The very first indicator that something was wrong were the lights, or lack of which as he entered the door which lead to Bruce's expansive lab and rooms that took up this whole floor of the tower. Usually at this time (barely gone 7 o'clock) Bruce would still be up working on something or other, tinkering with various formulas and substances and all the lights- all of them- would be on, bathing the entire floor in somewhat harsh artificial luminescence. Tony had suggested something a little softer at the time of decoration, but Banner had been very much insistent that it was easier for him to focus on work that way. But right now there was nothing but shadow and intermittent interruptions from the moonlight, which gave little relief from the oppressing darkness.
Tony didn't turn the lights on, didn't even call out, because for the first time since Bruce had moved in he felt like an intruder, but also- the same thing that stopped him leaving- he felt suddenly, horribly worried. Maybe he had fallen asleep somewhere or was even out with someone, but he knew that the latter couldn't be true, as JARVIS had informed him of Bruce's presence when he had entered the tower. Call it odd, but Tony always felt comforted by the knowledge of his whereabouts. Now maybe not so much. Perhaps because he was very well aware of the sort of things one could get up to on their own, the thoughts one could become capable of.
The inventor walked silently through the apartment come laboratory, careful not to bump into anything; more aware of the layout than he had ever given thought to before. It made sense after all the time he spent in here: talking to Bruce or helping him with some work, not that he really needed it being one of the most brilliant scientists he'd met in a long time. Something twisted inside him just at the memory of Bruce's laugh and if it weren't for the current anxiety he may have smiled. Assessment of these feelings would have to wait however, because right now he was nearing the closed door to Bruce's bedroom, to find that his earlier thought incorrect. There was indeed a light on, evidence of which was glowing under the gap between the door and polished wood floor.
Tony reached out to wrap a hesitant hand around the burnished metal of the door knob, twisting it carefully before going to push it open. It edged open without a sound, revealing a half lit room that was so tidy and so seemingly empty that Tony took longer than usual to spot it's lone occupant.
Any greeting he had in mind stuck in in his throat at the sight of his favourite doctor. The position was more familiar with occasions when Banner was about to hulk out, hunched with his hands fisting his hair. But that couldn't be the case as there wasn't the slightest hint of green in what little skin Tony could see. In fact the knuckles were pretty much white from the force with which they were gripping his hair, almost seemed to be pulling it out. And Bruce looked smaller than ever before, hunched in on himself, his wrists almost looked like they could be snapped with the application of minimal force. Underneath the trademark purple shirt, which was badly torn all over, Tony could see the signs of a person severely malnourished. Under the panic that was beginning to bubble in his veins, he had to wonder why he hadn't spotted this sooner, after all someone can't just change into this over night. How many indicators had he missed? How many chances had there been to intervene, while he simply hadn't noticed the problem?
"It didn't work." Tony was startled out of his self interrogation by the words, muttered with a mixture of anger and sadness; or at least that is what the inventor picked up on. "It never works." If it wasn't obvious enough by the tone of his voice, then the fact that he was talking into his lap made it clear that Bruce was talking to no one other than himself and was probably too out of it to have even noticed Tony's arrival. But why? Usually the doctor was one of the most observant people he knew.
He couldn't help the short question that slipped from his lips. "What didn't work Bruce?" He had a pretty good idea of what his friend was referring to but didn't want to jump to conclusions, especially when this particular conclusion made him feel sick to the stomach. As selfish as it sounded, Tony wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, which was bound to be a reminder of how he had failed someone he claimed to be close to.
Bruce's head snapped up at the new voice, more startled due to perception that he had been alone. "T-tony." He stuttered out the acknowledgement while struggling to stand, using the wall behind him for support. Tony frowned to see how his thin form shook like a leaf. "It's nothing" Once upright the smaller man tried to brush past him, presumably attempting to escape the scrutiny of his gaze. But Bruce, who was more often the most controlled of people, tripped and would have fallen to the floor if it wasn't for the arm that wrapped around his waist and pulled him upright once more. While this did serve the purpose of saving Bruce it also brought about some additional consequences that hadn't quite been intended.
Due to their proximity when the shorter man tripped, Tony's catch rendered them far closer together than social protocol dictated was appropriate, chests actually pressed together, something that might have been an altogether more pleasurable experience if it weren't for the particular mixture of variables that had lead to this outcome. His arm was wrapped around Bruce's waist, hand resting on his lower back, and he hadn't quite regained the mental presence to remove it yet. Tony looked down at the face just below his and felt his heart clench painfully. Bruce's lips were slightly down-turned at the edges but the thing that really did it were the eyes. Not necessarily one for reading body language, Tony had to wonder at the fact that so much pain was translated by such little variation. He didn't know how but he wanted to make it better. Hell he didn't even know what it was, but just looking at those eyes made him ache. Why hadn't he noticed this before? Surely that level of raw sadness didn't just appear over night. He called himself a close friend of Bruce's and yet somehow allowed this to go unchecked. Tony already hated himself a little for it. As much as he had changed, at the core he was still somewhat self-obsessed, which had to make him at least somewhat at fault for the wreck in his arms. Bruce's smaller body quivered and shook against his, whether from the cold or not, it had yet to become apparent.
In some unconscious attempt at comfort- often a foreign concept for the billionaire- he reached a hand out to cup Bruce's cheek, an errant thumb rubbing against the stubbly skin. This gesture alone seemed to wake Bruce from his daze, as he gasped at the contact, the sound of which was shortly followed by the rattle of something hitting the floor. Both sets of eyes went to the floor, locating the object Bruce had apparently dropped. Tony frowned, relinquishing his hold on the fellow scientist and bending to pick it up, becoming only more concerned at recognising the smooth plastic of a pill bottle. Some sort of sleep medication, from what Tony could tell.
"What is this Bruce?" His tone was soft and calm, contrasted with this anger that he could feel just below the surface. Sympathy and betrayal battled for dominance and it was the burn of disappointment that won out. Bruce didn't give an answer, his gaze flickered anxiously to the side, where Tony noticed there was a collection of similar bottles clustered on the rather prominent double bed, before falling to the floor, becoming far too interested in the carpet. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" This anger that spilled over seemed to be Tony's one way of showing that he cared, not being so good at the subtler side of things. Perhaps it was selfish, but Tony hated the idea that Bruce could choose to leave him, even if it hadn't actually worked in the end. Of course he remembered when Bruce had told him of his previous attempt, how the other guy had stopped it.
Under his own steam, Bruce had wandered over to the bed and sat down heavily, a stray hand going to rake through the pile of empty pill bottles, clinking rather than rattling. When he spoke it was in a vacant manner and wasn't quite an answer to the original question "You know, a tenth of this would have killed a normal person." He said this with a sense of vague interest, as if it were trivia to be noted, though nothing impressive. "Or to be more specific, the average lethal dose is considered to be 9.7% of that." It was odd that even in the given situation, Bruce wanted- or perhaps needed- to maintain scientific and mathematic integrity. Turning to look Tony in the eye properly for once, he questioned with a child-like naivety "Why can't I be normal?" The implication of the question was unpleasant and jarring for various reasons, and he tried not to dwell on them, for fear of loosing his grasp on the debatably messed up conversation.
"Normality is a subjective term," When was anyone ever truly normal? Was it even possible? Tony sensed an interruption, probably on the bounds that turning into a green rage monster was hardly debatable on the imaginary scale of abnormality, and chose to side-step it "I know that's not what you meant, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a valid point." Bruce had to see that there was no normal, and that all he ever had to be was himself. "If you were 'normal' you wouldn't be the same man today. And I don't just mean the other guy." Tony leaned over and placed a tentative hand on Bruce's knee, feeling a warmth that hadn't been there before, relieved at the fact he was returning to a stable body temperature. "And we might not have met otherwise, which would obviously suck for you." He kicked himself mentally at the egotistical joke that slipped out but was encouraged when Bruce cracked a half smile. "I mean who doesn't want to be friends with me?" The real answer to that supposedly rhetorical question was actually quite a lot of people. Sure plenty wanted to receive handouts from him, or merely assistance from the influence of his name, but the people who actually wanted to know him, the ones that actually gave a shit were few and far between. "Seriously though," His tone grew sombre, as he returned to the subject at hand, well aware that while he was hardly the right person to talk to about it, he should be the person to talk to. "What brought this on exactly?" Despite the ambiguity of the question, he had to assume that Bruce knew what he meant; how else was he supposed to word it anyway?
Bruce huffed a little, like a child might when they realized a parent had remembered a misdemeanor, before redirecting his eyes to his lap. "You'll think it's stupid." He murmured the words, almost seeming embarrassed to say them.
"How I could ever consider anything that came out of your mouth was stupid is beyond comprehension." And Tony really did believe that. Despite being an arrogant bastard from time to time, he often looked to the Doctor for a second opinion. This being the case, he also held most anything he said in high regard, and so would rarely question the integrity of what he said. Even if he didn't agree, he could understand and appreciate. "Please just tell me Bruce."
The other man sighed, as if in surrender, before speaking "I was in a café earlier and when I got up to fetch some sugar for my espresso a waitress bumped into me and spilt hot coffee down my front. I don't know why, but I almost turned then. It was a close enough call that I tore up my shirt and ruined a glass top table." That would explain the tattered shirt, although not why he was still wearing it.
"No use crying over spilt milk Bruce." He paused to make a correction to the traditional saying, frowning as he did so. "Or spilt coffee in this case." The poor attempt at wit hadn't been intentional but it slipped out all the same.
By the way he was talking Bruce definitely seemed to have sobered a little, but his eyes were still a little glassy and unfocused. "Don't you see? That's precisely my point Tony. A normal person doesn't narrowly avoid absolute rage after having someone accidentally spill a drink on them. I could have killed that girl, numerous other people too" Bruce worried the skin on his knuckles and repetitively clenched and unclenched his finger, red marks begin to rise on the abused surface. Tony reaches out and separates the two hands, uncurling the fingers and laying them palm down on Bruce's knees.
"But you didn't Bruce, you stopped the other guy." Tony regularly marvelled at his control. Tony firmly believed that the only reason for today's slip was down to an unfortunate culmination of factors; such as the sleep deprivation evident in the bags under his eyes.
"Only just, which was just chance really. My being around only increases the risk for other people, innocent people to get hurt. It's not worth the worry. I'm not. Before all this shit happened I used to want things. A good job, a nice house but what I really wanted was a family: a partner, children. Now all I can hope for is that I keep my cool enough not to cause anything or anyone significant harm."
"You could still have all of those things" And Tony could see it all, he really could. Bruce living in the suburbs with a small child and a wife. He pressed down the unexpected envy at this imaginary spouse. Bruce would make a brilliant Dad, Tony had no doubt. He would comfort them when they hurt themselves or woke from a bad dream, help them with their homework, make time just to play. He'd never given it thought before, but now that he had, Tony was of the opinion that it had to happen for Bruce.
Bruce attempted a cynical laugh but somewhere along the way it turned into a sob, and there were tears gradually trailing down his face. Tony came to the conclusion that the drugs must have broken down an internal wall because a sober Bruce would never allow such a show of emotions. "Just don't Tony. My control may have improved some, but today pretty much summed up just how unreliable my control is. I can't do that to someone I profess to love. I can't promise to look after anyone when I can't guarantee that I won't go green and quite literally break them. And all of that is presuming anyone could love me back."
"Don't say that Bruce." His utter lack of hope was horrifying to Tony. How could anyone not love Bruce? That was the real question.
"You can hardly contradict the basis for my doubts. It's not like there's a lack of supporting evidence." It was strange how he phrased it; this personal matter turned so scientific, although that in itself wasn't so out of character for Bruce. Odd, but in that moment Tony would have done anything to show his friend his mistaken reasoning. He grappled with the instinct to lean forward and press their lips together, make him feel loved. It was one thing he could be good at, the more physical things. But that would be completely the wrong thing to do now when Bruce was fragile and not entirely with it. And knowing Tony it wouldn't stop there. He would take it too far and most likely leave Bruce with yet another complex.
Instead Tony budged closer and pulled the smaller man into his arms, hugging him tight to his chest. He felt Bruce initially tense- in surprise he assumed- before relaxing into the embrace, allowing his own arms to wrap around Tony in return. He'd always had the sneaking suspicion that Bruce longed for human contact, even of the less gentle kind, given that most people tiptoed around him. Probably wasn't an exaggeration to say that he was starved of it. Tony's arm trailed up and down his back before he eventually encountered a sliver of bare skin through a rip in the shirt. "Jesus, Bruce. You're freezing." Tony got no reply, but pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around Bruce. After a minute or so of silence he lent in to his ear and murmured "For what it's worth. I love you, you have to know that." His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt of his sincerity. At some point they would have to have a talk, a serious conversation, about feelings and all of the things that Tony wasn't good with. Because no one should deserve to feel so little of their self, and he just had to help Bruce see how very brilliant he was. But that sort of talk was best saved for a time when both were well rested and didn't have the contents of an entire pharmacy's load of medication circling their bloodstream.
He hadn't expected a reply, but received one, nonetheless: mumbled and half asleep. "You know that's not what I meant." And like that, he was gone; out like a light. Tony felt the moment when his charge turned to a dead weight in sleep and held him even closer, pressing a small kiss to his forehead.
Bruce had obviously assumed his admission was one of friendly affection, and to a certain extent it was. But just looking at his sleeping face, a foreign feeling twisted inside him. He spoke in a delayed reply to his friend, the words falling on dead ears. "I'm just not so sure about that any more."