Here we are at the final chapter. Thanks so very much to everyone who reviewed. Seriously, I loved reading them all. To those of you who reviewed and said such lovely things: you are amazing. And for anybody who reviewed with a question, send me a PM and I'll be happy to answer! :) Some of you guys were guests, and I can't reply. :0

Let me know how you like the chapter! I made myself a little emotional with this one, to be honest. Sometimes I think I'm as much of a dork as Bruce lol. All aboard the (shameless) fluff train...

UPDATE: blueincandescence made a gorgeous video based on this fic! The video is a work of art that reduced me to crying and keysmashing. The link is in my profile, so check it out!

Part V: Places

The nightmare surfaced as unexpectedly as a corpse rising from the lightless depths of a lake. She had weighted down the memories of the Red Room for so long and with such determination that she could almost forget them sometimes, could almost pretend that those faded memories weren't even hers — that they were just a bad horror movie she had seen long ago. But like every other piece of reality, the memories would only submit to her efforts for a finite period before they emerged again, reeking with the stench of trauma and old pain, and she would have to work hard to push them back down again. The nightmares happened at unexpected intervals and she always rode out the storm, but she hadn't awakened in a cold sweat in all the months since she and Bruce had left the Avengers. As usual, the nightmares returned when she least expected them, as though they delighted in reminding her that there was no escape for her, that the taint she carried with her was permanent.

She woke gasping for air, with her heart racing as if she had just run for miles with a predator on her heels. Her hands shook and her eyes stung; she fixed both problems by balling her fists and pressing them into her eye sockets. She focused on breathing quietly and evenly.

She forced her mind to focus on the room around her, the moonlight spilling across the floor like liquid silver, the curtains drifting lazily around the cracked window, the stacks of Bruce's books that rested on every surface.

Deep breaths, she told herself. Let it drain away.

She usually couldn't sleep after this sort of incident; the images plastered themselves to the backs of her eyelids and danced in her mind until daylight and exhaustion burned them out again. She might have to retreat downstairs so he wouldn't disturb Bruce…

"Natasha?"

Bruce's voice was thick with sleep, but she could still hear his concern. "What's wrong?" She didn't answer immediately — she had only just woken and she couldn't quite think of a way to say "I had a nightmare about killing people and being violated in every conceivable way" without making it sound bad — and Bruce sat up. "Hey," he tried again, and his hand rested gently against her tense forearm. "Are you okay?" She was shaking and the dream was still hanging in front of her eyes and she needed to be alone to deal with it. She had always been alone to deal with this sort of thing, she needed to be alone…

She needed…

"No," she answered in a small, tight voice. She didn't know what else to say, how to explain that she was hurting everywhere like she always did when her brain dredged up the memories of screams and tears and blood and tightly drawn faces that said "sloppy," because she didn't want to be cut open. But they had done nothing except cut her open and pull out the parts they didn't want and rearrange everything else in her mind, her heart, her body…

She had to be alone.

She had just decided to slip away and let Bruce sleep when he wrapped an arm around her and tugged her gently against his chest. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm sorry for whatever that was…but it's okay now."

"Nightmares," she whispered, and she hated the fact that her voice came out as thin and breakable as glass.

Bruce's chin rested on her head and she felt his jaw tighten. "Bad?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," she answered. Relief flooded her when he didn't ask for details. Bruce understood the value of silence more than most.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and kissed her hair. She released the tension in her muscles enough to wrap her arms around him and let out a deep breath. He rubbed her back gently and she felt the shaking in her hands fade as her heart slowed. "Do you want to go back to sleep?" he asked after several silent moments had passed. "Because we can stay up for a while if you want. I've got some movies we haven't watched…" She managed a faint laugh. "What?" he asked.

"You have work tomorrow," she reminded him.

"So I'll call in. I'm not going to sleep until you do," he said. She couldn't see his face while she rested against his sternum, but she could imagine the stubborn look he was wearing quite clearly.

"It's really okay," she said. "I'll be okay."

"I know you will," he answered in a quiet voice. "But you don't have to do everything alone. Isn't that what you're always telling me?"

"Using my own arguments against me?" she asked with a weak attempt at a stern tone. "That's low."

"Effective, though." He sounded completely confident, and it was such a rare sound that Natasha smiled.

"Alright, you win," she acceded. "But no complaining when you're tired tomorrow."

"Natasha," Bruce began, "You can keep me awake any time you want." He paused for a moment. "That sounded better in my head," he said at last. Natasha smirked.

"You're half-asleep so I'll give you a pass," she offered.

"Thanks." She could feel his smile against her hair. "Are you hungry?" he asked after a moment. "Sometimes eating something can help settle the nerves after a nightmare. I can make you something... Nothing weird or off-recipe, I promise. How about some scrambled eggs?"

She decided that she was going to kiss him later when she could focus properly. "Let's try and go back to sleep," she said and Bruce kept a tight grip on her as he lowered them both against the pillows. He stroked her hair lightly and rhythmically and Natasha felt her muscles unlocking at last. She rested her head against his chest and her quick breaths deepened and fell into sync with his.

"Natasha," he said. "I don't know how much it helps with stuff like this, but I hope you know…you've got me. I'm not much, but I'm good against nightmares." He smiled down at her.

You've got me. "Using my words again," she remarked lightly.

He shrugged. "They were good words. I thought you deserved to hear them too. But I'll stop plagiarizing you if you want." He grinned.

"No," she said quietly. "Keep it up." She raised her head to press a kiss against his jaw. When she settled again, she felt the hazy press of sleep at the edges of her mind, but it held no panic. She drifted off to the rhythm of Bruce's breaths.

Natasha woke to find the bed cold and empty beside her. Bruce had actually managed to make it out of the room without waking her up. She wasn't sure if she was more disturbed by his stealth or by how exhausted she must have been to allow it. She focused on the warmth of the sun on her skin and tried to ignore the heavy feeling that had settled over her at Bruce's absence. That was the only unpleasant thing about being so used to his presence — the difficulty she was developing with the lack of it.

She felt the vibration from downstairs before she could ruminate any further and her eyes snapped open. She listened hard; the sounds of footsteps and the scrape of silverware in the kitchen below traveled through the old beams of the house like tremors in a spider's web. But the shuffling of the steps was immediately familiar and she relaxed again. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was well past the usual time Bruce left for the clinic. He was staying home with her.

Dork.

Of course, the person suffering from nightmares was probably the bigger loser, but there was absolutely no way she was going to tell him that. Besides, he would only argue the point.

Regardless, a smile crept across her face.

"You're awake," Bruce said in surprise (as always). He adjusted his grip on the plate of food he held in one hand and stepped into the room, careful not to jostle the two cups of coffee he was balancing in the other. "I made you some breakfast," he explained as he settled one mug on the table beside her. He deposited the plate filled with scrambled eggs and toast next to that. "I didn't burn the toast," he said with a grin.

"Only because I wasn't there to distract you," she replied with a faint smile.

"Too bad," he answered. "I like being distracted." He searched her face carefully as she reached for the steaming mug and took a sip. It was the perfect temperature and it was delicious. She could say one thing for Bruce's cooking — he made a great cup of coffee.

"How are you?" Bruce asked gently, interrupting her thoughts.

"Just fine," she answered, ignoring the fact that she still felt shaky and gray after the night before. Bruce looked very unconvinced, but he nodded.

"Well, I took the day off, so I guess you'll just have to deal with me for the day," he said with studied nonchalance.

"If that's the cross I have to bear," she replied with an air of long-suffering, but relief at the thought of not facing the day alone welled up inside her. "Did you already eat?"

"Yeah—"

"Too bad, because you're going to help me finish this."

She pulled the plate into her lap and shifted to make room for him beside her. He settled next to her and she realized that Bruce, in his usual irritating fashion, had anticipated her.

He already held an extra fork.

"Why are we working when we could be doing this all the time?" Bruce asked a few hours later. The sun was high in the sky and they were stretched out on a blanket beside the pond, the remains of a picnic lunch beside them. Natasha was surrounded with fragrant grass and sleepy warmth and it took some effort to focus on his words enough to understand them.

"If only," she muttered. "Bruce, I know you're a scientist and your head is supposed to be in the land of the abstract, but it's really time that you understood that there's this thing called money…" she trailed off and turned her head to smirk at him.

Beside her, Bruce laughed. "You're right. What would I do without you?" He sat up and his eyes fell on the pond with purpose. "Okay, here's a not abstract idea. Let's go swimming."

"In that?" she asked, glancing at the tiny and very murky pond. "I don't really feel like swimming with mosquito larvae and snakes…but thanks anyway."

"It'll be fun," Bruce insisted, and turned his most charming smile on her. The smile.

Dammit.

"You're just trying to get me into a bikini," she stalled.

"You have a bikini?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm going to hurt you," she muttered, but keeping her smile at bay was becoming increasingly difficult.

"Good thing I'm invulnerable to any attacks," he countered with a grin. He was unusually chipper, she thought in irritation. But her resolve was slipping.

Well, she decided, getting Bruce shirtless for an extended period of time wasn't a terrible idea…

Natasha surrendered with a sigh.

The pond wasn't quite as disgusting as she feared, and the water actually felt wonderful once the midday heat reached its peak.

"I told you it would be fun," Bruce said triumphantly.

"Don't let it go to your head," she chided flatly.

He actually splashed her.

Natasha trudged out of the murky water and stretched out on the blanket to dry in the sun. Bruce collapsed beside her a moment later and gave her a quick kiss before flopping onto his back.

"You taste like pond scum," she said thoughtfully. "Romantic."

"You know," Bruce replied, "You kind of tasted like pond scum too…"

"And whose fault is that?"

"Point taken. Thanks, though."

She blinked against the sun and turned to face him. "For what?"

"For having fun with me today," he answered with a shrug.

"And here I thought you were babysitting me and my nightmares…"

Bruce shrugged again and smiled in his peculiarly self-deprecating manner. "Two for the price of one, I guess."

They lay in silence for so long that Natasha was almost certain he had fallen asleep.

"You know what's funny?" Bruce remarked suddenly. "Tony once told me that my happy ending would be me on a beach turning brown instead of green, and never having to look over my shoulder."

"Well, Stark isn't always wrong…" she commented with a smirk.

"He was this time."

"What do you mean?"

"This is only good because…because you're here," Bruce confessed quietly, and turned his head to smile at her. She studied the water dripping from his hair and the warmth in his eyes; her heart seized up in what was becoming an annoyingly common fashion where Bruce was involved.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she replied, allowing none of the sudden tenderness into her voice, but she turned and pressed close to him. Bruce shifted to bring his arms around her.

"Are you sure?" he asked, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Positive," she answered, and turned her face to kiss him properly.

"Mm, pond scum," he remarked with a grin.

"My threats are still in effect," she replied lightly, but the kisses she was pressing to his face probably weren't helping to sell her story. She settled her cheek against his chest and her mind wandered idly back over his words. Something had caught in her mind, but she wasn't sure what…

…Stark. This was the first time in a long while that he had mentioned Tony.

"You miss Tony," she stated rather than asked.

"What?"

"Tony. You miss him," she repeated patiently.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I do." He paused for a moment. "I'd miss you more, though."

Dork, she thought fondly.

"Smooth," she replied aloud. His laugh rumbled beneath her ear.

"Despite what Tony says on the subject, I've got game," he said confidently. Bruce frowned when she laughed.

Afternoon darkened into evening, and it became too chilly to stay outdoors in nothing but swimsuits. They showered and changed and Natasha mourned the moment when Bruce pulled on a shirt, but she decided it was a bearable situation when he opened their shared laptop and announced that they were watching a movie.

"I finally bought Holiday," he explained, scrolling and clicking with an air of distraction.

Natasha smirked. "One of these days the authorities are going to wise up to the fact that you love old movies and they're going to find us by tracing your downloads," she commented.

"So be it," Bruce said solemnly, but his lips twitched. He placed the computer on the coffee table and settled back against the couch, resting an arm on the back of the sofa to leave space for her beside him. She took the offered seat immediately and when Bruce pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, she burrowed in.

"Are you going to leave any of the blanket for me?" Bruce asked wryly.

"No," she answered without hesitation. But she immediately made a liar of herself and tossed him a corner.

The laptop cast a weak and pallid light across half the living room, and the rest sank into velvet darkness. Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant laughed and struggled and fell in love and Natasha loved how easy it was for her to relax here in the dark with nothing but an black-and-white movie — and somebody she loved. She wondered if she would ever get used to that idea.

She didn't mind, either way.

The ending came, and the characters left together aboard a ship bound for unknown adventures. "We did that," Natasha observed quietly as the credits rolled. "We escaped from everything."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed.

"Do you think they ever went back?" she asked, and wondered if it even mattered. Maybe the escaping was the goal — or maybe the freedom was. Or maybe, in the end, it was their love that mattered.

She wondered if all that might be different facets of the same thing.

"I don't know," Bruce said thoughtfully. "I like to think that they just sailed off and were happy forever."

"Very specific," she said and glanced at him in amusement.

"Well it's a movie," Bruce defended, "So reality kind of spoils it."

"Wasn't that Cary Grant's whole point? That reality was terrible?" She sympathized entirely; it was certainly an opinion that she had toyed with over the years.

Bruce considered. "No," he started slowly, "I think it was the system he was trapped in that was terrible. Hepburn was reality too and she wasn't so bad."

"I hope they found a way to be happy inside reality, then," Natasha answered, and slumped onto Bruce's conveniently placed shoulder. She was warm and the room was quiet; she drifted towards sleep immediately. Just before she slipped away entirely, she heard Bruce's distant whisper.

"Me too."

Natasha woke with a start to find sunlight trickling weakly through the living room curtains and goosebumps prickling on her arms. She was on high alert immediately, every muscle wound as tightly as a spring ready to snap and she listened hard for what had awakened her.

Thump.

There it was — a sound overhead, in the sitting room upstairs.

Footsteps, quiet and careful. Stealthy.

Not good.

She glanced at Bruce beside her. Her head was still settled on his shoulder from the night before, and one of his arms rested loosely around her. They were tangled in the blanket and she wasn't positive that she could slip away without alerting the intruder to the fact that they were awake. She scanned the room and confirmed that the closest weapon was the handgun resting on the table in the kitchen…and past the staircase. She set her jaw.

"Bruce," she whispered, rubbing his arm gently. She couldn't risk startling him or making too much noise. "Bruce, wake up." He woke at last, blinking hazily at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately. She pressed a finger to her lips and he fell silent. She pointed at the ceiling and Bruce's jaw tightened when he too heard the careful steps overhead, shifting towards the bedroom this time. She slipped from under the blanket (and suppressed a wince when she remembered that she was wearing one of Bruce's shirts and not much else) and padded silently to retrieve her gun. She knew it was loaded, so that was something.

If they were dealing with housebreakers, this would be easy. If they were dealing with a government hit squad, this might be a disaster.

If it was Hydra, then things would really get ugly.

No matter who this was, she couldn't believe they had struck during the day. That alone gave her hope that maybe they were just dealing with a colossally stupid housebreaker. She cocked the gun, pressed her back against the side of the staircase, and found Bruce's eyes. He was sleep-mussed and wide-eyed and not bad looking for a man who had just been abruptly awakened. Something grew tight in her chest and she decided that whatever and whoever this was, she was going to fix it for him. He didn't deserve to have to run again.

"Behind the couch," she mouthed to him, and pointed sharply. He didn't speak, but she saw the disagreement roll over his face like a thunderhead. Standing carefully, he crossed the room with an admirable effort at silence; she only flinched once or twice when he stepped badly and the floor creaked. Natasha glared at him the whole way.

"What are you doing?" she hissed when he finally stood in front of her.

"Let me go first," he whispered.

For a moment, she was completely dumbfounded. Her confusion drained away and surged into anger. "What?" she ground out. "If you've waited until now to pull this chivalry crap, so help me Banner—"

"No, no," he held up his hands as if to ward off an assault. "I'm no good in this sort of fight. What I meant was…I can't be killed. But you can." His eyes pleaded with her to listen. "So please — let me go first, just this once."

He had a point, she recognized distantly. A stray bullet could take her down, but it wouldn't even make it past his skin. Being shot would trigger the Other Guy for sure, but if they were already under attack, that wasn't going to matter in the long run. "Okay," she relented in a whisper. "Slow and silent," she instructed him, and they moved to the foot of the stairs. The footsteps above had gone quiet.

Natasha raised her gun and pointed it over Bruce's shoulder as he walked in front like a human shield. She reminded herself with every step that even the most advanced weaponry of the U.S. military hadn't been able to hurt Bruce. The thought held little comfort as they ascended the stairs. The silence pressed against her like the heat of an oven that might burn her at any moment…

Bruce stood on the last step. He glanced back at her; she caught his eye and nodded. They surged suddenly onto the landing, and Natasha tightened her finger against the trigger as she scanned for the intruder.

She saw him and at the same moment Bruce sucked in a sharp breath.

"Tony?"

"Well don't you two make a cute and murderous couple," Tony declared from his seat on the upstairs couch, his ankles crossed and resting with lazy grace on top of the coffee table. He seemed to realize the rudeness of this posture all at once and stood up immediately. "You two looked so cozy downstairs that I decided not to wake you. I left the suit outside," he commented when he followed her gaze to the window. "Came up the outside stairs. I'm just dropping by — sorry if I caused a ruckus." He glanced pointedly at the gun that Natasha still had trained in his direction.

"It's nice to see you," Bruce said, and the happiness in his voice made it easier to push away her irritation with Stark. She finally lowered the weapon. Tony stepped forward and pulled Bruce into something between a hug and a handshake. "How'd you find us?" Bruce continued.

"I just asked Nick," Tony said with a shrug. "He spies on everybody. Besides, your cover names left a little to be desired. Bruce and Natalie Roberts? Really? I know a kid in Tennessee who could've figured that one out." His gaze wandered across the room and Natasha knew that his air of distraction was a smokescreen; Tony Stark was far more observant than he ever let on.

"Why are you here?" she asked abruptly. Something was off in the restless way he moved. She detected some reluctance lurking underneath his constant energy.

"Always so professional, Ms. Romanoff — sorry, Mrs. Roberts. All work and no play…" he trailed off flippantly, but his shoulders slumped. "Something's come up and Fury wants all hands on deck. It's a guy called Thanos." Tony's eyes filled with the echo of fear she had seen a few times since New York and suddenly she knew what he was going to say next.

"He's an alien."

Bruce stared in shock and Natasha felt a thrill of fear tingling somewhere beneath her ribs. The Chitauri had been horrible enough for one lifetime; she could really do without any more alien invasions.

"Fury thought that we might need the nuclear option,"—Natasha winced at the very insensitive term for the Big Guy and she felt Bruce tense beside her—"So I volunteered to come talk to you. Sorry, Buddy," he finished with a surprisingly genuine ring of contrition in his voice. But just as quickly as Tony's sympathetic side came into view, it disappeared into the wilds again like the rare creature that it was. "I thought I would drop by since I think I'm slightly less annoying than Fury."

"Think again," Natasha muttered and Bruce produced an impressive coughing fit to cover her remark. Tony heard it anyway, but he just smirked. "Fury…" he mused insolently. "Is that his real name or do they just call him that because of how he makes people feel?"

She had to give him that one. A ceasefire was in order, she decided, and with a quick "be right back" in Bruce's direction, she retreated to the bedroom to put the gun away and, more importantly, to find some pants. Besides, Bruce deserved to have a few minutes to catch up with his friend.

She caught snatches of their conversation on the other side of the bedroom door. "You never call, you never write…" complained Tony's voice.

"I email you!" Bruce replied, and she could clearly imagine his look of exasperation. Tony ignored that and continued.

"I just had to see you and Romanoff playing house. Nice digs, by the way. So what have you been doing out here? Besides playing lots of hide the zucchini, I mean." She could almost hear his smirk just as she could almost hear Bruce's blush as he ignored most of what Tony had said and explained about his work at the clinic. She left them in peace for a solid half hour before reemerging.

"There you are, Natalie. I mean Natasha. Force of habit, sorry," Tony said dismissively. He turned back to Bruce. "I'm parched. You don't have a glass of water around, do you?"

Bruce looked suspicious, but he nodded. "Uh…sure. In the kitchen." Tony made no move to follow him and Bruce's face creased with confusion. "I'll just get that," he said, glancing at Natasha. She nodded at him. Bruce descended the stairs and she was alone with Stark.

"Well?" she asked. "What do you want?"

He turned to face her and she blinked. His face was grim and set and he looked more serious than she had ever seen him. "He seems happy," he started in a level tone. "Is he happy?"

Natasha's mind flashed rapidly through the collage of first-class flights, Spanish lessons, burnt toast, Sunday shopping, quiet dinners, and nights spent in Bruce's arms that made up the last several months. "Yeah," she answered honestly. "The happiest I've seen him." Tony's tense expression relaxed into something that hovered between relief and disappointment.

"Good," he said after a moment. He turned away from her to look out the windows facing the front yard. "You guys don't have to come back if you don't want to. We might need you, though, before this is over." He glanced at the stairwell. "Take care of him, huh?" he asked without looking at her.

"I always do," she answered solemnly. If Tony Stark was going to take the trouble to be serious, she figured she could repay him in kind.

"He always did seem happy with you," Tony commented distantly. The somber spell that had fallen over them finally lifted; Tony's manic energy returned to him like the crackle of static electricity and the moment of quiet was over. His shields were back up, so Natasha didn't feel guilty about throwing a few darts his way.

"Answer his emails, Stark," Natasha said pointedly. "I was your assistant — I know you have the time. He misses you. I don't know why he misses you," she added with a smirk, "but he does."

Tony absorbed her words with a look that was half-wounded, half-wry. "Sheath your wit, Agent Romanoff, I come in peace," he protested finally. But he smiled.

Bruce stepped back into the room with a glass of water at last. "Is everybody playing nice in here?" he asked with a knowing look between the two of them. Natasha smirked at him and Bruce sighed.

Tony took the glass of water and downed it in a few swift gulps. "Thanks," he said. "I've gotta jet. There's more assembling to do today. You guys let me know what you decide. And…" he paused and glanced between the two of them. "Good luck. Between you two and Barton, I'm starting to take the whole moving to the middle of nowhere idea seriously." He grinned and descended the stairs. Bruce followed him and she heard their voices through the front windows before the sound of thruster ignition heralded Tony's departure.

Bruce's steps sounded on the stairs and he stood beside her as she stared out the window. "So," he started after a moment's silence. "What do you want to do?"

"We've got a good life here," she said firmly. "There's no need to uproot yourself. Not yet, anyway. Let's see how things play out and we'll go in if we're needed." Bruce was silent beside her and it was unnerving. "What are you thinking?" she asked quietly.

"I'm just wondering if that's what you really want…or if you're saying it for my sake." He spoke gently and warmly…and she loved him. That answered the question, she supposed distantly.

"We want the same thing," she insisted, and it was basically true. There had been a time in the not-so-distant past when a threat to the planet wouldn't have been something she could just let stand, not when there was something she could do about it. But she glanced at Bruce and the urge to do something calmed and settled into a faint uneasiness. She wouldn't force him back into the fray. She had done that once and it had almost destroyed everything they had — she wouldn't do it again.

"What do you think?" she prompted, waiting for him to speak what she already knew, that he was happy here and wanted to stay. And, really, she was content with that. Being with him was enough. If the Avengers needed them they would go, and not before.

"I was thinking that the job's not done," Bruce murmured and he met her gaze.

"Using my words," she said faintly, remembering a ledge and her decision to push him over. She wouldn't do it again.

But who was pushing who today?

"They were good words," Bruce said with a shrug. "So let's go."

"Are you sure?" she asked, staring at him in astonishment. "We've been happy here…"

Bruce's eyes unfocused as he stared out the window. "They say heaven is a place on earth," he said. Natasha rolled her eyes and he grinned. Pop music wasn't exactly her thing, but she did remember a cheesy song or two along those lines. She glanced around their home and sobered abruptly. "But isn't this your place?" she pressed. Surely any moment now he would realize that this was a terrible plan and not at all what he wanted…

"No," he said without hesitation. She could only stare at him. "My place…it's with you." He spoke with a shrug and his ridiculous shy smile…

…and it hurt. Natasha was always amazed by how much love resembled the sensation of pain. It was vulnerability, it was being cut as deeply as you could stand, sometimes even beyond what you could stand, but it was still warm and beautiful and welcome. It cut you open, but filled the places it hollowed out.

She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the feeling, but she was prepared to try.

She sighed in fond exasperation and hoped the tears threatening behind her eyes weren't obvious.

"Bruce," she said quietly, and hoped he could understand what she meant. "You are such a dork."

Bruce shrugged and the smile that broke over his face was beautiful in its quiet confidence. "You love me anyway."

She reached for his hand and tangled their fingers because she really couldn't argue with that.

Notes: *sobbing because my OTP is beautiful*

Actual Notes: I had so much fun writing this. It was so nice to just be stupidly happy instead of riding the angst train the current Marvel canon has going. I hope you all enjoyed it, too.

I have very nascent plans for a possible sequel...or it might end up as more unconnected BruceNat fic. So, um, watch for that?

I just want to say a couple of things about Bruce and Natasha's relationship and my interpretation of it, here, so feel free to skip straight to reviewing if you're not feeling a lengthy set of notes!

I wanted to tread very, very lightly with the nightmare scene, because Natasha has been so violently criticized as being weak anytime she shows any hint of emotion. I wrote the nightmare scene because the demons Natasha faces are in her mind, unlike Bruce's more obvious physical problem (although he has plenty of emotional complications, too, some of which stem from that Hulk issue). I think that any development of their relationship had to address how she supports him (which we've already explored in previous chapters) but the harder question is how does he support her? I think Bruce is capable of crazy levels of empathy after his lifetime of suffering, and that could be a huge comfort to Natasha. And his constancy, his steadiness would be a huge help to her, helping her to bear the crushing guilt and trauma she feels. She doesn't need him per se — and she said that in the chapter — she could just fight her battles alone. After all, she's done that her whole life. But part of any relationship is deciding not to fight battles alone, but to share them. They would have to do that to be a functioning couple and I don't think that would weaken either Bruce or Natasha. She's done nothing but support him in every possible way in Age of Ultron and in this fic, so it was high time that Bruce pulled his weight in this romance lol.

We actually do see a couple of examples of supportive!Bruce in AoU — just think of his "I think you're being hard on yourself" line when Natasha is talking about her deeply-held fear that she can't be a hero, that she's doomed to be what she was forced to be: an assassin with a dark past and no future. And then the wonderful line in Sokovia at the end of AoU, affirming that Natasha is a hero: "And you've done plenty." The warmth on her face! Natasha doesn't need anyone or anything — we could all continue to live in this world even without strong support systems, regardless of the health of that — but I think that the sort of affirmation that she has received and could receive from Bruce would have an enormously positive impact. She's always striving to wipe out that red in her ledger, always struggling to balance the scales between the good and the bad that she's done, and that's got to be wearing. But Bruce sees her in a far more positive light than she's ever been seen before. What must that feel like, to be constantly struggling for "salvation" and feeling like it's impossible ("I had a dream, the kind of dream that seems normal at the time, that I could be anything other than the assassin they made me.") and then someone tells you that not only is it possible, but it's already a reality. Just think of the power of that! The power of someone thinking well of you and even needing you. Scarlett Johansson mentioned something that fascinated me in an interview…she said that the lullaby situation activates Natasha's maternal instinct. I was blown away by that thought. Here is a woman who has spent her life as a killing machine, spent her life regretting the fact that she destroys, and then she's handed the opportunity to help someone instead of hurt them, to be gentle instead of violent, to be connect and heal instead of destroy. I think that there would be something of the maternal about that, but not in a "Natasha wants kids and that's OOC" kind of way. To be human is to be engaged in connection with other humans, and Natasha develops a special connection with Bruce. It's a connection that has enormous healing potential for two very damaged people, and I think that's beautiful. I hope I managed to bring some of that out in this chapter.

Finally, a quick word about Tony in this chapter. He's a little testy with Natasha in places, partially because I couldn't imagine that he was entirely thrilled that she stole his Science Bro and left without a word. I think Tony would be happy for BruceNat, but not necessarily above a little jealousy and petulance lol. There's also the fact that all the interactions we see between Tony and Natasha are a bit caustic after he finds out that she's a SHIELD agent in Iron Man 2. We don't actually see much of them interacting in Avengers or AoU, but I can't imagine that his attitude towards her has faded entirely. Eh, it's a matter of opinion, I suppose.

Me: "I wrote a fanfic—the rightful ending of BruceNat!"

The Other: "Your review requests are little and full of childish need. Your reviewers look beyond this fic to more fics…"

Me: "I haven't written those fics yet."

The Other: "If you fail…if the fan fictions are kept from your readers…there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where they will not find you!"

Me: "As long as they review, they can find me any time, any place lol."

The Other:…

Thanos:…

Me:…please review.

(One day I'm going to run out of lines to use for my dumb review prompts. BUT IT IS NOT THIS DAY.)