The Trial of Bruce Banner

School

Rebecca's backpack is bound to draw attention with its fire engine red color. No matter Yelena's argument for buying her niece this particular one for her niece, namely that it had the 'most pockets', Natasha hates it.

Romanoff is already nervous about dropping her baby off at a school that both she and her husband Bruce Banner have researched down to the painted lines in the parking lot.

Natasha already knows the staff schedule, who should be where at what time, who engages with Becks at any given moment and the outlined curriculum for the year.

She's hacked their computers and sorted all of the necessary intel not only in her mind but in a color coded binder locked away in a fireproof box.

When Bruce comes into the kitchen, asking about Rebecca's teacher Miss Hannah's blood type, Natasha spews her data without thinking;

"O negative..."

She looks up and huffs a half laugh, realizing he's gotten her.

Natasha zips Rebecca's pouch to secure a fresh box of crayons in place.

"You slipped," Bruce mutters softly, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"I didn't slip, I wanted you to know that Miss Hannah is a regular Pre K teacher. That she's just a normal human to ease your anxiety."

"Ohh, my anxiety,' he brushes a hand over their daughter's bag, 'Got it."

"Don't get sassy with me. You're just as anxious as I am- don't open that."

He lifts a bottle, "You're sending our baby girl to school with pepper spray. ...And two cell phones?"

"If the battery dies. Okay,' she reaches, snatching the from his grip, 'She only needs one- you're right."

"Nat?"

She's standing, mixing herself a cup of tea as she talks through her teeth, "What."

"She'll be fine."

"Yep."

"There's a tracker in her shoes. She's got more than enough in this bag- can she even carry it?" He lifts it dramatically.

Natasha breaks with a laugh, chin over her shoulder, "Okay, stop."

"You're trying to break our four year old's ankles."

"-It's not that heavy."

"It's heavy."

Natasha surrenders with a wave and tears her teabag, "I told you she should've been at this gym with me this summer. You laughed at me- Stop it."

Her latter remark is in response to his standing just to tickle her.

"Tasha," he takes her hands though they're preoccupied with her mug.

She looks up in response and waits for his words. He smiles softly and kisses her forehead;

"Rebecca is going to be just fine. This is school, okay? It's just, school. Clint lives around the block. Nothing is going to happen but if it did? We have friends. Alright? Clint's baby goes to that same school...That's why we picked it."

Natasha nods and goes limp in his embrace, head against his chest as she's pulled in, "I know."

"Okay. I love you..."

Her nose presses up against his shirt and she pecks at the cotton rather than reply verbally.

. . . . . . . . . .

It's Banner's turn to be clingy the following morning, asking for pictures in every corner of the house.

Natasha is in a few but they mostly consist of Max's blurred tail and Rebecca's stubborn lack of a smile.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha asks, crouching to adjust the collar of her daughter's black dress. They're outside now, standing in front of some of Natasha's potted mums.

Despite some pushback on Romanoff's part, Becks has insisted on her black dress with the green caterpillars along the bottom hem.

The girl sighs, tired of the pictures and her mother's fussing, "I wanna go."

"You want to go? You're ready, huh?" Natasha repeats sadly, unable to find her daughter's eyes immediately.

Romanoff mutters something in Russian and kisses her cheek, "You're ready to go learn about,' Natasha kisses her other cheek, brushing Rebecca's wavy red hair from her face 'math, and science, and bugs and dinosaurs-!"

Rebecca laughs over her mother's playful roar in her tiny ear, shoulder lifting in response. And Bruce has just captured a moment he's sure will hang over their staircase until Rebecca is 18 and demands it's taken down. He reaches to run two fingers over a damp eye and forces a strong smile for his family. She's growing up too fast for his liking.

"Will you hold still for ten seconds, malyshka?!" Natasha tugs at Rebecca's shoe, practically knocking the cold onto her backside in the process.

The girl is laughing, the dog is licking her face, and she comes tumbling down with the backpack over her shoulder. Falling on the grass just makes her laugh harder and Natasha starts swearing in Russian over the stains on her daughter's butt.

Bruce covers his mouth, "Oh Becks. Are you okay?"

The little girl nods, hysterically laughing. Natasha brushes her daughter off and fights her own laughter, "You've got a big green circle over your butt. Happy first day of school...oi! I'd make you change- Bruce, what time is it?"

He checks his watch, "7:39."

"Great! Get in the car or we're going to be late. Max! Ugh!"

The dog is caught under foot, ears pinning back in guilt when he's been caught digging near the patched fence to chase a rabbit.

. . . . . . . . . .

Becks is eager to get out of the car, unclipping her own seatbelt. Natasha beats the girl to open the door;

"Do you have everything?"

"Yes mom."

Bruce climbs out next, parked in the lot next to every other parent dropping off their child.

"Behave kiddo. Have fun," Banner opens his arms and asks for a hug Rebecca is eager to give.

Natasha crouches to nuzzle their daughter, "Give me potselui."

Rebecca puckers her tiny mouth and kisses her mother's cheek.

Romanoff points to the backpack, "Call us if you need anything. You only go to the nurse if you need to and not before calling me. Your lunch is packed in here, don't accept food from anyone else-."

"It could be poison," Becks finishes her mother's standard lecture.

Banner lowers his palm when he and Natasha share eye contact, gesturing for Natasha to calm down.

The older redhead plasters a grin on her face and adjusts Rebecca's hair one final time;

"You have fun, okay? You're going to learn so much,' she opens her arms for one more hug, 'I love you."

"I love you," Becks mumbles half from true sentiment and half to shut up her parental authority. She's already spotted the other children her age and is eager to go join them.

Natasha's hand finally separates, watching her daughter turn around and run off with her backpack bouncing and her matching red hair blowing in the breeze. Heaven forbid Natasha suggest a hair clip or scrunchie.

"She'll be fine," Bruce rubs Natasha's shoulder and reassures as best he can.

Romanoff claps her hands and faces the car, "Yep. I can pick her up in 3 hours."

"We,' he corrects, opening the passenger door to let her inside, 'We can pick her up in 3 hours. And that countdown starts in 4 minutes."

"This is going to be a long year."