Tightrope

Elizabeth

Bruce braves the staircase that separates him from this woman who resembles Betty Ross, dressed in the clothes she kindly provided. The gray sweatshirt is somehow his size, complete with a neuron joke on the front. Her sweatpants are a little tight but they work.

She's humming.

Of course she's humming, Betty would always hum.

He takes a breath and moves into the main level of her second story condo. He maintains a distance, wishing it were anybody but her.

She smiles over his sudden appearance. Her voice is soft as she waits in the kitchen, dressed in a plaid dress;

"Hey."

"Hi," Bruce huffs out a strong exhale and grabs the chair in front of him for support as he digs his heel into the kitchen tile, "So."

"Are you hungry? Oh sorry. Didn't mean to cut you off."

He freezes and she catches him staring with a vacant expression, "It's fine."

"What were you going to say?"

Bruce tucks his head, "...thank you, for taking me in and everything. I appreciate your...caring. You really didn't have to."

She laughs, stacking her pancakes, "It's nothing. I live alone, so it's nice to have company. And I am truly grateful for what you did."

He nods, "I should- probably get going soon here but-."

Elizabeth shrugs and snatches one of her pancakes, "Do you live nearby? I can give you a ride...there's no rush."

Bruce bends the chair in front of him up on its two legs, "Um. No, not exactly. I'm actually from well...North America? That. I mean. I'm just here, for now."

"For now? For what?" She chews on her bite, and reaches for the syrup and a fork, "I'm from New Mexico, I'm here for a project."

"A project?"

"Someone called me in to do some work in Russia. It seemed like a rare opportunity so I took it. I'm honored they called me honestly. It would be a huge achievement if I can find some answers! I mean my resumé would. Wow- I'm doing it again. So. What are you doing here?"

He addresses her lab coat hung up on the door, "You're a-?"

"Cellular biologist,' Elizabeth lifts a shoulder and points to her stacked pancakes, 'are you sure I can't get you anything?"

"Look,' he shifts forward, 'I genuinely can't remember where I was yesterday. I know I met you in a park, that's it. My memories aren't-I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. Where I am, who you are."

"Are you a spy of sorts? Your jacket had a logo I didn't recognize."

"You didn't-? SHIELD?,' she shakes her head as he continues, 'No, I'm not a spy. I've actually been told I'd suck at it if I tried. I'm too much of an open book."

She smiles.

He fumbles for words with a recollection of Blonsky, "Was I alone? When we met?"

The woman nods her head, "It was just you when you came to my aide. It was almost like you came out of thin air."

"Huh...I mean it-well...yeah, I fell out of thin air."

She makes eye contact with the friendly stranger, "Are you some, serial killer looking to stab me in my own apartment."

"No! No. I'm not going to intentionally hurt you."

"You're a mentally unstable runaway?" She laughs softly over his frantic nature.