- How come you're here alone? – Bruce doesn't name names. After all the traveling he can hardly remember what town he's staying in. It's not that he isn't surprised by seeing somebody who's more of a tv star than a weapon manufacturer. Right here, at his door. He is surprised - his mind, not his body, not his face. He just can't allow himself to be surprised. Amazed. Shocked. Astonished. Dazed. You name it.
- I love the risk, - Tony flashes his insolent 'I'm awesome and I know it' smile. He has this showbiz habit of talking to new people he meets for the first time as if they're old friends.
- What, casinos aren't enough for you anymore?
The bracelet on his wrist starts beeping. Bruce takes a deep breath.
- What is it?
- It tracks my pulse rate, so I don't.. turn.
The beeping grows louder, Bruce glances at the bracelet and takes it off, somewhat embarrassed. The state he's in has one big disadvantage – you can't choose when to show your emotions or when to hide them. You can't act cool. If you're scared – you're scared. If you're nervous – you're nervous. Actually Bruce is just a big walking "Read me" sign now. The fact that, like most scientists, he's an introvert doesn't help the situation.
- Mm.. so you're glad to see me then?
Tony invites himself in and proceeds to invade the small house. He walks into the room past Bruce, the door closes - squeak, slam. Electric fan buzzes in the silence. Papers of all colors and sizes, covered with chaotic writing and scetchy drawings, rustle in the breeze. Drops of water fall from the kitchen tap, hitting a pile of unwashed dishes in the sink with clear high sound. Obviously, Bruce doesn't have his own Pepper Potts to clean all the mess.
The only thing that Tony can do to make Bruce happy right now is to shut up and get outta here. Just go back to the good old US of A, thanks bye.
It's quite unusual for Bruce to see Tony wearing a t-shirt. He remembers the tv-version of Stark, blurry picture with dancing, crackling stripes of noise (god, TV is just impossible here). Always in a sharp suit, always with a frivolous detail. Hip sunglasses, or a wild tie. In a t-shirt, Tony looks very down-to-earth. Simple. Almost underage.
By the way, he isn't all that tall off-screen either. For a moment the fact that he looks down at Tony Fucking Stark makes Bruce smirk with conscious superiority.
Tony might seem to have this teenage attitude, but he's a gun trader after all. More than that, he owns this industry. He has contacts with God and in Ministry of Defence, of course. Ministry of Defence. O-o-o-oh, daaaamn.
If Bruce had his bracelet on, it would play a symphony. Polyphonic. He goes to the kitchen and downs a glass of ice cold water.
- What does the Ministry want from me?
He breathes exactly like he was taught to. Breathe in. Breathe out. Put your bracelet on and enjoy its silence.
- Ministry? – Tony cocks an eyebrow and bats his dark eyelashes innocently, - I'm not sure about them, but guess they'd love to find you.
Watching Bruce, Tony cannot believe that this man is the so-called Incredible Hulk. The only thing incredible about him – for a bulky monster he's incredibly skinny. That, and incredibly serious. Why so serious?
- Oh, really? – Bruce's grin is aggressively defensive, like that of a stray dog baring his teeth. For the first time, he looks Tony right in the eye. Try me. Tony chooses to feign oblivion.
- The thing is... I found you first, Mr Banner. Aren't you lucky.
Not only Tony looks shorter in flesh than the on-screen Stark, he comes to life as a human being. It's all in the details. Hair, sticking in dark wisps to his forehead, sweaty from the subtropical heat, a small scar on his neck. You want to believe him. You do. If you're not Bruce Banner, of course.
Bruce doesn't like to play on words, he doesn't like poker-style smiles and he doesn't like beautiful lies. Maybe that's where his primal, animal alter-ego shows. His instincts don't let him too close to other people, and it is Pavlovian. In fact, even if he wanted to play games, there are not many playmates around here.
- Lucky how?
- You don't happen to believe I'm big friends with the Ministry, do you?
- I don't see how 'the merchant of death' wouldn't be possibly useful to them.
Tony is offended. Usually, sarcasm is his privilege.
- If I was working with the Ministry, I wouldn't be sitting on your couch.
And only then he sits down.
Watching Tony, Bruce can't believe this is a scientist. He can't believe they are one of a kind. He doesn't seem to take anything seriously. On any level of seriousness. A boy playing with guns.
Bruce sits down too, just to show that it's still his house.
- Listen, - Tony trades a rare Stark Industries commodity - a confession, - you're not the only one here trying to control what you've created.
Tony is glad to see the change in expression on Bruce's face. He knows that despite the college boy looks and the baggy clothes, despite living in something Tony wouldn't even call a house, Bruce has a certain something about him. Something that makes Tony want to have this guy on his team. Principles maybe. Or maybe the fact that he doesn't really look like a scientist, but more like an artist. Unshaven face, long fingers, brooding look. Should've been a pianist, violinist, guitarist… whatever but not a homeless freak. Still, seeing himself more an artist as well, Tony is secretly pleased to see it in somebody else from this field.
- What do you mean?
- I'm a weapon manufacturer, what do you think I mean? Or do you think I'm just a boy playing with guns?
Only because Bruce was brought up to be polite, Bruce answers politely:
- No, why would I? – staring at the floor, a kid caught stealing cookies.
Liar. Tony grins, stands up and walks into the kitchen. - We both know what ieverybody/i thinks about me.
- You have anything to drink?
- I don't have any alcohol. I need to control myself.
Tony just stands in the kitchen, confused. It's an unspoken rule: you came into the room – you have to do something there. So he pours himself some orange juice and sips it slowly as if it was scotch. He walks to the buzzing fan and stands in the cool artificial breeze. Looks like he can make himself home just anywhere. Bruce has never learned to do that.
- So it's true, the whole Iron Man thing?
Tony smiles mischievously and doesn't answer. Never talk about your secrets. Those who deserve to know will know. No showing off. Unless you're Tony Stark.
So after the theatrical pause he adds:
- Yup.
No too intelligent, but laconic. You can tell he's proud of his work just from the look on his face. Beaming. Bruce can't help it, he nods and smiles back, a wide happy-scientist grin. Tony notices that and offers his "told-you-I'm-awesome" smirk. Bruce – "ahhhh-so-Tony-Stark" smile. Let's say that the off-screen version of Tony Stark isn't so different from the on-screen one.
- You're not saying you used that… what do you even call it? "Suit"?
- Maybe.
- So, you're not saying you used that suit to get here.
Tony rolls his eyes at him.
- I have simple planes for this sort of thing.
- Planes. In plural?
- Exactly.
- Guess I'm way out of your league.
Bruce doesn't notice that Tony has been so chatty that even after he stops talking, Bruce picks up and carries on doing it for him. Tony notices this alright. To stop with any further idle talk he pushes the button on the fan and the artificial silence replaces the artificial buzzing breeze. In this silence, you can hear an invisible clock ticking somewhere, in another dimension. Tony casts a look around, as if trying to figure where the sound is coming from and casually drops:
- So, want to work as a team?
Bruce just grins. Who needs words for answers. Those who deserve to understand, will.