Tightrope

Without You

Bruce is fighting against ending a dream about Natasha. He's calling for her in his restless sleep, missing her touch.

Her floppy red hair of the morning makes her human; the blemish he spots on her face only means she's made of flesh and blood. He adores her and everything that makes that redhead assassin who she is. She's stubborn and fierce.

For as cold as she sometimes wants him to believe she is, Natasha is kind. She's tough enough to kick him when he's failing, sensitive enough to pick him up when he feels like breaking.

In his current position he's calling for her in his sleep, crying for his wife. He hugs at the pillow with tears in his eyes, needing the warm embrace of that spy for some sort of comfort and reassurance only she can provide.

Her name slips from his lips when he comes to a realization she's nowhere to be found. In his broken groggy voice mumbles, "Tasha."

He's dizzy as he feels the tender hand over his forehead. His vision betrays him as he looks up over his current caretaker. Her eyes startle him the most when he sits up abruptly.

Bruce reaches for his borrowed blanket, his chest half bare due to the torn jacket, "Wha-."

She lifts a hand and folds over the cloth, "Just trying to help. I'm sorry. Your head looked a little bruised."

"How-."

"I felt bad after you did what you did at the park..."

"No-,' he blinks, "You. You're...alive."

She huffs, "I've had much worse. You look like you've been through a lot. You look at me as if you've seen a ghost."

He scoffs, free hand running through his curls, "You could say that."

She gives him a closed mouthed smile, head tilted over her shoulder. She runs a hand through her own soft hair and tucks her head;

"Well. You're in my apartment- I swear I'm not some serial killer. Just a scientist who happened to cross paths with you."

"Who are you," she's an angel in his eyes, needing to confirm every question.

"Oh,' she fumbles over her words and extends her palm for a handshake, 'Elizabeth. Elizabeth Ross, sorry. That was rude of me."

He huffs out a breath, unable to find another. She's here. His once beloved Elizabeth Ross less than a foot away. At least someone who looks identical with the same name, same eyes. He denies her a handshake, unsure if he can touch her at all without collapsing into an emotional wreck.

With a crumpled blanket in one hand, he's swallowing hard. He wants to touch her face, feel her warmth to know she's real. He stammers, unsure of where he is or what he should say. She doesn't act like she knows him so he offers his name, "Bruce. I'm Bruce."

"Just Bruce?" she laughs lightly. He's taking too long to speak.

Banner forces a laugh, his eyes focusing on hers with a passing thought for Natasha. Maybe giving his own name wasn't the best idea? She would probably fudge the truth in this uncertain situation.

"Um...Romanoff? Bruce Romanoff..."

"So you are Russian?"

"It's. Complicated."

Elizabeth chuckles, "Okay, Mr. Romanoff. I appreciate what you did for me. At the park. I called a friend of mine and we took you back to my place- that's where you are- I mean, sorry I said that already. I hope I didn't cross a line. I'm only trying to help."

"No, no."

"You just looked a little off and- well I wanted to return the favor. So. Thank you."

"Yeah well,' he barely remembers, 'That's what...I do? I guess? Do you know me...Elizabeth?"