Author's Note: So it's not Saturday yet, but this chapter is ready so I'm going to go ahead and post it. I might try and post every 2-3 days from now on. Enjoy

Chapter 10

The soil was dark, almost black, it felt moist and dark between her fingers as she carefully examined the content of the bag she was kneeling beside. Clara brought her hand to her nose and inhaled deeply. The smell of life.

"It's dirt girl, just dump it in already!"

Clara turned her head toward Sam, a friend from the escort house who was sitting at the table sipping coffee. The woman's long black legs were stretched in front of her as she bathed in the sun. Her eyes were hidden by large black sunglasses, but she was apparently staring directly at Clara, who shrugged.

"You should join me", she let the dirt crumble back into the bag and slipped on her gloves.

"Ha! No, thank you. Besides, those little hot pants make your ass look amazing from here. You should wear those outside your home, you know?"

Clara grinned as she waved a hand in the other woman's direction. Diving into the bag with both hands, she began to place the fresh earth inside the empty flower bed. Scattered around her were multiple flower pots with bright colourful blooms awaiting to be transplanted.

This was her meditation. Her escape. No clients, no expectation - only her creation. She was sweating under the summer sun, wearing a tattered white t-shirt which was now smeared with dirt. There was no one to impress here, no act to keep up. Behind her she could hear Sam humming quietly to herself, her friend's singsong voice a pleasant addition to the activity. Time disappeared, Clara was able to garden for hours non stop most days.

When the sound of her phone pulled her out of her trance, Clara blinked in confusion, thinking it was Sam's alarm. Was it so late already? She turned to Sam who was looking at the vibrating cellular with a frown.

"It's your private phone," Sam said as she picked it up. "Unknown number."

Clara wiped her dripping brow with her forearm, smearing more dirt over her already caked face, "Answer it."

She stood and approached the table as Sam pressed a button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello?... No, but yeah this is her phone," Clara extended her hand to take back the cell but Sam pulled away with a grin. "May I ask who's speaking?"

Sam then placed a hand over the microphone and cleared her throat, "Since when do you get phone calls from men on your private phone?"

"Gimme the phone Sam."

"Who's Bruce anyways?"

Clara lunged for the cell. Sam laughed as the white woman fell forward sprawled atop of her. For a second they struggled as Sam held the device as far away from her friend was possible. When the chair began wobbling under the weight Sam gave up, and finally handed over the phone.

When she ripped it away and placed it against her ear Clara heard a confused Bruce, "Hello? Clara? Anyone?"

"Hey! Bruce!...right?" She glared at her friend and kicked lightly at the black woman's leg before walking away.

"Yeah, yeah...it's me. Am I calling at a bad time? If you have company I can call back later, or..."

"No, no! That was just Sam. No one important."

Sam stuck out her tongue. Clara tried to slow her breathing.

"Okay...So, hi."

"Hi", Clara felt herself grin, so the doctor was uncomfortable even during telephone calls.

The awkward pause which followed almost made her laugh out loud. Sam had taken off her sunglasses now and was frowning. She mouthed a "who is that", but Clara waved her hand again.

She decided to take the lead once more, "How have you been?"

"Oh, good. Good."

She could almost see his fiddling with some defenceless napkin or tablecloth, she continued "Were you calling just to say hi?"

Silence again. She heard him clear his throat. One, two, a few seconds. As she opened her mouth to say something, Bruce finally cut in.

"My plant is dying."

Of all the things he could have said, this had not even made the list. She had not meant to giggle, but the laughter erupted from her chest unhindered and for a moment she could not stop.

She heard him mumble in her ear, but the words were drowned.

When she was finally able to catch her breath she apologized, "Oh god. Sorry, but...what?"

For a second she was afraid that Bruce had hung up on her. Immediately sober she listened to the silence.

"No, it's ok. It is amusing."

His tone of voice did not sound amused at all. Clara was at a loss. What did he want?

"What kind of plant?"

"I'm not sure"

She coughed to cover a chuckle, "Alright. Did you want to...save it?"

"I kind of feel bad just dumping it. I don't know. Probably shouldn't have called."

"What? Hey, it's fine. Do you...Would you like me to come over and take a look?"

"That's... You don't have to. Really, I'll throw it away."

She groaned quietly. Maybe she was understanding him all wrong. But still, he was just a man after all.

"Honestly, it would be no problem Bruce."

A pause, and then, "Okay. When?"

"Well, usually I would have had a client tonight. But..."

"I'm sorry, this was a bad idea. I don't want to inconvenience you, really. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Seriously, please Bruce. I've already said yes and it's no bother at all. My client cancelled. So, this afternoon? Around 5 o'clock?"

A pause.

"Yeah. That's fine."

"Great! See you then."

"Bye."

Clara hung up the phone and turned to find Sam standing right behind her. She shrieked, rolled her eyes and then sighed. Somehow the conversation had drained her. A mix of giddyness and nervousness gripped her belly. Sam followed her every step as she moved back to the table and sat down, her flowers forgotten. Her friend kneeled beside her, her large red afro tickling Clara's arm.

"Clara, who was that?"

She sighed, "This man...Bruce Banner." She tried chuckling, but it fell flat.

"You're seeing someone? Woah...how does that work? Oh my god, does he even know? Tell me you told him."

She rolled her eyes and Sam backed away slowly and regained her chair. Clara then proceeded to explain how she had met Bruce at Tony's party. The night, Pepper's order, carrying Bruce up to her apartment.

"Why didn't you dump him on the couch? Girl, you're crazy sometimes you know that?"

"That couch is not made for sleeping, come on Sam. I'm not cruel."

Her friend laughed and for a moment Clara felt indignant. But she had to admit that the whole thing had been rather foolish. She continued, explained their breakfast and talks on the terrace. How she had given him her number, but he had never called back.

Until now.

"Well then, I hope you fix that plant of his real good."

Clara clicked her tongue in annoyance, "It's not like that." She paused, "At least, I don't think so...When's the last time you had a real relationship Sam?"

Her friend shrugged one of her flawless bare shoulders, "Years ago. You?"

"I dunno. Think I was 15 or 16? He was adorable. Oh Sam, what on Earth am I supposed to do with a non-paying man?"

"Jeez, stop fretting about it. Whatever happens, happens. Just let him lead and you should be fine."

"Should be fine? That's not very reassuring, and you haven't met him either. He is quiet, and nervous and awkward. I felt successful just getting more than two sentences out of him."

Sam shrugged again. Clara sat back and for a while they remained silent. Her eyes roamed to her abandoned plants and she sighed. She would finish planting them, but the gardening mood had left her.

When the two women returned downstairs, Sam glistening from her sunbathing and Clara drenched and dirty, the dark woman offered her help.

"Need a hand getting ready?"

She shook her head, "That would make it feel much too much like work. But thanks, Sam."

Her friend nodded and readied to leave. When her shoes were on and all her things collected she turned back to Clara and smiled.

"Tons of escorts have boyfriends. I even knew one that was married."

"I know, it should be fine. I don't even know if this means anything. Maybe he's just a really weird guy that has a weird plant problem."

"Or, he's a regular guy with regular problems."

Clara rolled her eyes as she shooed Sam out of the door. She then hurried into her shower, discarding her soiled garments into the laundry bin. Making the best out of the little time she had, she decided on plain jeans and a t-shirt with heels to bring at least some class to the outfit.

Her dark hair was tucked away into a plain ponytail and some quick makeup later she was satisfied with the result. If this had been a client call she probably would have been fired on the spot and she hoped dearly that Bruce really did have a plant problem.

She took the subway to Grand Central and from there walked to Stark Tower. A lot of the devastation which this section of the city had suffered during the attack was still visible, but Clara was shocked by how quickly people had rebuilt. The tower itself showed almost no sign of having been almost destroyed by a horde of alien invaders.

Clara shook her head. As it often had over the past months, she was struck with the reality of it all, aliens! As if Iron Man and the destruction of Harlem by army experiments had not been enough.

For the first time ever she entered the building without having been rented for the evening. This somehow made her more aware of the people around her and less confident about her purpose. Still, she walked directly to the receptionist who smiled up at her with oblivious eyes.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Doctor Bruce Banner?"

A blond eyebrow rose curiously, "Just a moment please."

The woman wheeled away and turned her back to Clara as she picked up the phone and dialed. Some whispering and a moment later the receptionist wheeled back forward with a smile. "Can I get your name please, and a piece of ID?"

She provided both and was handed a visitor's pass, valid for this day only and stamped with the current time.

"You'll need to go through security over to the left, and they'll show you to the elevators. Doctor Banner is on the 85th floor."

It was Clara's turn to be somewhat surprised.

"Huh, alright then. Thanks alot."

"Have a good afternoon."

She smiled back to the receptionist and headed to the security checkpoint. In her previous visits Clara had gone through to the right side of the reception hall, where the elevators only moved to the first three floors. Though somewhat nervous as she approached the crisp looking guards, she went through the metal detectors and bag scan without a hitch. More relaxed than air travel, they did not even mention her nail file and clippers. Then again she supposed those would be meager tools against Iron Man.

The trip to the 89th floor was long and lonely, but at least she was spared elevator music. Clara wondered if Mr. Stark had personally seen to it that the torture device be banned from his elevators.

The doors opened to a somewhat lonesome and barren looking corridor. The walls and floor to her right being covered with large plastic sheets, she opted for the left. Her heels echoed eerily against the marble flooring. No one else crossed her path, all doors were shut and none of them labelled. She was beginning to wonder if she had misunderstood the receptionist when she noticed one door with a floor mat which spelled a word in a language she did not recognize. No name on the door, no buzzer.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted one delicate hand and knocked four times.

Muffled sounds, movement, the doorknob turned, opened, and her breath caught.

He looked out of breath, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. His hair was disheveled and seemed unbelievably longer than the last time she had seen him, and grayer. Dark circles under his eyes and a somewhat diminished stature betrayed sleepless nights and uneasiness. Nevertheless he smiled broadly when he saw her, his dark eyes almost shinning.

"You came."

"I did."

Silence as they stared at each other. And finally:

"Come in, please."

Clara stepped inside, the entryway was cramped and separated from the rest of the apartment. On the far wall was a notice board, empty save for a small white card. Her card.

Bruce backed away as she took off her shoes and then led the way into the living room. It was a large space with an open kitchen to the right and windows overseeing the city to the left. Modern, sophisticated, but bland. No pictures on the wall, no colour, just white and grey. No decoration on the fancy coffee table, no carpet under the dinner table. Clara shivered and fought to subdue her decorative spirit.

Her host had moved to the kitchen and dumped the cloth he had been holding. He was leaning against the counter watching her when she returned her attention to him.

"So where's the patient?"

He chuckled and moved into the living room where he bent down behind the sofa and lifted up a potted plant.

"Oh."

"That doesn't sound good," he chewed his words even more than usual.

She moved closer and took the small brownish plant from him, "No, it doesn't"

"The saleswoman told me it was an easy one to care for."

"It is."

He sighed and Clara shook her head quickly, "It's nothing you did, really. This isn't lack of water or too much sun, this plant has a fungus disease," she pointed to white spider-like webbing on parts of the leaves, "Probably was sick when you bought it. Where was it?"

"A nearby florist."

"Mostly sell cut flowers?" He nodded and she nodded in return, "Best avoid them in the future. I can give you a few numbers of places where they'd sell you great plants. More expensive and a bit out of the way, but fewer chances of this happening."

"So, nothing to be done for this one then?"

"I'm afraid not, no."

He nodded and took the plant back from her and brought it atop the counter in the kitchen.

"I wanted to get some life into this place," he seemed to be speaking to himself.

Clara approached slowly, "I can see why."

She had meant it nicely, but he looked at her with a frown and suddenly she was on the defensive, "Not that it's not a nice place, or anything...I just meant that, it's a bit, hrmm -"

"Bleak."

"That's a good word for it."

And now they looked at each other with curving mouths until the tension released in explosive laughter. Between breaths she check to make sure he was not insulted, but he laughed along with her for a while until he asked with a smile: "Drink?"

"Sure. What've you got?"

"Actually," he said with a frown before moving to the fridge. "Tea...and juice?"

She chuckled.

"Tea would be wonderful."