Chapter 4
He, Natasha, Steve, and Tony trudged through quiet, isolated forest somewhere in upstate New York. “O.G. Avengers” Tony had said as he belted into his jump-seat just before they departed from Avengers HQ. “You know, original recipe,” he clarified when Bruce gave him a blank stare. He pointed out that the word recipe didn’t begin with a G, which just earned Bruce an extremely exaggerated eye roll. “Sometimes you’re worse than Rogers,” Tony said, and Bruce cringed, because, well, that was truer than he really wanted to admit. Saying anything to that effect wasn’t fair to Tony, though, especially since he hadn’t meant it that way.
So instead he said, “You’re forgetting Barton.”
Natasha, seated to his left, gave him a little lopsided smile. “Family leave,” she said.
Bruce formed his mouth into an ‘O’ shape, and nodded. He imagined Barton in his farmhouse holding his newborn, and despite himself, his gut twisted a little. “Tell him congrats for me,” he muttered.
“Tell him yourself when this is all done,” she said.
Bruce didn’t think that was likely to happen, so he nodded absently and said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll do that.”
As they walked, Bruce fell behind Tony and Steve a few paces. They were arguing. Tony’s voice carried the loudest, but Bruce couldn’t tell what they were arguing about. He supposed it wasn’t his business.
After a while, Natasha looked back at him and slowed to match his pace. He had stumbled over a rock, though he thought his recovery was smooth enough to escape notice. He mentally kicked himself, because he really should have known better than that--obviously no one was more perceptive than Natasha Romanoff—yet somehow he was just foolish enough to hope anyway.
“Hey,” she said. “No slacking back here.”
What she actually meant was, “How you holding up,” or “It’s not too late to back out, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said and shrugged. He didn’t mind walking, seeing how he had plenty of experience with it these past few years, and anyway, it was actually rather pleasant. There was something about all this that appealed to him--the rustle of the leaves whenever the light breeze moved through the tall color-kissed trees of early autumn; the trill of birds as they called out for mates or warned their neighbors about the aliens marching through their territory; the warm, inviting smell of smoke from some far off wood stove or fireplace (or smoldering brush fire.) He tended to be drawn to extremes, he thought—it was either the total isolation of his erstwhile island home or the crush of humanity in the crowded streets of Kolkata (or New York City.) There wasn’t a middle ground. That said something about him, he just had no idea what that could be.
“Could be worse,” he said. “At least it’s not running.” He smiled a little, and then cringed once he realized what he said, because he hadn’t meant it that way.
“Is that so.” she said. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t look like someone who had just spoken, in fact, he thought she looked more focused on casually strolling through the woods just as if they weren’t about to knock on the bad guys’ door. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her over his glasses.
“Natasha.”
She slowly turned her head to look at him.
“Yes,” he said. “Right now? Yes. Walking with you is much better than some of the alternatives I can think of.” His face warmed as he said it, and tried to look away.
“Right now,” she repeated, and seemed to ignore the rest. “You’re either back or you’re not Bruce. You can’t have it both ways.”
“Natasha,” he said, as she picked up her pace to catch up with Steve and Tony. “That’s not fair.” Truth be told, he was the one who wasn’t being fair. The only thing he wanted, at this moment was to focus on the task at hand, and then sort out all their personal nonsense after. “One thing at a time,” he had said to Tony. As for Natasha, he knew that his indecision was keeping her in limbo, and he didn’t think she cared for that very much.
Steve stole a quick glance back at him, and the space beside him that Natasha left vacant. He guessed it was Steve’s turn to wonder what going on, and why they were arguing, though Bruce guessed it was probably fairly obvious. Then, following Steve’s lead, Tony turned to look, too. He was a lot less subtle about his nosiness than Steve was. Bruce glared at him. To his credit, Tony had the decency to look embarrassed at being caught gawking. He quickly turned away and continued on with whatever he and Steve had been… discussing.
“I don’t… I mean,” he started to say to her retreating back, because Bruce wanted to see how things played out with this whole ‘other Hulk’ thing before committing to anything. Or maybe he was a coward. There was always that possibility.
Before he had a chance to clarify his thinking, everything went to shit. He was forced to the ground by some sort of explosion, and then time slowed way, way down. Steve and Tony and Natasha were shouting, and they seemed very far way. His face was in the dirt, and he couldn’t stop his fists from clenching. It was times like this that he was acutely aware of just how much a liability he was.
Then Natasha was basically on top of him, yelling something into his ear that he couldn’t understand.
“Natasha, I don’t need you to—I can… it’s okay if I--”
“Shut up and stay down,” she said. He understood that just fine. Then she twisted her body around and was... shooting at something.
“Nat--” he started to say, but she elbowed him in the back of the head.
“Pretty sure I said stay down.”
There was only about an hour of daylight left, and Bruce was sure that this morning had been a long time ago.
*
That morning, when she came to collect him, it was still dark. He guessed it was about an hour and a half before sunrise. He hadn’t wanted to leave the snug confines of his bed, though he knew better than to get used to such things as warm beds, so it wasn’t too difficult to be up and ready by the time Natasha knocked on his door.
Opening the dresser drawers, he found dark, practical clothing folded and set aside just for him. There was plenty to choose from, but no variety in color whatsoever, unless differing shades of dark grays and blues counted as variety. All of it fit perfectly, which made him a little suspicious. Even the pair of sturdy boots he found near the door was better constructed than anything he’d owned in years.
He and Natasha walked along the hard clay path that took them from the rows of soulless army barracks style sleeping quarters and toward the main building for the morning’s debriefing.
“Look at you,” Natasha said, giving him a none-so-subtle once over. “Looks like you missed your calling.” He looked at Natasha in her Black Widow get-up, and then looked back down at himself. They looked a matched set, dressed in their respective snug black outfits, each one sporting the famous Avengers logo, embroidered in gray. He thought the optics of the whole thing gave off the wrong impression, just as though he was a part of a cohesive unit rather than just someone tagging along for the ride.
Bruce laughed a little. “Oh no,” he said. “I’ve missed all my callings.” He gestured down toward himself. “This would just be one among a long list of them.”
Bruce saw the large white building in which the meeting was to be held over which a winged man swooped and landed near the doorway. His wings retracted as he walked toward them. Pulling his goggles up on top of his head, he smiled widely at Natasha and then extended a hand to Bruce, which Bruce promptly accepted. He had met Sam Wilson before, but he couldn’t say they knew each other especially well. “Hey, doc,” Sam Wilson said. “This is some freaky shit, right?” Bruce nodded. He guessed he meant this mission to find the Hulk creature thing, but honestly Bruce didn’t really find it freaky. Maybe apropos was a better word for it. Judging how he was dressed, Bruce guessed Wilson was an Avenger now, too.
“Steve’s inside already, got his little PowerPoint demonstration all ready to go,” Sam said.
“Too bad,” Natasha said with a smirk. “Here I was hoping it was something hilarious, liked slate boards and chalk. Or stone slabs.”
“Hieroglyphs,” Sam said without missing a beat.
Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets, and they continued inside. There actually wasn’t any sort of presentation set up, just Steve at the head of a small conference table. He stood to greet them, and then motioned for them to have a seat.
Bruce noticed Tony hadn’t yet arrived, and when the door opened, Bruce turned expecting to see him. Except it wasn’t Tony.
Bruce stood up when he saw her.
“No,” he said, and started to make his way toward the door. There was absolutely no way he was letting that Maximoff girl anywhere near him.
“Bruce,” Natasha said from somewhere behind him. She called after him again in a much sterner voice. Bruce turned to see Maximoff hovering next to Natasha, and it made him want to lash out, lash out for what she did to him, but mostly for what she did to all of them, collectively. He didn’t, because he didn’t actual want to escalate thing quite to that extreme. Instead, he glanced up to in time to see Steve carefully watching the situation unfold.
“I thought…” Maximoff said. Her voice was uncertain, and Bruce thought it was good act.
Natasha moved next to where he was standing and pressed her shoulder against his. She moved her head to look down at his boots and said, “My shoes look good on you.”
He looked at his boots too, because it seemed such a non-sequitur. “What?”
“My shoes,” she said again, this time slower as if she expected him to catch up. “They look good on you.”
“I’m not wearing your-- Oh,” he said, because he was an idiot. “The other foot,” he said. “You mean the shoe is on the other foot.”
“That too,” she said. And it was true. He was standing where Natasha had been not so long ago. She had been much more generous toward him than he maybe deserved.
He looked at Steve, who was back in his seat, and then to Maximoff. She said, “I understand, you know. “ She gestured at Bruce, and continued, “I don’t blame you for your hesitation. I am not so certain I would be quick to trust, either, were in your place.”
He looked at Steve again. “We’re on the same side, here,” Steve said. He said it rather brusquely; as if he were annoyed anyone would mistrust his judgement. These folks were all Avengers, though Bruce wasn’t sure he could say the same about himself.
“No, you’re right,” Bruce said to Steve, then looked at Maximoff. “It’s hard for me, but thank you for,” he gestured to the room, “being here, and… helping.” She offered her hand, and Bruce looked at it for a long moment before accepting. He caught Natasha’s eye as he took his seat. She said, “thank you,” with a small nod. He shot her a confused look, until he thought on what she had just said to him about shoes and standing in someone else’s.
That was when the door behind him slammed open with Tony framed in the doorway. He held two cardboard coffee trays stacked one on top of another, and narrowed his eyes, looking at each person in the room, but eyeing Bruce the longest. Then he plastered on the most winning smile Bruce had ever seen as he handed out coffees. “Everyone can relax. I have arrived.” When he got to Bruce, Tony said, “Sorry, Bruce, they were fresh out of leaves and twigs.”
“Thanks,” Bruce muttered and lifted off the lid. It was chai.
“Here’s what we know,” Steve said. He waited a beat for everyone to finish futzing with their coffees and start paying attention. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at Tony. “Can you,” he said, and motioned his head vaguely Bruce’s way. Bruce crinkled his eyebrows and looked at Tony.
“Hm?” Tony said, and then looked at Steve. “Oh, I suppose,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. Tony shifted closer to Bruce. “I’ll share, but only because I like you.”
“I’ve sent each of you a copy,” Steve said, and everyone pulled out their devices. Except for Bruce of course; he didn’t have one of his own. Tony positioned his phone so they both could see. There were the documents Tony had found on the island as well as a couple maps and what looked like an outline or itinerary. Steve walked them through it; they’d split into two teams. (Which brought on a predictable “I pity the fool,” from Tony when Steve referred to them as the ‘A and B Teams.’) B Team would stay hidden to provide surveillance as A Team made their way on foot in effort to be as conspicuous as possible. Natasha visibly bristled, but otherwise stayed quiet.
Steve looked at Bruce and said, “You can hang back in the plane if you want, and wait for a signal if we need you.”
“No, uh-uh,” Bruce said. “That didn’t work out so well last time.” He looked at Maximoff. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Okay,” Steve said, and everyone split off into two groups and made their way to the Quinjet.
It was late afternoon by the time they set down somewhere secluded and out of the way, and trekked across crunchy dried leaves for close to an hour before coming under fire.
He didn’t resent Natasha’s protective streak, though he thought maybe he should. It only served to highlight how useless he was on a team, on a mission such as this one. But he wasn’t useless. He was good for exactly one thing.
She told him to stay down, so he slowly rose to his feet.
“What are you--” she shouted, but she knew. “Okay,” she said. “Bruce,” she said, and then stopped. She didn’t say, “Be careful,” because that would be pointless. Her eyes said it anyway. They were the last thing he saw before pushing aside trees and stomping through rough, rocky terrain.