Author's Note:Not quite Saturday, but close enough. This had been finished for a while so am happy to finally get it out.

Act II

Chapter 9

Bruce Banner was a man of routine, strict schedules and healthy lifestyle. He did not covet change or excitement. Quiet life was what he craved and that is what he returned to after the event of the party.

Routine.

As in everyday since he had moved to Stark Tower, he awoke in a gloriously large bed at exactly 7:15am to the sound of a local radio announcer's voice.

"...and sunny today here in New York City. No rain cloud in sight today, no sir! For the drivers out there, you'd best avoid..."

Taking his time, enjoying the commodities he had been without in Calcutta, he first collected his mat to perform a yoga routine. Not a day went by without him spending time meditating, exercising his breathing and working his body into all sorts of contorted positions. As shocking as it was to some, this was very relaxing.

Not a day, that is, aside from that one morning with Clara.

Back to his bedroom where the radio man droned on, "How Tony Stark avoided the pyre this time is no small feat, you gotta admit. The man has genius for press as much as he does for tech. In the most recent survey, 75% of New Yorkers said they were happy with how Stark had helped repair the city after the invasion. 75! Forgive and forget they say, but honestly..."

Bruce closed the door to his bathroom and turned on the shower. He delighted in long warm showers, not too hot though. Something to wash away the sweat and exhaustion; he came out feeling refreshed and ready for the day. A look into the mirror to remind himself that his hair needed cutting before reaching for his razor. A clean shave. Unlike Tony he had never been tempted to try decorative facial hair design. Unfortunately this required shaving every single day, sometimes twice. He couldn't remember the last time he had gone a day without shaving.

If you didn't count the one where he had woken up at Clara's.

He groaned. Into his comfortably small kitchen after throwing on some clothes. First, a quick coffee from one of these capsule machines Tony had equipped him with, a gadget he admitted to be very convenient. Followed by boiling water for a rather large canister of tea he would bring with him to the lab. He had at first taken only a single small mug to work, but Tony had developed a taste for hot beverage while working and so Bruce was now required to bring extra.

Tea was to Bruce as paint had been to Picasso. A rather large cupboard in the kitchen was dedicated to nothing but tea bags, loose leaf teas, and a multitude of tools one needed to create the perfect cuppa. When opened, the cupboard emanated a waft of herbal and fruity smell which forced a smile on his lips no matter how dreary the day. He carefully scanned the colourful cans and boxes, his fingers lingering on this one or that, until finally he pulled out a simple rosebush tea. He dunked three bags in his canister and added the not quite boiled water.

Nothing extravagant for breakfast, there was never any time to cook. He bit joyfully into a green apple and packed an extra bowl of fruit salad he had prepared the day before. This would get him through the day until dinner time. He had never been a man to eat much in the morning, in fact he found the weight of so much food distracting and uncomfortable when one was trying to ready for a good working day.

Though of course, Clara's breakfast had been quite delicious.

Bruce stuffed his daily rations into his small shoulder bag more violently than necessary and headed for the door. As he slipped into his right shoe he looked to the wall where a notice board was nailed. It was empty save for a single white business card turned the wrong way around so that its back was visible. Scribbled on it with a loopy elegant handwriting was a phone number.

He had been staring holes in it for weeks.

After securing his second shoe Bruce reached up yanked the card from the pin. He glared at it for a second, then gripped the card with both hands as if meaning to rip it in half. But he stopped. Sighed. And replaced the card against the board, gruesomely puncturing its center with another pin.

Closing the door of his apartment behind him he wondered why he had even kept the card in the first place.

It's not like he would ever call her.

The lab was located a few stories above his own. There were plans to turn the rest of his floor into various research facilities as well, but their construction was going to take some time. He reached his and Tony's working space at exactly nine o'clock and was not surprised to find it deserted. To say that his colleague detested awaking early and avoided morning work like the plague would be a severe understatement.

Bruce moved over to what had become his desk. A large metallic table kept clean and free of clutter. Neatly ordered and stacked inside labeled drawers were his paperwork, writing material and other small tools he could use for his work. Everything easily found, nothing astray, his previous day's progress noted down dutifully allowing him to pick up almost exactly where he had left of.

Tony's station, a few tables away, may as well have stopped trying to be a table at all. Overflowing with gadgets of all kinds, pieces of things no one could possibly recognize and cups which contained beverages reduced to mildew cultures - it made Bruce nervous just looking at it. Which is why he worked with his back turned to Tony most of the day.

The rest of the large science room was filled with all sorts of machines, experiments and half-finished models of various kinds. Some of these Bruce had helped work on, others were the result of his friend's bizarre imagination and genius. JARVIS was around as well, and a few robotic arms which unnerved Bruce. The fact that Tony spoke to them as if they were dogs or minions made the whole thing even more unsettling.

His re-entry into the modern world, a world, which had matured exponentially since he had left it, was a generally slow one. Add Tony's self created machines and gadgets, and Bruce felt as if he had to learn a new language. Nothing impossible, but it was more than just understanding how the things worked. It was adjusting in his entire working habits. Therefore, just as he had done for most of his life, he kept to paper and minimal amount of machinery.

Bruce was able to enjoy a few hours of quiet before Tony burst into the lab. Like the bringer of life himself, Tony's presence caused machines to power up, music to play and JARVIS to begin droning on about the results of some all night calculation he had run.

It was only with great resilience and months of enduring the same act that Bruce managed to smile at his friend despite the unwelcomed commotion.

"G'morning doctor!"

"Good morning Tony," he watched the dark haired man walk into the lab with a broad grin and spring in his steps. "Slept well?"

Tony's eyes positively sparkled with excitement, "You have no idea."

"Pepper made it back from her trip in good shape I take it?"

"Oh yes."

"Well, I'm happy for you. I took at look at those arc reactor figures you gave me by the way," Bruce turned back to his desk and selected a small pile of papers. Before he could look back he felt Tony step well into his comfort zone, breathing over his shoulder.

He lifted his eyes to glare from his sitting position, but Tony only gave him a side glance and smirk. Bruce could only chuckle at the man's disregard.

"And?"

"And it's not working out. I'm sorry, but I don't think this system will function any better than your current model. Actually it might be worse. I made notes."

"You disappoint me Bruce," Tony said as he took the offered paperwork and gave the first page a quick look before discarding the whole thing on the adjacent table. "And here I was with good news for you!"

His friend moved away again, heading for his own desk.

"Oh yeah? What would that be?"

"I managed to hook you up with Lara for a date, any day any time she says."

Misunderstandings often lead to truths.

"What? No, Tony. I told you: no more paid women. Or did she call you? What did she say? Did she ask why I hadn't called back?"

Tony frowned, "Lara, not Clara. Why would Clara call..." then the man then grew wide eyed, and Bruce turned around to return to his work, cheeks burning. "Bruce you dog! You were planning on seeing Clara again? I knew there was more to this story! What happened, did she give you a special price? Some kind of pity discount? Hmm?"

The hair behind Bruce's neck rose and he clenched his jaw tightly before breathing in deeply, closing his eyes and exhaling, letting the tension seep out. When he lifted his eyelids again, Tony was standing on the other side of his desk with a grin.

"I'm not having this conversation with you, Tony."

Fine, fine. It's none of my business anyways." He walked away and Bruce slumped forward, shaking his head, "But Lara's still available if you need her!"

He turned swiftly and glared at the man until Tony lifted both hands in their air and returned to his work. Despite his annoyance, Bruce felt his lips spread into a smile. However horrid he was at it, Bruce did appreciate Tony's efforts at trying to make him happier.

The rest of his day was spent much like any other; working on his private project, answering his colleague's random questions and lending a helping hand when necessary; lunch and finally tidying up for the day. A last step Tony never took.

As in every evening he declined an offer from Tony to join the couple at dinner and headed downstairs to his lair. Bruce found it extremely convenient that he could go from work to home without a single step outdoors. No need to prepare himself mentally for the chaos of the city, the wild people, the hundreds of accident which could happen - yet he did miss greenery, like Clara's garden.

While taking his shoes off, he glared at the skewered card on his bulletin board. It would be a lie to say that he had not been somewhat excited to think that she had called. But Tony's words came back to him and Bruce turned his head away with a wrinkled nose.

"Pity discount..." he hissed at the empty room as he moved to his usual sitting chair.

There he let himself fall and passed a weary hand through his hair. On the other side of the large window on his left he could see much of the city sprawled across the land. So very few trees, everything machines and metal. His gaze shifted to the room around him, the rich yet barren decor. His shack in India had contained next to nothing, yet had possessed more soul.

Bruce had not expected to remain in Stark Tower. In fact he had not truly been prepared for anything when he had parted ways with the rest of the Avengers. Tony's offer had taken him by surprise. His acceptance even more.

Picking up the newest issue of Physics World, he tried to dive into the latest news in the world of science. But the words blurred and danced on the pages. Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He attempted to clear his troubled mind, find his center again, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not remove a certain series of numbers from his thoughts.

With an audible groan, he discarded his magazine and rubbed his tired face with both hands. After a deep sigh Bruce stood and went through the motions of his evening routine. Like every evening before, he concocted an elaborate and healthy meal in his meticulously clean kitchen. He enjoyed cooking, and it was as much a ritual to him as his yoga and tea brewing.

Dinner for one, as always. He decked his small dinner table with a single plate, fork and knife. He ate alone and in silence, sometimes he read from his magazines or books or other scholarly articles, but tonight he simply stared into nothingness.

Once done, he stood and cleaned up - his plate and fork and knife and two cooking pots looking lonesome in the large dishwasher, but he started it anyway. He went around shutting off the lights in his living room and kitchen, but the rooms remained just as bright - illuminated by the city lights.

In his bedroom he shut the curtain tightly, almost viciously. He quickly washed up before double checking his radio alarm; something he always did, and it was always properly set. And finally he pulled back the feather duvet and slipped between the silky white sheets with the intention of falling asleep.

Alone.

As always.

But sleep did not come. He turned and sighed and shut his eyes so tight, that the muscles around them began to hurt; yet he remained awake. He finally settled on his side and squinted at the digital numbers on his radio clock. They altered excruciatingly slowly, the red lines shifting about to create various digit, almost every single one of which were part of the phone number.

They were mocking him.

When the voice of the morning radio announcer suddenly blasted through the room Bruce was unsure if he had slept or not. What he did know was where he needed to go - immediately.

He kicked the duvet away violently, sprung out of bed, put on the crumpled clothes he had worn yesterday and marched to his front door. Shoving both shoes on, ignoring the card on the notice board, he walked quickly to the elevator. This time heading down.

He met only a handful people in the lobby and no one he recognized. The receptionist looked at him curiously as he stormed out, but did not speak.

Outside the morning sun had not yet appeared from behind the surrounding skyscrapers but its heat could already be felt. The streets were already quite busy, the beginning of the morning rush hour brewing. Bruce stood still for a moment, racking his memories to remember the way.

Finally he headed left and crossed the street toward central park. He stepped swiftly and with purpose. The walk went by quickly and before he knew it he was standing in front of the building. He hesitated but for a moment before taking in a deep breath and breaching the door.

Cool air greeted his face and the scent of a hundred flowers assailed his nose. The smell of funeral homes. Brushing away unwanted memories he stepped forward as the sound of a woman's voice startled him, "Good afternoon sir, how may I help you today?"

Bruce turned toward the older, heavily made up woman with a frantic, almost desperate look in his eyes.

"I need a plant."