Bruce didn't want to find out if there was a security camera in his room, so he didn't ask to try to find out when Loki had been there. He didn't want to think about how his room wasn't safe, how expertly he'd been manipulated to the point that, if Loki hadn't told him, he'd have never have known. So he didn't.
He got back and avoided answering any questions from Tony, hoping to throw himself into his work. This would be a lot easier, except that Tony had been more certain to be in the lab about whenever he was since Loki had intruded at SHIELD. So this wasn't like when he used to bury himself in work, when it meant he was alone so no one could notice how he was doing.
It only took an hour for Tony to figure out that his limits were considerably more within the playboy's reach and were probably better not to push quite so much. Not that he stopped with the teasing completely, neither of them wanted that, but it was just the playful ribbing they'd fell into instead of his attempts to figure out just how much Bruce could take. He never asked, though, Tony never really asked.
A few days later, Bruce had fallen into a sleeping and eating schedule that Tony was famous for, one that left him dizzy and weak from hunger and sleep deprivation as he didn't have coffee or alcohol or whatever it was Tony lived off of to fall back on. It was a schedule that he had sometimes managed during post-grad work, before the accident, when he was still young enough to.
"So, what's been going on?" Tony asked after the schedule started really wearing on Bruce.
"What makes you think anything's going on?" he was too tired to manage nonchalance, it just sounded pathetic and he knew it.
Tony held up the screen in his hands, "You filled in all the numbers on the chart with "42"."
Bruce glanced over with a strained smile, "It's the answer to everything."
"Uh huh," Tony raised an eyebrow, "Did you actually read that book?"
"I know. Sorry," he muttered, pulling the graph up on the computer and undoing what he'd just done.
Tony shook his head, "I'll go make you some coffee,."
"No!" Bruce knocked over the chair he was in, standing up so quickly.
Tony turned around and raised his eyebrows, "All the attempts to electrecute you and coffee is what gets under your skin?"
"I can't have caffeine. It increases your heart rate," he explained blankly, biting his lip.
"So you have enough control to withstand me but not a cup of Joe?" Tony shook his head, "You can't keep working like this."
"I just haven't been sleeping that well, I'm fine," Bruce said uprighting the chair and situating himself in it.
Tony walked over to the chair and rolled it away from the computer, "You're really not, and I'm not going to have you working on a computer that can control dangerous machinery like this."
"I won't hurt anything, Tony, I promise."
"You'll hurt yourself if you keep going like this."
"It doesn't even matter- as long as I can Hulk out, that's all any of you need." That came out too angry, when it shouldn't have come out at all.
Okay, he really needed to sleep, he shouldn't have said that, he shouldn't have snapped at Tony. He covered his face with his hands. The chair had finally stopped rolling, but with the way the back of the chair was angled he could tell that Tony's hands were still on it.
"I'm sorry, Tony, I didn't mean to say that... I shouldn't have said that."
Tony spun the chair around to face him before taking a few steps back, his arms crossed while he waited for Bruce to look up at him.
"You really think that, don't you?" Tony was looking at Bruce with the same face he used when a machine wasn't working correctly and he couldn't figure out why.
"Look, I really didn't mean to say it. Can we just forget it?" he was too tired to deal with his issues right now. Not that he thought Tony Stark of all people would be able to.
Tony nodded, "Yeah, I'll drop it, that's fair. But just for now, that's not something I can just forget, Bruce." Bruce groaned at that, burying his face in his hands again. Tony frowned, "So is that what's been getting to you?"
"I wish." Again Bruce was reminded that he needed to get some sleep, as apparently sleep deprivation broke down whatever filter stopped him from saying ridiculous things. He stood up before Tony could say anything. "I'm going to try to get some sleep, okay?"
"Yeah," Tony said, not trying to stop Bruce but looking like he wanted to say something else, "If you're sure. Okay."
Bruce started back to his room internally cursing himself for being in such a state. It had been a long time since he'd been in this state, not since he'd joined the Avengers. He lay in his bed, trying to meditate as he couldn't sleep, while one thought refused to leave his mind no matter how many mantras he muttered.
Had Loki known this would happen? Had this been his plan?
It turned out that Bruce had gotten rather lucky by getting a decent amount of sleep the night before. The next day the Avengers had to Assemble against some alien invasion or another. These happened far too often, Bruce thought, considering that he'd never heard of them happening before he joined SHIELD.
For all he snapped at Tony, being in such a bad state made the transformations so unbearable that he genuinely thought that he might not survive them. He still wasn't doing that great, one night of sleep and a passable meal won't repair a week of neglect, but he was functional enough to be of use. Well, to convince everyone, particularly Tony, that he was doing well enough to help them. Of course, he ended up spending a good hour longer in the med bay afterwards to recuperate than he usually needed, but that wasn't unexpected.
Steve checked in on him while in the med bay, which at first was unexpected but on reflection wasn't. Steve had been in the military and was probably used to checking up on his men when they were wounded in battle.
It wasn't much of a visit, Steve first assessing his condition and then scolding him for taking the risk of going out when he wasn't in good enough condition. It reminded him of something his mother would do when he'd gotten hurt in some experiment that a 5 year old had no business performing. He tried not to think about it too much, but it was a bit nice.
"I mean it," Steve said, dropping the commanding soldier voice, probably noting that Bruce looked a bit disturbed at being talked to that way, "If you aren't feeling up to it- don't go out into battle. You'll do more harm than good."
"Y-yeah, sorry," he mumbled, not really sure what else to say. Steve excused himself then, leaving Bruce alone with his headache. It was another 20 minutes after Steve left before they released Bruce. He was getting used to it, but the medical personelle gave him a wider berth and warier looks than he liked, and the guard wearing SWAT gear and armed with tranquilizer darts in his gun always sitting in the corner, watching him, well that was more than a little bit off putting. They could use a seminar on bedside manner, this did nothing to help him stay calm.
Still, he thanked them when he left, going to put on spare clothes from the locker that they let him keep so he didn't have to wander around the building in scrubs, before heading back to his room for some decent quality rest. He'd been avoiding tea since his run-in with Loki, but could go for a cup right now.
He walked into his room, closing and locking the door behind him, making a beeline for the electric kettle in his room, stopping halfway there. There is a cup on his desk, which in itself isn't unusual. He had a bad habit of leaving half finished cups of tea around, especially when called on a mission or meeting. This cup, however, was one that he was fairly sure he didn't own and appeared to have a business card leaning against it. Closer inspection showed that steam was wafting from it. It was still hot.
He picked up the small card, already fairly certain what it was, but hoping that somehow Tony had decided to break into his room and make him tea. Or maybe Clint, Clint seemed impulsive enough to do something like that. The flourishy green handwriting on the card, however, proved otherwise. It reminded him of the cursive on centuries old documents, nothing like he'd imagine Tony or Clint writing with.
'You looked like you needed this.'
Bruce looked between the note and the cup for a few moments, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.