The first time Bruce mentioned that he had a son was one movie night late in October.
"Doesn't that girl," he asked Tony, pointing to the screen, "look like Micky Sandoval? Not that one-her."
"Yeah," Tony said. "She does. What's the actress' name?"
"I don't know. We'll have to wait for the credits."
"Who's Micky Sandoval?" Clint asked.
"She's my . . . I guess you'd call her my baby mama."
Natasha spit out her Diet Coke. "You have kids?"
"Just one."
"You never mention him. Him? Her?"
"Him. His name's Nathan. He goes to a private school upstate. I taught there for a while, before the . . . incident."
"How old is he?" asked Steve.
"Eight. Almost nine."
"Big boy."
"You have no idea," Tony muttered.
"Do you have any pictures?"
"Just one. Jarvis?"
The movie froze, and the AI's voice said, "Yes, Dr. Banner?"
"Display photo 'Nathan Banner', please."
The movie went black, and was replaced by an image of the Hulk with . . .
"Oh, my God," Natasha gasped.
"I know. It's a bit of a shock, until you get to know him. He's really smart."
"He's the product of two Ph.D's," said Tony. "How could he not be?"
"Why does he look like that?" Steve asked.
"Because Jack Franklin made him look like that. To get back at me, because Micky wanted me instead of him."
Thor seemed the only one unfazed by the boy's appearance. When the others called him on it, he simply shrugged and said, "Some of my brother's children are equally . . . strange-looking."
"He's doing really well in school," Bruce said. "We Skype all the time."
"Skype?"
"It's like a telephone conversation on a computer, Steve," Clint explained.
"How does he type with those paws? Sorry, I just . . . they're huge!"
"He has a custom-built laptop with keys five times normal size," Bruce explained. "Hank McCoy made it for him. He has . . . similar issues. Nate loves the computer, actually. The school monitors his activity, of course, and blocks certain sites so he won't get into trouble."
"What's he like?" Natasha asked.
"He's just like any other eight-year-old boy. He likes cartoons and sports. He's learning how not to hurt the other kids when he plays with them."
"Can we start the movie again?" Tony grumbled.
And that was that, at least for the time being.
The next time Bruce mentioned his son was one morning about a month later, at the beginning of December.
He waited until everyone had come down for breakfast, and then he said, "I talked to Nathan a couple of days ago."
"How is Hulk Junior?" asked Tony.
"He's fine. He said . . . he said that some of the other kids at his school are going home for Christmas break."
"What is this Chris-muss?" Thor asked.
"The big feast at the end of the year. We talked about this, remember? Anyway, Nathan asked if he could come here."
"For how long?" asked Tony.
"Two weeks. From December 21 until the Monday after New Year's."
"What did you tell him?"
"I said I'd talk to everyone else before I could say yes or no. It's his first real holiday-the kid was basically kept in a cage for the first five years of his life, and then he had gradual exposure to other people, a few at a time. He needs to get out and meet people. I'm not talking about taking him down to Times Square on New Year's Eve-he'd go nuts, and then I'd go nuts, and that would not be good."
He had a gift for understatement. If someone Nathan's size, not to mention the Hulk, went on a rampage in a crowd that size, nothing short of a nuclear blast could stop them.
"But Christmas is a time for family," he continued.
"Family . . ." Thor's face took on a dark expression.
"Family that hasn't tried to kill us lately," Tony clarified. "Sure, I'm all for having the kid visit. We've got high ceilings and reinforced floors here. Long as he doesn't jump on the furniture, he should be fine."
"Okay, so that's one yes vote. Tasha?"
She looked pensive. "What sort of needs does he have? I mean, special foods, favorite toys? What?"
"He likes Spongebob Squarepants. It's a cartoon," Bruce explained, for the benefit of those who weren't up on the latest popular culture. "Trust me, by the time he goes home, you'll all know the theme song by heart. Food . . . nothing special, really. Just lots of it. He normally eats about twelve thousand calories a day, when he's training at school, but if he's not doing anything strenuous, he can probably get away with nine or ten thousand. He likes fast food, even though I've told him it's not good for him, but he'll eat just about anything."
"We'll have to do extra food shopping, then. Whose turn is it?"
They looked around the table. Thor had been forbidden from doing the shopping after the incident with the melons and the cheese spray. Steve tended to complain about the prices, and Bruce just generally didn't have the patience to shop.
"Guess it's me again," she conceded.
"We can order in," Tony suggested.
"I'm going to say no," said Clint. "We have too many volatile people in this house already. One more might push things over the edge."
"He won't give you any trouble," said Bruce. "If he does, tell him I said so, and he'll listen."
"And what happens when you lose control? Who reins you in?"
"I haven't had an episode in over two months. I'll be fine."
"Why does that sound like famous last words?"
Bruce didn't bother answering the rhetorical question. "Okay, that's two for yes, and one no. Steve?"
"Are you sure he's ready for this? Some kids can't handle sleepovers until they're ten or eleven. Maybe next year?"
"Is that a no?"
"No, it's not a no, I'm just not sure about this. I'm trying to see it from his point of view. If he's not used to people-"
"He has friends at school. And on Facebook."
"He has a Facebook account?" asked Tony. "What does he use for a photo? Not that."
"No, he Photoshopped an avatar, with help from a couple of other students. It's supposed to be what he looks like inside his head. Whatever that means. I don't do Facebook."
"Face . . . book?" Thor was confused.
"Never mind. So we have two yeses, one yes with reservations, and one no. What say you, son of Odin?"
"Is he as strong as he looks?"
"Nearly as strong as the Hulk, and almost indestructible. Plus, he's been training with Wolverine."
The few members of the team who had encountered the Canadian looked impressed. Wolverine was not known for having a lot of patience, or self-control. "I wasn't aware he was teaching," said Clint. "Last time we met, he tried to rip my head off."
"To be fair," said Natasha, "you'd just shot him in the ass. That would make anyone a bit touchy."
"You shot Wolverine in the ass? And lived?" Tony stared at the archer in amazement and admiration. "I want to hear this story!"
"Another time, maybe," said Bruce. "Well, big guy? It's up to you. Yea or nay?"
"I look forward to sparring with him. So yes."
"Just remember he's only a little boy. Don't hurt him."
"If he can go toe to toe with Wolverine," said Tony, "I don't think we have to worry about him being hurt."
"Looks like we're having company, then. I'll take full responsibility for anything he breaks."
Clint still didn't look happy, but he kept his opinions to himself for now. He left later that day on a solo mission, and did not return for over a week. And when he came back, he wouldn't talk to anyone. It wasn't completely out of character for the archer to keep to himself after a difficult mission, but the others had a sense that he was holding a grudge against them, and they kept out of his way.
And then suddenly, or so it seemed, it was the morning of December twenty-first, and Bruce and Tony were leaving to pick up Nathan.
"We should be back in about an hour or so. Don't make a big deal of it, but it would be nice if everyone at least came out to say hi to him."
"Don't worry," said Natasha. "I'm sure he's snapped out of his funk by now. He has his moods, but they never last long. I'll see if I can get him to talk about it."
"Thanks. See you in an hour."
Tony drove, first of all because it was his car (well, one of his cars; he owned twelve, and this was the biggest), and second because Bruce didn't feel comfortable behind the wheel of a car. He was worried about having an "incident" on the road, which would not be a good thing.
Traffic was not too bad. They listened to the radio and chatted for a while about nothing in particular. They changed the radio station three times because each thought the other had crap taste in music. It took a while to find one they could both agree on.
They made the turn off the highway, and suddenly there it was, the huge mansion looming before them. They drove up the long drive and parked in the visitors' lot, and suddenly, three hundred pounds of excited eight-year-old knocked Bruce over.
"Dad! Dad!"
"Oof! Take it easy, Nate!" He got up and took a look at his son.
Tony was looking at him, too. "There's . . . something different about you, Junior."
Nathan looked down at his body, which appeared to be that of a tall, muscular, dark-haired boy of about thirteen. "Image inducer," he said, fingering a pendant on a chain around his neck. He squeezed it, and the illusion faded. He pressed it again, and it returned.
"Hmph. Cool."
"You've got your stuff?" Bruce asked him. They walked up the path to the front door. Students were gathered in twos and threes, mostly saying goodbye to each other. A few of them turned to look as the trio passed by, but no one stared.
"It's in my trunk. My Harry Potter trunk." The boy smiled. "I feel like I'm leaving Hogwarts for the holiday."
"You'll be back. And you'll like the people we're living with. They're . . . nice."
"Did you know there are twelve thousand, eight hundred and seven Avengers fansites? And that's just the team ones. There are individual ones, too. Even the Hulk has a fan page. I have it bookmarked on my laptop. Bye, Riley! Bye, Carlos! Bye, Misha!" he called out to some departing students. The kids turned and waved back at him.
Nathan's trunk was in the entry hall, his massive laptop sitting on top. Tony opened it up and looked at it. Each of the keys was about the size of his palm. "Not bad," he said. "I could build you a better one, though. Can I look at this, when we get home?"
"Son, you remember Mr. Stark," Bruce said.
"Hi, Mr. Stark. I want to show you the fan pages first. There's a really good one for Iron Man."
"Well, that's because there's so much information. My life is an open book. Unlike some people."
A slim redhead in a white blouse walked up to them. "Are you ready to go, Nathan?"
"Yes, Miss Jean. I'm all set."
"Hi, Jean," Bruce said. He had liked the young woman, during his brief tenure at the mansion.
"Doctor Banner. Mr. Stark," she nodded to Tony.
"Ms. Grey."
"Can we go now?" Nathan demanded. He lifted the trunk with one huge hand. "Please?"
"You ain't leavin' without sayin' goodbye to me, are ya, Tiny?" a voice from behind them said.
"Mr. Logan!" The boy bent down and gave the man a crushing bear hug. "I'll miss you."
"Yeah, I'll miss you, too, kiddo. How you doing, Bruce?"
"Pretty well. I thought my current living environment would be a problem, but . . . he's been quiet for a while. Which is a good thing."
"I'll say." Logan handed him a green folder. "Here's his report card. He's the best student I ever had—does what he's told, asks good questions, not afraid of getting hit . . ."
"As long as he doesn't hurt anyone else." Bruce took the folder and tucked it under his arm.
"Have you thought about coming back here?" Jean asked. "The kids loved having you as a teacher."
"And I loved teaching," he admitted, "but it just wouldn't work out. As long as I know he's okay," he nodded towards Nathan, "I'm good. Let's go, Nate."
"Okay, Dad." He turned and waved one last time on his way out to the car. They made it out the door before Bruce realized they were one person short.
"Wait here, Nate," he said, and ran back inside. He found Tony in a corridor off the kitchen, trying doors. "Tony, what are you doing?"
"Looking for that Danger Room of theirs. I want to get a look at it."
"Another time. We need to get home, now."
"Just one more—"
"No." He put into that one word the edgy vibration that suggested he was on the verge of a change. It usually worked, on the others, but Tony knew him better than that.
"It's actually the best place for him. Thick walls, reinforced floors, lots of stuff to smash. And then I can rebuild it."
"Later!" He grabbed Tony by the hand and practically dragged him out to the car, where Nathan was waiting for them.
"It's locked," the boy said.
Tony took something out of his pocket and pressed it. The back door swung open. "Should be plenty of room for you, Junior. That's why I brought the Hummer."
"Just like CSI." The boy beamed and started humming the theme song. "Are we there yet?"
"Not for a while," his father told him. "I'll let you know when we're close. You want to listen to some music?"
"Yes, please."
"What kind of music?"
"Nicky Minaj?"
"I . . . don't know what that is."
"I do," said Tony. He pushed buttons on the radio receiver until "Starships" began playing. "How's that?"
"Awesome!" Nathan began singing along in a voice that was a bit higher than his normal speaking voice, almost a falsetto.
"You like Nicki Minaj, buddy?"
"I do! And Lady Gaga, and Katy Perry, and Jessie J, and—"
"I think you'll like this channel, then. It's programmable satellite radio. It's not my thing, but I think I can put up with it till we get home. Just don't bounce around too much, okay?"
"Okay." Nathan seemed to be enjoying the music, so Bruce was happy.
When they got close enough to the city to see the skyline, Bruce pointed out the tower. "Look, Nate, there it is! Right in the middle, there. That's where we live."
Nathan leaned close to the window and looked out. "It's funny-looking," he said.
"It's unique," said Tony. "I wanted a building that didn't look like any of the other buildings around it. So it would stand out."
"Oh, it stands out, all right," said Bruce.
"In a good way, I hope."
"At least he didn't say it was ugly."
"Some people just don't appreciate genius."
When they stepped off the elevator, Tony's assistant, Pepper Potts, was there to meet them.
"When did you get here?" he asked her.
"About five minutes before you did. Check your messages."
"I was just about to do that. Um, this is Nathan. Nathan, come say hello to Miss Potts."
Nathan stepped forward. Pepper had been prepared for his odd appearance, but photos were nothing like seeing him in person. He was . . . big. "Hello, Nathan," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She started to extend her hand, but then stopped when she saw the size of his massive paws.
Nathan took her hand as gently as he could and shook it. It was a bit like shaking hands with a bear (not that she'd ever done that), but not as scary. "Hello, Miss Potts. You're pretty."
"Why, thank you. Hello, Doctor Banner."
Bruce nodded to her. He had one end of Nathan's heavy trunk, and Tony took the other. Together they maneuvered it into the main living space and set it against a wall for now.
"Where's that going?" Pepper asked.
"My room," said Bruce, "but not yet. Where is everyone?"
"Down in the practice area, working out some aggression."
"I told them we'd be right up!" said Tony. "What happened?"
She sighed. "The usual. When the arguing got too loud, I told them to go punch something or shoot something or hit something that wouldn't make a mess. Give them a few more minutes. At least you'll have time to go through your messages."
"Let's go put this away, then," Bruce said to his son. "I'll show you where you'll be sleeping. It's right next to my room, so if you get scared, I'll be right there."
Together they lifted the trunk and carried it down to Bruce's suite of rooms, right next to his lab.
"This will be your room, at least for now. Hope it's big enough for you." It was actually two rooms, with the divider between them retracted. There was a king sized bed, on cinder blocks, a specially-reinforced chair, and a desk that took up half the room. No flimsy some-assembly-required furniture here.
"It's great, Dad." Nathan opened his trunk and started unpacking.
"I'll see you out in the living room as soon as you're ready. Hopefully everyone else will be up, and you can meet them all."
"Do you like them?"
"They're good people, all of them. Sometimes we . . . disagree on some points, but we generally get along pretty well, most of the time."
"They're afraid to get you mad, huh?"
He had to smile at that. "Not so much anymore. I'll leave you to finish unpacking. The wardrobe's over there." He pointed to the corner, where a wardrobe that was actually smaller than Nathan himself sat in the corner. "Make sure you hang everything up, or the cleaning robots will come through and destroy anything on the floor."
"Cleaning robots?" Nathan looked like he was sure he was being had. "Are there really cleaning robots?"
"They come through twice a day, sweeping up all the dust and crumbs and stuff. So make sure there's nothing left on the floor for them to roll over. I'm serious."
"Sure, Dad." Nathan still wasn't sure he wasn't kidding, but he hung all his clothes in the wardrobe and set his laptop and all its accessories on the desk. When he was done, the room looked like home.
But it needed one last touch. He reached into the bottom of the trunk and took out the picture of his mother, the only one he had, clipped out of the newspaper and fitted into a frame, and set it on the desk next to the laptop. The picture really didn't do her justice, but he liked seeing her face first thing in the morning, and last thing at night. He didn't care what else she had done; she was his mother, and he loved her.
Once all that was done, he went out to what his father had called the living room. There were three men and a woman sitting on the sofas, and he recognized all of them from their fan site photos.
"There you are!" Bruce appeared from the kitchen area. "Everyone," he called out. "I want you all to come meet Nathan."
"Aw, dammit!" one of the men—the one all in black—yelled at the TV screen. "That was a bonehead play if I ever saw one!"
"Language! Women and children present!" That was the big man with short blond hair, who Nathan still couldn't believe he was getting to meet.
The woman, who had pretty red hair, looked over her shoulder at him. "I've heard worse. In eight different languages."
"That still doesn't excuse it."
"Tell that idiot not to miss the shot, then."
"Clint," said the woman, "you agreed to be nice. Now come on." She stood up and came over to where Nathan was standing. "Hello, Nathan. It's nice to meet you."
"Hello, Miss Tasha," he said. "You look prettier than your pictures. They're usually blurry."
"That's because she's usually moving," said the man who had complained about the game. "Clint Barton," he introduced himself. Nathan gingerly shook his hand, just as he had done with Miss Potts. "Can I get back to sulking now? I have money on this game."
"Why do they keep interrupting it with pictures of cars?" the big man with long blond hair demanded. "Why do they not simply get on with it?"
"They're called commercials," said Bruce. "They're to get people to buy stuff."
"Let them buy it on their own time! Nothing is worth interrupting such a contest of strength!"
"Are you really a god?" Nathan asked him.
The man looked him up and down. "You are the son of Banner?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are . . . bigger than I expected."
"So are you."
The Norse god laughed, and put his arm around the boy. "I like you, child! You speak the truth so plainly. Come, watch the foot ball with us!"
Nathan looked back. "Can I, Dad?"
"Fine with me."
And then he was face to face with his idol, his second-favorite Avenger (cause his dad would always be number one), who was standing up and approaching him. "It's an honor to meet you, sir," Nathan said, too much in awe to come any closer.
"The honor's mine," said Steve Rogers, Captain America, "to meet such a well-mannered young man." And he grabbed Nathan's furry paw and clasped it firmly.
"Can I sit with you?" the boy asked.
"Is he allowed on the furniture?" That was the grumpy man, Mr. Barton.
"He's not a Saint Bernard." Mr. Stark had come back in and sat down in the leather recliner. "Are you worried he'll shed on you or something?"
The man said nothing, and Nathan sat down next to Captain Rogers, trying not to lean too hard against the back of the sofa. He had broken too many pieces of furniture to be totally comfortable sitting there.
Nathan didn't watch much sports, but he could follow the game all right. "Are we cheering for the guys in the red jerseys or the blue ones?"
"Blue," said Mr. Thor, without taking his eyes off the screen.
"This doesn't look like football," Nathan said. "It's soccer."
"They call it football in Europe," said Mr. Barton. The red guys scored another goal, and he grunted something unintelligible and threw the remote onto the floor. "I give up! Watch whatever you want!" He left the room, still muttering.
So they switched to a movie about spies. Nathan had trouble following it, but he tried not to ask too many questions and annoy the others. On his first night watching movies with his friends at school, he had kept asking questions about what was going on—who's that? Why's he on a plane? Where'd the girl go?—that before the movie was half over, Riley had told him to just watch it and be quiet, and he'd find out for himself what was happening. So he had stopped asking so many questions during movies, and though he didn't always find out the answers right away, he didn't like annoying anyone.
He grew frustrated with the movie and shifted around on the sofa, but stopped when he heard it creak ominously. He didn't want to break any more furniture.
"You okay there, buddy?" his dad asked him.
Nathan just shrugged. He didn't know how to explain it. "Can we watch Christmas specials instead?"
You mean like Rudolph, Frosty, Charlie Brown? I think I have those. JARVIS, play video file 'Classic Christmas.'"
"Yes, sir." The movie halted and then went black, and then cartoon snow filled the screen.
"Who's that?" Nathan asked.
"JARVIS? He runs this whole place," Mr. Stark explained. "He's the latest in artificial intelligence."
"That means he's a computer," Nathan's dad told him.
Rudolph was starting. Nathan had never actually seen it, and as it turned out, he wasn't alone.
"How can the tiny deer people talk?" Mr. Thor asked.
"It's called stop-motion animation," Dad explained. "They're little figures, like action figures, that are moved a little bit at a time, and on film, it looks like they're moving on their own. It's all done with computer models now, but back then, they did it all by hand."
"Amazing." Captain Rogers was staring at the screen as if trying to catch the figures being moved.
They watched Rudolph, Frosty, and something that Nathan's dad kept singing all the songs to. To Nathan, it didn't make much sense. Heat Miser and Snow Miser?
"This was always my favorite," Dad said. "But it wasn't on for a long time."
"I noticed that," said Mr. Stark. "Did they lose the rights, or what?"
"I think so."
After a while, Mr. Barton came out of his room and joined them, though he didn't talk much. The pizza arrived in the middle of Charlie Brown Christmas-more like pizzas, twelve of them.
Nathan didn't realize how hungry he was until he looked down and saw the entire pizza box was empty. "Sorry," he said.
"Sorry? For what, buddy?" Dad asked him.
"For eating all the pizza."
"Don't worry about it, kid," said Mr. Stark. "Goldilocks put away two whole pizzas by himself, and he's not even done yet."
Mr. Thor looked up briefly, but his mouth was full, so he didn't say anything.
"Cap eats a lot, too. So don't worry about it. That's why I ordered so much pizza. Have a bottle of water, too." He held out a gallon jug, and Nathan knew he was just teasing.
Two hours later, the pizza was gone, and Nathan was starting to feel a little tired. "Can I go to bed now?"
Dad looked at him. "Sure, buddy. You've had a long day, haven't you? Say goodnight to everyone."
"Night," Nathan said, waving around the room.
"Night, sweetie," said Miss Potts.
There were calls of "Good night, Nathan," but he didn't turn to see who it was. When he was almost out of the room, he heard Mr. Stark say, "Thank God, the child is gone. We can drink now. Steve, open the beer fridge."
He wanted to ask Dad what a beer fridge was, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a huge yawn.
"Yeah, you're tired. Got up early, didn't you?"
"Uh huh." He let Dad help him into his favorite blue pj's, and then into bed.
"Now remember, I'm right next door if you need anything. I'll be sitting up reading for a while." He pulled the covers up to Nathan's chin and then kissed him on the forehead. "See you in the morning, Nate."
"Night, Dad."
He closed his eyes before the lights went off, and went to sleep thinking of all the wonderful things he and his dad, as well as their new friends, would do tomorrow.
But when morning came, something would happen that would change everyone's plans. In a big way.