Bruce walked into his and Tony's lab, yawning. For some reason, his alarm clock hadn't gone off. He had woken, half an hour late, in a panic. It was pretty obvious he had hurriedly thrown some clothes on, as the buttons of his purple shirt were mismatched, and his hair was ruffled from restless sleep.
"Hello, Sleepy-Head!" Tony called, not looking up from some adjustments he was making to what looked like a new arm for one of his suits. "Oversleep, did we?" He chuckled, subtly moving what looked a lot like Bruce's alarm clock into a drawer in his desk and closing it slowly, before looking up at him. "I realise you have a lot to do today, so I reorganised your desk for you. He grinned, then turned back to his work, but not before relishing the sight of Bruce closing his eyes, counting to ten and breathing deeply when he thought Tony wasn't looking.
Bruce walked calmly over to his desk and sighed.
"Reorganised?" He muttered to himself irritably. "More like disorganised!" He stared at his desk, bewildered. Usually, it had neat piles of paperwork, organised pot holders of pens, pencils and other stationary, tidily stacked Manila folders of past team missions and aligned keyboard and mouse, desktop screen tilted and raised to exactly the right position for him.
Now, it was utter chaos.
Paperwork was strewn across the desk and scattered across the floor, all mixed up and some pages ripped and crumpled. The Manila folders had all been opened, their documents swapped about and reordered. The separate pots of pens, pencils and the like had been spilt and tipped over, the caps of some of the more leaky pens removed, so ink soaked though to the paperwork and folders. His keyboard had been overturned, his mouse moved to the right hand side of the keyboard, instead of the left.
Bruce groaned, taking a seat on his desk chair and trying to calm down. Tony knew how OCD he was about his things. The rest of the lab, sure, it irritated him, but he could ignore it, so long as his own workspace was pristine.
"Tony, why did you do this?" he asked, as calmly as he could.
"Sorry Green Guy, what d'ya say? Daddy's very busy right now, maybe call back later? Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep!" Tony replied, imitating an answer-machine. Bruce sighed and stood up.
"I said, why did you do this?" He was halfway to Tony's desk when his voice broke, slipping into the Hulk's baritone growl. Bruce paled as he glanced at his reflection in a glass cabinet. His eyes were green. His breathing quickened as he made a mad dash for the cage down the corridor.
He burst into the large room and agents scrambled; some urgently making calls to Director Fury, some frantically pressing buttons in the door to the cage to unlock it before Bruce practically ran into it, others, more new to the job, running from the room.
Bruce fell into the cage, feeling the transformation coming on before he even hit the ground. Suddenly, he realised he wasn't alone.
"Tony, what the hell?! Get out of here, are you mad?" He screeched, before panting for breath as his chest doubled in size, tearing his cheap shirt off his back. Tony grinned and reached out to him, with his new mechanical arm device. Bruce frowned in confusion, before dropping the matter to concentrate instead on breathing deeply, trying to calm himself so he wouldn't change. Although he was angry at Stark, he didn't want to hurt him.
"That's it, come to Papa!" Tony murmured to himself, as the arm started to light up as it made contact with Bruce's arm.
"Tony what the-" Bruce started, before feeling extremely light-headed and blacking out.
