A/N: Inspired by The Confession and Marvel's recent announcement of Civil War.

The Decision

It was a cold, blustery night in November when the vote was announced. Bruce Banner sat in Tony Stark's penthouse, in Tony Stark's building, surrounded by Tony Stark's small army of lawyers and aides and lobbyists, all while Tony Stark popped another bottle of champagne.

"All right, we did it!" he called out over the gathered crowd, his bright eyes lit with challenge and excitement. Cheers broke out among the younger staffers, and Tony jumped up onto a low table, gesturing for quiet. "But there's still a long way to go. Now we have to win the vote. You can have tonight off, drink my champagne, get busy on my couches, whatever. But tomorrow you're all back to work. We have a bill to pass!"

He bowed theatrically and hopped down to the ground amid more cheers. The champagne fizzed wildly over his hand, and Tony poured a glass for himself and offered some to Bruce. Bruce placed a palm over his glass. He didn't really feel like celebrating. Somehow, it didn't feel like a victory without the others there. Finally, Tony seemed to notice his reticence and beckoned him into a side room. Bruce pulled the door shut behind them, glad for a moment of privacy.

"Not getting cold feet, are you?" Tony asked, with his usual tact. "You know amnesty was part of the deal. Ross won't be able to touch you if you go public. Nobody will be able to touch you, Bruce."

"I know," Bruce said aloud, but Tony wasn't really listening.

"Time has shown need for a human touch in planetary defense. The Registration Act is the first step towards that, Bruce. The Avengers won't live forever, and there are other special people out there, people like us, and with the proper training and oversight they can-"

"I'm not Congress, Tony," Bruce snapped, interrupting his speech. "You don't have to sell it to me."

Tony's face fell a little and he felt a prickle of guilt for speaking in anger. Somewhere under his unshakeable conviction and his deeply competitive streak, Bruce suspected there was a small part of his friend that did not truly want this fight. Even Tony had to see what his rabid need to win at any cost was doing to his friends, didn't he?

"It's-it's just…" Bruce started, fumbling to articulate his feelings. "It's just a big step for me," he finished lamely. "For, uh, all of us, really."

Tony flinched at his choice of words. All of us was a loaded statement. Steve Rogers had disliked the idea of registration from the start, and with tacit support from Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton, he had privately asked Tony to change his course. The ensuing row had been nasty enough to send Bruce into hiding in his apartment. Tony refused to talk about it and he hadn't spoken to Steve since.

In truth, Bruce shared some of Steve's misgivings. The fear of a fickle legislature revoking the proposed amnesty weighed particularly heavily on him, but Tony insisted he had nothing to fear. It was nothing he couldn't handle, not if they wrote it right.

Besides, it was Tony. Friendly poke by poke, jibe by jibe, Tony Stark had wormed his way into Bruce's life and dragged him out of his self-imposed exile without a second's thought for his own safety or judgment of Bruce's past. He gave Bruce a home and a job, stood up for him against SHIELD and General Ross. He had quite literally brought Bruce back to life. His heart twisted. For that, Bruce was immeasurably grateful.

"Bruce," Tony said suddenly, breaking the pensive silence. "You trust me, right?"

It was the tiny hitch of uncertainty in his voice that made Bruce look up. He drove the doubts out of his mind and found a small smile for his friend. He couldn't let Tony down. "You know I do."

Captain America came out publicly against registration two weeks later, and despite Bruce's pleas for moderation, Tony saw it as betrayal of the highest order. The campaign put together by Tony's PR committee made the most hotly contested senatorial races look loving by comparison. Even Pepper, who was well aware of both Tony's competitive streak and the crushing guilt that motivated his entire endeavor, protested the viciousness of the advertisements. Bruce himself wanted to crawl into a hole when he saw them.

The firm, quiet knock at his door came a few days after the first advertisements ran. Even hunched into a plain leather jacket and a ball cap, Bruce recognized Steve Rogers through the peep hole.

"I'm surprised they let you in the building," he quipped lamely, gesturing the solider inside.

Steve did not smile. "I'm still an Avenger," he said bitterly. "No matter what Stark says."

Bruce carefully reset his locks so they would not be disturbed, and once Steve was settled on the couch, he retreated to the kitchen to find a drink for his guest. Steve miserably kneaded his jacket in his hands. He looked sick when he looked up to accept the glass; sick and sad. He drained it distractedly before Bruce had even taken a seat in an easy chair across from him. Bruce's heart tugged painfully. Steve Rogers didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve to have his name dragged through the mud or bright scrutiny shown into the handful of dark corners in his life. He was just trying to do what he thought was right.

But then again, wasn't Tony?

They sat in silence for a few moments. When he finally spoke, Steve didn't try to convince Bruce to change sides. He didn't try to sell anti-registration on the basis of freedom or justice or individual rights. He didn't even rant and rail against Tony. He simply looked at Bruce and asked: "You know what will happen if this goes through, right?"

Bruce looked down at his hands, blinking away a sudden vision of leather straps and sharp slender needles. "I hope that it won't," he replied simply. "I, uh, have to."

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He studied himself in his empty glass, rotating it back and forth in his hands. "It's just going to keep escalating, isn't it?" he asked in a pained voice. Bruce knew without asking that he meant Tony's war against his character. Steve was too proud to hide and too noble to retaliate. "Until...he wins?"

Bruce nodded and Steve sighed heavily. "I never wanted this, Bruce," he added, and it was almost a plea. His clear blue eyes were hollow, marred by dark circles caused by sleepless nights. Bruce wondered if telling him Tony sported them too, that even Tony suffered doubts, would make any difference.

"I know you didn't," Bruce replied quietly, glancing up at him. "Deep down, I don't think he does, either." Steve raised an eyebrow skeptically and Bruce hastily amended his words. "All right, very deep down."

Steve laughed; a sharp, bitter bark devoid of humor that echoed like a gunshot through Bruce's apartment. He traced his thumb along the smooth surface of his glass. "He can still stop this, Bruce. He can stop all of this." His fists clenched together and a hairline fracture lanced through the glass. "But he won't."

"No," Bruce agreed. "He won't."

The vote passed on a cold, blustery day in February. Bruce turned on the television in time to see Tony clasp his hands over his head in victory before the camera cut to Steve Rogers' stoic disappointment. A cold, nervous weight welled into the pit of his stomach, warring with his instant joy on Tony's behalf and a prickle of guilt at Steve's sadness. It was time; time to keep the promise he had made nearly five months ago.

But was he doing the right thing?

Bruce got to his feet, suddenly unable to keep still. He knew there was logic in Tony's arguments: if everyone knew who Bruce Banner was, it would be impossible for General Ross to continue his relentless persecution. There would be no disappearing into an unmarked van with a bag over his head. He would be protected by visibility, by his status as a declared Avenger. For the first time since the accident, Bruce Banner would be free to move as he pleased. His heart leaped. It was a heady feeling. Everyone would know what he had done.

He swallowed. Yes, everyone would know what he had done, for good or ill. It was a tremendous risk. There would be no more running, no more hiding. The idea simultaneously excited and terrified him.

Something cool slipped between his fingers and Bruce glanced down at the silver rosary pressed into his palm. It had belonged to his mother. He played with it sometimes, when nervous or troubled. His thumb traced the outline of the cross. Perhaps it was his latent Catholic guilt, drummed into him from birth, which drove this compulsion for confession, the need for punishment for his sins. He sighed. Bruce had never found comfort in religion. It had been science that provided him the answers and the order he needed in his life. He kept the rosary because it had been his mother's and there was something important about having a tangible piece of her left.

The church preached forgiveness for those who confessed and paid penance for their sins. Would the world at large be so forgiving?

His pocket chimed, interrupting his reflections, and Bruce fished around for his phone. It would be Tony, crowing with victory in 140 characters or less. But it wasn't Tony. It was a message from an unlisted number consisting of a single line that cut straight to Bruce's heart: ask him if it's worth it.

There was a large digital clock backstage, counting down to their cue in Iron Man red. Bruce swallowed and tugged at his shirt collar. His new suit felt stiff and the thin layer of makeup for the cameras made his face itch. Thirty seconds.

Tony Stark bounced on the balls of his feet beside him, excitement naked across his features. Bruce wished he could channel his enthusiasm. It was too late to doubt his decision now, wasn't it? The question burst out of him before he could help himself.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked Tony quietly. An image of Betty's face popped into his mind and he added, "Can you promise we'll be safe?"

Tony clapped him theatrically on the shoulder. He turned a wide grin, his empty showman's grin, on Bruce. The little hairs prickled on the back of Bruce's neck. "Of course."

The countdown hit zero. It was their cue. Tony stepped out on stage, Bruce at his heels. He managed a nervous parody of Tony's victorious wave to the assembled crowd. Nervous blood roared in his ears while Tony spoke, drowning out his words proclaiming the benefits of registration, even drowning out the noise of the crowd.

"To help usher us into this new age, I'd like to introduce you all to a friend of mine," Tony said, indicating Bruce. "I agree, he doesn't look like much now," he continued, pausing to accommodate the chuckle that rippled through the crowd, "but he's saved my life at least ten times. You see, he's also an Avenger."

Tony gestured him forward to the waiting microphone, clapping an encouraging hand on Bruce's shoulder. It still felt more like theater than support. It was time. His hands felt clammy as his fingers worked together nervously.

Myriad black eyes of camera lenses stared up at him. Bruce felt his mouth go dry but he did not falter. There would be no running anymore. "My name is Bruce Banner," he told the world in a clear, calm voice, "And I am the Hulk."

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