A kiss with a fist is better than none

The door to her apartment opened easily, too easily, and he readied hid armour-piercing rounds, preparing for the worst. 

“Don’t start feeling sorry for me Stark, otherwise I’ll start having to keep your, going into space and saving the world seriously, after all the jokes I’ve cracked it’s just not something I’m ready to get rid of.” she said jokingly as she looked towards him, knowing that she took it seriously, especially after the PTSD.  

The lights fade up as they head through the halls, Jarvis shutting down the house behind them. His room is sleek modern furniture, highlighted with blue accents here and there. It’s surprisingly simple, but it reeks of money and indulgence. Cigar smoke clings to the sheets of the bed, a light scent of cologne lingers in the air. The wall to wall windows darken as he leaves her to use the adjoining bathroom, and then splash some water on his face. 

Things are getting a little wobbly, his body teetering lightly back and forth on its own accord. He pulls off his pants on his way back into the room, leaving them on the ground, throwing his suit jacket onto the chaise in the corner. His dress shirt is next, and he leaves it in a crumple on the ground next to his bedside table. The arc reactor glows lightly through his undershirt, and he touches it absently, tracing the ridges with his fingers. 

“And you’re sure you’re not interested in any extracurricular activities?” he asks, one last time, sliding under the sheets, turning on his side to face her. 

“I’m absolutely positive Tony.” she said using emphasis on his name, climbing into bed next to him, turning to face him, caressing his cheek lightly before pulling her hand back to her  side of the bed. “It’s best for both of us, plus you’ve got a point to prove don’t you, that you’re a changed man, that we’re no longer Natalie Rushmore and Mr Stark...that despite the gloriousness that  it was, there maybe something beautiful in the platonic, what scares you is you probably feel that already and you’re not sure what to do when you love a woman and don’t need to hump her brains out.”  she said with a small smile.

Leaning back against the wall furthest from the door, knowing Tony and the others might say he was being dumb for leaving so soon. How he needed to relax, or throw back a few beers, have some fun, ease the tension in his life. But Bruce hated being at ease. It wasn’t who he was. It’s why being the Hulk held so much heartache and painful memories of keeping himself under control. Bruce Banner was a busybody. “Heh, I don’t know… It’s like–” he hesitated, trying to find the right words. “We’re trying to be people we aren’t. Even now. Yeah, it’s great to have a family who cares for us, but sometimes they care too much.” he bites his lip, hands on either side of the elevator railing, casting the frantic gaze down. “We can’t change our most basic natures, Natasha.” he said with finality. “At the end of the day, we aren’t simply Doctor Banner and Agent Romanoff. We have aliases. Pasts. Things we’ve done. Compromised.” he sighed heavily, an exaggerated false chuckle escaped from him.

But he was no longer just that, he was an individual, someone that not only intrigued her but caused her to...see herself and it was purely disgusting. Hadn’t she repeated it a thousand times, she wasn’t a creature of sentiment, regimes fall every day, love was for children, but how long ago did these mantras become denial and how come she was never aware of the change. 

“You mean to say that their love comes from not accepting our past but becoming convinced that it doesn’t matter. That lives can be washed away as easily with magic liquor, that who we are now changes all we’ve done when reality our past doesn’t make us who we are...our pasts just make us strive for what we aren’t, a constant facade under the confused blood lust of infants screwed over by the world...I mean if that’s what you’re referring to.” she said, a small chuckle escaping her lips, copying the form of her own, ironic, mistrusting, bitter as all hell. “People we loved now changed forever, ideals we had slaughtered in front of us, prospects. gone. poof.” 

He could feel her piercing blue eyes tracing over him, and it was in a moment such as that that he wished he wouldn’t have to look to her… And yet he did, arms still crossed, but his own bright optics met hers, and a quaint smile crept across pale features. It didn’t matter what others said about her, she did, in fact, have a heart in that chest cavity of her’s.

“I… I can’t. Not yet.”  What?  “I just got here. Leaving already wouldn’t look good.”

At the mention of Hawkeyes, his dark almond eyes shift focus from his dance partner to glance over at the raven haired Kate Bishop. His tongue darts out to dampen the scorched landscape of his lips. Looking for any sign of moisture in the suddenly nervous desert. There’s a flash of green in his eyes as Captain America himself lands a national anthem on Kate’s cheek. Natasha couldn’t have known this would happen but It was a low blow to his gut. A sickening lurch from the booze which he thwarted by staring back at the redhead. Her eyes were filled with honesty, compassion, empathy– things Bruce didn’t deserve. 

But, what the hell. When in Rome, right?

She could see the emotional shift going out in her eyes and as she looked over her shoulder to see what was caused such a thing she couldn’t help but feel a pang dart through her stomach. Rogers had done it, he’d finally found a girl, so why did it feel emptier than it did satisfying that he’d gone out of a limb. As she glanced back she couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of understanding, her composure not changing an inch, but the green eyes causing her to squeeze his shoulder lightly. Clearing her throat as she went to step in front of the girl and her parents. There Tasha was, always too late. Bucky, Clint now Cap. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t turn off the emotions, after all that was what a spy was, cutting off emotions and replacing them with the action that needed to be taken, her life was worth more than a love interest and so she would adjust, like she always did. After all these years she was still able to convince herself hartache was loneliness.

And yes, he can’t argue with that. “Then you gotta promise me a slow and torturous death for the fucker, at your own hands.” At least he’s better than that now. Which he almost believes. 

“It’s going to start with his safe, then he’s going to get so paranoid until he basically chains himself to his precious car, that’s when I sneak in during a pee break and destroy the damn thing. Tame for me I know, but his face is going to be worth it.” she said her smirk grinning. 

Tony watches her face as he listens, the words floating into his head like there’s a layer of gel between them. He grips her harder, protectiveness overriding his desire. “That’s not true at all - who is this asshole?” Said asshole is probably him, to who knows how many other woman. Tony knows he’s been perpetuating the sentiment for ages, knows that even though he tries to pick people who want the same thing that he does, sometimes it doesn’t work out that way. But this is Natasha, his friend, and right now he just wants to go out, find the jerk, and blast holes through the piece of shit with his suit. 

She moved her hand towards his, away from her curled up chest as she nodded lightly. “You’re not nearly as bad as you think you are Tony Stark and funnily enough I’m not the only one that sees it.”she squeezing his hand lightly as she kissed his forehead lightly, a small laugh as she moved her thumb to wipe off the defined lipstick mark.