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aa_natashaIt was a choice. To be here. Still is. Every day.
Life's full of things dressed up and polished shiny to look like you've got options when there's no real choice on the table.
But this one's not that. I could walk at any time. So could he.
But we don't.
Still trying to pin down why he doesn't.
Natasha has an office. She's not often /found/ there, nor does she keep office hours, but she does have one, and on rare occasion she uses it. Today she's tucked behind a desk in something like professional wear, attention focused on the computer screen in front of her.
"Oh, good," Bruce says, knocking on the frame of the office door as he is en route to wandering inside it. "You're in here. I was looking for you. Well, one of you." His hand gesture is vague, so it is difficult to tell one of which exactly; he follows it by rubbing at the line of his jaw. He looks somewhat rumpled, although this is not unusual; he is badly dressed, as usual; his glasses are nowhere to be found. He says, "Hi."
Natasha glaces up with a noticable lack of surprise a split second before the knock comes. Her brows twitch slightly, and she tilts her head to one side as she agrees, "I'm in here. Is there another one of me running around somewhere that I don't know about?"
"I hope not," Bruce says. He shuffles into the office proper and tucks his hands into the deep pockets of his jeans. He glances over his shoulder, and then back at Natasha with a faint twitch of his mouth up at the corners. "Does SHIELD monitor unusual metereological events? By which I mean other than the ones where Thor smashes holes in the roof. Roofs."
"We monitor a lot of things, Dr. Banner," Natasha answers in that smooth, vague manner everyone loves her for. "We try to catch the unusual ones. Why?"
"Because I think we need to start adding it into our comparative data. Or else I'm going to have to start tracking UFOs. I feel like I'm becoming enough of a crackpot without tracking UFOs." Bruce drags his hand through his hair. "Stark says that the aberration I picked up in France was instrument failure. In Arkansas, there was some kind of unusual stormy stuff that went down in Arkansas and, apparently, a UFO."
Natasha lifts her brows in a mild, understated sort of worry. "The last time we had unusual stormy stuff, Thor's friends managed to level a small town," she answers darkly. "I think Fury's been paying more attention since the ETs started paying house calls, but you should pass up whatever you've got and have them add it in. You might want to talk to Coulson, too. He's the one who pushed New Mexico onto the radar."
"Okay," Bruce says. He jiggles one heel in place, thoughtfully, and turns a faint frown sidelong across the room at nothing in particular. He folds his arms in a loose cross over his chest, drumming his fingertips against his biceps, and then says, "Do you know whose cars those were I mutilated last night?"
"Did you mutilate some cars?" Natasha asks, bland. "I hadn't heard."
Bruce's mouth tightens a little bit, although it is a difficult tension to directly interpret. "What," he says, "not keeping an eye on me anymore?"
Natasha's smile is slight, but there's a spark of amusement in her eyes. "They're SHIELD employees, Dr. Banner. Don't worry about it. We're... well funded. And not unused to collateral damage. In the long run, I suspect you cost the agency far less than we did last night."
Bruce tilts his head, watching her quietly for a moment. The faint tug of a smile begins to lift the corner of his mouth. "For the record, the hole in the ceiling was Thor."
"I'll be sure to forward that bill on to Asgard, then," Natasha promises, serious in response to his smile.
"Mm." Bruce rubs at an eye with the pad of his thumb. "Right." His hand drops and his eyebrows arch, only to lower again, a wry kind of twist to his mouth. "Masters of Evil, huh?"
Natasha's smile breaks full and wry at that, and she shakes her head as she lifts a hand to rub at her temples. "I have no idea," she answers. Her tone turns a bit dry. "Have to say, after last night I'm not certain it doesn't apply, though. They walked out of here with a scary amount of shit, and destroyed a lot more." There's a beat before she adds thoughtfully, "Stark's going to be pissed."
"Stark's not the only one." Bruce's smile is a little tight, but it's there, paired with the slight tip of his head. He lifts a hand, folds it deliberately into a fist, and just as deliberately loosens it and lets it drop, hanging loose and unthreatening at his side.
Natasha drops her hand and gives Bruce a rueful smile. "No, just the loudest. I'm almost surprised he hasn't called to whine at me yet."
"He pays people for that," Bruce tells her with a slightly widened smile. "Everyone will get a turn, no doubt."
"I'll clear my schedule," Natasha answers, desert dry.
"No doubt you'll see him coming," Bruce assures her. He turns slightly where he stands, glancing around the office she presently occupies as with an idle flicker of his dark eyes. "Any leads, yet?" he says. "Or was that gonna be your question for me?"
The office is notably bare, with no decoration and little in the way of even clutter. When Natasha works here, it seems she works sparse. "I'd be happy for any and every lead you have," she answers before giving a slight shake of her head. "But no. We're barely even sure who we're /dealing/ with, let alone how they all became pals."
Bruce makes a low sighing noise that resolves into a, "Right." He looks up at the ceiling. "Well, then I'd better get back to work. Maybe Stark has something I can use..." He trails off, turning on his heel. He has only just arrived and already he is wandering off to go bother Tony for more toys, apparently.
"Good luck," Natasha answers as Bruce turns, and she watches him, and then the empty door, for a long moment before turning a frown downward.
Bruce slants a look over his shoulder at her, smile sardonic as it tucks in at his cheek. He says, "Makes it nice and clear who the ... good guys are, doesn't it?"
"It does draw the line nicely," Natasha answers without looking up, her voice unusually quiet. "But then. I made my choice years ago."
Foot pausing mid-step, Bruce hesitates. "Choices," he muses thoughtfully. It's the last word he says before he drifts out of her office and into the hallway beyond. Places to go, other people to nag.
Life's full of things dressed up and polished shiny to look like you've got options when there's no real choice on the table.
But this one's not that. I could walk at any time. So could he.
But we don't.
Still trying to pin down why he doesn't.
Natasha has an office. She's not often /found/ there, nor does she keep office hours, but she does have one, and on rare occasion she uses it. Today she's tucked behind a desk in something like professional wear, attention focused on the computer screen in front of her.
"Oh, good," Bruce says, knocking on the frame of the office door as he is en route to wandering inside it. "You're in here. I was looking for you. Well, one of you." His hand gesture is vague, so it is difficult to tell one of which exactly; he follows it by rubbing at the line of his jaw. He looks somewhat rumpled, although this is not unusual; he is badly dressed, as usual; his glasses are nowhere to be found. He says, "Hi."
Natasha glaces up with a noticable lack of surprise a split second before the knock comes. Her brows twitch slightly, and she tilts her head to one side as she agrees, "I'm in here. Is there another one of me running around somewhere that I don't know about?"
"I hope not," Bruce says. He shuffles into the office proper and tucks his hands into the deep pockets of his jeans. He glances over his shoulder, and then back at Natasha with a faint twitch of his mouth up at the corners. "Does SHIELD monitor unusual metereological events? By which I mean other than the ones where Thor smashes holes in the roof. Roofs."
"We monitor a lot of things, Dr. Banner," Natasha answers in that smooth, vague manner everyone loves her for. "We try to catch the unusual ones. Why?"
"Because I think we need to start adding it into our comparative data. Or else I'm going to have to start tracking UFOs. I feel like I'm becoming enough of a crackpot without tracking UFOs." Bruce drags his hand through his hair. "Stark says that the aberration I picked up in France was instrument failure. In Arkansas, there was some kind of unusual stormy stuff that went down in Arkansas and, apparently, a UFO."
Natasha lifts her brows in a mild, understated sort of worry. "The last time we had unusual stormy stuff, Thor's friends managed to level a small town," she answers darkly. "I think Fury's been paying more attention since the ETs started paying house calls, but you should pass up whatever you've got and have them add it in. You might want to talk to Coulson, too. He's the one who pushed New Mexico onto the radar."
"Okay," Bruce says. He jiggles one heel in place, thoughtfully, and turns a faint frown sidelong across the room at nothing in particular. He folds his arms in a loose cross over his chest, drumming his fingertips against his biceps, and then says, "Do you know whose cars those were I mutilated last night?"
"Did you mutilate some cars?" Natasha asks, bland. "I hadn't heard."
Bruce's mouth tightens a little bit, although it is a difficult tension to directly interpret. "What," he says, "not keeping an eye on me anymore?"
Natasha's smile is slight, but there's a spark of amusement in her eyes. "They're SHIELD employees, Dr. Banner. Don't worry about it. We're... well funded. And not unused to collateral damage. In the long run, I suspect you cost the agency far less than we did last night."
Bruce tilts his head, watching her quietly for a moment. The faint tug of a smile begins to lift the corner of his mouth. "For the record, the hole in the ceiling was Thor."
"I'll be sure to forward that bill on to Asgard, then," Natasha promises, serious in response to his smile.
"Mm." Bruce rubs at an eye with the pad of his thumb. "Right." His hand drops and his eyebrows arch, only to lower again, a wry kind of twist to his mouth. "Masters of Evil, huh?"
Natasha's smile breaks full and wry at that, and she shakes her head as she lifts a hand to rub at her temples. "I have no idea," she answers. Her tone turns a bit dry. "Have to say, after last night I'm not certain it doesn't apply, though. They walked out of here with a scary amount of shit, and destroyed a lot more." There's a beat before she adds thoughtfully, "Stark's going to be pissed."
"Stark's not the only one." Bruce's smile is a little tight, but it's there, paired with the slight tip of his head. He lifts a hand, folds it deliberately into a fist, and just as deliberately loosens it and lets it drop, hanging loose and unthreatening at his side.
Natasha drops her hand and gives Bruce a rueful smile. "No, just the loudest. I'm almost surprised he hasn't called to whine at me yet."
"He pays people for that," Bruce tells her with a slightly widened smile. "Everyone will get a turn, no doubt."
"I'll clear my schedule," Natasha answers, desert dry.
"No doubt you'll see him coming," Bruce assures her. He turns slightly where he stands, glancing around the office she presently occupies as with an idle flicker of his dark eyes. "Any leads, yet?" he says. "Or was that gonna be your question for me?"
The office is notably bare, with no decoration and little in the way of even clutter. When Natasha works here, it seems she works sparse. "I'd be happy for any and every lead you have," she answers before giving a slight shake of her head. "But no. We're barely even sure who we're /dealing/ with, let alone how they all became pals."
Bruce makes a low sighing noise that resolves into a, "Right." He looks up at the ceiling. "Well, then I'd better get back to work. Maybe Stark has something I can use..." He trails off, turning on his heel. He has only just arrived and already he is wandering off to go bother Tony for more toys, apparently.
"Good luck," Natasha answers as Bruce turns, and she watches him, and then the empty door, for a long moment before turning a frown downward.
Bruce slants a look over his shoulder at her, smile sardonic as it tucks in at his cheek. He says, "Makes it nice and clear who the ... good guys are, doesn't it?"
"It does draw the line nicely," Natasha answers without looking up, her voice unusually quiet. "But then. I made my choice years ago."
Foot pausing mid-step, Bruce hesitates. "Choices," he muses thoughtfully. It's the last word he says before he drifts out of her office and into the hallway beyond. Places to go, other people to nag.