Title: Liability Insurance

Author: ELLE

Pairings/Warnings: Tony/Bruce, light angst, explicit language, implied/referenced torture, post Civil War

Notes: Written for Miss Murdered's and I's "Twelve Days of Christmas" prompt challenge. The prompt was "frostbite."

Tony remembered the look in Hulk's eyes as he tore through the containment cell he had been stashed in and presumably forgotten about somewhere in the goddamn arctic circle, gathering his bruised and frozen body into his incredible arms and carrying him out through the wreckage of the underground base he had destroyed just to get to him – and it wasn't anger. It was fear.

Vision had been there too – as he would learn later – but Bruce was such an overbearing presence in his pain addled brain that he could focus on nothing else. He came, his mind screamed at him in the darkness of its desperation, barely cognizant of anything else, pleased and horrified all at the same time. He came!

Even when they were back in the helicarrier it was hard for Tony to concentrate on anything other than the sterile language of medical staff going on about frostbite and hypothermia and other pleasantries Tony tried not to think about while he was slowly thawing en route to Coulson's new SHIELD HQ. He didn't talk to Bruce when they were on the carrier at all. He didn't talk to anyone, actually, he just focused on staying awake, but Bruce didn't come up to him either. The only thing Tony remembered was a glance of him sitting to the side with a blanket over his shoulders, looking away – looking dejected.

It wasn't until several hours later, after a medically induced nap and some food that he could think more clearly and remember just why it was he felt such shock and relief at seeing Bruce there. And then he needed to see him and he needed to see him immediately.

Tony's feet and fingers and even his face still burned as he pulled off the sheets and his feet hit the floor. His head was woozy and he knew he wasn't firing on all cylinders as he fought with staff over getting up. Tests, he needed more tests – but there would always be a thousand complaints. They always tried to use his heart against him, as if that had ever stopped him from doing something dumb. Besides, his heart was his main concern and if he didn't get to Bruce soon then he was sure it would break.

Rigged to some damn pole he pushed fluids and an antiquated monitoring system through the underground facility in thermals and a shitty pair of slippers until he found Bruce's room. They didn't understand why they couldn't just call Bruce to Tony's medical room instead, why Tony had to go – but he knew Bruce would never come. Not because he didn't want to, it wasn't like that, it was just...

"It's been almost six months."

The words sounded hollow from Tony's lips as he stared into the room, watching as Bruce buckled the belt on his street clothes, a sure sign that Tony had nearly missed him.

"You should be in medical!" Bruce snapped, caught off guard as he turned to see Tony looking like a specter, he supposed – pale and wane with the beginnings of a full but uneven beard, catheter in his arm attached to a pole drip. Not the most handsome he'd ever looked but Tony hoped he was enough.

"So should you!"

Tony's reply was strained, hurt, and he was unable to hide it because fuck – really? So many people had left him – Pep, Cap, Nat, fucking Bruce himself – and finally, finally Bruce came back and now he was going to run out again? The face Bruce made was bad, though – so bad that Tony knew Bruce felt nearly as tortured as he did.

"One hundred and sixty-two days," Bruce mumbled out, looking away, fists clenching like he just wanted to punch something but there was nothing in the sparse quarters but a bed and a bookshelf and a wall. "One hundred and sixty-two days and it was you and I couldn't..."

He dug his hands into his hair, twisting it in frustration, and Tony stood there feeling weak, having no idea how to help, watching the man he loved unravel in a very vulnerable way, in a way he had never really seen before.

"I told you if I came back it couldn't be like this!" he shouted, but not at Tony, yet still Tony's arms were trembling and he remembered how Bruce had looked at him, so calmly –

"I think it's safer with you, in your... facility. Where I can't hurt anyone. But I want to make it clear – I am not an Avenger. Not any more."

And what had Tony said?

"I'm not one either. The Avengers are dead. Stay as long as you want."

It was true but the problem was – he was still Tony Stark. And Tony Stark was still a target. Iron Man wasn't captured this time – Tony Stark was, though. And Bruce? Bruce must've responded.

"I don't – I feel like – I can't – control," he struggled, hunched over like his head was in unbelievable pain – and it probably was – grinding out the words between harsh intakes of breath, trying to maintain control but all Tony could do was gasp out a desperate –

"Bruce!"

Tony wasn't going to collapse, he wouldn't do that in front of Bruce, but he wasn't going to be able to stand there much longer either. But Bruce turned, eyes full of that same fear as the Hulk had when he'd come to rescue him and he was at his side in an instant, helping him over to the bed, forcing him to sit down.

"You should be in medical," he repeated, an angry mutter, and for a minute he wavered, almost like he was going to go get someone but... instead he just sat down next to him, very close on that twin bed, wrapped his arm around his shoulder and pulled him in even closer, burying his nose in his hair.

For the first time since he'd been rescued Tony felt real solace and he melted against Bruce, hoping that just this, this reminder of what they were, would be enough.

"I can't control how I feel about you," Bruce whispered, clearly scared, but Tony's stupid unreliable heart skipped a couple beats anyway.

"Six months was pretty good."

Bruce grunted, shaking his head just slightly. "Liability," he mumbled but Tony scoffed.

"I have a pretty hefty catastrophic liability insurance policy."

For a second it was painfully silent but then Bruce started to laugh and although he was exhausted Tony couldn't help but grin at the sound of it, the feeling of Bruce's chest reverberating against his cheek. He knew no one else could make Bruce laugh like that. Bruce had to stay.

"Please don't leave me," Tony begged, so soft he hoped Bruce heard it but it was hard – so fucking hard – to say it out loud. "Not now. Not until we're back in New York."

Bruce didn't say anything, not for a long time. Tony wasn't sure if he was thinking about it or if he'd already made up his mind and couldn't bring himself to say it to a what basically amounted to a frostbitten corpse. But he folded himself in against Bruce's chest anyway, the warmth of Bruce feeling good on his cheek and he didn't know what he'd do if he left again. He really didn't know.

"Okay," Bruce said quietly, wrapping his arms tighter around him. "I'll stay. At least until we're back in New York. But you're going back to medical."

Tony closed his eyes and grinned, too tired to argue but hoping as he listened to Bruce's heart beat, that he might be able to convince Bruce to stay here a few more minutes too.