Katla (magicaldestiny for those of you on Tumblr) proudly presents...

THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY POST-AOU AU OF HAPPINESS!

*throws confetti*

Now for the less than wonderful news... I won't be updating this with the same speed I had on "Blank Walls, Empty Spaces." I finished writing that before I posted the first chapter, so I was at the editing stage and it was easy to churn out updates. This story is still being written. Don't hate/hurt/throw things at me. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this! It felt really weird to have very little canon to draw upon for this... I hope it turned out okay. Let me know what you think!

There is some timeline hopping in this chapter... let me know if that was disconcerting or confusing. Like I said, I'm still writing this, so I value the input!

And now... it's BruceNat time.

The weather was lovely in Peru this time of year, Natasha decided. It was a warm and humid night and the branches of a few spare palm trees rustled in the wind overhead. The Plaza Mayor was lit up with hundreds of star-bright streetlights, ground lights, and lights mounted evenly across every building; between their brilliant glow and the bright colors of the surrounding architecture, the stars were invisible overhead. Natasha missed being able to see the stars and her boots clicked against the pavement with determined speed.

She left the dazzling plaza and found her motorbike where she had left it much earlier in the day. Her feet ached as she settled into the seat and reached for her helmet. There had been some long days for her in these past few weeks, but today was one for the record books. Working private security was not as much of a throwaway gig as she had feared - especially when your client was a high profile government official.

If I have to handle just one more amateur assassination attempt, so help me… But her thoughts faded into indistinct weariness. She fired up the bike's engine and pulled away from the curb. The pavement and streetlights slid away behind her, and she let her weariness bleed away too. Gradually, the pavement and lights gave way to dirt roads and the distant lights of houses as she left the city limits of Lima behind her. It was a long ride, but a quiet one. Even the growl of her bike faded into white noise after a while, and she felt something like peace steal over her. But it wasn't complete - not yet. She smiled a little in anticipation and cranked up her speed.

She wove her way through winding dirt roads until clusters of houses turned into single homes and finally no homes at all. The empty countryside sped by for several minutes before she finally reached the turnoff and plunged into the dark tunnel created by rows of overhanging trees. Her headlights just managed to pierce the blackness, and she slowed a little to compensate. Her impatience was rising.

Finally, she could see the plain house just ahead. It was a nondescript brown cube with a few windows and two doors, one for each of its short, squat stories. The light was on upstairs, as usual. The dirt road finally gave way to grass and she braked gently before killing the engine altogether. She reached up to pull off her helmet and heard the door creak as it opened.

"Natasha," Bruce Banner's voice easily reached her through the silence of the night and she smiled reflexively.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, swinging her leg over the bike and hanging the helmet from the handlebar.

Bruce shrugged at her from the second story landing "It's okay," he began in his usual soft tone. Natasha began to climb the stairs to the landing above and he turned to face her.

One of the many things she had learned in the past few weeks was that Bruce was occasionally capable of a very wicked grin. He wore the grin as he spoke again. "I thought maybe you decided to finally ditch me, so I ate your half of dinner. I hope you don't mind."

She had developed the disturbing urge to kiss that grin right off his face whenever it made an appearance. "You're a jerk, Banner," she grumbled as she climbed the stairs. But he pulled her into his arms as soon as she made it to the top. She felt that half-formed sensation of peace finally settle in her chest.

"I missed you," he whispered into her hair.

"Good," she replied quietly, and went for that kiss. Bruce was a very good kisser, as it turned out. He didn't necessarily have the most refined of techniques, but he was very expressive and in-the-moment. Natasha loved that she could read his mood in how he kissed her.

Right now she could tell that he had missed her today. And badly, if the edge of desperation in his touch was any indication. She gentled the kiss a little and brought her hands to his face. "I missed you too," she said when he finally pulled back. He smiled and pulled the door open.

"I have a surprise for you," he said with a smile. It was from the goofier side of his smile spectrum and Natasha wasn't sure whether to sigh or to kiss him again. "I didn't actually eat your dinner."

"Thank goodness." She tried to glare, but it rearranged itself into a very stupid grin by the time it got to her face. "For your sake," she continued anyway. "I would hate to have to kill the cook."

Bruce put on a wounded look as they stepped inside the cramped and half-furnished sitting room. He disappeared down the stairs to the kitchen below and the clink of dishes floated up the stairwell. Glancing around at the barely-contained chaos of papers, Bruce's eclectic collection of scientific equipment, and his empty plate, Natasha felt her fatigue return with a vengeance and she stepped through the door to their bedroom. The moonlight cut a trail across the wooden floor and she tossed her jacket on the bed before turning toward her suitcase to rummage for something to sleep in. The window was at eye level as she dug through her pitiful supply of clothes and she paused to glance at the moon. It gleamed like a shimmering pearl on a bed of black velvet out here where there were no streetlights to outshine it. Natasha smiled to herself.

She could finally see the stars.

A few weeks earlier...

The struggle against Ultron was almost over. Natasha ignored the screens flashing with warnings all around her (of course there were alarms everywhere - the city outside the helicarrier's viewports was flying) and listened to the comm chatter between Tony, Thor, and Nick with half an ear as she punched in the number to call the quinjet. They were close to detonating Ultron's attempt at a self-made meteor and she was eager to get the Big Guy on board as quickly as possible. He was still out there, still aboard the quinjet that was currently coasting on autopilot and in stealth mode to boot; she needed to get to him quickly before he was out of range. The Big Guy was all but indestructible, but she still didn't relish the thought of him being aboard the jet when it inevitably ran out of fuel. "Come on, come on…" she muttered as the seconds crawled by and the screen displayed the single word connecting…

The screen finally sprang to life and the hold of the quinjet came into focus. The Big Guy was standing very still near the back hatch, more huddled and contained than she had ever seen him. He glanced toward the camera that was mounted on the front consoles when she spoke. "Hey, Big Guy." She couldn't place the expression he wore; it was distant and closed. The Big Guy was usually easy to read. His emotions were painted on his oversized features like a revolving collection of theater masks: happy, angry, sad - all easy to identify. But the look he wore now…

It was a Bruce look. Closed off, distant, impossible to read. The Big Guy drew nearer the camera, still wearing Bruce's expression, and she was temporarily stunned into silence. The most disconcerting thing about the transition from Bruce into the Big Guy had always been the eyes. Bruce's eyes were flooded with brilliant green when the transformation began, but sometimes when the Big Guy looked at her, his eyes settled back into warm brown. It was disconcerting and unpredictable - and it was the only shared feature between the two of them when it occurred - but usually the looks that passed through those shared eyes were so distinct that Natasha could navigate the waters easily. But today… today the look in those eyes was muddy and indistinguishable. So she wasn't quite sure who she was addressing when she said. "We can't track you when you're in stealth mode…" She paused for a moment as his fingertips appeared at the edge of the frame, reaching for her. She almost smiled and her fingers twitched upward to match his - but the eyes were still wrong.

She saw Bruce's sadness in those eyes. Bruce's weary resolve. Why was he looking at her this way even as he reached out for her...?

And suddenly her thoughts halted and locked into place with a screech like grinding metal.

"Don't," she said tightly, and she could hear the ice in her tone - the frost of fear. The almost-Bruce look flickered in those muddied brown eyes and she could see the resignation hovering behind them. "Big Guy, don't you dare."

Her suspicions were confirmed when his eyes slid away from her face (in shame or in resignation, she couldn't tell) and fixed on the console which rested below and out of her range of sight. But she had seen the pain in them, had almost felt the heat of their molten distress.

He was going to run.

She forced down the queasy mixture of anger and fear that rose up within her and focused on keeping her voice level and calm. "You always run," she whispered just loudly enough to be heard. She'd read the files, after all. She knew about his disappearing act, the way he ran after the accident that caused his condition, the way he fled into the night after the incident in Harlem. She'd seen the pictures of Betty Ross standing in the rubble of that night, her face streaked with tears as she stared into the dark after him, and dammit, that wasn't her.

"Don't do this," she said quietly. "You've got so much to come back for…" His face was still and impassive as stone and his eyes hadn't raised from their contemplation of the switches that would cut the call. She could feel him slipping away from her, pulled by an impossibly strong riptide of fear and doubt, but he was still listening…

"You've got…" she swallowed and knew what she had to say. After all, there was only one thing that she'd ever known to be stronger than fear. She knew what she had to say, and as she spoke she realized that she also wanted to say it.

"You've got me." (Love.)

His eyes snapped back to hers and that almost-Bruce look was stronger than before. She wasn't sure if that was cause for celebration yet, but it was that same mixed look behind those same eyes that had first given her hope for the lullaby. She reached for him as she had then.

"Come back to me, Bruce."

Just for a moment, he stared expressionlessly and the hum of the audio signal was deafening. She wouldn't beg him, but she'd be damned if she was going to let him disappear without a word. She waited.

The Big Guy's face twitched - whether in pain or anger or another emotion, she couldn't tell - and he stumbled forward and fell below the camera's static line-of-sight. She could still see the quinjet's sickening lurch from the impact.

"Bruce?" She knew the chances of him being injured were all but nonexistent, but her heart still clenched when the silence went on too long. "Bruce!"

The microphone picked up a groan at last and it was Bruce's face, dirty and lined with weariness, that came into frame. She finally breathed.

"Natasha," he said simply. His voice was frayed with weariness, but a hint of a smile was on his face. Natasha smiled back despite the sudden flash of anger that flared to life in her gut.

"Do you know how to dock with the helicarrier?" she asked briskly as the anger finally pulled the smile from her face.

"I think I can manage," he said, glancing away from the camera and towards the control panel.

"Then get over here," she said flatly.

"On my way." He started to turn away.

"Oh, and Bruce?"

He slid back into frame. "Yeah?"

"When you get here, I haven't decided if I'm going to kiss you... or just punch you." She was kidding.

Mostly.

Bruce nodded solemnly. "I guess I deserve that."

Natasha felt the anger give way just a little. "Be careful," she admonished gently, and left the channel open between them in case he needed her assistance.

She listened as the helicarrier's flight crew directed Bruce to a landing area, and the open channel finally fell into static when the quinjet powered down out on the tarmac. She was waiting for Bruce when he finally trudged onto the bridge level. He was barefoot and shirtless, and streaked with dirt and ash from head to foot. His steps were slow and heavy with weariness. She felt a distant stab of pity him; the transformations were always so draining for him physically. The door hissed shut behind him, finally blocking the shriek of the wind outside and he met her gaze in the ensuing silence.

"You look terrible," she said flatly.

"I feel terrible," he replied in a voice cracked with weariness.

He looked so tired with his slumped shoulders and lined face that Natasha felt the heat of her anger fade again, and she stepped forward to slide her arms around his waist. Bruce went stiff - as he always did when she touched him - but she felt the tension give way after a moment and his arms rested lightly around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You should be," she replied. "You were going to leave without a word." She pulled back from him to look in his eyes. "Don't ever do that again. You want to leave - fine. But talk to me. You don't deserve to have to run like that…" Her voice sank into a whisper. "And I don't deserve that either."

She saw the sudden pain in his eyes. "You're right," he replied. "I'm sorry."

She slid her hand to his face and smiled at him for just a moment. "Apology accepted. Just don't do that again - I mean it, Bruce."

He nodded and smiled wearily. She stepped back and her hand slid away from his face. She noted his flash of disappointment with satisfaction.

"I found you some clothes." She tossed him a pack with a standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier crew uniform. He caught it. "Let's find you a room," she continued, already walking toward the nearest elevator. "You look like you could sleep for a week." Bruce's hesitant steps followed her after a moment. They paused in front of the closed elevator doors.

"Thank you," he said quietly. But his expression was uneasy.

"What?" she asked when his silence became a little long.

"I thought I was promised a kiss." His discomfort shifted into the sheepish look he wore so well. For a moment, Natasha considered giving him that kiss.

"Or a punch," she corrected when the moment passed. "And that's not a decision you want me to make right now."

Bruce nodded solemnly. "Fair enough," he replied, and Natasha treasured his look of disappointment.

It was an eight-hour flight back to New York, and Bruce slept like the dead for most of it. Natasha haunted the bridge until Nick Fury finally finished his call to the World Security Council on the subject of aid for Sokovia, spotted her, and promptly ordered her to the MedBay. Her wide variety of cuts and bruises was patched up, and she walked the helicarrier until the need to check on Bruce became overpowering.

She opened his door as quietly as possible, and found him sleeping soundly on the plain cot in the empty room she had found for him. His face was clean now, and he wore the old S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform that didn't fit him properly. Even in sleep, his face looked troubled.

A wave of exhaustion washed over her as she poked her head into the darkened room. The weight of hours of travel time, more hours in a cramped cell courtesy of Ultron, and still more hours fighting robotic hoards finally fell over her like a stifling blanket and she thought about finding herself a cot of her own. She listened to Bruce's quiet breathing and suddenly the thought of leaving the room became a difficult one.

An empty folding chair sat against the wall opposite his bed, and Natasha gravitated toward it. She eased herself down into the chair, ignoring the heavy feeling in her limbs and slumped until she could rest her head against the wall. She took one last look at Bruce, safe and here, before succumbing to the dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

"Hey." It was Bruce's voice that woke her. She could feel the passage of several hours in the painful stiffness of her back, but her eyes still burned with fatigue when she opened them. Her weariness was reflected in the dark circles under Bruce's eyes. He looked half-asleep standing in front of her, with his sleep-mussed hair and the tired set of his shoulders. "Why don't you take the bed?" he said softly. Natasha sat up and her back gave an almost musical array of cracks and pops. "Ouch," she muttered. "What time is it?"

"Not sure," he replied, glancing at the empty room. She reached for her pocket where she usually kept her phone and belatedly remembered that it was one of the things she lost during her time as Ultron's guest. Lovely.

"I'm not sure either," she muttered in irritation as her back gave yet another twinge of pain. She grimaced.

"Take the bed," Bruce prodded. "That chair can't be comfortable."

"It's not," she agreed as she shifted and stretched. "But I need to get back to the bridge anyway, so you can go back to sleep. I can find another place to crash if I need to."

Bruce looked unconvinced, but he nodded. Natasha stood and was starting for the door when she felt a disconcerting tingling sensation in her stomach; the helicarrier was descending.

"I think we're getting close," she said, turning back to Bruce. He still stood a few feet away. "I'm not sure where the helicarrier's landing, but I know Tony will want to take the quinjet back to Avengers Tower. I'll come back and get you when we're ready to go." Bruce managed to look lost even in the midst of the tiny, contained space of the room and she felt the urge to give him something to hold on to. "We've got some packing to do when we get back," she added quietly.

His face slid instantly into disbelief. "You really want to do this?" He was still drifting and anchorless, despite the line of hope she was trying to throw out to him. "Yes," she answered simply. Take the line, Bruce. Take the hope.

"Why?" He looked at her like she was an unsolvable mystery and her heart clenched.

"Because you won't be able to relax until we're somewhere far away. You need some time to relax and recover after… everything." His face creased with pain and she hurried on before he had the chance to get lost in it. "You need that time. You deserve it. And I…" She took a breath and caught his eye, trying to find him behind their lost look. "I'm with you."

His expression went blank and he hesitated for so long that her heart sank. "Unless you don't want me to come-" she started.

"No," he interrupted much too quickly. "That's not it." Warmth welled up from deep in her chest and a smile followed it; she suppressed both when she saw that he wasn't quite finished. "You deserve better," he argued in a defeated tone.

"Bruce," she began, frustration rising up in her chest like a firestorm. "You have never been the best judge of your own worth. Or of my decisions." He was staring at her and she couldn't read the look in his eyes, so she kept pushing. Besides, he needed to hear this once and for all and stop running. "If we had gone with your instincts, you would never have joined the Avengers, there would be no lullaby, and you would be huddled in an off-grid hut in the middle of nowhere with no friends and no hope. Take some free advice, Bruce: sometimes your friends have insight that you don't. So if you want to do this… then do it." She paused to let her words sink in. Bruce, she had observed, would often come around to a more hopeful way of thinking if he was just given the time - and enough of a push.

"I want to come with you," she said quietly, preparing for that final push. "Do you want me to come?" He looked at her and she could see the strain behind his eyes.

"Yes," he whispered finally, and she could see that it was a struggle for him to say it. But hope was always a struggle for Bruce Banner. She knew that… and his honesty warmed her heart.

"Okay, then," she said quietly. "When we get back to the Tower, we'll pack up and we'll go." He still looked as though he was struggling under a great weight; she wished fervently that he would let her help to carry it. But his admission that he wanted her along was enough for now - they had all the time in the world to work on the rest. She smiled at the thought.

"I'll be back," she said as she turned towards the door.

"Natasha."

She turned back. Her met her eyes and this time she could see something brighter behind that wall of struggle and guilt. He sighed.

"I adore you, too," he said softly.

The remaining anger fell away from her like tattered cloth and she felt weightless underneath her bruised skin. Crossing the empty space between them, she took his weary face in her hands and kissed him soundly. She felt the weariness and tension loosen their grip on him and his shoulders relaxed as his hands came to rest against the small of her back.

"I'm glad you decided against the punch," he breathed when she pulled back.

"Never say never," she replied flatly. But she smiled.

Bruce sobered and she finally identified the light in his eyes as happiness. That faint light slipped all-too-quickly behind his ever present fear. "I guess I made my decision, too," he said in a tone edged with uncertainty. She pulled him close again.

"Bruce," she began, waiting for him to meet her eyes. "You chose well." She kissed him again, and felt him smile against her lips.

Notes: When I investigated what color the Hulk's eyes were, I was surprised to see that in many pictures from Age of Ultron, they look brown! His eyes were green in pics from The Avengers... so I was a bundle of questions. Was it just a trick of the light? Was it a subtle shift in the Other Guy as he became more in tune with Bruce? (Maybe the eyes fluctuate according to how present Bruce is in the Hulk at any given time?) I'm not sure of the exact science of Hulk-outs lol. But, since turning into an indestructible green muscle man because of gamma radiation is technically impossible anyway, I feel entitled to artistic license. ;)

Also, I've never been to any country in South America, so I did copious amounts of googling to prepare for the first section of the chapter. I hope that I didn't do too badly... If you live in Peru, don't hate me! *waves artistic license flag frantically*

You: I'm not going to review.

Me (and Cap): LANGUAGE!

(Please review!)