The Ultimate Fix-It Fic

7| Adorado *

Natasha was just about to leave the lab when Bruce tapped on her shoulder. "Yeah?" she sighed.

Bruce bit his lip. "Your room is really... bad."

Natasha shrugged. "Unless I go back to my apartment, I have nowhere else to sleep, so I'll take the chance. I've slept in shittier places before, anyways."

"You can sleep with me?" Bruce stammered, before realizing what it sounded like. "No! No– I mean, sleep in my room, not the other– thing." He fidgeted with his fingers.

"Sure." Natasha smiled at him softly. "But where are you going to sleep?"

"Armchair?" Bruce tried returning the grin. "That's where I was when you were passed out."

Natasha shook her head. "That won't do. You can come up with me. I mean, the bed is big enough."

Bruce flushed. "I'm–"

"– flattered." Nat finished for him. "Let's go, doc."

Bruce and Natasha got to his room and she sat on the edge of the bed, taking off the hoodie.

"What– what's happening?" Bruce asked nervously.

Nat gave him a little smile. "Relax. I'm not trying anything weird. I'm just feeling warm all of a sudden." She frowned. "Don't you?"

She could see a little sweat beading on his forehead as he swallowed. "A little." He admitted. He took off his suit jacket and carefully laid it over the back of his chair.

Natasha smiled a little brighter. "We have a couple hours to burn before the sun comes up. Do you want to play or sleep?"

"Um." Bruce's eyes flicked from the bed to Natasha. "I think we should just sleep."

Natasha watched as he went into the washroom to change while she went under the covers. She felt an anxious sort of excitement, having done this to some other targets, but this time, it wasn't a tactic. Well, maybe it was, but she wasn't about to admit that, and anyway, the tactic came from a different intention.

"Nat." She glanced up to see Bruce standing at the foot of the bed. "You're on my side."

Natasha smiled softly and shuffled over to the other side, holding up the blanket for the scientist to get in. "Sorry, adorado."

Bruce startled. "What did you call me?" he asked, flustered.

Nat blinked at him, expression unchanging, and he sighed and tapped a few keys and the lights went off.

In the quiet darkness, the sounds of traffic outside and their breathing seemed a lot louder.

Eventually, long after the first sleeping breath from Bruce, Natasha drifted off into a scene that seemed like years ago, when it's only been hours:

Maria had started up a chant and got Clint and Tony into it. "Do it! Do it! Do–"

Nat had thrown a small rock decoration at the other agent's face. "Fine. You're all annoying." She got up and gripped the hammer, not even caring enough to use the strap. She lifted it easily.

Thor sat up. "You're worthy." He breathed.

Natasha tried to hand it back but Thor was spluttering praises at her and had started to cry. "Thor– no– I don't want–" she mumbled, feeling the cold humming of the hammer being pressed into her hands. "Thor–"

"You're the first person than me to lift it since the pronouncement from the All-Father, Odin, five years ago!" Thor said tearfully. "You're the most worthy of us all!"

Natasha flushed. "Thor," she said quietly. "Take the hammer or I'll use it to smash your guts out."

"I will take it with pride!"

"I'm not worthy!" Natasha protested. She felt something crawl up her spine... invade her mind...

A metallic voice crept into the room, stilling and silencing everyone. "'Worthy'," it mused. "No, how could you be worthy? You're all killers."

Natasha got the sense that Mjolnir was inside her head, letting her see with perfect clarity of what she was meant to do. She gasped quietly. "No– I can't–" she stumbled over her words. "I can't do it!"

"Oh, but you can, Natasha," Mjolnir replied, but the hammer sounded familiar, an old voice that Natasha desperately wanted out of her head. "You can do much more than you can imagine. Look at what you achieved."

And suddenly, Natasha was staring at the slumped corpse of some stranger, head bagged and blood seeping through their shirt.

"Good job, Natalia." Madame B. was behind her, praising her. "Pass. Don't think failing on purpose will help your case. You have one ultimate purpose, and it is to serve us. Sloppiness won't get you out of your graduation."

Natasha felt that familiar dread, trapped in a memory, knowing exactly what would happen next and having no way to fix it.

The next blink, she was on a gurney. Into the operating room. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut as she did all those years ago, and felt tears through the fogginess of sleep.

She opened her eyes and saw the smooth ceiling, the early pre-dawn light bleeding through the curtains.

Natasha tried to brush away her tears with the least movement possible; she knew Bruce was a light sleeper, lighter than she was, from the last time they wound up in a bed together, oh, 5 months ago? Still, he woke up.

"What's wrong?"

Natasha stifled a sniff. "Nothing. Go back to sleep, doc."

She felt Bruce shift in the sheets, could feel his eyes on her back. "Natasha, I've known you for three years. You're not always the most open person, but I think I can read you well enough. What's wrong?" His voice was quiet, sounding like he actually cared. Maybe he did.

Natasha turned to look at him. "Bad dream. That's all there is to it."

Bruce nodded at her hand. "May I?" he waited for her eyes to look at him.

"Holding hands while sharing a bed?" Natasha said, slightly amused. "Sure. Go for it."

Bruce took her hand gently and smoothed his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. He did this rhythmically, until he apparently thought Nat was feeling calmer. "Better?"

"Yeah." Natasha felt unusually vulnerable, but she squashed it down. Bruce had started to let go of her hand, but she interrupted him. "Could you..." she whispered. "Could you hold on just a little longer?"

So he kept his hand entwined with hers, and they drifted off into sleep.