Tightrope

Stand by You

The redhead sits up as she recovers consciousness and meets the many faces surrounding her. She's somewhere in between spy mode and utter shock, lacking a proper explanation for Bruce to be crouching directly across for her ex husband. It's unexplainable.

Natasha gestures with a point for each of them, "Bruce this is...Alexei. Alexei, Bruce."

The physicist looks as if he's about to kill Alexei as he slowly removes a gentle hand from Natasha's forehead.

"Alexei...?" His questions lingers in the air, awaiting clarification.

Natasha stands and brushes herself off with a focus low and on the floor to avoid the inevitable conversation she needs to have.

Her ex husband is alive, standing in front of her current spouse, and matching the described trenchcoated nemesis she's supposed to be hunting for.

"Shostakov," Natasha finally answers.

Bruce drops his jaw with a forced laugh, cheeks blushing red with just a hint of green in his neck, "...you're kidding."

Natasha's vodka has gone up her stomach, lingering in the back of her throat with a persistent prodding for release.

Puking all over the lobby might be inevitable.

Alexei offers a large hand toward the doctor in an attempt to greet the shorter man.

Alexei is tall, muscular, and built for a war with cheek and jaw bones that could cut through femur. He's Thor on steroids with lingering battle scars.

Bruce's chest is rising and falling a bit more rapidly. His breathing is almost as shallow as Natasha's, intimated and suspicious.

"How?" Romanoff starts with little need to elaborate.

Alexei drops his hand upon realizing Bruce has no intention of shaking it and responds with a thick Russian accent;

"That's a story for another time."

"You died," Natasha's whisper cracks, protective layers peeling away to reveal a broken widow. Someone hurt.

"I did not."

Bruce crossed his arms with a huff. He leans against the back of a lobby sofa to hold his weight, "You've got to do better than that."

"Who are you?"

"Her husband."

"Bruce as in, Doctor Robert Bruce Banner? The infamous physicist? Should you be in New York?"

"Shouldn't you be dead?" He spews defensively.

"Alright, that's enough. I'm not sitting with either of you if there's going to be a war," Natasha lifts a hand after judging the rage building in his stare and the more judgmental one in Alexei's.

"Fate had other ideas after plane crash," Alexei mumbles.

Natasha visibly shivers over the mention of his 'accident'. Bruce checks on her with his focus, watching her breathe deeper.

Even though she appears composed to any onlooker, he knows better. Natasha is completely rattled.

Alexei motions toward the circle of chairs and two sofas, "Should we sit?"

Bruce crosses his arms with a standoffish grin, closed off and uninterested in conversation despite his curiosity and sitting at Natasha's silent request

"...you never thought to reach out to Nat? Why did you let her grieve?"

Alexei shrugs with a thick eyebrow lifting in response, "Ivan thought it was for the best."