Peter; Bruce
Sep. 8th, 2012 01:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aa_natasha 9/6/2012
=NYC= Gym - Ground Floor - Avengers Mansion
The ground-floor gym is near Olympian in its thoroughness. From weights to balance beams to punching bags, the equipment runs the gamut of strength and agility training. It's also populated by discreet cameras that can be used to record sessions for any further review a subject might desire.
(Exits : [C]ommand [C]enter, [Lib]rary, [N]orth [H]all, and [A]trium [G]arden )
It takes Natasha a while to work up a sweat, but it's a bit different when she's working against someone who can actually match her for speed and acrobatics. It's significantly more of a challenge than sparring at SHIELD has ever been, and there is something grimly determined and appreciative in her eyes as she moves across the room. It's an impressive sight, the paired spiders matching off with blows intercut with dodges and flips and twists that are impossible for most people, human or no. Natasha moves lightly, with speed and grace and precision as she chases Peter around the gym using every tool available to her. At present, she's flipping her way up and off a set of parallel bars to find her feet again.
Where Natasha is silent, precise and determined, Peter is spontaneous, instinctive, sometimes even reckless-- and just damn talkative. In the end, it comes down to his enhanced instincts and abilities against the myriad years and intensity of Natasha's training. And in this case, it is difficult to see who the ultimate victor in this contest of speed and skill will be. He trades blows and dodges apace, and gladly utilizes his newly acquired abilities to give himself the advantage-- because let's face it. He needs it. "Oh, hey--" he says as he lands lightly on his feet against one of the walls, one hand down to help secure his position and prevent him from moving, "nice move there! Did you learn that from watching some of these gold medalist gymnasts? Because, I have to tell you, those American girls were /on fire/ this year." Despite the banter, a study such as her knows that this is just as challenging for him as it is for her, if not a bit more so.
Victory is such a slippery thing when Natasha's pulling her punches (maybe Peter is too, he's probably nice like that). She pauses, finally, turning narrowed eyes up to Peter's sticky perch and setting her hands on her hips. "Maybe they learned them from me," she suggests, brows eloquently arched as ever, and she turns her back on Spidey to head toward the edge of the room for her water.
He probably is-- mostly because this is training, and not fighting for his literal life. He is pretty considerate like that. "Well," Peter allows, grinning slightly underneath his mask even though it doesn't show, "it's impolite to ask a lady her age. Besides, you're probably too busy practicing how to kill a man fifteen different ways with your big toe to be teaching some gymnasts." When she turns her back on him deliberately to signal the end of the session, he breathes a sigh of relief that probably carries a little further through the gym than he intends before climbing his way over to the refreshments along the ceiling. Maybe he has something against walking on the floor like a normal person. When he drops down to retrieve his own water, he lifts the mask up to his forehead to reveal a sweaty brow that he cleans with a dry towel before taking a drink of water, eyeing Natasha sideways as he does so. Thankfully, he doesn't make a complete fool of himself and spill the water over himself because he's too busy 'not looking'.
With her back to Peter, Natasha smiles slightly and dips down for her water bottle. She straightens, head tipping backward for a long swallow before she glances toward her companion. "Good session," she approves mildly.
Peter flashes a brief, bright smile in appreciation for the lavish praise Natasha has suddenly heaped all over him. And then his grin turns a little crooked as he replies a touch sassily, "You weren't so bad yourself." The next words are more serious, though. "A few more minutes, I would have been on the ropes." He is open and honest on his admission, genuinely unconcerned as to what the othrs might think of him for admitting his difficulty-- after all, they're not here and she is.
One of Natasha's brows twitches and she levels a look on Peter as she takes another swallow of water. After a moment she says, "Spar with Thor while I'm gone, or Captain Rogers. See if you can outrun /them/."
"No thanks," is said hastily to Natasha's first suggestion as Peter grimaces, his water bottle crinkling in his hand at an instinctive reaction of his hand to tighten up. "I prefer to be a spider, not end up as a lightning bug." The young man looks over to Natasha, loosening up slightly, "But I think I could do some work with Cap if he's got the time." And then it hits him. She can see it in his face as the confusion appears and passes in a moment, and his eyebrows lift slightly on his forehead, "What do you mean 'while I'm gone'?"
"That wasn't a suggestion," Natasha clarifies, tossing her bottle lightly to the side before she moves to the center of the mat to lower herself slowly and steadily into a split. She swings a leg around into a more conventional stretch and tilts her head up to look at Peter. "There's a security council to hunt," she reminds.
Peter's jaw tightens in a stubborn 'No Way. Can't Make Me.' type of look at Natasha's clarification, and his arms fold over his chest, about to argue with the woman who almost just got done handing him his ass. Or would have had they not taken a break. However, he doesn't say anything to argue about it, instead merely fixating on her reminder instead as she looks back at him. He lifts a hand and rubs at his forehead slightly, "Yeah. There is." He frowns slightly, looking more closely at Natasha this time, "What happens when you find them?" As if there is no doubt in his head that she will find them. "Do you think that they're just like all of the other new SHIELD Agents? Under Loki's influence?" See? He reads AARs and reports like a good Avenger.
"I can't answer that until I find them," Natasha answers. She bends forward, drawing her fingers down toward her toes and then beyond. She breathes in. She breathes out. She pushes the stretch deeper still and then draws slowly upward. "One step at a time."
Peter does not ogle the nimble superspy as she does her stretching routine, unlike some others might. He is preoccupied instead, a small little frown on his face as he taps a finger against his lips, "Unless they're drawing you in to a trap, and are being used as a lure. Who's going with you?"
Natasha pauses in her stretch to turn a Look on Peter. It is just a tiny bit bemused. "Don't think I can handle myself, Parker?"
Peter stands tall against that Look, never wavering. Okay, maybe wavering slightly. But he still looks a little concerned, and maybe a little irritated at her bemusement. "That's not the issue."
"No?" Natasha finds her feet with a neat, easy flip and tucks her arms across her chest. She tilts her head, studying him with a lingering half-smile. "Sounds like you're doubting my abilities, rebenok."
Peter shakes his head once, as if trying to chase off a pestering fly, and his own arms fold over his chest again. "Your abilities aren't the issue," he says again stubbornly. He gestures back at the rest of the mansion and supposedly the people in it. "You've been doing this work for-- probably longer than I've been alive. But you're a part of the Avengers now, aren't you?" He grimaces inwardly at even the thought of saying this to Natasha, but he stubborns his way through it because it's important enough to do. "So, the smart play is to have at least someone else with you. Or watching your back. There are people you trust here to do that, don't you?"
"Relax, Parker," Natasha says, turning away with a flick of her fingers so she can kick one leg up against the wall and lean into the stretch. "I'm not going alone. Barton's coming with me. But you might want to keep in mind that I've definitely been doing ths for longer than you've been alive."
"Doesn't mean I'm not right," Peter shoots right back stubbornly, though that edge has worn off. He seems a little more mollified, anyway. Arms uncross from over his own chest to take a last drink of water before reaching up and pulling his mask back down over his face once more as he tosses his bottle away. (Two points.) "Good luck finding out who they are-- and stay safe."
"Yeah," Natasha says, mild and quiet. "It does."
There's a hitch in Peter's giddyup. A pause to his exit that coincides with Natasha's correction. The mask turns as he looks back over his shoulder at her against the wall, and in a young voice that is plainly hurt and doesn't understand adds, "Yeah. Fine, whatever. Good luck." And unless Natasha bothers to elaborate more and actually correct him, he leaves. By walking. At least until he's out of the gym.
Natasha turns her head to look after Peter. Her lips part, then close again, and she directs her gaze upward with a sigh.
=NYC= Atrium Garden - Ground Floor - Avengers Mansion
The glass-ceilinged atrium is a serene oasis in the midst of the Avengers Mansion. Its lighting varies according to weather outside, though the glass itself is frosted for security's sake. In the evening hours, soft lights glow along the ornate stone walkways and the white marble pillars.
The trickle of water announces the presence of a stone fountain set in the midst of a long oval indoor pond that takes up the center of the atrium. Greenery and the occasional flower surround the pool and peek out from almost all corners of the space. Bronzed sculptures stand guard on pedestals around the room, keeping watch over the benches tucked at each of the four sides.
(Exits : [G]ym, [C]ommand [C]enter, [N]orth [H]all, [R]ec [R]oom, [S]outh [H]all, and [E]ntrance [H]all )
(Players : Bruce )
Bruce is wearing a faded brown jacket that matches fairly well to his faded brown pants, his off hand shrugged into his pocket and his right holding loosely to a Stark tablet with thin lines of information beaded across it in gleaming color. He looks thoughtful and quiet, toeing a little at the edge of the stone fountain as he watches the trickle of the water in the warm lights that line the walkway.
Natasha enters not from the front of the mansion but from the back, through the door that leads into the gym. Her brow is sweat-damp, and her hair clings in damp curls as she runs her fingers through the tangles. She's clad in yoga pants and a white tank, with a nearly-empty water bottle grasped in one hand. She pauses on the column-lined walkway, gaze caught and fixed on Bruce. A breath's moment passes before she says, "Hello."
He does not notice her at first, dark eyes tracking over the shimmering across the water and thoughts all wrapped up in a science project despite his effort to take a break from it and get his legs under him. He blinks as he looks up and over at her, and tilts his head with a clearing of his throat. "Ah-- hi," says Bruce.
Natasha helps that effort along by virtue of her quiet, slow steps toward the fountain and her, "How's the research progressing?"
Bruce glances down at the tablet, and drops his shoulder in a shrug as he lets the slimline thing rest against his hip, exhalation a soft puff of breath. "It's ... coming," he says. "I'll need Stark for any practical application, but. We should be able to get to prototyping. Soon. I think."
Natasha drops herself heavily onto the solid marble of the nearest bench and pulls one knee up to her chest. She wraps one arm loosely around it and gives a slow nod. "Good. That's good."
"Yeah." Bruce's jaw tightens with the work of his throat as he glances away, thumb gliding along the back of the tablet. "In the lack of anything better, it will have to do."
Natasha is silent for a moment, attention fixed on the trickle of water. She drags her fingers through the damp mess of her hair before she says, "If he wanted him dead, I doubt he'd go to the trouble of demanding a meeting. And he has more than enough hostages already." It's meant to be comforting.
Bruce smiles a thin, tight smile, a hint of greater tension seeping into the set of shoulders and spine. He exhales a breath, carefully, past his nose. "Maybe," he says. "But just because we don't see the shape of the trap from where we're standing, that doesn't make it not a trap."
"No," Natasha agrees readily enough. "But there is some comfort to be taken in manaical egomaniacs." Her lips twist with unpleasant, private amusement.
"Is there?" Bruce turns slightly where he stands, angling to face her with eyebrows twitched high over his dark eyes. His glasses are in some pocket or other rather than on his face; in the gloom, it is harder to read his facial features, but to the close observer, the signs of sleeplessness are made manifest. His mouth quirks, crimping at its corner. "I don't know. Think I should knock Tony over the head and take his meeting?" he says. It is very wry. I'm not serious, the tone says. The anxiety to be read behind his eyes may be more revealing.
"Yes," Natasha answers with firm conviction but without explanation. She twists her water bottle in one hand, fingers loose on the neck, and lifts her brows at Bruce. "Do /you/?"
Some of the play fades from Bruce's expression and for a moment he stands quite still. Warring with himself for a moment's silence, he says, "If he's not choosing himself over the hostages, can I really make that choice for him?"
"You can," Natasha says with a very faint smile and a very faint shake of her head. "But no. I don't think you should. We run a risk whatever we do-- but some things are less risky than others."
Bruce turns the tablet over in his hands, glancing down at it more as an object that he fiddles with than because he is looking to review any of the data it contains. "Ye-eah," he says slowly. "Some things are. But they have all the information they need to know that me walking in there is ... uh, a declaration of its own, so. Not a good idea, even if--" He tips the tablet this way and that.
"Yes," Natasha says, though this time the word is both simple and quiet. She taps her bottle lightly against her bent leg, letting it bounce off her shin. "You're right about the other, too. Beyond the risk. It's his choice."
"Right," Bruce says. He lifts one hand to rub at his eyes, thumb and fingertip dragging over his eyelids as he shakes his head. "Anyway," he says. "You made any headway with the ... global conspiracy people?"
Natasha's gaze drifts slowly up to the frosted glass overhead. "Russian," she says. "British, Chinese, American. One of those places I at least know some strings to pull." She pulls her gaze down again to glance at Bruce. "We leave tomorrow."
"Taking Barton?" Bruce asks, although he asks it more like an assumption than a question.
Natasha nods once, silent as she unwinds her leg and drapes it over the edge of the bench.
Bruce nods in answer, scrubbing his hand over his mouth and looking away up the garden path. He remarks, after a long pause, "Thor mentioned he was into gardening. Funny, huh?"
Natasha looks actually, genuinely startled at that, and her gaze snaps toward Bruce. "Gardening?" Maybe it means something else in Asgardian.
"Yeah. Plants." Bruce turns out a hand in a sweeping gesture through the garden that surrounds them.
Natasha blinks. Then she blinks again. Then she says, "Huh." She rubs a hand across her face and pushes herself upward from her bench with a lazy stretch. "Well. I suppose he can keep all these alive, then."
"Fitting," Bruce says with a slight snort. "If he's the gardener, and Earth's full of weeds, it's like Mjolnir is that mallet in whack-a-mole."
"Now you're getting too complicated for post-workout metaphors," Natasha says. She gives Bruce a lift of her chin as she stirs along the walkway toward the door. "Good luck with your research. And try not to forget to sleep."
"Don't worry, you aren't missing anything," Bruce assures her with easy humility. He drags his free hand through the dark rumple of his hair, and nods. "Thanks," he says. "Good luck to you too, and ... ah, good night."
"Good night, doctor." Natasha lifts her bottle in a still-handed wave and then slips out for the stairs.
=NYC= Gym - Ground Floor - Avengers Mansion
The ground-floor gym is near Olympian in its thoroughness. From weights to balance beams to punching bags, the equipment runs the gamut of strength and agility training. It's also populated by discreet cameras that can be used to record sessions for any further review a subject might desire.
(Exits : [C]ommand [C]enter, [Lib]rary, [N]orth [H]all, and [A]trium [G]arden )
It takes Natasha a while to work up a sweat, but it's a bit different when she's working against someone who can actually match her for speed and acrobatics. It's significantly more of a challenge than sparring at SHIELD has ever been, and there is something grimly determined and appreciative in her eyes as she moves across the room. It's an impressive sight, the paired spiders matching off with blows intercut with dodges and flips and twists that are impossible for most people, human or no. Natasha moves lightly, with speed and grace and precision as she chases Peter around the gym using every tool available to her. At present, she's flipping her way up and off a set of parallel bars to find her feet again.
Where Natasha is silent, precise and determined, Peter is spontaneous, instinctive, sometimes even reckless-- and just damn talkative. In the end, it comes down to his enhanced instincts and abilities against the myriad years and intensity of Natasha's training. And in this case, it is difficult to see who the ultimate victor in this contest of speed and skill will be. He trades blows and dodges apace, and gladly utilizes his newly acquired abilities to give himself the advantage-- because let's face it. He needs it. "Oh, hey--" he says as he lands lightly on his feet against one of the walls, one hand down to help secure his position and prevent him from moving, "nice move there! Did you learn that from watching some of these gold medalist gymnasts? Because, I have to tell you, those American girls were /on fire/ this year." Despite the banter, a study such as her knows that this is just as challenging for him as it is for her, if not a bit more so.
Victory is such a slippery thing when Natasha's pulling her punches (maybe Peter is too, he's probably nice like that). She pauses, finally, turning narrowed eyes up to Peter's sticky perch and setting her hands on her hips. "Maybe they learned them from me," she suggests, brows eloquently arched as ever, and she turns her back on Spidey to head toward the edge of the room for her water.
He probably is-- mostly because this is training, and not fighting for his literal life. He is pretty considerate like that. "Well," Peter allows, grinning slightly underneath his mask even though it doesn't show, "it's impolite to ask a lady her age. Besides, you're probably too busy practicing how to kill a man fifteen different ways with your big toe to be teaching some gymnasts." When she turns her back on him deliberately to signal the end of the session, he breathes a sigh of relief that probably carries a little further through the gym than he intends before climbing his way over to the refreshments along the ceiling. Maybe he has something against walking on the floor like a normal person. When he drops down to retrieve his own water, he lifts the mask up to his forehead to reveal a sweaty brow that he cleans with a dry towel before taking a drink of water, eyeing Natasha sideways as he does so. Thankfully, he doesn't make a complete fool of himself and spill the water over himself because he's too busy 'not looking'.
With her back to Peter, Natasha smiles slightly and dips down for her water bottle. She straightens, head tipping backward for a long swallow before she glances toward her companion. "Good session," she approves mildly.
Peter flashes a brief, bright smile in appreciation for the lavish praise Natasha has suddenly heaped all over him. And then his grin turns a little crooked as he replies a touch sassily, "You weren't so bad yourself." The next words are more serious, though. "A few more minutes, I would have been on the ropes." He is open and honest on his admission, genuinely unconcerned as to what the othrs might think of him for admitting his difficulty-- after all, they're not here and she is.
One of Natasha's brows twitches and she levels a look on Peter as she takes another swallow of water. After a moment she says, "Spar with Thor while I'm gone, or Captain Rogers. See if you can outrun /them/."
"No thanks," is said hastily to Natasha's first suggestion as Peter grimaces, his water bottle crinkling in his hand at an instinctive reaction of his hand to tighten up. "I prefer to be a spider, not end up as a lightning bug." The young man looks over to Natasha, loosening up slightly, "But I think I could do some work with Cap if he's got the time." And then it hits him. She can see it in his face as the confusion appears and passes in a moment, and his eyebrows lift slightly on his forehead, "What do you mean 'while I'm gone'?"
"That wasn't a suggestion," Natasha clarifies, tossing her bottle lightly to the side before she moves to the center of the mat to lower herself slowly and steadily into a split. She swings a leg around into a more conventional stretch and tilts her head up to look at Peter. "There's a security council to hunt," she reminds.
Peter's jaw tightens in a stubborn 'No Way. Can't Make Me.' type of look at Natasha's clarification, and his arms fold over his chest, about to argue with the woman who almost just got done handing him his ass. Or would have had they not taken a break. However, he doesn't say anything to argue about it, instead merely fixating on her reminder instead as she looks back at him. He lifts a hand and rubs at his forehead slightly, "Yeah. There is." He frowns slightly, looking more closely at Natasha this time, "What happens when you find them?" As if there is no doubt in his head that she will find them. "Do you think that they're just like all of the other new SHIELD Agents? Under Loki's influence?" See? He reads AARs and reports like a good Avenger.
"I can't answer that until I find them," Natasha answers. She bends forward, drawing her fingers down toward her toes and then beyond. She breathes in. She breathes out. She pushes the stretch deeper still and then draws slowly upward. "One step at a time."
Peter does not ogle the nimble superspy as she does her stretching routine, unlike some others might. He is preoccupied instead, a small little frown on his face as he taps a finger against his lips, "Unless they're drawing you in to a trap, and are being used as a lure. Who's going with you?"
Natasha pauses in her stretch to turn a Look on Peter. It is just a tiny bit bemused. "Don't think I can handle myself, Parker?"
Peter stands tall against that Look, never wavering. Okay, maybe wavering slightly. But he still looks a little concerned, and maybe a little irritated at her bemusement. "That's not the issue."
"No?" Natasha finds her feet with a neat, easy flip and tucks her arms across her chest. She tilts her head, studying him with a lingering half-smile. "Sounds like you're doubting my abilities, rebenok."
Peter shakes his head once, as if trying to chase off a pestering fly, and his own arms fold over his chest again. "Your abilities aren't the issue," he says again stubbornly. He gestures back at the rest of the mansion and supposedly the people in it. "You've been doing this work for-- probably longer than I've been alive. But you're a part of the Avengers now, aren't you?" He grimaces inwardly at even the thought of saying this to Natasha, but he stubborns his way through it because it's important enough to do. "So, the smart play is to have at least someone else with you. Or watching your back. There are people you trust here to do that, don't you?"
"Relax, Parker," Natasha says, turning away with a flick of her fingers so she can kick one leg up against the wall and lean into the stretch. "I'm not going alone. Barton's coming with me. But you might want to keep in mind that I've definitely been doing ths for longer than you've been alive."
"Doesn't mean I'm not right," Peter shoots right back stubbornly, though that edge has worn off. He seems a little more mollified, anyway. Arms uncross from over his own chest to take a last drink of water before reaching up and pulling his mask back down over his face once more as he tosses his bottle away. (Two points.) "Good luck finding out who they are-- and stay safe."
"Yeah," Natasha says, mild and quiet. "It does."
There's a hitch in Peter's giddyup. A pause to his exit that coincides with Natasha's correction. The mask turns as he looks back over his shoulder at her against the wall, and in a young voice that is plainly hurt and doesn't understand adds, "Yeah. Fine, whatever. Good luck." And unless Natasha bothers to elaborate more and actually correct him, he leaves. By walking. At least until he's out of the gym.
Natasha turns her head to look after Peter. Her lips part, then close again, and she directs her gaze upward with a sigh.
=NYC= Atrium Garden - Ground Floor - Avengers Mansion
The glass-ceilinged atrium is a serene oasis in the midst of the Avengers Mansion. Its lighting varies according to weather outside, though the glass itself is frosted for security's sake. In the evening hours, soft lights glow along the ornate stone walkways and the white marble pillars.
The trickle of water announces the presence of a stone fountain set in the midst of a long oval indoor pond that takes up the center of the atrium. Greenery and the occasional flower surround the pool and peek out from almost all corners of the space. Bronzed sculptures stand guard on pedestals around the room, keeping watch over the benches tucked at each of the four sides.
(Exits : [G]ym, [C]ommand [C]enter, [N]orth [H]all, [R]ec [R]oom, [S]outh [H]all, and [E]ntrance [H]all )
(Players : Bruce )
Bruce is wearing a faded brown jacket that matches fairly well to his faded brown pants, his off hand shrugged into his pocket and his right holding loosely to a Stark tablet with thin lines of information beaded across it in gleaming color. He looks thoughtful and quiet, toeing a little at the edge of the stone fountain as he watches the trickle of the water in the warm lights that line the walkway.
Natasha enters not from the front of the mansion but from the back, through the door that leads into the gym. Her brow is sweat-damp, and her hair clings in damp curls as she runs her fingers through the tangles. She's clad in yoga pants and a white tank, with a nearly-empty water bottle grasped in one hand. She pauses on the column-lined walkway, gaze caught and fixed on Bruce. A breath's moment passes before she says, "Hello."
He does not notice her at first, dark eyes tracking over the shimmering across the water and thoughts all wrapped up in a science project despite his effort to take a break from it and get his legs under him. He blinks as he looks up and over at her, and tilts his head with a clearing of his throat. "Ah-- hi," says Bruce.
Natasha helps that effort along by virtue of her quiet, slow steps toward the fountain and her, "How's the research progressing?"
Bruce glances down at the tablet, and drops his shoulder in a shrug as he lets the slimline thing rest against his hip, exhalation a soft puff of breath. "It's ... coming," he says. "I'll need Stark for any practical application, but. We should be able to get to prototyping. Soon. I think."
Natasha drops herself heavily onto the solid marble of the nearest bench and pulls one knee up to her chest. She wraps one arm loosely around it and gives a slow nod. "Good. That's good."
"Yeah." Bruce's jaw tightens with the work of his throat as he glances away, thumb gliding along the back of the tablet. "In the lack of anything better, it will have to do."
Natasha is silent for a moment, attention fixed on the trickle of water. She drags her fingers through the damp mess of her hair before she says, "If he wanted him dead, I doubt he'd go to the trouble of demanding a meeting. And he has more than enough hostages already." It's meant to be comforting.
Bruce smiles a thin, tight smile, a hint of greater tension seeping into the set of shoulders and spine. He exhales a breath, carefully, past his nose. "Maybe," he says. "But just because we don't see the shape of the trap from where we're standing, that doesn't make it not a trap."
"No," Natasha agrees readily enough. "But there is some comfort to be taken in manaical egomaniacs." Her lips twist with unpleasant, private amusement.
"Is there?" Bruce turns slightly where he stands, angling to face her with eyebrows twitched high over his dark eyes. His glasses are in some pocket or other rather than on his face; in the gloom, it is harder to read his facial features, but to the close observer, the signs of sleeplessness are made manifest. His mouth quirks, crimping at its corner. "I don't know. Think I should knock Tony over the head and take his meeting?" he says. It is very wry. I'm not serious, the tone says. The anxiety to be read behind his eyes may be more revealing.
"Yes," Natasha answers with firm conviction but without explanation. She twists her water bottle in one hand, fingers loose on the neck, and lifts her brows at Bruce. "Do /you/?"
Some of the play fades from Bruce's expression and for a moment he stands quite still. Warring with himself for a moment's silence, he says, "If he's not choosing himself over the hostages, can I really make that choice for him?"
"You can," Natasha says with a very faint smile and a very faint shake of her head. "But no. I don't think you should. We run a risk whatever we do-- but some things are less risky than others."
Bruce turns the tablet over in his hands, glancing down at it more as an object that he fiddles with than because he is looking to review any of the data it contains. "Ye-eah," he says slowly. "Some things are. But they have all the information they need to know that me walking in there is ... uh, a declaration of its own, so. Not a good idea, even if--" He tips the tablet this way and that.
"Yes," Natasha says, though this time the word is both simple and quiet. She taps her bottle lightly against her bent leg, letting it bounce off her shin. "You're right about the other, too. Beyond the risk. It's his choice."
"Right," Bruce says. He lifts one hand to rub at his eyes, thumb and fingertip dragging over his eyelids as he shakes his head. "Anyway," he says. "You made any headway with the ... global conspiracy people?"
Natasha's gaze drifts slowly up to the frosted glass overhead. "Russian," she says. "British, Chinese, American. One of those places I at least know some strings to pull." She pulls her gaze down again to glance at Bruce. "We leave tomorrow."
"Taking Barton?" Bruce asks, although he asks it more like an assumption than a question.
Natasha nods once, silent as she unwinds her leg and drapes it over the edge of the bench.
Bruce nods in answer, scrubbing his hand over his mouth and looking away up the garden path. He remarks, after a long pause, "Thor mentioned he was into gardening. Funny, huh?"
Natasha looks actually, genuinely startled at that, and her gaze snaps toward Bruce. "Gardening?" Maybe it means something else in Asgardian.
"Yeah. Plants." Bruce turns out a hand in a sweeping gesture through the garden that surrounds them.
Natasha blinks. Then she blinks again. Then she says, "Huh." She rubs a hand across her face and pushes herself upward from her bench with a lazy stretch. "Well. I suppose he can keep all these alive, then."
"Fitting," Bruce says with a slight snort. "If he's the gardener, and Earth's full of weeds, it's like Mjolnir is that mallet in whack-a-mole."
"Now you're getting too complicated for post-workout metaphors," Natasha says. She gives Bruce a lift of her chin as she stirs along the walkway toward the door. "Good luck with your research. And try not to forget to sleep."
"Don't worry, you aren't missing anything," Bruce assures her with easy humility. He drags his free hand through the dark rumple of his hair, and nods. "Thanks," he says. "Good luck to you too, and ... ah, good night."
"Good night, doctor." Natasha lifts her bottle in a still-handed wave and then slips out for the stairs.