Bruce felt his ears pop as the plane descended from the stratosphere. The windows trembled as the air pressure compressed the plane, and Bruce felt his stomach churning. A book was laying on the open table, the pages open to where he previously stopped, pages facing the tabletop and the spine was facing upwards. He set his reading glasses down, rubbing his eyes, slightly nauseated.
Bruce stared out the window and watched the city skyline as the plane body got lower and lower, until eventually the back wheels landed first and the plane thumped slightly, then started the taxi along the runway.
The plane slid along the back of a small airport, before finally stopping in the middle of an open field. Bruce gathered his belongings, sliding them all in his messanger bag, and the door sucked open.
A sense of dizziness overwhelmed him as he stood up, and he gripped the luggage racks above him with his right hand to steady himself. The flight was just a little under sixteen hours long, and thank god the school issued a private jet that flew directly to, because there was no way he was going to endure the torture of transferring flights.
A black car was parked beside the plane, and the door to the driver's side opened as Bruce made his way down the stairs.
A figure stepped out of the car, clicked a button on his earpiece, and put on a warm smile. "Welcome, Dr Banner."
"Hi." Bruce made his way toward the car as the man opened the passenger seat's door for him. "Is this-we're going to SHIELD?"
"Yes." The smile reached the man's eyes, showing small crinkles. "I'm Phil Coulson. Directory Fury is waiting for you. We will be going to your living quarters first. Director Fury has arranged for you to rest, adjust to jet lag for a few days. Re-accommodate yourself to the country. You have been out of the country for a while now, Dr Banner, if I remember correctly?"
"Six years." Bruce gazed out his right, out the window. He was not used to the difference in height, and he took note of how different the airport looked from the plane and from the Mercedes.
"Wow." Phil squinted through the late-afternoon sunlight. "That must've given you enough time to get your research going."
Bruce nodded, only to realize that there was no way Phil would be able to see that, given how both of his eyes were glued to the road ahead of them. Bruce coughed, and muttered a low "uh huh…"
"So. Director Fury told you anything about your project yet?" Phil asked absently, his hands on the steering wheel.
"No. Not much. Uh...vacuums?"
"Anything about your partner?"
"My partner?" There was a sinking feeling in Bruce's stomach. There was a reason he spent six years, alone, with almost no disturbances, in a small town in rural India.
"Ever heard the name Tony Stark?" Phil's eyebrows were slightly raised, his lips tucked into a tight smirk.
"No…?"
"Well." Phil coughed, biting his lower lip, unable to contain an ominous smirk. "You will meet him soon enough."
Bruce felt an uneasy sense of dread and nervousness in his chest, and he sat up a bit straighter and stared out the window for the remainder of the ride.
His 'living accommodations' turns out to be a spacious apartment five miles west of the university campus. It wasn't particularly large, but it was lots of space for New York. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't in the city, but by the south tip of Westchester, just under thirty miles north of Manhattan.
He'd dumped his small case of luggage by the door and took half an hour to get himself cleaned up before collapsing onto the bed. It was three in the morning back in India, and he'd only gotten about an hour of shoddy sleep on the plane.
The bed was too soft, but he had to deal with it for the night. His bare feet couldn't get used to the carpet on the floor of his bedroom, but he told himself he would figure out away the next day.
He was in bed by six o'clock at night, but didn't manage to fall asleep until after the lights dimmed in all the other buildings around him. It was just the light, he told himself, and the mattress and the carpet and the running hot water and the lack of humidity in the air. You'll be fine, he thought to himself.
You'll be fine.
The next day was well spent.
There was Internet in the apartment, custody of S.H.I.E.L.D., and the connection was a hundred and one percent better than the one back in India, provided by the rusty satellite dish Bruce had set up himself. He needed space for his lab back in India, and given the population density in urban Indian cities, he had to travel hundreds of miles west of Calcutta before he found enough land for his equipment.
He'd checked his email, and found one from Natasha Romanoff, with a domain that started with a question of how he was adapting into the country and proceeded into listing out the schedules. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not messing around, he realized as he saw that his first meeting at the school would be the next day.
He needed a nice suit. All he had as a change of clothing was his purple shirt, a shaggy blazer with a hole in the pocket and the same worn-out belt. He'd visited the mall, spent hours just gaping and the variety of things and then reminding himself to close his mouth while staring. He was stressed out by the choices, prices and the over-eagerness of the salesmen at each store. He ended up purchasing two more shirts and an oversized blazer before hastily leaving the mall.
And then he bought a microwave, a living essential he could not believe S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't already placed it in his kitchen for him. He had a freaking spatula but no microwave. He shopped for frozen food, trying to remember the brands he favored when he was younger. He remembered the mattress when he stood in line at the check-out, but it was late afternoon and he could not be bothered to go through shops and shops and displays and displays of mattresses to just pick out one that he could fall asleep in.
A wave of exhaust washed through him as he stood in front of his apartment door, rummaging for his keys. He moved the stuffed plastic bags in, suddenly longing for science. He felt bad for leaving his old experiment just like that, but it wasn't like it was going anywhere. He hadn't anticipated much. But here-with the vacuums, it was a whole new aspect of science. He had never had the chance to even visit a vacuum, much less conduct a whole series of studies in one.
He was nervous about teaching. He has never taught before. Natasha had informed him that it was just like making a speech, but he hated making speeches, he hated speaking about his passion in front of an auditorium full of strangers in grim suits with half of them actually listening and half of them only present for a university course. He didn't like all the attention on him. He hoped instructing was easier than making a speech.
He felt the thin blanket over him and the soft springs beneath him as he tried to fall asleep. Something was unsettling, and he relocated to his carpeted floor just before the green flashing numbers on his alarm clock turned to midnight.
Sleep welcomed him.