And now as I would judge and say you're aloof

but you know the truth is a seed, you know what you need is a conflagration.

'Cause when I see the blood and the bits of your broken tooth

it gives me the proof that I need, it's the proof that you bleed.

It's a revelation.

Yeah it's a revelation, it's a revelation.

- Andrew Bird (Mx Missile Proof)

He could never seem to remember the transition, going from the monster to the man, so when he found himself kneeling in soft turf, nothing but rolling hills and power lines as far as he could see, he had no idea how he'd got here, whether he'd been here long, where here was. He was used to it by now, though, and he ran through the same routine he always did; tracking the last thing he remembered first.

That was easy. Darcy.

Darcy had been taken. Immediately the panic and fear began to spiral sluggishly through his veins, his body exhausted but nonetheless ready to act.

The next step was cataloguing his surroundings, reading the clues. He knew the Hulk by now, knew that if he had run this far, the fight must be over. But he could still feel the other guy gripping at a knot of rage deep in his belly that hadn't yet dissipated. That was unsettling.

He looked down, and the situation quickly went from unsettling to horrifying. He was half covered in blood, and none of it seemed to be his. He wasn't injured, he could tell that much. The pieces clicked together into what felt like an inescapable conclusion.

"Shit,"

He was vaguely aware that his mouth was still moving, a bewildering flood of disbelief pouring out of him almost unconsciously. The feeling coursing through him was indescribable. He was breathtakingly lost, set reeling, his thoughts skipping around madly. He wondered if anywhere could be far enough to run this time, he hated himself for staying this long, for letting this happen.

He wondered if even the Hulk could drown in enough water.

"Bruce?"

He felt himself freeze as a tentative voice called out from behind him. A voice he would know anywhere. He wondered if he had gone mad. The fire in his veins froze in a heartbeat, crystalizing him in the most horrifying moment of his life thus far. But only for a moment.

He sprang to his feet, electrified, needing to know if this was real. "Darcy?"

It was a question that was answered as soon as he turned and saw her face, dirty and bruised and pale and alive.

"Darcy," he felt like he was caught up in a whirlwind, his body in turmoil as he struggled to keep up with the situation. A switch had been flipped, from panic to relief, from despair to hope, from emptiness to a growing hunger. There was no way he could stop himself from going to her, from putting his hands on her, rougher than he intended, just desperate to feel her warm and solid under his fingers, feel her breath against his neck.

His intellect was following somewhere a few steps behind his instinct, and he realized that her blouse was sticky with blood where it pressed against his chest. He immediately zeroed in on her, where his hand rested against the soft curve of her hip.

"You're bleeding," he feared for a moment that her safe return to him was a cruel illusion. "Where are you hurt?" he was struck for a moment with the memory of the first time he touched her, his hand against her bare skin under her shirt at the trails behind SHIELD, the feel of her from that moment forward indelibly imprinted on him. He pulled up her shirt, this time with far more conviction, but he didn't find the fatal gut wound he feared, only the gentle yield and smooth planes of her belly, trembling ever so slightly as his fingers brushed against it.

"It's not mine," she was only verifying what he already knew, but she sounded so small and lost, so not herself, that he almost didn't believe her. "Bruce, I'm fine, I'm okay."

"You're okay?" he tried to take a breath. She was standing here, not dead, the blood wasn't hers, whatever he had done, it hadn't been to her. "You're okay." He repeated it, to make it feel a little truer, to calm the feeling racing through him.

"Darcy, I thought you were..." he couldn't even say the words, the though clawed at his throat, making it hard to breath, making him dizzy. He pressed his hands to her hair, curling his fingers through it like it was an anchor.

"I'm not," she sounded more solid, more present as she wrapped her hands around his, pulling them between the two of them, pressed between their ribs so he could feel her heart beat, "I'm not."

It was like alchemy, all of his frantic focus, the rush of fear and adrenaline that was heating his blood, drawn like a magnet. The shift from wanting her safe to just wanting almost imperceptible yet inescapable.

She was safe, she was here and alive, and after the last time they had spoken, he didn't think he was ever going to get to touch her again, to be near her. So he send a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening to forgive for him being so selfish, and then gave in to the wanting that had been pulling at him for months, in this moment unable to deny himself any longer.

He threaded his fingers into her hair, his hand cupping the curve of her neck and pulled her to him, the feeling of her pressed against him as his other hand clung to her hip reassuring him in a way nothing else could that she was alive.

And he kissed her. He kissed her like he had wanted to at Christmas under the mistletoe but had held himself back, like he had wanted to at New Years, heedless of who might have been watching, like he had wanted to every night she fell asleep beside him and every morning he woke up tangled in her arms.

He was so wrapped up in the feel of her mouth, opening readily under him, the way her hips lined up against his, pressing into his growing erection, the way the curve of her ass fit under his hand, that he hardly noticed that she wasn't really kissing back until she was.

And it was like being caught in a hurricane.

Somewhere low in her throat, she made a noise that struck him like an anvil, sending a spear of lightening hot desire coursing through him and making it very hard for him to think. Her hands dug into his shoulders, as if trying to pull him closer, and he was only too happy to oblige, wrapping his arms tighter around her in an almost painful grip, groaning into her mouth as her hips jerked and pressed against his growing erection.

She pulled away with a sharp intake of air as one hand pressed into the crease under her ass. He could feel the heat of her core against his fingers through her thin cotton pants. He tried to distract himself, feeling like an out of control teenager as he licked and sucked at her neck, taking a base satisfaction in leaving his mark on her ivory skin. Mine, he thought to himself. Mine.

He knew, he knew he shouldn't be doing this. A dangerous situation and a narrow escape didn't change things, and in fact probably made it more important for him to stay away, especially now that he knew that it wasn't only his heart on the line. He knew he ought to feel guilty, to pull away. But as his thoughts drifted past the idea, he couldn't dredge up an attachment to it, couldn't find any feeling other than a bone deep sense of right and yes and more.

He wanted to touch more of her, wanted all of her laid out before him, present and perfect and his. He was almost careless of his strength, knowing better than most that Darcy wasn't breakable and wouldn't appreciate being held like glass. So he held her like she was necessary to him. He held her like he would never let go.

He was fascinated by the way the curve of her ribcage fit underneath his hands, the way the weight of her breasts pressed against his thumbs with exquisite softness. It was like the best kind of science, that thrill of discovery and the inescapable focus of progress, as he explored the skin of her neck, the soft give of the upper curve of her breast under his mouth, the firm weight of it when he finally dared to take it in his hand. He catalogued the noise that escaped between her lips as he pressed his thumb against her nipple, recorded the way the skin tightened under his touch.

Experiments must be repeated to gain reliable and predictable data, so he did it again.

Darcy, somewhat predictably, had no time for his scientific method, as she took him by surprise in pulling off her shirt roughly. It left a smudge of red across her cheek. He knew this should have been unnerving at the very least, but there was something inevitable about it, how she would claim him through blood and conflict. This was something that wasn't about soft words and romance, but blood calling to blood.

And yet he couldn't stop himself from whispering to her the things he had been keeping inside for far too long. He told her that she was beautiful, like a prayer against her skin, and it felt like the best kind of sin when he took her peaked nipple in his mouth through the thin fabric of her bra. He would happily burn for this.

He almost didn't notice the trajectory of her hand until her felt her slender fingers pressing again him through the fabric of his shorts. Already harder than he could ever remember being, he jerked uncontrollably at the feel of it, pressing himself, hot and hard, into her hand.

It was easy as falling, once her legs were wrapped around him. He felt like gravity was pulling him inexorably forward with surprising force. He felt the half rotten wood of the barn shudder under the force of it as he pressed her against the wall, his mouth on her breast, his heart in his throat and his body obeying a natural law, far beyond his control.

His focus was unbroken, any thought of pulling away, of distance was impossible. A line connected them, had for a long time, if he was honest. And she was pulling on it; pulling as he laid her down in the straw, her hands setting fire to his skin, her leg locking around his like a puzzle piece, forbidding him to pause.

"Bruce," she had said his name plenty of times before, but never like this. It was a command and a prayer and a curse. It hit him like a fist, and he abandoned himself to it.

He swore, pressing his hips into hers, feeling her searing heat against his erection, his mouth finding hers with bruising force. All the frustration and turmoil he had been coiling up inside himself sprung open. Many times, he had thought about taking his time, memorizing every inch of her. But time was passing in fits and starts. He rushed to pull his shorts off and toss them aside, but time hitched and stopped as he felt her move under his hand. Impatient as she tried to rid herself of her pants, but locked in a moment as he pressed against her, a layer of thin cotton all that remained between them.

When he finally, finally had his hands on her, his fingers curling into her hot, wet core and his tongue pressed against her clit, it wasn't the relief he had thought it would be. Instead the feel of her, the knowledge that she was wet and ready for him, that the sounds being drawn from her throat were for him, was driving him crazy. God how he wanted to loose himself inside of her.

"Bruce!" his name on her lips and her hands in his hair, and he couldn't hold back any more. He paused, needing to know she was there with him, in the same moment.

"Is this…?"

"Yes," and he almost grinned, the demanding and impatient note in her voice familiar and yet entirely new as her hands grasped at him.

This moment, though, sliding into her tight heat. That was far more than he could possibly have imagined. It wasn't just the way they fit, her knee locked against his side, their hips sliding together easily, her walls stretched tight around him. It was a feeling of completion, of intimacy they he had so long denied himself and wanted for so long; and not from just anyone, but only from Darcy.

Her fingers on his back and the sweat of her skin against him was almost too much, and he paused, letting his head fall to her shoulder. He tried to ask her, tried to tell her, he wasn't sure what. Her response wasn't much more coherent but somehow clear to him. He pulled himself out of her once, slowly, and it felt so good that it almost hurt. He pressed back into her with a force that surprised him, but the way her hips canted to meet him and the way her breath left her lips in plosive little burst of pleasure told him it was right.

He lost himself, pouring out all of the things he felt in the snap of his hips and the press of his hands and her name on his lips again and again, pulling her closer, wanting more and more.

He watched her carefully, his eyes locked on hers. So he saw it, the moment the world shattered behind her eyes and it was his name that she screamed, his back that would bear the marks of her nails, his cock caught in the flutter and twitch of her orgasm.

He was gone, lost to her in so many ways as he gripped her hips, too hard but he couldn't be gentle. It felt like he was being turned inside out as he spent himself inside her, the salt tang of her skin bitter in his mouth as they collapsed together.

The moment that the adrenaline began to fade and his breathing steadied, the overwhelming this is a bad idea feeling that he had successfully been ignoring roared back like a freight train. He had done it, thrown all caution and good sense to the wind. He had sex with Darcy. He had fucked her. He had fucked her without a condom.

A sinking feeling in his stomach was making him wonder if he was going to make things even worse by vomiting.

"Bruce..." Darcy's voice was soft and lazy and intimate and made him feel exponentially worse.

"We should..." he gestured towards her scattered clothes, "Someone could show up."

He saw the worry in her eyes, and the break in her gait as she walked away from him. What had he done? How could he have, only minutes ago, let himself get so caught up that he could possibly have done this to her.

He watched her gingerly pick up clothes still marked by the violent events of the day.

How could he have taken advantage.

He managed to pull on his shorts, still feeling incredibly exposed. He turned his back to her and walked outside, as if a little distance would make things easier. As if anything would fix this.

He heard her approach behind him, and it took all he had not to pull away when her arms slid around him.

The way she touched him, and what he was about to do….

"Do you want to talk about this now?" he could feel the softness of her lips against his back, "or just let it sit until later."

"Darcy," he paused, schooling his body into obedience to what he knew was right, "There's...there's nothing to talk about."

There was a long silence, her fingers cold and stiff against him. And then she pulled away violently.

"How can you say that?" the anger in her voice was like a lash. He would willingly submit. He had earned every mark she wanted to lay on him.

"This was..." a mistake, he meant to say. But he found, looking into her eyes, filling with tears and betrayal, that he couldn't. Instead, the truth came pouring out. "God, I can't regret this Darcy, even though I should. Even though I never should have let myself...Christ, Darcy I didn't even use protection."

"Don't you treat me like I wasn't involved in this decision Bruce, don't you dare. I was right there with you. Besides, I'm not stupid, I'm on the pill." She snapped back at him without hesitation, never giving him an inch.

He loved that about her, the way she never backed down. He ran a hand through his hair, willing himself to continue. "It doesn't change anything."

"You are the most incredibly stubborn man I have ever met," she was poised for a fight. And god how he hated the idea of fighting with her. "Why doesn't it change anything?"

But he would, if he had to, if it meant keeping her safe. "I won't put you in danger," he hoped he sounded more certain than he felt, "I won't be a target on your back."

She wasn't swayed. "That ship has already sailed Bruce," she said, like it was an argument they had had a thousand times already. And what he wouldn't give to build up that kind of history with her. "I've had a target on my back since New Mexico." She went on unflaggingly, but in a grim reminder of exactly the life he didn't want for her. "And maybe I didn't choose to get drawn into this life, but I'm choosing to stay. I've got target for Clint and Natasha, and Tony and Steve and Thor and even Jane on me already. You don't get to decide if I wear yours."

She sounded so sure of herself, and so much older than her years, that he almost felt himself being swayed. "If it was just that...but I can't Darcy, the way you make me feel, it's...it's out of control, which is..." He found himself stuttering the beginnings of truths he wanted to keep from her. Things he wanted to keep from everyone. Things that he didn't want to believe, but believed right to the core.

"How do you think that is a bad thing Bruce? I think we have just proved that out of control can be really, really good." He couldn't pull away as she pressed against him, the sensation new but somehow so natural.

"But the other guy..." it was a deflection, she was muddling his thoughts, just with her nearness.

"I've been handling him just fine for months now. Sometimes I think he likes me more than you do. It's a complication Bruce, nothing more." He could feel a twinge of exasperation building at her stubborn denial of the fears that ran his life. And he decided there was nothing for it but to spell it out clearly for her. It would be easier for her to hate him that to drag out this torture. Maybe.

It was barely above a whisper when he spoke, hiding against her hair even as he aimed to push her away. "What if a friend of yours told you that there was this guy, and he was usually fine, but sometimes he lost control, and got violent. Would you tell her to stay? Would you tell her to fight for him?"

He could hear it in her voice as she pulled away from him. "Is that really what you think about yourself?" that realization of exactly who he was. "Is that who you think you are?"

"It's who my father was." And there it was. The worst of him, laid out before her. It felt cathartic, in a way. Like a drowning man giving in to the undertow and letting it pull him down.

"I think," she said, in a tone far closer to sadness than the fear or disgust he had expected "That you don't really know yourself all that well Bruce. You don't know what everyone around you sees, what I see. You are worth all of the risks and complications that you bring with you, and I think they are a lot less dire than you do. But apparently what I think doesn't matter to you enough."

He tried to speak, to find the flaw in her reasoning, he knew it must be there. But she interrupted him.

"I get that it's scary Bruce. You don't think that it scares me? The way I feel about you, how you have the power to hurt me like this? But it's scary, letting someone in like that. That's not about you or the other guy, that just is. And I don't see how we could hurt each other any more by being together than we have being apart."

He was confused. She wasn't pushing him away. He couldn't parse the meaning of it. It was like running an experiment and getting coal again and again and then suddenly, gold.

"But I can't do this with you anymore. So you need to make a decision. I want to be with you, but if you don't want that, I need to walk away before I let you ruin me."

He could barely think straight, but it still felt like a knife in the gut to see her cry because of him.

"I just want you to be happy," he whispered.

"Well you're doing a bang up job," the defensive hurt in her voice was pushing through the confusion. There was a thought bubbling up to the surface, but he couldn't grab on to it before she waved him away.

"Just, don't right now. Leave me alone. I need you to give me some space until you figure your shit out okay?"

Figure his shit out? He sat there, watching her pointedly not look at him, for a long time. If he could figure his shit out for her, he would. God, he would. But there were established pathways in his brain laid down by all of his shit. And they led directly to violence and anger and raging green destruction.

He couldn't pay attention to the conversation Natasha was having with Darcy as they flew home. He couldn't take his eye off of her. She still wasn't looking at him.

But he had told her. He had laid out in front of her why he was so dangerous. Not just the obvious threats that she tossed aside so casually, capricious with her life in a way that terrified him. But he had shown her his rotten core, the poison laid down in the roots that could never be drawn out. And she had said to him I want to be with you.

He didn't understand it. He didn't understand what she could still see in him. And maybe…just maybe…he should try to figure that out before he walked away from her.

It was a simple thought, and obvious once it came to him. But for a man who had spent years firm in the belief that only he could see himself, that the outside world had to be pushed away, the thought that someone else might see him more clearly than he saw himself rattled the very foundations of the earth.

When he sat down for the debrief, Hill got through a total of three questions, which he answered mechanically, before she stood up and walked out without a word. He barely remarked upon it. He sat unflinchingly still, but his mind was pinging around like a pinball. Could he have been so wrong about himself? Could he have wasted all this time, all these years running away from nothing but a ghost?

He barely noticed when the door swung open.

"Jesus Christ, Bruce!" ah, Tony. Of course. "You look like hell."

He shrugged.

"And is that…Bruce, is that a hickey on your neck?" Tony Stark sounded genuinely shocked, and that was saying something. Bruce looked up, but didn't answer.

"Uh, wow. Look. You're going to have to cut it out with this catatonic bullshit Bruce, because you are legitimately freaking me out right now."

"Sorry," his voice sounded harsh to his own ears, but he couldn't care. "I'll try to be a bit louder as my whole life falls apart."

Tony looked a little bit relieved to hear him speak, but not much.

"Surely it can't be as bad as all that," Tony tried carefully. "Everyone got home in one piece, the good guys win, Darcy will hopefully call three kidnappings a full set, and life can go back to normal."

Bruce decided that the easiest course was just to end this now so he could be alone.

"I had sex with Darcy." He said flatly.

He was distantly satisfied that even Tony couldn't think of a quick response to that.

"uhh…whaaa" Tony made shocked and confused noises for a moment before pulling himself together. "Well….isn't that…good? I mean, was it good? Or was it terrible. Is this about terrible sex?"

"Tony," Bruce cut him off. "This isn't about sex. This is about me being too dangerous for her. I should never have…" he trailed off, that sick feeling of self-hatred chocking him again.

"Well, shit happens," said Tony, seeming to gain control of himself again, "did you two talk…after?"

"Yes."

"About….?" Tony prompted.

Bruce sighed heavily. At least Tony was consistently good at making him so exasperated that he forgot to be upset. "I told her that it was…that it didn't change anything. I'm no good for her."

"I bet you she just loved that," said Tony, almost gleefully. "She tore you a new one, didn't she?"

"Well, yeah. I guess." Bruce agreed, "she said…she said I didn't know myself very well. That…" he could feel emotion and confusion and just the tiniest bit of something like hope welling up in his throat. "Tony," he swallowed heavily, "she thinks…she really thinks I'm a good man. She's seen me at my worst...and, god, I told her the very worst things about me. And she still wants…" he was somewhat surprised to find himself unable to continue as a sob tore its way out of his chest.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, the weight of it sure and comforting.

"You're not your father Bruce," his voice was sure and confident. "Just like I'm not mine. Life dealt you a real shit hand, and the things you have done with it anyways…" he paused for a moment. "You deserve to be happy."

Tony's voice sounded thick and heavy. It wasn't often the other man spoke with such sincerity, and Bruce had always tried to respect it and really listen when he did.

"What if…" he scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to center himself, "what if I don't know how?"

There were problems that even Tony Stark couldn't solve, so he was still feeling rattled and off balance, if a bit calmer, when he made it back to his house in the woods.

He went through the familiar routine of making a cup of tea. He sat by the window, a blank notebook open in front of him. He tried to will himself to really think about this, but there was no equation he could solve.

He tried to make a list, his concerns, the dangers, pros and cons. But the only thing that made it on to the paper was Darcy.

It felt to him as if the writing on the page had conjured her presence as he opened his door to find her standing there.

"Darcy," her presence and his raw nerves made him feel as if he had the wind knocked out of him, "what are you doing here?"

She handed him a folder, and he took it uncomprehendingly. "This is my transfer package," her voice was steady and even and he could feel to floor spiraling away beneath his feet. He tried to move calmly as he reached a hand out to clutch the doorframe. There was a faint buzzing in his ears and he thought maybe he missed part of what she was saying. "Two days from now, either I stay or I go. So turn it in, and we don't have to have a messy goodbye, and we won't cause any rifts in the team, and we can just go on with our lives or," she paused, "you can tear it up and find me."

He was having a lot of trouble processing, but it felt…it felt bad.

"I hope this isn't goodbye," the word goodbye finally struck a chord in him and he looked up at her sharply, as if he could bind her to the spot and will her to stay. "But if it is..." the press of her lips against his was whisper soft, too fast for him to even react "I hope you find what you need someday."

And then she was gone without a backward glance. He watched her until the trees swallowed her up.

He stood there for a long time after that.

He had spent so long telling himself that he was going to leave, telling himself that what he really wanted, what was best was to be away from her. But the reality of it, the thought of not seeing her on the trails in the morning, of never watching her bounce around the lab with surprising efficiency, of never watching another movie or sharing another drink or stealing another touch… every fiber of his being rebelled against the thought.

There was movement in the trees again. She was coming back. She couldn't leave. He had to tell her… He was moving towards her, almost within reach before he discovered it wasn't Darcy at all.

"Betty?"

"Hi Bruce," she looked uncomfortable and was carrying a bottle of whisky.

"What…?"

"Tony sent me," she interrupted his inevitable question, "and this." She hoisted the bottle. "Can I come in?"

He nodded mutely and led her into his living room. He saw her glance at the photo of the two of them that he still kept on a shelf and a little of the tension seemed to melt away.

"Tony thought maybe I could help," she began in a stilted tone as Bruce poured the whisky, out of habit more than any desire for a drink.

"Help?" he was floundering. Since she came back, he and Betty had never talked about anything beyond their work. They had been tiptoeing around their past with moderate success, and now she was tramping right into his crisis with another woman.

It was disconcerting.

"He said that maybe you needed some clarification about some things," she took a deep breath. "He's really nosey."

"Yeah," said Bruce with a tight smile, "but he usually means well and is surprisingly good at getting results most of the time."

"Well, I guess I'll just…uh, follow his advice then." She took a healthy pull of the whisky. "It wasn't the Hulk, you know." She was avoiding his gaze.

"Wasn't…what?" Bruce was moving past uncomfortable to genuinely confused.

"Why I left you, it wasn't the Hulk."

And now uncomfortable came roaring back.

"Oh," and after that had rolled around in his head for a moment. "But if it wasn't…"

"It was you Bruce," she still wasn't looking at him, but the words came tumbling out now. "I wanted to help you, but you just kept pulling away. It was like you thought you could just run away from all your problems and that would mean you'd never have to fix them. But you ended up just running away from me." He could hear the hurt lingering in her voice. He knew that she was happily married, and it was a long time ago, but he also knew, better than most, that old wounds run deep.

"I can't just fix the other guy," he said gently. "He never goes away."

"Well of course not," said Betty in a matter of fact tone, "he is you. And from what I remember, when you embrace that part of you, it's controllable; helpful, even. That's not really the problem I was talking about."

Bruce was genuinely floored.

"Even before that, there was always a part of you that you kept hidden from me. You always walked away from an argument rather than working through it. Any time we disagreed over something that couldn't be worked out on a chalkboard, you would just jump ship. You never really trusted me with yourself. And maybe you were afraid you'd end up like your father and maybe you were afraid of what evil you're capable of, but what about all the things that make you ten times the man he was? What about all the good you are capable of doing. Maybe if you had trusted me and trusted yourself a bit more, you could have found out."

She stopped abruptly, like the pressure that had been building up had been released.

"Our chance is over," she continued after a while, "I just want to be clear that it's not about that…this is about you Bruce. You have a second chance. Darcy…" she paused "She's nothing like me." She smiled thinly, "and maybe that's a good thing. Don't push her away. Don't force her to get out before you break her heart too." She smiled again, but it was sad.

"Betty," he reached out a hand and grabbed hers before she could stand up. "I'm so…" sorry just didn't seem to be enough. He had no idea of what he had done to her until this moment.

"I know Bruce," she said kindly. "It's okay. I'm just glad I finally got the nerve to say my peace." The corner of her mouth kicked up in a little grin, "even if it took Tony Stark to make me say it."

After she left, Bruce lingered over his glass of whisky for a long time.

He was stuck on the idea that it wasn't the other guy who ruined his relationship with Betty, wasn't because he was inherently dangerous, it was him. It was because he was so out of touch with how normal human relationships were supposed to function. For some reason, the thought was making him inexplicably happy, and he couldn't figure out why.

He dropped his head into his hands. "I'm an idiot," he said it out loud. And then he paused. "I'm an idiot!" he said it again, and it sunk in.

Yes, in some ways he was pretty out of the ordinary. He had a shitty childhood, his scientific arrogance had turned him into a giant green rage monster, sometimes he saved the world. But in other ways, maybe even most ways, he was just an idiot guy who couldn't figure out how to get over his fears and trust someone. And idiot guys with trust issues got to have real relationships all the time. Just look at Tony and Pepper!

He looked at the clock. 12am. Far too late to go find Darcy.

He didn't think he was going to be able to sleep. He felt electric.

But somehow he was out like a light when his head hit the pillow, his sleep easier and more restful than he could ever remember.

He forced himself to wait until he knew she'd be well into her run. He didn't want to steal that from her, and he was hoping that her morning routine wouldn't be the first thing on her mind once he said what he had to say.

When he finally saw her rounding the last bend, he watched as she slowed and approached him, itching to reach out to her, but knowing he had a lot of ground to make up first.

"Hi," he said. It felt silly, going through the pleasantries.

"Hi," she responded, warily, which he supposed she had every right to be.

"You were right," he said, eager to jump to the heart of the matter, desperate to get to the other side.

"About what exactly?" she raised an eyebrow at him. It looked a bit like a challenge.

"I'm terrified," he said, more than ready to meet it. It felt like flying to get the words out, "and I'm an idiot."

"Yeah," she said, "you are." She still looked skeptical, but he had practiced what to say, and nothing on earth was going to stop him now.

"I actually…I talked to Betty last night."

"Oh?" he couldn't blame her for the tone in her voice at that, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling anyways as he went on.

"Yeah, turns out she didn't break up with me because of the other guy, but because of me. Because I was..."

"An idiot?" Darcy suggested acidly.

"Yeah," he agreed evenly.

"And this is a good thing?" The euphoria of the self-discovery and the relief at saying it was beginning to wear off in the face of her cold indifference.

"I've just," he hadn't planned this far ahead, so he just let himself talk, taking a leap and trusting her to catch him. "I've let the other guy keep me so separate from people. I've been so sure that no one deserved that in their life, that no one wanted it. Pushing people away, keeping a safe distance, became the easiest thing to do. But I don't want to push you away Darcy, I don't know if I can. The thought of not seeing you every day..." he broke off, the feeling he had when she had told him last night that she was leaving lingering like a bitter echo, "and I guess talking to Betty made me realize that it's me standing in the way, not the other guy at all."

He took a breath, old habits dying hard, but then took her transfer papers out of the folder he carried with him. All in, Banner he told himself. "And I am sick of walking away from things that I want." He ripped the packet in half. "Stay. Stay with me."

It was exhilarating, laying himself so open in front of her. He felt like he finally understood in a visceral way what had been missing between him and Betty. He had never made himself this vulnerable to her.

A long moment passed, and the exhilaration started to bleed into panic.

"Okay" said Darcy shortly. "I'm going to take a shower."

He was left gaping as she walked away.

It was like that feeling of walking down stairs in the dark and thinking you had reached the last one, but your foot found air instead of the floor. It took him a moment to catch himself.

And then he felt so incredibly stupid that he felt sick.

He had spent months, unintentionally but unequivocally, leading her on. Unaware of her feelings for a long time, he must have shown such intent, such interest from her point of view. And then he had essentially rejected her, slept with her and then told her he didn't want to be with her. And maybe, caught up in the moment, she had thought she still wanted him. But the reality of it, of being with someone who is even capable of treating her like that…Well, it was probably better that she walked away, wasn't it?

But Bruce found, now that he had finally allowed himself to imagine having something he wanted, being happy, that it wasn't better.

He hadn't been able to stop wanting her when he refused to consider that having her could be possible. And now, now when he thought maybe he could be good for her, make her happy. Now she was finally giving up on him.

It would be funny, in an ironic sort of way, if it wasn't so sad.

He could feel the utter loss of it welling up in him, tears tracking down his face. But he scrubbed them hastily aside. He walked quickly into the building, desperate to lose himself in some work before he did something hopeless like find her and beg.

He couldn't go to his lab, there was too much of her in that place. Instead he went to an unused space several floors up. But he couldn't force himself to concentrate on work. Instead he just sat there at the lab bench, mentally replaying every memory he had of her, all the times he should have just kissed her, told her how he felt, and damned the consequences.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice the door open, didn't realize someone else was there until she spoke.

"Bruce," Darcy's voice was breathless and urgent. He looked up at her, immediately looking to see that she was alright. No alarms were going off, but maybe the team was needed?

And then all his thoughts flew out of his head and her hands were on his face and she was kissing him. She was kissing him, and for the first time, they were both there. They were both in this together.

His first coherent thought as he desperately pressed her to him, a hand tangling in her hair, was I get to have sex with Darcy again. And then I'm going to get to have sex with Darcy A LOT.

The caveman programming ran deep.

But the sounds she was making as she met the force of his kiss and the way her hands felt on his skin was driving all thoughts of other kisses, other touches, out of his head and all he could think was Darcy Darcy Darcy, like a mantra or a prayer.

"Wait wait wait," for a moment, he didn't process that she was speaking, only that there was distance between them, and he gripped the soft yield of her thigh, pulling her back, refusing to be without her.

"I have words," she spoke again, and she sounded hazy, and he looked at her and her lips were swollen and her eyes were shining and her mouth was curved up in the hint of a smile.

He finally processed that she might be right, and they probably did have some things to talk about. He couldn't help but smile at the way she was going about it though. "You have words?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes fixated on his mouth like was having a hard time convincing herself to keep talking "important ones."

The way she was looking at him, and the way the juncture of her thighs was pulled tight against his growing erection was not helping him listen to her, so he released his grip on her thigh, stifling a groan as her hips slid away from him. He was utterly unwilling to put any more distance between them. But she seemed just as reluctant to move away.

Her hand cupped his face, and her thumb brushed his cheek and the look in her eyes when she spoke almost stopped his heart. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I just walked away."

A lifetime of avoiding honest and emotional conversations made it difficult, and he took a moment, pulling her hand to him and pressing an exploratory kiss to her palm. "It's alright," he said, barely above a whisper "I probably deserved it."

"No," she said, and he was looked up in surprise at the conviction in her tone. "That is not how this works Bruce." He felt like saying to her that he had no idea how these things worked, but as if she could read his mind, she went on.

"I just, I was hurt when you pushed me away, and I was so prepared to do the hard thing and go, and then you were saying all these perfect and amazing things, but I couldn't just turn off my anger right away. You may have noticed," she smiled up at him, "that my first instincts are sometimes kind of terrible."

It was new, and scary, but also kind of wonderful to listen to her share honest things when they weren't fighting. It made it so much easier for him to respond.

"You had every right to be angry," he took a breath, the nearness of her, the connection of their hands making it easier to make his fears concrete, even though there was a part of him that still worried that by saying them out loud, he would make them real. "You still do. I thought maybe I'd waited too long, or that you'd come to your senses and were going to go anyways."

"Stop that," she said, and her voice was sure and dismissive, "I am in full possession of my senses," and the way she was looking at him, he couldn't do anything but believe her, believe that she wanted to be right here with him, "I know what I'm getting into, okay?"

"Okay," the feeling was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but smile foolishly at the joy of it.

"The point is that rule number one, from this day forward, is that I promise I will go against all my terrible instincts and say words first, walk away if I need to second." There were rules posted to the filing cabinet in the lab, there were rules posted on the wall by the potentially flammable substances, there was a great big list of rules for Tony posted in the lab even though he didn't work there, so of course she would have rules for this as well.

He wanted to smile, but if there were going to be rules, there were some he needed to add, even though he desperately wanted to pretend, just for this moment, that he was a man like any other.

The thought of it sobered him, and he clutched her other hand as he said, "Then I get to make rule number two, right?"

"Yeah," said Darcy, "Fair's fair."

"No matter what, if I say you need to walk away, you have to walk away." It was difficult to say, because he didn't want to interrupt the easy joy of the moment, but he had to know, he had to know she would stay safe.

"Bruce, I..." she started to object, a frown creeping across her face, but he plowed forward.

"I mean it, I promise you that the best thing you can do for me if I feel like I'm losing control is get out of the blast radius. You have to promise me that." He willed her to understand, to know that he needed above all else, to know that she was safe.

He watched her eyes search his face for a long moment, and then she said "I can do that," with such regret and resolve that he let out a breath in relief, "but I will hate every second of it, so try not to use rule number two very often, yeah?"

The way she followed up a firm understanding of the danger he carried inside him with words of affection made that giddy feeling of joy, of having something he never thought he could have, fill him up again. "Deal." He said, and he leaned forward to kiss her. He tried to show her, tried to communicate how incredibly thankful he was for her in this moment.

When he finally pulled away, her eyes were closed and she was smiling, and her grip on his hands was almost crushing.

"Rule three," she said, "I never want to go another day without kissing you like that." And it was so perfect and sweet and utterly Darcy that the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Rule four," he said, "I am so in love with you."

Her eyes opened in surprise, but he couldn't stop now. He was all in, had been for months. And now that he had the chance, he was going to tell her every day.

"I have been for so long, Darcy. And I'm so sorry I've been such an idiot, and I still think that you deserve more than this,"

Her almost comical frown made him smile, and god he loved the way she made everything just a little bit brighter and a little bit easier, all the time. "Hey, I'm working on it." He teased lightly, but he was utterly serious when he said, "And I'm going to keep working on it, every day, as long as you'll have me."

And then she was kissing him again, and he found that even a serious conversation had not cooled his need for her, like a physical ache. It only took moments before he pulled her back against him, his fingers pressing into her skin. He needed her closer, more, all the time. His hand on her thigh slid lower, his heart stuttering at the way she lifted her leg easily to give him access. With his hand firmly on her ass, the other on her waist, he turned until she sat on the bench. He felt a hand working under the waist of his pants, her fingers splayed against his skin. Unbidden, it called up the memory of sitting at a lab bench like this, fantasizing about pressing her against it just like this.

And then, as he dragged his mouth away from hers to taste the skin if her neck, to hear the little gasping noises he knew she would make, it occurred to him that there was nothing stopping him from telling her things like that.

"You know," he began casually, but the idea of it was making him desperate to press himself into her, aching with need, "I have imagined this before," the thought of sharing a fantasy with a woman he loved made him feel giddy, like a teenager, and he smiled against her skin. "You right here, like this on a lab bench."

"Why Bruce Banner, are you talking dirty to me?" She sounded honestly surprised, as if it hadn't really occurred to her that he might have thought about this, thought about her. But then he caught a hint of mischief in her eyes, a playfulness that made his cock twitch and his mind immediately race with possibilities. It finally occurred to him that this thing between them wasn't just going to be good and important.

It was also going to be a hell of a lot of fun.

"I have layers," he said, remembering the time, so long ago, when she hadn't known him as well, and really was surprised when she found out he wasn't all science and meditation. He looked at her, no longer bothering to hide what he was thinking. He was sure by the way her eyes widened and a slow flush crept up her neck, that she knew exactly where his mind was.

He couldn't help but grin, predatory and full of promise, as he trailed his fingers down the smooth skin of her leg. Touching, and memorizing, and planning.

"Hey Bruce?" her tone was light, and he was distracted, so all he managed was "Hmm?"

"I Rule four you too."