The first time Bruce Banner refused help from Tony Stark happened on a not-so-average day, in a not-so-average week. It happened just a few weeks, perhaps a month or two, after the Battle of New York, when the two scientists had just begun to settle into a slightly uneasy friendship. Banner, along with the rest of the avengers, was living in Stark Tower (now dubbed the Avenger's Tower by Clint) on a temporary basis. Stark was planning an Avenger's mansion, unbeknownst to the rest of the team. The plans pretty much finalised, it was at the beginning of that week that Tony decided to reveal his idea to everyone.

Tony hesitated, his converse scuffing the dirty concrete as he stood outside, his frame soaked through by the relentless rain, his arms wrapped around himself in an attempt to conserve body heat.

He rocked back and forth a few times on the balls of his heels, acutely aware of the downpour. The sky was ominous stain of grey, bruised with aubergine and indigo spills, but Tony couldn't see any of this, as whenever he looked upwards the rain lashed at his eyes, forcing him to close them.

Hand still raised from the last attempt, he knocked on the peeling door again, the sound almost lost in the cacophony of precipitation. No answer was given, and he tried again before giving up and thrusting his hand into his pocket.

He drew out a key that he had JARVIS make from a scan of Bruce's own when he was last in the tower. He felt a little guilty, as if he was abusing the scientists trust, but he pushed those thoughts away as he fumbled for the lock, key sliding into place. He jerked the door open, grunting as the stiff hinges put up a bit of resistance, but after a little effort he stumbled into the dry.

Expecting a gust of warm air to meet him, he was a bit surprised when the temperature inside was just as frigid as the outside. Still shivering, he turned to face the room. He had never seen Bruce's house before- whenever they met, they met in Stark Tower. It was only now that Tony realised why.

To say the tiny house- actually, 'room' would be a more appropriate word to describe it- had fallen into disrepair was a gross understatement. The walls were peeling and cracked, stains covering a vast proportion of them. These stains, Tony realised, were the source of the damp smell assaulting his olfactory palette. The carpet, worn thin in some places, was an unappealing brown that didn't look as if it was the original colour of the carpet.

'Kitchenette' was too nice a word to describe the rusty sink and unreliable looking oven built into a flimsy looking sideboard. The most alarming feature of this room, to Tony however, wasn't any of these. It was the state of the sleeping figure , crammed up against the wall. Banner's lower legs did not fit on the metal framed bed he lay on, and his arm was thrown over the edge. He looked uncomfortable, to say the least. The mattress was an inch and a half thick, with painfully visible, slightly rusted springs protruding through the worn fabric. He had no blanket, and Tony could see his frame ratting with small shivers from the cold.

Tony made his way quietly over to the prostrate from of his friend, noting with a small smile that even though he was living in these appalling conditions, he still managed to keep it tidy and uncluttered. Not that there actually was anything to clutter, Tony thought as he looked around and found the room lacking in possessions. Standing over Bruce, Tony noticed the few days worth of stubble on the mans cheeks. His sleeping face was relaxed and unguarded, without the cool facade of calm he often threw up as a defence. He looked vulnerable. Tony found his hand reaching subconsciously for Bruce's cheek, but before he could reach, Bruce began to stir. Tony withdrew his hand sharply, as if something had stung it. He walked briskly towards the door, trying to be as quiet but as fast as possible. He grabbed the handle, shoved the door open and hopped outside, turning his key in the lock. He then began to walk back down the street, but his walk soon turned into a jog, and then a run. Tony didn't like the rain.

Making his way quickly back to the Main Street to get a cab back, Tony began planning. He couldn't let Bruce live like that- that bed that he was sleeping on was meant for a child half his height, for God's sake. That would be the first thing he had to improve.

Warm and dry again, nursing a scotch, Tony spoke from his position in the couch.

"JARVIS, display a list of bed shops near by. " deliberating for a second, he decided to go all out, and added

"If fact, forget the 'near' part, just show the best ones."

Jamming the door shut, Bruce felt something different about the room before he even saw it. Perhaps he sensed occupied space, or maybe the air smelt different.

Whatever it was, it made him whirl around faster than he would of, and an alarming sight met his eyes. Most of his room hadn't been changed, the walls were still damp, the oven still questionable. The only change in his room were a few things scraped aside to make room for the humongous, abomination of fluffy pillows and purple sheets. The bed took up almost half of his house, and smelt of fresh sheets and laundry.

Usually, this smell would comfort Bruce, but now it almost made him sick. He stood there for a moment, staring at it. There was no doubt about who put it there- only one of the Avengers would have the nerve to do this. His eyes hardened in anger, and Bruce threw the plastic bag of food he was clutching in his hand down to the floor, and stormed out the way he came.

No one saw him as he briskly walked down the street, anger shortening his steps. If someone did see him, however, they may have been alarmed by the worrying green shade his eyes seemed to be flashing.

Tony awoke to the sounding of an alarm, and a crashing noise from the bottom floor if his tower, which he only just heard from where he was. On ground level, the noise would have been deafening.

"I believe Dr Banner has just entered the premises"

Came the dry, sarcastic tone of JARVIS.

"He has appeared to have left quite quickly"

Not bothering to pull a shirt on, Tony ran towards the elevator, grabbing the circlets for his wrist from which he could activate his suit. He punched the buttons for the ground floor, and when the lift came to a smooth halt he ran out, and stopped straight off.

The room was absolutely wrecked, but he didn't care about that. Two hulk-sized holes were punched through the wall, leaving wires sparking and steel girders hanging precariously. The floor had several messy craters from heavy footsteps, and was split into a network of scuttling cracks, as intricate as they were random.

The most upsetting sight in the room was the mangled and broken bed in the centre of the area, the purple sheets he carefully selected ripped and pierced through with broken splinters wood. The floor under the bed had buckled- it had obviously been slammed down with some force. Feathers were scattered here and there, drifting slightly from the soft breeze that was coming in through the wall.

Turning his head away from the mangled bed, Tony summoned his suit and, with a thrust of his hands, shot into the sky. He was responsible for Bruce's hulk-out, it was up to him to make sure he didn't hurt anyone.

From his elevated position in the air, is wasn't hard to locate the Hulk- he just followed the trail of carnage and broken roads. To his surprise and relief, he couldn't see any injured people- in fact, the only real damage were the craters in the surface of the Tarmac from his footsteps.

It was a relatively short transformation- once the Hulk had got to a deserted park, the few trees scattered around his only company, he keeled over and dropped to his knees, making the ground shake slightly.

Alarmed, Tony didn't realise he was hulking-back until he saw Bruce's bones dislocate and snap, straining painfully against skin. Horrified, Tony looked on, unable to tear his gaze away.

He had never seen the other side of the transformation before, and he felt second hand agony as he watched his friend writhing in the floor.

The worst of the transformation over, Bruce curled onto his side, unconscious. Tony heard the sickening sound of bones popping back into place, and saw his skin change from a pale shade of green to his normal colour.

Cautiously, Tony began to descend. He hit the ground with a thud, and had to stop himself from running to his friend's side. Without hesitation, Tony slung the scientist over his shoulder (making sure his trousers, though in tattered shreds, were still on) and snapped his repulsers on.

Half way back to Stark Tower, Bruce began to stir. His closed eyelids flickered, and his leg started twitching. Looking down in alarm, Tony increased his pace. He wasn't prepared for the angry, awkward conversation that would follow.

"JARVIS, maximum power to thrusters"

He whispered, desperately trying not to wake Bruce.

Three very stressful minutes later, Tony was inside and out if his armour. Bruce was now in his arms, quite a considerable effort as he was hard to lift without the suit. Bruce's skin felt feverishly warm through the thin sleeves of his shirt, Tony noticed as he strained to keep him aloft. He staggered down the hall, and manoeuvred open a door handle awkwardly with his hip. Stumbling into the empty room, setting Bruce down into the bed in what he was hoping was a gentle decent, but ended up more like an unceremonious dump.

He reached over, and pulled the sheets up over Bruce's chest. He reconsidered this move when he remembered how hot Bruce's skin had been when he was holding him. It was only when he was reaching over to pull them down a bit to cool Bruce that he realised that the sheets were a rather rich shade of forest green.

"Damn" Tony muttered under his breath. Bruce would think that it was intentional when he woke up. He was deliberating changing the sheets for a few seconds, but quickly decided not to as soon as he started to stir again. Not wanting to risk being there when he woke up, he practically threw the sheets off Bruce and half ran out of the room. Tony found himself looking over his shoulder as he left the room, but tore his eyes away when he realised he was staring at the scientists chest, and didn't want to risk looking any lower. Those tattered remains of trousers didn't leave much to the imagination.

When walking back down the hall, he had a sudden thought, and hipped to the desk, where a hefty pile of paperwork was stacked, waiting to be signed by himself. He grabbed a sheet on top of the pile, grabbed a pen and turned it over to the blank side on the back.

Bruce opened his eyes, and then immediately wished he hadn't. The light of the room, which would appear soft to anyone else, bore into his eyes and hammered through his skull. He lifted a hand to block it out and cover his eyes, and the action was met with a large protest from his battered muscles. He groaned, and rolled over to face the door, away from the window. His whole body hurt- moving much was out of the question.

The events that had just unfolded began to unravel out of the knotted mess his mind was in. Ribbons of memories floated absently through is mind, and he eagerly grasped and tugged them, loosening the tangle.

He remembered a bed, and rage, and-

Oh.

Now he realised why he was aching all over, and he knew that if he looked down, he would find remnants of battered clothes clinging to him. The other guy had come out to play, he thought grimly.

He clawed himself out of the bed, and crashed on to the floor in a crumpled heap, limbs sprawled out in all directions. He drew his arms up under his chest and pushed himself with some difficulty into a seated position. He found himself staring at a piece of paper that had clearly been shoved roughly through the crack in the bottom of the door. He extended his arm with some effort to unfold it.

Scrawled in an almost illegible mess, a message was written on the back in patchy green biro

'You killed a road. Shame on you.

P.S- you turned into a angry green rage monster.

P.P.S- I'm sorry'