During your most recent shared meal, he had told you that he had to head out of town for one of his grandkids' graduation ceremonies and none of his buddies at work were free to take up an extra shift. Apparently, you were the next best thing. You're not entirely sure how or if it's even allowed, but Harry promised that it would be low stress and easy and that he would pay you for your time. (How you could say no to making some extra money? And doing your friend a favor as well?)

Low stress, my ass. Covering Harry's shift was easy enough at first. All you had to do was monitor the security cameras from the warehouse's control room and patrol the entire area every half hour or so. Your duties were simple, so simple that you were becoming mind-numbingly bored. You were almost in a daze as you were walking around the interior of the building. That was until something comes crashing down through the roof of the warehouse scaring the ever-loving shit out of you.

You clutch at your chest, trying to calm the racing of your pulse. You had noticed it, whatever it is, far above in the sky. Your brain just assumed it was a bird or a plane passing by overhead until it grew larger and larger in your line of sight. All you managed to see was a blur of green before it crashed into the pile of debris laying smack-dab in the middle of the warehouse.

Once you manage to get the jack-hammering of your heart mostly under control, you cautiously approach the thing that just made your low stress shift a lot more stressful. God, you'd give anything to be equipped with the items an actual security guard would typically have. Like a weapon of some sort that you could protect yourself with. But since you're not actually a security guard, just someone doing a favor for your older neighbor, you have nothing. (All you have is an oversized t-shirt that says SECURITY in big bold white letters that Harry insisted you wear while on the job.)

Harry was going to owe you big time for this.

As you draw nearer to the thing that slammed into the giant pile of concrete blocks, you're shocked to see that that thing is a man. You may have been zoning out, but you're pretty sure that you would have recalled if a man had fallen out of the fucking sky. No, you're confident that what you saw was a giant mass of green, most definitely not a man. (And a rather good looking man at that.)

You wrack your brain. With the world changing as it is, it’s hard to keep up with everything that goes on in the world. Giant green humanoid, giant green humanoid. Have you seen something about that? You faintly recall a news headline you saw awhile back. It was in Harlem, you think. There was a big fight that basically leveled the neighborhood. This thing was involved. You know it was. What did they call it? You sift through your memories, searching for the word. The...the Hulk! The Hulk! That’s what it was.

This man laying before you now is the Hulk. Or can transform into it. You have no idea how it works.

Your gaze settles on his face. He’s rather handsome. You noticed it as soon as you realized it was a man lying in the debris. Even covered in dust and looking a little worse for wear, his good features are still prominent. Your eyes drift downward, lingering on his chest full of hair, before drifting further.

Oh.

The man is not only shirtless, but fully nude. You look on appreciatively for a moment before drawing your gaze up again. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicates that he only seems to be unconscious, not dead. You breathe out a sigh of relief at that fact. You did not know how you would deal with not only a man falling from the sky, but a dead one at that.

Your eyes sweep the area around him, looking for any clothes that may belong to the handsome stranger. Perhaps you should be more afraid of a man who has the ability to transform into a huge green monster that destroyed an entire neighborhood, but what can he really do to you in his unconscious state?

You gingerly climb over the wreckage caused by his crash landing, picking up a pair of pants. It doesn't look like there's anything else besides that laying around. You make a split second decision and peel off your SECURITY t-shirt. You're sure the man would want a top and a pair of bottoms when he woke up. Whenever that is.

(Thank goodness you decided to layer today and wear a long-sleeve beneath the t-shirt.)

A quiet groan startles you.

It looks like "whenever that is" is now. You turn towards the stranger, whose eyes have cracked open. You stay quiet, allowing him to get his bearings for a moment.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," you call out as you slowly walk over. "Nice of you to join us in the land of the living again."

He doesn't jump at the sound of your voice. He merely looks over at you. Maybe you didn't give him quite enough time to get a grasp on the situation, but you weren't going to linger around quietly forever.

"Did I hurt anybody?" he rasps. Right. A pleasant voice, a pretty face, and a rather well-endowed package: What does this guy not have?

"No, building's empty," you assure. (You're not sure if he hurt anybody elsewhere, but that's none of your business.) "Scared the shit out of me though."

"Sorry," he apologizes.

"No worries." You carefully climb over the broken pieces of debris. You carefully avert your eyes from the lower portion of his body as you pass him the bundle of clothes, which he gratefully accepts. "I'm more curious why the Hulk of all people came crashing down into a warehouse in the middle of nowhere."

He winces as he quickly tugs on the pair of pants you've handed him. You definitely do not ogle him when he lifts his hips in the air to slide them on. Nice happy trail.

"So you saw the other guy?"

You can't help the huff of laughter that escapes you.

"Kinda hard to miss him."

"Right," he quietly says. He clears his throat. "It's kind of a long story."

"I bet." You rest your hand against a piece of rebar sticking straight up from the ground. You can't deny your curiosity regarding the situation, but it's clear the man doesn't really want to get into it right now. You won't push on the matter. "What's your name?"

He hesitates.

"Bruce," he supplies after a prolonged lapse of silence. "And you?"

You introduce yourself in return, and the man, Bruce, nods in acknowledgment. "Thank you for this," he says, tugging on the front of the SECURITY t-shirt you gave him.

"It's no problem at all," you easily say. You hope Harry doesn't ask for the shirt back. "You hurt anywhere? I know the other guy took the fall for you, but considering you fell from the sky, it was quite the impact." You purse your lips together, looking over Bruce. He's gray and dusty all over, loose pieces of debris woven through the strands of his dark curls. A little banged up, but no notable injuries.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He runs a hand through his hair, shaking out the gravel that's gathered there. "The other guy can handle it."

"Good," you grin. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours."

Bruce sputters. Beneath all that grime, you can see a light dusting of red spreading across his cheeks. Cute.

"Oh, um, thanks?" he says, obviously taken aback. "You always, uh, this forward?"

"When I want to be."

He nervously laughs. God, you could really eat right him up.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this, because believe me I am, but do you have someplace to be, handsome? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm sure the other guy doesn’t just fall out of the sky for fun." You raise a brow at him.

Bruce pushes himself up with a groan, standing on unsteady feet. You inch a little closer just in case his legs decide to give out from under him.

“We definitely don’t do that every day,” Bruce chuckles before he goes quiet again. His brows pinch together, and you can read the indecision in his expression. “I guess I do have somewhere to be,” he slowly says.

“Off to save the world?” you suggest.

Bruce shrugs and gives you a small smile. "Something like that."

His hands have wound themselves within the material of the t-shirt you've provided him, bunching and unbunching the dark fabric gathered in his fists. His smile becomes more apologetic. "Do you happen to have a ride I could borrow?"

"Sure, got a bike you could use." You fish your motorcycle keys out of your pocket, dangling them in the air. You may have truly gone and lost your mind considering you're about to let a man who you've met only today borrow (and most likely never return) your bike, but well. You have been meaning to get rid of the bike and instead get a car or just rely on public transit for getting around.

(Harry's been lecturing you about how dangerous it is to ride a motorcycle, citing motorcycle injury statistics and taking it upon himself to keep you up-to-date on the latest motorcycle accident that's occurred in the city.)

You swing the key loop around your finger.

"On one condition."

"What is it?" Bruce warily says. He goes rigid, spine straightening out. He takes a step back away from you and holds his hands out in front of him, readying himself for something to happen. The look in his eyes is full of thinly veiled distrust.

You didn't think your words would elicit that kind of reaction, so you hurry it up and state your request. You give Bruce what you hope is a warm and friendly smile. (Some of the tension unwinds itself from between his shoulders, and he lowers his hands down back to by his side.)

"Give me a call sometime."

On the borrowed motorcycle that Bruce will mostly likely be unable to return back to you, he speeds through the streets of New York City. Debris and rubble lay everywhere. People are running around in a panic, trying to get as far away as they can from the terror reigning the streets. Police officers part of the NYPD are blocking off certain parts of the city, doing what they can to protect the people from an enemy they've never encountered before.

As much as Bruce would like to stop and help, he only revs the motorcycle, breezing past all of them. He weaves through the broken down cars and the little fires littering the roads. In order to put a stop to this madness, he needs to meet up with the others. Immediately. Bruce urges the bike to go faster, to take him where these alien life forms are converging, where the others are most likely to be.

Bruce gets a glimpse of the familiar white, red, and blue of Captain America's uniform, and he knows he was correct in his assumption. He slows down as he approaches, not wanting to startle the group that's gathered. He knows he didn't leave on the best note, considering the Hulk went on a rampage on the Quinjet, nearly taking out Natasha. He mentally winces. Not the best look.

But, he's not here as their adversary. He's here to help.

Captain America, Thor, Natasha, and who he assumes is Clint Barton (the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who went rogue) turn around and cautiously walk towards him as he kills the engine of your bike. Bruce swings his leg over the body of it to settle both feet on solid ground. Well, it's now or never.

He slowly walks in the direction of the group. They meet in the middle.

"So, this all seems pretty terrible," he casually says, motioning to the wreckage around them.

"I've seen worse," Natasha says. She gives him a quick but meaningful look over.

"Sorry," he grimaces, remembering how the other guy tried attacking her just a short while ago.

"No, we could use a little worse," the red-head says with a slight upturn of her lips. Her eyes dart to Bruce's arm, lingering for a brief moment. The slight upturn of her lips pulls higher.

"What is that?" The amusement in her voice rings clear.

Bruce looks down at his arm and feels heat rise to his cheeks. In black sharpie, there are a string of digits along with the neatly written words call me :). Bruce wishes he was wearing his button-down from before he transformed into the other guy and not the short-sleeve SECURITY t-shirt you had given him. He places his hand over the message you've left him, shielding it from prying eyes, and awkwardly chuckles.

"It's a long story."

You don't hear the rest of their conversation as you travel out of earshot of it. You don't care to. You're only here for one thing. You stop for a moment as your eyes dart around the chaos. Rubble and debris surround the entirety of the Damage Control building. First responders are littered throughout the area, tending to those who were in and around the building when disaster struck. Your gaze travels lightning-quick as you look over the faces of all these different people, none of them the one you're looking for.

Until your gaze lands on a stretcher, specifically the man strapped to it. Your feet carry you over in the direction of it before your brain has a chance to think of anything else.

"Bruce," you call out, the pure relief evident in your voice. You fall in line with the EMTs moving the stretcher. Bruce's eyes widen in surprise when you come into view. He says your name as a question, confusion coloring his tone.

"What are you doing here?" he says, more to himself than anything. "Did I hurt anybody? Did anybody get hurt? My inhibitor broke, I-"

You cut off Bruce's anxious line of questioning, sliding your hand into his and squeezing it tight. Of course, he's thinking of everyone else but himself. Even though out of everyone you've seen receiving treatment on-site, Bruce looks like he's got the worst of it. Always putting others before himself. It's so like him, it makes your heart ache terribly.

"Came as soon as I saw the news, honey," you say. "You're okay, everyone's okay," you soothe. You don't know if there were any fatalities, but Bruce doesn't need to know that either. For his sake, you hope there were none.

"Good, that's good," he exhales. His head falls back against the solid cushion of the stretcher's headrest.

You don't know what happened. Not really. Not everything. You know there's more to the situation that occurred at the Damage Control's Headquarters than what the news conveyed. You're also well aware how the situation is going to look to the general public. To say the least, absolutely terrible. You fear how they're going to rip Bruce to shreds, claiming that the Hulk's gone berserk when you know Bruce would never intentionally hurt anybody.

You take a long deep breath. There's no need to work yourself up over that right now. You and Bruce don't both need to be panicked. You get yourself under control, hauling yourself up into the back of the ambulance as the EMTs load Bruce into it. You slide your hand back into his once you're seated and use your free hand to cradle Bruce's dirtied cheek, moving away any stray hairs from his face. He leans into your palm, sagging with visible relief. The solidness of Bruce beneath your touch is a physical reminder that he's okay. More than a little banged up, but he's okay. He's alive. That's all you can ask for.

You'll deal with what comes next together.

Despite the fact that Thor was your closest and favourite cousin, the pair of you were nothing alike. Sure, like him you had more strength, better endurance and more physical resilience to harm when compared to Midgardians, but personality wise? Chalk and cheese.

Where he was loud, you were quiet. Where he was the life of the party, you were a wallflower. Where he showed off his mastery of thunder and lightning, you practised your ability, to grow and manipulate plants, quietly and privately. People knew, of course, but it was never a party trick. 

Growing up, Thor, and to a lesser extent, Loki, had never allowed those in your mutual circle to tease you for your quiet and somewhat awkward tendencies. You joined in their adventures in your own way, lending your unique talents when needed, the quiet voice of reason when hotter tempers flared. What this meant though, was that when Thor decided to make Midgard his second home, you decided to do the same. 

You’d never really considered Midgardians as worth knowing – like others of your kind you’d thought them all childish and naive. However, your first meeting with his new friends – The Avengers as they called themselves – had negated your assumptions instantly. Soon, they were your new friends as well, and like those back on Asgard, they accepted you for who you were. Out of the group of them, you were drawn most to Nat and Bruce. The pair of them fully understood your need for quiet company, and when you visited, sometimes with Thor and sometimes without, you often found yourself curled up with a book on the couch in Bruce’s lab, while the scientist tinkered away on his latest project. That wasn’t to say that you didn’t join in with group activities – you did – but if you’d joined them on a mission or for movie night, you often found your social battery waned very quickly after.

There was only one thing about Bruce that made you nervous, and that was his alter-ego. The first time you’d encountered the Hulk in the flesh it was by accident. 

It had been a few days into your first visit. Thor had told you about what had happened to Bruce and how the effects manifested themselves, but you were still taken completely off guard. It was Tony’s fault, of course. The man behind the Iron Man mask was a nice guy and everything, but was also impatient, mercurial and had a mischievous streak a mile wide. 

Bruce had been showing you his lab, having clocked your need for solitude early on, and was letting you know that you could use his space as a sanctuary, when Tony had decided to pull a prank. The billionaire awkwardly admitted later that it was aimed more at you than Bruce, because you’d turned down his nosey, scientific advances the previous day – C’mon, Poison Ivy, show me what you got – and hadn’t anticipated such a strong reaction from the Green Guy.

In the middle of  Bruce showing you where he kept his secret stash of cookies, the door to the lab suddenly locked, a loud siren had gone off and the space had started to fill with smoke. Bruce’s eyes had gone wide, and you swore they’d also flashed green, as his fingers danced over the control panel.

“What’s going on, Dr Banner?” you’d asked, fear rising up in your breast, but he just ignored you, whirling around and running to the door, white coat flapping and nostrils flaring. He tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge, and he turned back to where you were with trembling hands. All he managed to say was ‘I’m sorry,’ before he started to transform before your eyes. He was massive, green and loud. You were used to being around tall people – Thor wasn’t exactly the smallest, and you were more than familiar with Heimdall as well — but the Hulk was big on a different scale. 

He roared at the closed door and beat his fists upon it. Even through the smoke you could see the dent that appeared. You clapped your hands over your ears and tried to shrink back into a corner, worried you were going to be trampled. You tried to call your powers, but you were inside of a Midgardian building made of metal and glass, at least twenty storeys up in the air, and the closest plants were the dead, cut flowers in a vase in the common room.

Luckily, almost as soon as it started, it all stopped. The siren fell silent, the fans started to extract the smoke and door unlocked with an audible snick. Immediately, the Hulk began to shrink, leaving a panting – and half naked – Bruce kneeling on the floor. Thor and Nat burst in, checking on each of you, even as you heard Steve shouting at Tony out in the corridor.

“Are you alright?” your cousin asked, his large hand cupping your upper arm.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Just a little startled by everything.”

Thor huffed. “Stark… He’s not malicious, but like a child, he craves answers as soon as he asks a question.”

“It’s okay. Really.” You shrugged off his hand and gave him a wan smile. “I remember a cousin of mine was like that once.” He at least had the good grace to shake his head as he let out a wry chuckle.

“And I learnt my lesson very quickly after your vines suspended me upside down inside the throne room. Loki teased me about that for years. I doubt any of the others would think ill of you if a similar fate befell the Man of Iron.”

You let out a snort of laughter at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You glanced over your shoulder to where Nat was crouched by Bruce’s side, passing him a cup of water. Appearing to sense your gaze, he looked up, his eyes catching yours for a moment, before you quickly turned away. “I think for now I’d like to go to my room and rest. You know I’m not good with too much excitement.”

It wasn’t that you completely avoided Bruce after that – you didn’t hold anything against him and he did have the best space outside of your room on Thor’s floor to hang out in – but on any mission you took part in, you chose to stay well away from the Hulk if at all possible. He was so big, loud and destructive that he just made you feel nervous, more so than other people, and you were bad enough around them. Bruce did seem to understand though, because the next time you visited his lab, tentatively poking your head around the door with a volume of a Midgardian encyclopedia in hand, you found that he’d put several potted plants around the room. However, the pair of you never spoke about the incident .

The other thing you avoided was what Tony called the ‘After-show party’ or, in Clint’s vernacular, the ‘paparazzi run’. As an Asgardian, you were used to victories being turned into spectacles, but the scale on which the Midgardians did it was dizzying. Happily, for the most part, Tony was more than eager to bask in the light of the cameras, extolling and extemporising, with Steve playing a more reluctant back up (and retreating into his ‘Cap’ persona to do so), but there was no way to completely extinguish the public’s interest in you. As the only woman on the team besides Nat, and being ‘an alien’ to boot, there were multiple times that you found yourself with a microphone or camera shoved in your face, when all you wanted to do was retreat to your favourite couch in Bruce’s lab and let your subconscious twist and twine vines up and down the walls. You knew that part of the fascination was because you had such obvious powers, but unlike Thor, you didn’t actively parade them. Your refusal to indulge the public – the same way you’d refused to indulge Tony – led to the increased interest, and you weren’t ignorant of what some of the more low-brow publications said about you. The Meekest Avenger, was how one tabloid had put it, making commentary about how you scuttled away, head down at the end of each battle. How you didn’t make appearances at any of Tony’s gala’s. At least, now that you were fully integrated into the group, the others could run interference, allowing you the opportunity to slip away more often than not when the swarm descended.

However, on this day, luck was not on your side.

Dirt was smeared down your cheek as you leant against a dented car that had been abandoned in the middle of the road. The bad guys were defeated, at least for now, and you and the Avengers were catching your breath after a battle well won. Tony was standing near Steve, face plate raised and guzzling water from a bottle that had been passed over by a grateful civilian. They were no doubt working on their press strategy, as no doubt, with the threat dealt with, the buzzing helicopters would be replaced with reporting vans within minutes. Thor and Clint were chatting, your cousin’s loud laughter allowing you to pin-point his whereabouts with your eyes closed. Clint appeared to have a slight limp, and there was a cut above his eye, but apparently that was ‘nothing’ to the accident prone archer. Considering that the scale of this threat had necessitated a ‘Code Green’, it was a miracle that the human members of the party, enhanced or not, weren’t any worse for wear. Speaking of ‘green’...

Out of the corner of eye you could see the Hulk, crouched, with his chest heaving under the influence of adrenaline and the other chemicals coursing through his system. Nat was standing with him, her small hand running up and down his arm, helping to sooth him back into Banner. For some reason it seemed to be taking longer than usual, hence you standing here out of the way – you’d go and check in on your friends once the Hulk was firmly back in his Bruce-shaped box.

Unfortunately, because you were standing apart from the others, and further away from where the centre of the action had been, it meant you were in just the right place when the reporters arrived. 

You’d closed your eyes for a few seconds, to centre yourself after the stress of the fight, only for them to snap open as soon as you realised that someone was in your personal space. Unfortunately, all your eyes could focus on was the fuzzy microphones that had been shoved under your nose.

“Can you tell us who did this?” came the no nonsense question from the first reporter.

“Err.” You darted a look over your shoulder, but the other Avengers all appeared to still be in conversation, your predicament currently unnoticed.

“What did the villain hope to gain by attacking the people here?” another asked, stepping even closer into your face, his camera wielding colleague leaning over his shoulder.

You took a tentative step back, eyes darting and your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Well, it’s not really my place… maybe you’d like to talk to Cap, or Iron Man?” You could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

“I don’t understand how you’re one of them,” the first one stated, gesticulating with his mike and stepping forward as well. “You seem scared all the time. How do you even manage to leave the tower? Or Asgard for that matter?”

You tried to back up again, but were halted by a wall. You wanted to shout out for one of the others, but your throat wasn’t working. What you wouldn’t give to have the same extrovert tendencies of your cousin in this moment. Or at least Loki’s acerbic wit. But the world was going dizzy and there was a ringing in your ears.

“Yeah, come on, love. You could at least give us a smile if you’re not going to give us a sound bite.”

A ripple of laughter made its way through the group, which had now swelled in number from the original three to an imposing eight. Beneath your feet the concrete started to crack, small plants growing up from them. Your rising panic was making it harder to control your powers.

Suddenly, a powerful roar rent the air, and the ground shook under your feet, as if there were an earthquake. As one, the group of reporters cried out and scattered as the Hulk ran towards them. He stopped just in front of you, whirling around and snorting, bull-like, at the scrabbling papparazzo’s, before stomping the ground, making it tremble again and sending some of them tumbling over.

“Don’t be rude!” Hulk shouted at their retreating backs, before turning back to your own quaking form. Before you even knew what was happening, he had scooped you up in one of his enormous arms and was galloping away from the scene. You continued to shake in his rigid hold, visions of the laughing reporters repeating in front of your eyes. Norns, you were pathetic. Your eyes filled with tears as your chest heaved from your shuddering breaths. Why couldn’t you be strong and sure of yourself like Thor and Loki were?

It wasn’t until the Hulk lowered you to the ground, that you realised that he’d stopped running. You looked around yourself in panic, trying to work out where you were, only to find that he’d placed you to rest on some grass.

“Tower there,” he stated, pointing out the giant ‘A’ stuck to the side of the building in the not too far distance. You glanced again at the greenery surrounding you – the grass, the plants, the trees. He must have brought you to Central Park. 

You were still shaking – from both fear and frustration – but you had to admit that the Hulk had brought you to your favourite place in the whole of New York. A place where you felt safe. “Th-thank you,” you stammered, and the big green guy’s normally angry expression morphed into one of pure joy, a broad smile splitting his face.

“Hulk happy you’re happy.”

A tentative, echoing smile danced across your face unbidden, dragged into being by his sweet, earnest reaction. “Thank you,” you repeated, “for rescuing me. For bringing me somewhere that I’d feel safe.”

“Hulk like you,” he continued, only for his smile to drop once more. “Not think you like Hulk, though.”

Your own heart sunk to your stomach as you realised how affected he was by your avoidance.

“Not mean to frighten you, that first time,” he continued. “Sometimes Hulk gets scared.” He dropped down beside you, making the ground tremble. “Hulk not like loud sounds. Hulk not like lots of people.”

Beneath your hands, daisies started to sprout in the grass as your lips twisted up wryly. “It seems we have more in common than I thought – I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you. But for someone who doesn’t like loud sounds, you sure do make ‘em. It makes me nervous.”

Hulk’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of green and you realised he was blushing. You reached out your hand and cupped his face. “Maybe we can hang out some time. Somewhere quiet?”

“Yes. Hulk would like.”

You moved your hand down to take hold of his.

“Friends then? I have been told I have an affinity for green things.”

The guileless smile returned to his face. “Hulk is very green.”

“That you are, Big Guy. That you are.”