Bruce had been staying in Stark Tower with the constantly rotating cast of Avengers for a few months now, so it had gotten to the point where he barely flinched when he heard a knife whistle by his left ear. Following the weapon was the sound of boots softly clicking on the tiled floor toward the workshop he was occupying.
"I'd prefer if you greeted me without the sideshow act, thanks." He called without looking up. There was a hint of a smile on his lips as the clicking stopped in the doorway.
"What, and just say hello? Seems a bit conventional, don't you think?"
And there was Natasha, all smirk and sarcasm. Bruce finally lifted his gaze, nodding a bit. She was dressed casually, jeans and a t-shirt, hair wet like she had just taken a shower. Her team must've just gotten back, then.
"How'd it go?" He was referring to Fury's latest conquest, something to do with a rising group of HYDRA extremists in California. He didn't know all the details and didn't bother to ask. The less he knew the less he could worry.
Natasha shrugged, delicately slipping red hair behind her ears. "You know, same old. Steve threw his shield and got all sentimental, Clint ran out of arrows after about ten minutes, Sam is unscathed and sarcastic as ever." She smiled like she was looking back at the mini-battlefield with fondness. Bruce had trouble understanding her sometimes, but didn't that just add to the attraction? "It was fun." She wiggled her eyebrows. For some reason, seeing the infamous and thoroughly terrifying Black Widow standing in front of him smiling and wiggling her eyebrows made him laugh. Actually laugh out loud, duck his head, shoulders-shaking laugh.
"That's cute." He said quietly. Flirting wasn't exactly what he was known for but dammit if he wasn't going to try. Bruce sets his work aside and sits back on a nearby stool. "You sticking around long?" And he's a bit afraid of the answer because it seems like Nat is away from Stark Tower more than she's in it. It's mission after mission after mission, and then training with Bucky and Steve and then researching with Fury or Clint and then leaving for months at a time and then coming back tired and bloody and then another assigned mission and--
Bruce realizes he's spiraling, and that Natasha is staring at him, humor gone from her face.
"Yeah, I mean. . . probably." She's still staring, and if Bruce had led a different life he might've realized it to be genuine concern and affection. "How are you holding up, Banner?"
Dammit, why is she calling him Banner? Was that a good thing?
"Oh, me? I'm, ah, I'm fine." Bruce is caught off guard by the whole 'Banner' thing and doesn't lie as fluently as he's used to. Natasha probably can tell but she doesn't push.
"Can I take a guess that you've been working all night?"
"Almost."
"Come on, let's take a break." Nat reaches over and holds out her hand, smiling softly like she can fix everything. Who knows, maybe she can.
Bruce takes her hand and expects her to walk towards the door, but she stays fixed on the ground.
"Nat?"
"When's the last time you went dancing?" She whispers, and if Bruce hadn't been confused before he sure was now.
"Dancing?" He laughs, more than a little uncomfortable. "Take a guess, Nat." Because god, he doesn't even remember. Probably at a high school thing. Has he been to any weddings recently? He's pulled from his thoughts by Natasha looping her arms around his neck and dragging him closer to her. She mutters something soft and quick in Russian that dims the lights in the workspace.
"Did you do that?" Bruce moves his hands to Natasha's waist almost on instinct, and he'd be lying through his teeth if he said it didn't feel natural.
"Tony made some adjustments when Bucky started hanging around."
"So the tower speaks Russian now?"
"Better than I do."
And it's stupid and flirty again, but Bruce doesn't mind. Another phrase muttered under her breath and a quiet piano fills the room. It's beautiful and calming, something that feels so different and yet reminds him so much of Nat.
He's seen enough movies to know how this works. They move slowly together, shuffling a bit until they find a rhythm, and Natasha ends up with her head on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce feels a sense of pride that he hasn't pulled away or tried to fill the silence. He's learning. A voice in the back of his mind says that there're probably security cameras in the room since it's, well, Tony, but he doesn't actually mind all that much.
"I miss being here," Natasha says quietly into Bruce's arm.
"Stark Tower? Oh, trust me you're not missing much."
Natasha takes a breath.
"Not literally here, just . . ."
"Hm?"
"Never mind. It's sappy."
Bruce hears a hint of laughter to the sentence and it encourages him to prod a bit.
"Sappy? You? I don't believe it." The words are barely above a whisper and he feels Natasha sigh. She doesn't make any move like she's going to finish the rest of the sentence and a silence falls back over the pair. Bruce doesn't try to fill it, giving Natasha a window to comment further about what exactly she missed. Because he has an idea, possibly, what she might miss, but he doesn't want to assume and then look like an egotistical asshole. So he keeps his assumptions to himself and adjusts his grip on Natasha's waist, settling back into their slow, easy dance.
If he was a bit more confident in himself, in the situation, in everything around him, he might've said something like "I miss you, too," and then swept her up in a romantic gesture that ended with a passionate kiss--but he wasn't that confident, and he couldn't take the chance he was wrong, so instead of doing any of that he closed his eyes and slow danced in Tony Stark's basement, feeling (for once) comfortable and safe with a girl who could think of two dozen ways to kill him before the song ended.
After another minute of quiet music and companionable silence, Bruce felt Natasha move on his shoulder and very hesitantly pressed his lips to the top of her head. As much as he wanted to focus on what was happening in the room, he was an overthinker at heart and couldn't help but wonder, a bit sadly, how long this wonderful, terrifying thing could possibly last.