campus would look like via his glasses. The main building and visitor’s center would have Tony’s name on it, but the committee had agreed the Natasha Romanoff Training Facility would be the next biggest structure along with the new practice grounds. There would be a rose garden and a columbarium for remains, too. Later, they would probably add statues to keep Hap appeased, but Pepper, Rhodey, and he wanted to keep things simple here. Clint and Steve would probably agree with the majority. Thor had told him to be his proxy. There were already enough heroic statues planned elsewhere around the world.

Bruce wasn’t quite sure why he scanned back toward the left to the half-empty lake with its dissipating mists, but he was thinking of sitting on the dock with her, placing his arm around her shoulders and Nat leaning her head against the crook of his neck. They’d had plans. Maybe they’d have been able to patch things up once all the damn guilt-soaked red ink had been washed out of her ledger a hundred billion times over. Something set the Kimoyo Bead blinking and then it vibrated, so Bruce swung his attention back around and looked at the water left in the middle of the lake. It was a deep-water lake, so there was still well over a hundred feet of water in the middle beyond the 25-30 yards of sloping mudflats, gravel beds, and brush left exposed. He’d estimated it might take as long as a year for the lake to fill up naturally now that the shoreline had been mostly repaired.

Bruce tapped his earpiece to access the mobile interface in his glasses. “Friday, use the Bead’s sensors to analyze what set it off. I want to know what’s left in the center of the lake.”

“Aye, Dr. Banner, aside from rocks and detritus, it appears to be a metallic object about 25 x 20 meters. It may be a craft. Make and type, unknown. Possibly a type of . . . spacecraft,” the Interface informed him as it continued to gather data and analyze it. “That would be my best guess as to what it is, Sar. It seems to have been in place for an extended period of time, but has just recently ‘decloaked,’ for the lack of a better description.”

“Then it’s not Tony’s?”

If the Interface could have cleared its throat, it would have. “I think I’d recognize Mr. Stark’s work.”

“Sorry, Friday, I had to ask. Are you sure it’s not a Chitauri craft or something else left over from Thanos’ attack?”

“No, Doctor, it’s much smaller, too lightly armored: it’s only about eighteen tons and not at all like what previously did battle here. The sediment would indicate it’s been in place for a number of years.”

“Any idea what it’s doing here? Is there anyone in it?”

“Nothing conclusive yet, Dr. Banner. The metal makes scanning a challenge. Wait, an affirmative: there is one humanoid aboard. No detectable mechanical activity aside from life support though. Shall I try and establish contact?”

“Yes, and alert Colonel Rhodes and whomever else is closest . . . Get Fury if he’s available.”

A few tense moments passed as Bruce considered what to do. He wasn’t back up to fighting form yet, but he could summon the Hulk-Buster armor and a couple of others from storage at his place for backup if needed—Tony had those and more than a few other projects stored there in various stages of completion. He hoped Morgan or Peter or Harley would finish them with him.

Friday’s lilting voice finally reported back: “I’ve not been able to reach Colonel Rhodes because he’s on assignment, but I successfully contacted Fury. Ms. Maximov is on her way from New York City. Fury advises you to sit tight and wait till they arrive. He has contacted Carol Danvers as well.”

Great. The big gun. “All right, Friday. Is the mystery ship still just sitting there? No response?”

“No response to my . . . wait. I’m getting audio. I’ll patch it through . . .”

“Avengers? Anyone? Mayday. Hello . . . ?”

The new dreams always involved someone asking her questions or telling her to remember details about people or places. She didn’t have to speak. All the person asked her to do was think about the answer or the memories. She imagined she was looking at herself, but upside down a few times, but man, her hair looked like shit. “Tell me what you think of him,” the other her had demanded and pointed to a monitor with a picture of someone she loved.

“I miss him. We were going to leave together, but he thought he needed to protect me, so he left by himself. Then he just came back. We worked it out. We just needed a little space to know what we meant to each other. We held hands almost the whole way to Wakanda, and neither of us could quite quit smiling. We held each other the whole way back after we failed. We both survived. We just needed a little more time together. He’s a good person. His kisses are so incredible. He loves me. He’ll be back from Virginia Monday. We were going to make plans.”

“Shit.” There was a long pause. “He meant something really important to you. I suppose that’s why I’m here.”

For some reason, it felt like her heart was in her throat, and she sobbed, “Bruce and I are leaving together. I made him Hulk out on purpose, but he said he understood. He forgave me.” The cold feeling crept up on her. “Where is he? I want to see him.”

She dreamed of waking up with him in the spare room at the Barton farm. She was nestled beside him with her head on his shoulder. They talked about finding a place of their own with a little land around it and room for a garden, maybe some roses. They didn’t need to make a lot of plans. They’d see what happened between them and go from there. There were so many kids without parents now. Maybe they could do something about that?

“What do you think of this?” A picture of Hulk appeared in front of her, but something was off.

“Hulk doesn’t wear glasses. Bruce wears glasses. The dork. My dork.” Nat almost giggled. That was weird, and she felt almost giddy. “His eyes are Bruce’s too. Do they both have his brown eyes now? Hulk’s haven’t been just green for years, not unless he’s really, really angry, and then they almost glow. This guy isn’t angry. He’s kind of familiar.”

“Would you talk to him if he wanted to talk to you?”

“Of course, but I’m not sure who he is. He looks happy though. I’d talk to him. I’d talk to Hulk if that’s who he is.” She felt so lightheaded.

“Then I’ll have to.” The other Natasha came closer and took off her glove. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to take a little more today. I know you won’t understand this, but I have to fit in here if my people are going to survive. You isolated yourself and did most of my job in the beginning for me. That was a stroke of luck. However, I can only learn so much from the files. I have to imprint on you to know and feel enough to pass for you. Unfortunately, every time I take an imprint from you, I risk losing myself in your identity like . . . what do you call them here? A sleeper agent. Sometimes my kind does that on purpose and trusts that at the right time, the right signs will come, and they’ll remember who they are. I’m afraid I’ll forget you’re here if I go too deep. I don’t think that’s right. It’s just not ethical if it’s not necessary.” There was a long pause where her fate hung in the balance. “I’ll tell you what, Natasha, I’m going to be sporting about this. If I don’t come back every 14 days to check on you and hit the reset, I’m putting in the order for the chamber to release you. That’s fair, isn’t it?” She’d nodded groggily. “Okay, that’s our deal then. Go back to sleep now, my beautiful dreamer.” She felt a cool hand rest on her forehead and drifted off. Please, no. Please. . .

Natasha drifted for a while. She wandered the marble and mahogany halls of the mansion she’d been raised in during one of her lifetimes. The former spy walked the corridors for days without meeting anyone. Then, she was late for the ballet class, and she had no toe shoes with her. Madame would beat her! She was looking everywhere for them. There was a roar behind her and she ran for her life. She’d made him a promise: she would get him off the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, and he would live his life. She would watch over him from a distance as she had for years in British Columbia, in Detroit, in Virginia, in Kolkata. He would walk away and be free. No one would put him in a cage. Not Ross. Not AIM. Not Hydra. Not even S.H.I.E.L.D. She swore on her life. “YOUR LIFE!” Bruce!  His name was Bruce, and they were going to leave together as soon as the world quit burning and blowing away like dust in a whirlwind.