Chapter 4 – The Ring Goes South
THEN
"Restrain him!" Ross shouted.
A dart hit him and he felt the burn of the medication enter his system. "Smash puny men!" he roared in challenge even as his limbs slowed and he felt the need to sleep, to close his eyes.
"Good god, what does it take to bring this hulking beast down?"
Needles, sharp and thick, boring into his skin, sinking down into his muscles. Pain, hurt, stop, make it stop. Bright lights, blinding, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes, lids held open with metal prongs. Hurts, hurts, make it stop. Reflection off of the knife, sharp, slicing. Make it stop. Electricity coursing through his body, fire in his veins, explosions in his head. MAKE IT STOP. Straining up, ripping apart the leather, the metal, tearing rope, slamming against flesh and bone. STOP IT. Flames, rubble, guns, angry voices, more pain. SMASH.
"Bruce? It's okay. You're safe. I've got you." Her voice, quiet and low, a soft hand on his face, stroking.
Opening his eyes, Bruce tried to focus on the familiar sound. Betty leaned over him, her face streaked with black ash, a dark bruise above her left eye, butterfly bandage holding a long cut closed.
"Betty." His throat was dry. Everything hurt, but the pain was receding; he realized he was naked and hunched down, covering his crotch with his hand. "Where am I?"
"Somewhere safe." A blanket covered him and Betty helped him tuck it in tight. "You brought us here. Do you remember?"
Flashes then – General Ross's angry face, tanks, unknown doctors, Betty crying, the agony.
"Not really. I was in Bangladesh, and they found me. I tried to run, but ... you were there at the facility?" He didn't want to believe Betty was part of it, the military response team, the experiments. She hated her father's methods.
"You were uncontrollable. Dad called, told me he was going to cure you; I didn't believe him, of course, but I thought if I got close enough I could get you out of there." Her steady stroking was soothing and that was exactly the type of crazy plan Betty would have, Bruce thought, relieved. "Turns out, you had to save me. They used me to get you mad." Her eyes darkened, a storm brewing there that boded ill for her father. "It was horrible, what they did."
"Betty, you need to get away from me." Bruce could feel the anger stirring, growing hotter as more images flooded his brain. "He'll hurt you … the other … I can't control him."
"You won't hurt me, Bruce. I know that." She disagreed; she was always like that, make up her mind and damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. "I was right there in the room with you and I'm fine."
"God, Betty, listen to me. He's not me and he might not mean to, but look at you. You're cut and bruised; he did that."
"An accident, that's all. You trust me." Betty argued. "It's the gamma rays, Bruce. They've affected your DNA, heightening your strength. If we work at it, you can learn to control yourself."
"He is NOT me. He's a monster. Get away from me." Bruce scuttled back even as the change took him; like ripping his skin into two halves, deep and intense, he fought to stay conscious, to not be shoved aside again. "Save yourself."
The rage consumed Bruce and the Other Guy lashed out, feeling the satisfaction of destruction as concrete crumbled under his fist. "Not little guy. Not a monster. I am Hulk."
NOW
Bruce put the box down on the table, the last screw tightened back into place. Finally, he understood how it worked and the purpose of the electromagnetic field it emitted. He was ready for the next step; he just didn't want to take it. The last few days had been almost idyllic, even if he was technically on the run; no disruptions, no mutants or H.Y.D.R.A. or military men, just the beach and science and Clint. Was it all that wrong to want to enjoy this feeling?
Sure, he'd spent most of his time working on the device that was triggering the transformation. A list of equipment sent via a chat board on Sunday morning netted a quick response; a knock on the door a few hours later and a young Latino man – the Jace who could teleport – brought not only the requested items, but some gifts and miscellaneous things from the others. Tony had sent a new jammer, a 12-hour-modified version in response to the schematics of the trigger device that Clint had sent Phil who passed them through Natasha to Steve and finally to Tony. He'd also included a bottle of scotch and box of cupcakes, chocolate coconut and peanut butter cup, with condoms on them. There were data files already loaded on another tablet from Carol and Hank, plus surveillance reports on Ross from Natasha, background on the two mutants that had attacked them and detailed H.Y.D.R.A. movements from Phil. With all the different devices, randomizing their internet access and expanding the number of chat boards and email accounts made the information flow back and forth easily. In a way, Bruce felt he had accomplished more than when he was in the Tower.
The balance was different here; instead of alone in a lab, he was at the dining room table or sitting with his feet buried deep in the sand or relaxing on a lounge chair by the pool. Clint simply picked up Bruce's tablet, tossed him the sunscreen and dragged him out of the house; it was just as easy to read the latest research papers on the beach as it was inside. Meanwhile, Clint swam and soaked up the rays, finished the Vince Flynn and started on the Martin, watched movies on another tablet or snoozed on the float. They fell into a companionable schedule – Clint was up early, running the length of the beach and back up the main street, returning to find Bruce already at work. When experiments were running or he was waiting on responses, Bruce wandered over to the shore and read, relaxing in the rental chairs under a big umbrella. Sometimes Bruce joined Clint in the water to satisfy the Other Guy who loved the waves and was frustrated at not being able to come out. Lunch, more work, and then research by the pool for most of the afternoon. A nice dinner – they fired up the grill every night – and more work while Clint watched movies or read or popped some popcorn to distract Bruce with the smell of garlic salt until he joined Clint on the couch. At some point, Clint cajoled him up to bed, usually when he was already asleep on his feet. Added to that were the random seductions; stealthy as hell, Clint would completely sidetrack Bruce with touches and smiles and that damn sexy body of his for a quick blowjob on the couch, a slow and easy hand job in the shower, sleepy morning sex in bed, or sand covered friction in the outdoor shower. He'd work Bruce up on the beach with words and glances, and then they'd race each other back to the house to make love in the entry way, getting water on the floor and sunscreen smears on the wall.
Despite all of that – or maybe because of it - Bruce had pretty much broken the logjam and was standing on the cusp of solving the whole mystery. The key had been accepting that the Other Guy was already present before the original accident; every theory had assumed the Hulk was caused by the exposure to gamma radiation. Now, working out from the concept that the radiation augmented an existing trait, so many variables fell into place. He'd never made room for the emotional component beyond anger; shortsighted from the very beginning, blinded by his own desire to separate himself from the Hulk, Bruce should have seen it, the way the Hulk protected Betty, cared about children and animals, recognized Natasha, saved Tony, fell hard for Clint … the answer had been there the whole time.
Now he was certain that gamma radiation, in large doses, could target mutations, working on a molecular level to take existing above normal behaviors and jump the evolution forward by generations. Same with the Tesseract energy - Selvig's intelligence, Clint's intuition, Phil's constitution were all enhanced albeit only in the short term with serious side effects. Once the initial exposure ended, the subject continued on a normal trajectory of development based upon the changed abilities. The years between the Hulk's emergence and now showed slow but steady progress in the area of control and integration, the biggest strides happening after Bruce joined the Avengers Initiative.
That's how it should have stayed except for two unexpected variables: the nannites and the cosmic radiation of the Chaoue's spheres. The replicators, as Clint like to call the nanotech they were both infected with, were designed to scan; they floated inert in the bloodstream until they received a signal to download their stored data. Clint's allergic reaction was not caused by the nannites themselves but by a separate serum that stripped them of their protective shell; his body immediately tried to reject the now foreign bodies, producing histamine to fight them off. When Bruce was 'separated' by the spheres, the nannites' code was rewritten to aid in the cloning process by the alien technology, creating new DNA based upon Bruce's pre-Hulk profile. Additional exposure to that radiation caused the degradation of the created DNA and, much like the original accident instigated the process that was now occurring in both his and Clint's bodies. In his last communication with Carol, he'd asked her to check in on Erik and Phil as well, to see if something similar was happening there. Not that he was bothered by either man harboring latent mutant powers – honestly the types of people who ended up working for SHIELD or in high levels of research probably had a touch of something outside the norm - but he wanted to rule out the possibility that humans without the nannites were affected. And he'd sent Tony and Steve a warning; both of them had been inside that last sphere and both had nannites in their blood.
"You're thinking hard." Clint's hands settled on his shoulders, working on the knots Bruce hadn't even realized had formed there. "I know that look; you're close."
"Yes. I've got a handle on the why; still have to work out the where it's going part, but I'm positive whatever changes are coming, they'll be natural outgrowths of what we already are." Bruce relaxed back into the chair, his head bumping Clint's chest.
"So, no wings," Clint smelled of the coconut lotion he liked to use and salt from the sea; Bruce was coming to really like that scent. Wonder if Tony could get a cologne made like that? "Damn, I had ideas about shirts to highlight them. Hawk feathers, none of that white fluffy angel shit."
"Sorry." Bruce picked up the device and rotated it in his hand. "I'm sort of at a crossroads here. Much as I hate to say it, I think we need to find an expert in the field of electromagnetics and radiation."
"Been expecting that." Clint ran a hand over Bruce's head where his hair was beginning to grow out again already, the close shave now more of a crew cut. "When this is over, let's come back here. I know we could do Tony's island again, but I sort of like the small town feel of this place. We can let the Big Guy out more." He snatched the box from Bruce's hand. "So, you have someone in mind?"
"You're not going to like it."
"Betty Ross-Talbot." Clint beat him to the punch. "Hey, I can read scientific papers too, Doc. She's the top in the field on gamma radiation, EM, and the future of cancer treatments. You know how dangerous it would be to get anywhere near her. Besides the General, H.Y.D.R.A. will have their eyes on her too. She could lead them right to us."
"I know. I've got some ideas about how to avoid them," Bruce looked up into Clint's eyes, willing him to understand. "Betty will trust me."
"Okay." Clint agreed, too easily Bruce thought. He'd obviously been thinking about this and planning for it. "But we do it my way. No negotiation."
"Done." Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, trying not to think about seeing Betty after all this time. He'd worried about her, a low level hum always in his head, guilt gnawing his gut about her ruined life and career, all because of his own arrogance and, now he knew, a stupid mistake. Even after she'd married and gotten a prestigious research chair, had her first breakthrough, given the keynote speech at the last year's conference, the tabloids still called her the 'Hulk's girlfriend.' Honestly, he wasn't sure she'd agree to talk to him; maybe she'd moved on, had left it all behind. But he needed her input.
She looked good, older, more confident if that was possible, a little grey sprinkled in the black hair near her temples, a few more laugh lines around the edges of her mouth. Thin was a word he'd never used to describe her; she had always had curves, the body of a 40s model, and she might be a little fuller now, but she was still voluptuous and beautiful. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose; they looked good on her, another reminder of her intelligence. With a smart green suit, black heels, and black shirt, Dr. Betty Ross-Talbot may have been six inches shorter than the man in the room with her, but she was clearly the one in charge of the conversation.
"Honestly, I'm flattered by your interest. You're work on magnetism is groundbreaking," she was saying in the small conference room; the rest of the panel had already left, leaving her alone with the man she thought was a renowned scientist but was really Phil Coulson.
"Actually, Doctor, I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you."
"What are you talking about?" She asked, standing, looking wary. "I'll have you know, I practice krav magna and can take care of myself."
Bruce hesitated, watching the indignation cross Betty's face, the stubborn set of her face, through the crack in the doorway; he knew this was his cue, but now that the moment was at hand, he wasn't sure. Such a complex scheme, a real pharmaceutical company whose CEO was interested in Betty's work, Stark Industries influence, a long planned conference, and now Betty was just in the next room. Excitement mixed with anxiety as he stepped past the threshold.
"I know better than to corner you." He stopped just inside. "You've got a mean right hook; remember that guy in the bar in Houston? Went down like a rock."
Her blue eyes widened, initial shock chased away by happiness; in three steps, she was in his arms, hugging him tightly, her cheek pressed to his chest and it felt like years rolled away .
"Bruce! Oh my God!" She pushed him back and surveyed him from head to toe. "You look amazing. I've been following you, of course, since the Avengers started. The Hulk playing well with others; I knew it! But you didn't go to all these lengths just to say hello, I imagine. This is about Dad, isn't it?" She sighed, but she kept her hands intertwined with Bruce's. "He thinks I don't know about the board of inquiry and the forced retirement, but Glenn still has friends in the chain of command. Dad's being pushed out, his squad already dissolved; with the new, more friendly Hulk, public opinion has turned against viewing you as a threat to seeing you as an asset."
"He's gone rogue, Betty and I need your help for a few days." Bruce extricated his hand from her grasp and pulled the trigger out of his pocket. "We took this off a H.Y.D.R.A. agent in Charleston. He's working with them."
"The terrorist attack where no one seems to remember the details?" Turning the device over, she ran her fingers along the seam. "Sounded like a cover story. EM magnifier, small scale, some sort of signal? Oh, Bruce, what has he done to you?"
"If you can spare a couple days, I'll show you all the data. We've got the cover story of this conference. No one will know you're missing," Bruce said.
"Of course. Whatever I can. You know that." Damn, he'd forgotten how sincere she was, the same Betty who wanted to save him from the very beginning, offering herself up without a second. "Glenn is in Arizona until late next week anyway, so I'm all yours." Her eyes were drawn over his shoulder. "Ah, 'we.' I wondered who else that included." Bruce glanced back, realizing Clint had entered the room and was standing behind him; Betty brushed past him and headed right for Clint. As she wrapped her arms around him, Clint stiffened, uncomfortable for a few seconds then he awkwardly patted the petite woman on the back, looking to Bruce for help. Bruce stifled a laugh at Clint's predicament.
"Um, yeah, hello," Clint mumbled; Betty only squeezed harder before she stepped back.
"I think I love you and I've never met you," Betty said. "Anyone who can bring Bruce out of his shell has to be pretty amazing. Betty Talbot." She held out her hand. "Old friend who is no threat."
"Clint Barton." He shook it. "Current friend who isn't threatened."
"Yes, we are going to get along perfectly," Betty concluded, much to Bruce's amusement.
He wondered exactly what he'd gotten himself into within two hours. Getting back to the beach house was easy thanks to Clint's planning; quickly, Betty's suitcase was installed in the downstairs guest room and she was in the living room, reading through Bruce's notes, deep into the information.
"Good god, Bruce, this reads like a science fiction novel. Wormholes, spheres, cosmic radiation … right out of Vonnegut." Betty looked up at him. "What a confluence of events."
"Been a wild ride, that's for sure." Bruce had been looking at the most recent data from Hank; extracting nannites from Tony, they had the tiny robotic particles' programming mostly mapped out. "But that's my life now. Ironic, isn't it? You were always the risk taker."
"And I'm the old married woman with the safe research job." She laughed.
"You're fast on your way to major breakthroughs in cancer treatments, though. I know how much you wanted that." Bruce remembered Betty's drive to keep others from suffering the same kind of loss she felt when her mother died so young.
"And you've saved the world multiple times already. So many people, Bruce; you've helped so many." She laid her hand on his, warm small palm comforting.
"Go ahead, say it, I know you want to." In some ways, it's like they'd never been separated … and yet they were both so different now. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her friendship.
"No one likes a sore winner," she said, picking up the tablet again. "But I do love to be right."
A companionable silence fell for what could have been minutes, but was hours; time ran differently in the throes of science. The Other Guy was thrilled Betty was back; he stayed quiet as they ploughed into the problem at hand. It helped that Bruce could hear Clint listening to Jack Burton fight Lo Pan just down the hall in the family room; the Hulk had both his favorite people close. Betty attacked the problem from a completely different angle, working backwards from the trigger and utilizing her own research on the reaction of mutated cells to electromagnetic charges; Bruce kept doggedly rereading the data, hoping this time he'd see something he'd missed. Yet, even with his concentration fully focused, Bruce felt the tug and looked up to see Clint leaning against the doorframe in his swim trunks and a tank top, shades perched on his head.
"Going out to the pool for a bit," he announced. "Then I'll run down when the boats come in and get some seafood to grill, if that's okay with you guys."
"You cook?" Betty asked, eyeing Clint. Bruce didn't blame her; Clint was getting tan, his hair even blonder from the sun. The tank bared his arms, and the tattoos were just starting to fade. Yeah, Bruce could completely understand Betty's reaction.
"Do you want to? That's fine with me," Clint offered.
"Oh, hell no. I burn water." Betty looked at Bruce. "Tried to make mac & cheese one time and ended up discovering something stronger than crazy glue."
"At least we knew the fire alarm worked," Bruce replied, grinning. "So keep her away from the food."
"Gotcha. Betty doesn't play well in the kitchen." Clint headed back down the hallway; Bruce enjoyed the view before he turned back to his work.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, you could kiss him if you want. I might be married, but I can appreciate that really fine body; don't let me stop you," Betty said, eyes twinkling, obviously having fun needling Bruce. "So, tell me how you found your army man turned superhero. I bet you met cute."
"Hey, you ended up with an ex-military guy." Truth was, Bruce had been more than surprised Betty had married an Army officer, especially one who had worked for her father and the Hulkbuster squad.
"I know, right? But Glenn was determined and had a conscience. He wore me down." She chuckled, and her face lit up with a special look as she talked about her husband. "Don't think just because it's been a while, you can sidetrack me. Hawkeye and you. Spill it."
He took a moment to frame the story, to decide exactly how much to tell, what words to use.
"I think the Other Guy noticed him first; Clint was good, better than the others SHIELD sent to watch me. I probably wouldn't have known he was there, would have just thought he was another down on his luck gringo in South America, but the Hulk started to sense him even if I couldn't see him. We settled into some strange sort of one-upmanship; I'd send him a drink at the bar and he'd drop medicine off in my office at the clinic." Bruce smiled at the memory, trying not to get too sappy about the whole thing and failing miserably. "Then they found me again and I stayed lost for a few more years until New York happened and there he was. Turned out, we had a lot in common. And now, well, it's been over a year and he's still around, so I guess we're doing something right."
"Doesn't hurt that he's hot."
"Yeah, that too," Bruce agreed. It was impossible to quantify what drew him to Clint and why they worked so well; chemistry alone wasn't enough to cover the way he felt, so he changed the subject. "Glenn's not bad looking either."
"Ah, so you've got a file on me?" Betty pretended outrage, but she wasn't surprised. "Clint does strike me as a thorough type … and you've got Stark's resources to boot. Yes, to answer the question, I am stupidly in love with my husband. Best thing that ever happened to me. Just like Clint is so obviously good for you."
"God, don't tell him any of that. He already thinks he's the best marksman in the world. Won't want him to get a big head, even if it's all true."
Bantering with Betty felt good; they still worked together well, tossing ideas back and forth, reviewing each other's work, and Betty always could drag him out of his shell to talk about life, the universe and everything. Soon, Bruce knew Betty had honeymooned in Bermuda, hated the Dean of Arts and Sciences at her university because he was a failed chemist who moved into administration, and hadn't spoken to her father in over five years. She managed to get Bruce to tell her all about his and Clint's island vacation, those famous pictures in the tabloids, and the Hulk's favorite movies. Somewhere in the middle of the stories and examining the data, Clint showed up with plates full of spicy shrimp on skewers with grilled vegetables and glasses of the King Estates Pinot Gris; chocolate cake appeared next to the microscope and disappeared just as quickly. Then Clint was telling the tale of Tony's big party in Vegas, complete with the Power Ranger villain (the expunged version, safe for public consumption) and talking about the games he and the Hulk liked to play in the desert, making Betty's laughs turn into very unladylike snorts that she tried to hide behind her hand.
Later, Bruce looked up; Betty was recalibrating the trigger device for new variables and Clint was sprawled across the comfy overstuffed floral chair, a leg thrown over one arm, just a few chapters left in the book he was reading. Eyes drawn to the muscles of Clint's thigh, Bruce had the sudden urge to run his hand along that sensitive skin and hear the noises Clint would make. A burst of emotion hit Bruce, fast and hard, the Other Guy slamming into his heart and filling it up with his happiness. The overflow ran down the connection and Clint looked up, catching Bruce staring; eyebrow quirked up in a question and Clint's mouth turned up at the edges. Casually, he shifted, spreading his legs a little wider, settling down into the chair as if getting comfortable. Bruce's mouth went dry as muscles flexed and Clint pretended to go back to reading, but looked entirely too smug; in retaliation, Bruce stretched, putting his tablet on his lap and rolling his neck before reaching his hands up. Clint was good, but Bruce knew he was watching even if he seemed to be deep into the pages in front of him.
"Alright, boys, there's a nice big bedroom upstairs you can just hie yourself up to and play to your heart's content." Betty didn't even look up from her calculations.
Clint kicked his foot out and rolled up out of the chair. "Am I distracting you?" He asked, all pretend innocence, but with a smug grin. "Heaven forbid. I'll just go catch that new shark movie, the one where there's a tornado full of them. I know better than to bother Bruce while he's on a roll." He sauntered out, winking at Betty.
"Well?" Betty asked. "You just going to sit there?"
Bruce gathered up his tablet. "I can read just as well in the family room. Wouldn't want to miss a bad shark movie. You coming?"
"I'm fine right here or my room's down the hall. Won't even have to pass through if I want to go to sleep." She waved him off, a playful smile on her lips as she didn't watch him go.
The crick in his neck woke him; the small throw pillow was folded over, but it wasn't enough to avoid the odd angle of his head as it rested on the arm of the sofa. One hand and foot was on the floor, his other arm wrapped around Clint who was weighing him down, curled up on his chest. Bruce tried to focus – his glasses were on the coffee table – and he stretched his neck to relieve the ache from sleeping all tangled together. A vague memory of chainsaws and water spouts followed by a particularly bad movie with a two-headed shark eating girls in bikinis floated into his consciousness, and he remembered Clint's head on his leg as he continued working into the wee hours of the morning. A rerun of Lost in Space was playing on the muted TV; the first hint of light was filtering in through the open blinds as the sun started to appear above the Atlantic Ocean. The whole house was silent; Betty had gone to bed sometime around 2 a.m., pleading jet lag.
He should get up and get back to work, but moving would disturb the stillness of the moment; instead, he ran both hands down Clint's back and over the curve of his ass. When Clint's breathing stayed deep and even, Bruce kept one hand where it was and began to trace the lines of Clint's body with the other, fingers gliding over familiar contours. He ran through the messy hair, long enough now to twist around his pinky, outlined tattoos, curved around Clint's ear and gold hoop, along his jaw, and down his neck.
"Where's Betty?" Clint mumbled, eyes still closed; he wiggled a little, shifting his leg off the couch.
"Asleep." Bruce didn't stop stroking along Clint's shoulder and over the muscles in his arm.
"Mmmm." Clint lifted his head and rested his chin on Bruce's chest; heavy lidded and groggy, he managed a half-smile. "Going back to sleep or getting up? Or do I need to ask?" One of Clint's legs was between Bruce's, Bruce's growing interest pressing into Clint's hip.
"I've got work to do, but it can wait." He curled his fingers and squeezed Clint's ass. "We've done about all we can do here; I need a secure testing facility for the next stage."
Planting his hands and lifting up, Clint looked down at Bruce. "Testing?"
Bruce had the good sense to glance away as he answered. "Xavier did say to let it happen."
"You're talking about forcible acceleration of your own change?" No, Clint wasn't happy about that. "God, Bruce, we'll need one of the special rooms in the Tower and even that won't hold the Hulk. You know he won't like it one bit."
"He's not happy about the idea, granted," Bruce agreed. That was an understatement; the Other Guy was pissed at the very thought of Bruce intentionally inflicted pain upon himself. "But even a few seconds and we'll be able to identify the mutation and project the trajectory of genetic alteration. The information is invaluable."
Intense blue-grey eyes stared into Bruce's brown ones, searching deeply. "Every precaution. The practice room, the one Tony had reinforced for the Big Guy and Thor to spar. Hank, Carol, Betty, and every damn doctor we're got. And I'm there with you."
"Agreed. That's the plan." Bruce caught Clint's neck and brought their lips together, an easy brush.
"Ah, you walked me into that, did you?" Clint grinned. "Damned easy to manipulate, if that's all it takes."
"Trust me, you're far from easy," Bruce kissed him again. "Makes it worth the trouble."
"I think we need to move this upstairs, just in case Betty wakes up." Rolling his body, careful to drag across Bruce's cock as he did, Clint stood up and reached a hand down to pull Bruce up.
"Sounds like a plan," Bruce said. They stumbled around the coffee table, avoiding the breakfast bar in the growing light through the windows, and tried to stifle their whispers as they headed up the stairs, treads creaking under their feet. Clint insisted on stopping to kiss Bruce at the top, pressing him into the wall by the door to the bedroom then tugging him by the hem of his shirt until Bruce felt the bedpost against his back. "Close the door?"
Clint stepped away long enough to take his shirt off and catch the edge of the door to push it closed; in two steps, he had Bruce's wrists in his hand, trapping them behind the post. Relaxing, Bruce parted his lips as Clint's tongue swept over them, giving him access and heating the kiss to blazing. If he was nothing else, Clint was thorough when it came to kissing Bruce, content to leave scorching marks behind as he covered Bruce's mouth and again and again with his own.
Between one breath and the next, everything changed. Clint moved, the gun from the bedside table appearing in his hand; two shots barked into the morning quiet, seconds before the front porch windows shattered. The H.Y.D.R.A. agents were dead before their feet hit the wood floor, but others followed through the openings and the hallway doors. They came from the bathroom, crashing through the frosted glass blocks, out of the bedrooms, kicking in doors from the back porches, too many for Clint to take out alone. Sliding over, Bruce let the Other Guy take the wheel; he brushed by Bruce in passing, his voice startlingly clear as he agreed – and then he slammed into wall, a heavy weight shoving the Hulk back down hard. Throat closed, chest tight and heavy, Bruce stumbled, knee dropping to the floor.
"Now we'll have none of that." General Ross entered through the second door; in his hand he held a remote control with a number of different buttons, his finger poised over one. "Lower the gun, Barton. I don't want to press the red button; I'd much rather Banner be alive." Clint's arm went down, gun by his thigh. "Now put it on the floor."
"Maybe I'll just put a bullet between your eyes." Clint was focused on the older man.
"That's an option," Ross acknowledged. "But I suspect Dr. Banner's going to extend his arms and willingly put on these restraining bracers instead."
"No way that's …" Clint began, but stopped as his eyes rolled back and he crashed to the floor, head hitting the edge of the footboard as he went down. His whole body convulsed as purple tinged sparks danced along his spine; his hands clenched, the gun fallen from his grip, and he groaned deep in his throat.
"Leave him alone," Bruce shouted; just the echo of Clint's pain was enough to make him nauseous.
"Hands, Bruce." Ross raised the control; his thumb was bearing down on a green button. "You know how painful this is. Only you can end it."
He didn't have a choice; he could see the sparks moving around Clint's body, hear the agonized sounds Clint was trying to stifle. As soon as he lifted his arms, one of the men snapped a restraining cuff on each of Bruce's wrists. The units were slimmer than the ones A.I.M. had used in the past, but obviously served the same function; Bruce immediately felt the prick of a needle and the rush of medication roll into his veins.
"Stop it," he demanded. "Now."
"Of course. See? I can be reasonable." Ross moved his finger from the trigger and Clint stilled, his rasping breaths loud in the room. Another man bent down and slipped a collar around Clint's neck, locking it in place.
"Clint? Talk to me." Bruce turned to check on him, but a hand landed on his shoulder and held him in place.
His head turned towards Bruce's voice and eyes flooded with purple looked up at him. "I'm okay," Clint gasped out, his voice getting stronger as he spoke. "Why do I get a collar? Think Ross is trying to tell me something?" Despite the joke, Bruce could sense how badly Clint was thrown off his game; they'd both been steadfastly ignoring the fact that Clint was also infected and at risk. Ross had hit right at their weak spot.
"Dad! What are you doing?" Bruce swung his head around to see two men dragging Betty into the room, her arms handcuffed together behind her back. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, her hair messy and her glasses missing; a bruise was already forming on her temple where she'd resisted.
"Following you. Isn't it nice of her to tell me where to find you, Dr. Banner?"
"I didn't," Betty looked over at Bruce, eyes pleading before she looked back at her father. "No. Bruce knows I wouldn't help you."
"Couldn't be a bug; the jammer would stop the signal. Has to be something else he can trace." Clint sat up, shaking his head to clear it. "There's any number of possibilities; you'd never know they'd done it, Betty."
"Very good." Ross nodded. "Fifth generation nannites. Brand new topical dispersal. So simple and virtually untraceable unless you have one of these little babies."
"Does H.Y.D.R.A steal every piece of tech?" Bruce asked; he was getting angry, could feel the Hulk's desire to smear the man into a puddle on the floor. "Von Doom's formula, A.I.M.'s delivery devices, FabMet's nannites."
"You're not Ross." Clint was certain, and the second he said it, Bruce knew it was true.
"Thaddeus Ross would never work with H.Y.D.R.A. or mutants, and he certainly wouldn't let anyone hurt Betty," Bruce agreed.
"You know, Clint, you were the biggest surprise. Stark was just what I expected, Bruce very much like his files portray him, and Rogers, well, he was pretty much as advertised except for the whole 'Cap is gay' part. Didn't imagine all the guy-on-guy action, I'll admit. But here I thought Clint Barton was a master assassin and marksman – the perception and foresight are never mentioned in any reports." Ross touched a spot high on his left chest; his visage shimmered and dropped away. Bruce immediately recognized the man who stood in front of them.
"Richard Fiske." Inside, the Hulk began to slam against the dampening wall, revving up his heart rate to burn off the sedation faster. "Or do you prefer Robert?"
"Lord Master of the Universe is off the table," Clint threw in, the purple fading, leaving his normal blue-grey eyes. "Nifty gadget. Steal that from Stargate Command? Let me guess. You've got Ross stashed somewhere in a big cocoon, right?"
"NASA scientists are big fans of the show, and with all the budget cuts, it's amazing what you can get with the right amount of money." Richard nodded and the men jerked them all upright; Clint made his move, head butting the man in front of him and lashing back with his foot, smashing into another man's knee. Shaking off the effects of the drug, Bruce's muscles strained, and he swung the two men who had a hold on him towards each other, slamming them together.
"Enough." Fiske aimed the remote; Clint jolted, hands flying to the collar, choking as purple flashes wound around his neck. Bruce folded to the floor, stilettos of sharp pain lancing up his brain stem then cascading down his spine. And Betty screamed, a red mist descending, enveloping her from head to toe; she cradled her head and rolled into a fetal position.
"No!" Bruce crawled towards her, trying to reach out but his arms wouldn't respond. "What the hell have you done?"
"We need test subjects, of course. Now that I have your data, we're ready for human trials." Fiske's smile was cold and hollow, no empathy at all. "Seems like poetic justice, doesn't it? All the people connected to you, Bruce, everyone you care about, everyone you hate. Won't they be the perfect choice?"
