Thanks to my beta, bequirk, as always.
Warnings: discussion of previous self-harm and suicide attempts, excessive use of mustard.
Bruce's phone buzzed in his pocket.
Again.
With a beleaguered sigh, he pulled it out and glanced at the screen. His stomach dropped, then twisted in pre-emptive annoyance.
He had a new e-mail. The little envelope icon on his phone shined up at him innocuously.
It was anything but.
Since he was sitting at his computer (and had been, for hours, oh the joy of theoretical science), Bruce decided to pull the message up there. His phone may have been designed by Tony Stark himself, and it might feature all the finest hardware and software available, but a 5-inch screen was still a 5-inch screen.
Bruce hated squinting. His last pair of reading glasses had gotten broken...somewhere, and he hadn't bothered replacing them yet.
When his e-mail client opened, he heaved the sigh he'd been prepared to release since his phone vibrated. The message was, of course, from Tony.
But Bruce opened it anyway, even though he had a sinking feeling he already knew what it was about.
This wasn't the first e-mail he'd received that day. He doubted it would be the last.
'Hey Bruce,' the message said. 'Thought you might find this interesting. TS.'
It was a link.
Bruce sighed again and clicked on it. He managed to make it exactly four seconds before he sighed again. This time it was accompanied with an eye-roll, because he found himself on a support message board for people who self-harmed.
It was the third such website Tony had sent him that day.
Bruce wasn't sure if Tony was mocking him, or if he legitimately thought he was being helpful.
Shaking his head, he closed out the window. He had work to do. He could think about Tony's motives later.
Or, preferably, never.
Predictably, Bruce lost track of time. Unfortunately, when he realized that his current line of research was going nowhere, he was snapped back to an unpleasant reality. His stomach had moved beyond growling, and he was momentarily concerned that it had begun to devour itself. That, combined with hours of staring at a computer screen had resulted in a headache of truly epic proportions.
Fantastic.
Popping a couple Tylenol, Bruce turned out the lights in his lab and headed to the communal kitchen. It was mostly used for snacks and drinks, though it was fully equipped, and given how hungry he was, Bruce thought he'd grab some fruit to tide him over until he got to his own rooms.
As he walked down the hall, he saw that the lights in the kitchen were on. They were activated by motion sensors. Which meant someone was up.
This wasn't so unusual, as the now-and-again residents of Stark Tower were not renowned for their normal sleep habits nor for their tendency to stay in their own rooms. Even given the late hour, it could have been any of them. But as far as Bruce knew there was only one other person residing at the Tower currently, as all the others had been sent out on varied and 'top secret' missions. Or were at home, in an alien realm.
The one other person currently residing in the Tower infamously suffered from insomnia.
"Good morning, Bruce," Tony greeted him, as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. Tony's eyes were wide and innocent. He was seated at the island in the middle of the kitchen, eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream straight from the container with what looked to be a mixing spoon and playing some game (were those Smurfs?) on his tablet. Bruce felt that "good morning" ought to be reserved for actual mornings, the kind that occurred after sleeping, and not for people slouching into the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning for a snack. Nevertheless, he returned the greeting.
Tony took an obscenely large bite of ice cream and chewed loudly. He swallowed, and then asked, "Did you get my e-mail?"
Bruce sighed, trying not to wince at Tony chewing ice cream. Didn't that hurt his teeth? Pushing that aside, he answered evenly, "I think you mean e-mails. Plural. Numerous. And yes, I got them."
"Did you read them?" Innocent blinking.
"Of course I did." And that was true. He had definitely read the e-mails.
"Did you read the links?" Tony drew the vowel out.
Bruce pursed his lips. "Not...exactly. I opened them, though." He'd made it that far.
Tony rolled his eyes. Bruce took that as a 'win.'
Not that this was a competition, of course, as much as it sometimes felt like they were trying to out-annoy each other.
Bruce moved to the fridge and started digging out the fixings for a killer sandwich. He'd changed his mind about the fruit, and watching Tony stuff himself with ice cream was frankly nauseating. He needed to eat something of substance before he threw up.
Two minutes later, Bruce was still standing illuminated in the open doors of the fridge and was trying to differentiate between 4 different kinds of mustard (who had that many different kinds?). Tony spoke again, addressing Bruce's back.
"Look, it's just, after what you said on the helicarrier...I'm just worried, and it's not like that's really all that strange, is it? I mean I'm not exactly known for being all 'sensitive' or whatever, but I'm not completely selfish, well, okay, I'm pretty selfish and I'm sure you noticed that. Who hasn't? I'm pretty sure if you polled most people on the street, they'd agree that I'm pretty goddamn selfish. And self-absorbed. And kind of oblivious to other people. But, the point is—"
This was becoming physically exhausting to listen to. Bruce interrupted, speaking into the fridge. "Are you actually going to get to the point, or just keep rambling ad infinitum?"
"Hey, I was almost to the point. No need to get so snippy, jeez. The point is, you put a bullet in your mouth, and that's not something normal, healthy people do. So don't try and tell me you're normal and healthy and you don't have a problem and don't act like I'm blowing this completely out of proportion."
Bruce was not in the mood to hash this out or to deal with Tony's run on sentences. It was almost 4:00 in the morning, and he still hadn't decided which mustard he wanted, and his head was killing him and talking to Tony was challenging on a good day.
This was not a good day.
Also, the possibility of a connection between his "stress relief" and his suicide attempt(s) was not something he was prepared to, at this particular moment, discredit. Although it certainly seemed ridiculous
He turned to face Tony, slumping against the fridge, suddenly exhausted. "Can we...not do this right now? I need to pick a mustard and go to bed."
Tony snorted, setting his ice cream spoon down. "Yeah, right, that's exactly what you need to do."
Bruce felt a flash of irritation, hot and squirming in his gut. He pulled himself upright.
"You know," he said, his words clipped, "It's awfully rich, coming from you, all this stuff about 'normal' and 'healthy,' since you flew a nuke into outer space, and never sleep, and get all your nutrients from ice cream and liquor. I don't think you're an authority on the subject."
Tony shrugged easily, apparently unaffected by Bruce's vitriol. "But everyone knows I'm like that. I think my file used the phrase 'explosively self-destructive.' Seemed a little hyperbolic to me, but whatever." He paused and looked down, speaking to the granite countertop in front of him. "No one notices you though. I don't know if you want it that way or what, but it's true. And if you do something stupid and self-destructive no one will be looking, and that's dangerous. You need people to watch out for you, Bruce." He looked up and added, "Since you're too stupid to do it yourself."
Bruce took exception to that. Of all the people for this to come from, it had to be Tony, didn't it?
"Oh, and are you going to take on that responsibility? Do you really think it's your business?" Bruce didn't pause to let Tony answer. "No, really. Enlighten me. In what universe is it your business? I'm an adult, it's my body, and it's not like it's dangerous. They're just bruises, Tony, it's not important. Can't you just...drop it?"
He tried not to notice how desperate his last words sounded and turned back to the fridge, grabbing every mustard he could see.
He was going to make a goddamn sandwich.
Tony Stark did not just "drop" things.
Still, he decided to leave this battle for another day. He still had a slew of links to send Bruce, after all, and it wasn't like Bruce was going anywhere, anyway. Tony had time, resources, and a limitless supply of that trademarked Tony Stark charm. It would be okay.
Tony watched as Bruce hastily slathered his bread with four kinds of mustard and sloppily added meat, cheese, and vegetables. He took his (disturbing) creation and, with a parting glare at Tony, stalked from the room.
Impulsively, Tony yelled after him, "You know, Bruce, there are better ways to release endorphins!"
Without turning, Bruce made a rude gesture and slipped from view.
Yeah, Tony thought. He needs someone watching out for him.