Periodically he glanced at the tiny monitor in the corner of the screen. It was hard to get absorbed in his work when more than half his mind was focused on those specific pixels. He'd set the A.I. to watching Tony for him weeks ago, shortly after he realized just how much the other man was drinking.
He felt conflicted about this intrusion into Tony's personal life, but in the end his need to repay the man's kindness won out. He couldn't just let Tony drink himself into oblivion after he had given Bruce so much. The lab and his room, sure. But most of all the trust. Tony trusted him enough to keep The Other Guy in check and let Bruce into his home. It was huge for Bruce - no one had trusted him since the accident. No one looked at him like Tony did - like he was a person and not a barely contained monster.
Today Tony was out on the high, open patio. He'd started the morning with coffee, but by the fading light of evening he was well into his first bottle. A small sigh slipped from him as he picked up another tool and tried to refocus on the machine in front of him.
Tony shivered in his lounge chair. Though the sun was sinking away, it was still quite warm out here. So why was he so cold? Goose bumps chased up and down his bare arms. The bottle was empty when he pressed it to his lips and he let it fall. He was so tired. So lonely. So... What? The trademark cockiness was long gone tonight, a well worn mask that he just couldn't bear to wear.
He stared, eyes unfocused, into his own head. Memories and fears swirled together in laughing mockery of him. He pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face against them, struggling not to cry. Just too much. Too much pain. Too much fear. Too much death. Too much his fault. He gave in and sobbed.
When he sat upright again it was deep night and the moon was high, but he didn't see it. He'd made up his mind. He rose and walked slowly, resolutely, towards the edge of the patio. The edge of the building. The edge of his resolve. The edge of his life.
Bruce paused, the piece he was working on forgotten in his grasp, when he glanced next at the small window containing his friend. He'd been still so long Bruce thought he slept, and he was grateful. Now his blood turned cold and his breath froze in his chest. He maximized the window and Tony's image filled the screen. The lean, cocky face and bright eyes were stained with tears. There was a calmness, a resolved look to his features. A major decision made and accepted etched in his eyes.
No!
He recognized that look and it terrified him to see it on Tony's face.
He was out the lab door, running for dear life - Tony's life - before the pieces he'd been holding stopped falling.
When he got to the roof he was breathless and panicked. Tony stood at the edge, facing the city. His shoulders were rounded and he looked so small, so frail.
Bruce kept running, praying to gods he didn't believe in, but he knew he was too late, too far away. As he watched, Tony straightened, standing tall and fierce. He spread his arms out like wings, and after an agonizing moment, started to fall forward into thin air.
"Come on Big Guy, don't fail me now!" Bruce kept running, and followed his only friend over the edge.
When he woke he had far too many questions and not enough answers. He had woken, so his gambit that the Other Guy wouldn't let him die had paid off. He'd figured it would. His own suicide attempt, as well as several other ... adventures ... had been enough to convince him that it was a worthwhile risk.
The surroundings told him he was back in his room in Stark / Avengers tower. But had it worked? He was out of bed and through the door an instant after he verified he wouldn't be roaming around naked. Had it really worked? Had he been in time? Had the Other Guy read his intentions and helped in the cause? Or had he been too late? Had he let Iron Man die and gone on his own rampage? His thoughts were electrified and buzzing. Part terror, part worry, and underneath it all a thin current of pure panic. I will never forgive myself if I was too late. I will find a way to kill us. I swear it, I will kill us if he - we - I - fucked this up.
Bare feet carried him through now familiar halls in a frantic search for answers and relief. The lab had been dark and quiet as he checked there first. Fury and Natasha looked up at him from their seats in the living room, and Clint called out from an unseen perch, but he passed by too quickly to read their expressions. He was too afraid of what he'd see.
"Bruce, we need -" Fury started, but the voice fell away as he slipped out of the room and down the corridor to Tony's room. They watched him go, no one willing to call him back when he was that focused and so obviously on edge.
He tried to slow his breathing, calm his pulse as he left them behind. He knew the path of destruction began here, but it was so hard to concentrate with so much fear. He burst into Tony's room hoping to see some sign that he hadn't failed.
The room was sunlit and warm, and the massive bed was right there in front of Bruce. But there was no sign of Tony. No shed t-shirt carelessly dropped on the carpet. No sprawled arm, hint of leg, anything visible in the smooth sheets. The bed was empty, neatly made. Tony's cell phone was on a bedside table, blinking its alerts. Tony hated to leave messages unread, unless he was absolutely absorbed.
He scanned the rest of the room and collapsed against the door, closing it with a slam, when he found no sign of life. He slid slowly to the floor, dazed. Too late. Too late. Too late. He couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. Even in his deepest fears he had held on to the spark of hope that it had all worked out. The spark extinguished and he fell to his side against the door, an anguished moan escaping him as he hit the floor.
He replayed the moments on the roof over and over. Tony's graceful fall, looking for all the world as if he expected to grow feathers and fly. His own forward leap, keeping his arms tight and close, trying to minimize wind resistance as he raced death. "Ok, Big Guy," he had thought, "this is important to us. We CANNOT let him ..." And then he lost consciousness as he felt the beast within emerge.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, his face tucked into his arms. "I am so sorry. I was too late." He laid on the floor and cried for his friend. For his failure. For everything.
Tony was toweling his hair out, fluffing the dark strands as he emerged from his bathroom. Warm steam puffed out behind him and he hummed an AC/DC song to himself. He turned towards his massive closet, dropping the wet towel behind him and buttoning his jeans.
"I'm sorry Tony..." It was a muffled and heartbroken voice. He paused, bare chest pricking into goose bumps. Slowly he turned towards his door. Bruce was crumpled in on himself, curled against the wood, shaking. He was murmuring over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The bruised flesh of Tony's ribs twinged as he flashed back momentarily on the instant his free fall had ended, not with jarring blackness, but with massive green arms snatching him out of the sky. Hulk had caught him, crushing him to the massive chest, and rolled them midair taking the brunt of the impact. His ribs had nearly shattered, his whole body felt like he'd been hit by a train, but he had lived. He owed Hulk - Bruce - his life.
He crossed the room and squatted next to his green guardian angel. Low and quietly, he asked, "For what Bruce? For saving me?"
Bruce gasped sharply and scrambled awkwardly upright. "T-Tony? Y-you're!" He flung himself forward, catching Tony off balance and tumbling him backward. "You're alive! You're alive! You're alive!" He was nearly incoherent as Tony winced from the jarring of his pained body. Like a shadow of the Hulk's catch, Bruce had wrapped his arms around him and was hugging tightly.
He eased himself out of the embrace with a hissed intake of breath. "Yeah. I am." His voice was almost a whisper. "Thanks to you."
His heart stuttered in his chest when he heard Tony speak. He went from devastated to delirious in a millisecond. He knew he was babbling and stuttering, but he was so relieved he couldn't help it. When Tony slipped away from him with a pained noise and sat up Bruce finally looked at him.
The playboy looked like hell. He'd showered and shaved, his eyes were clear and sober, but his body was a galaxy of bruises. His bare chest was a rainbow of pain and his movements were carefully restrained.
"Oh! Oh Christ." Bruce realized how much his tackle had probably hurt. "Is that..." He gestured towards the other man meekly. "Is that my fault?"
They were both sitting on the floor, facing each other from an arm's length away. Tony's nod cut through his relief and made him drop his chin to his chest. He'd saved his friend, but he'd hurt him too. He felt so awful about that. Even as himself he couldn't help hurting those close to him. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'd be in a box of it weren't for you."
Bruce looked up again. "I know." He felt a flare of anger and he breathed deeply a few times. When he spoke next his voice quivered. "Why? Why the ... The ..." He struggled for words. "Why the fuck would you do that? Of all the.. The..." His voice finally broke. "Why would you leave us like that?"
He stared into the other man's eyes, daring him to say something, to defend himself. Tony looked back at him, unflinching. "The same reason you put a gun in your mouth." There was no malice in it, just an understanding. "I finally understood why you'd tried. You ... Well... You failed because of who - what - you are. I don't have that inside of me. I'm just a guy in a suit. So I took the suit off and tried to fly. But again, because of who and what you are, you couldn't let me do it either."
"Promise me you won't try that bullshit again." It was a demand, not a question. When no answer was forthcoming he closed the distance between them, practically nose to nose and glared. His hands locked on to Tony's shoulders. "Promise. Me."
Tony watched the chocolate brown eyes inches away from him swirl with green. Bruce was serious. Tony had prodded and jabbed, joked and did his damnedest to get Bruce to lose his iron control. Now that he was seeing it so up close he wasn't sure he was wise in those endeavors. He swallowed once before nodding. "Ok. Ok Bruce. I promise."
Bruce let him go and fell back. "Good." He stood and offered a hand. Tony took it, letting himself be helped from the floor.
"Fury, Natasha, and Clint are here. I should probably go explain myself." He turned to go.
"They're not here for the reason you think..."
Bruce looked back over his shoulder. "They're not going to lock me up and throw away the key?" His self deprecating smile made Tony a little sad. He was always expecting the worst.
"Nope."
"Why not? They have to know about ... About the Other Guy paying a visit." He sighed. "I don't even know what he did yet, but I know I have to face the music." He reached for the door knob.
"They don't."
Bruce paused, arm out stretched, before turning back. "They don't?" His confusion was obvious.
Tony shook his head. He didn't know how to explain. "When I realized that Big Green had showed up I used this - " he held up his wrist, showing Bruce the band around it. "to call the suit. I had enough of it on the the time we landed that... Well, I'm mobile and only partly broken, aren't I? Anyway. Hitting the ground like an atom bomb knocked Hulk out briefly. By the time I was fully suited up, you were back. I got us off the street, it seems before anyone realized what was going on." Bruce stood mutely, waiting. "I got you to your room and came to mine before I passed out from ... Well. From falling off a building." He half smiled but the doc didn't return it.
"What day is it?"
That wasn't the question he was expecting and he was caught off guard.
"Tony, how long have I been out?"
"It's Wednesday. Two days. You've been out almost two days. Long enough that I was starting to worry."
Two days gone. And according to Tony he had been green and angry for minutes, not hours, and had done nothing destructive. Being knocked out had cut the green guy short. He filed the information away for later contemplation before coming back to the fact that he had lost two days. He was relieved that the others, especially Fury, weren't here to take him away.
As if the thought had summoned the man, Fury's voice rang through the door. "I don't know what you two are up to in there and frankly I don't care. We have business to discuss and I want you to get your butts out here. NOW." Bruce opened the door and stepped out, trying not to look sheepish or guilty, and not sure if he succeeded.
Tony was on his way to the closet, no doubt to get a shirt. Bruce looked down and finally realized he was wearing dark grey sweatpants and a black tshirt with a band logo on it. The shirt was one of Tony's but the pants at least we're his own. Not what he wanted to discuss business with the others in, but he didn't think Fury would let him go change.
When he entered the living room Natasha stared openly at him. Her eyes were questioning, but gentle, and he looked away quickly. He didn't want to explain. Fortunately he didn't have to.
"Director Fury. To what do I owe this intrusion?" Tony entered, dressed in a long sleeve shirt under a tshirt. It was far too hot for it outside, but inside the tower it was fine. Bruce knew the sleeves were to cover up the bruises on Tony's arms, but he didn't think the others would think twice about it.
Clint startled him by placing a hand on his shoulder and handing him a cup of tea. Bruce took it with a quiet thanks and settled in for what Fury had to say. He caught Tony's eye from across the room and tried to tell him silently "this isn't over." He hoped he wasn't imagining the subtle head lift in acknowledgement.
