Notes: I'll comment now on just how wonderful I think Pepper is. Seriously. She's amazing. And so is Bruce.

Warnings: Suggestions of slash without actual slash. (That's totally possible, I swear.) Probable OOCness.

Virginia "Pepper" Potts was a patient woman. A person had to be patient to deal with Tony Stark, as had frequently been pointed out to her. That did not mean, however, that she was always a kind person. Tony could attest to the many times she had put her foot down and told him to dig his head out of his ass.

She was not sure how to handle the person currently sitting in front of her. It was Tony's face and Tony's clothes (his sloppy workout clothes), his voice and his eyes. But there was no mistaking this person for the man who had hired her over a decade earlier. Pepper knew that man—intimately—and she could now tell at a glance that this was still the intruder.

Tony never got to the point where he looked like he would burst into tears for no apparent reason. (Natasha told her that the real Tony—the one trapped in this girl's body—had suffered a few crying fits, but Pepper had not seen it, and she had the feeling Tony would sooner leap armorless from a tall building than allow her to witness this.)

Pepper had to keep herself on a business train of thought if she was going to make it through this without leaping across the table to strangle the brat who had caused all this trouble.

She sat in the chair across from Cassie, placing a stack of files between them.

"I've collected some legal forms we'll need to start this ball rolling," she announced. If she focused on the papers, this was not so bad. She could think about the process and not Tony, sick in a hospital bed. "First, I need to know if you want to press charges. And honestly, if you don't, Tony has already expressed that he wishes for this to happen, so I'll take it to the state. You're a minor, and that means the state will do this whether you think this is a case or not."

She was met with silence, which did not please her in the slightest. Silence could mean any number of things. Pepper did not know the child well enough to guess.

Impatient to get started, Pepper looked at the intruder expectantly. (It was easier to think intruder when she was looking right at Tony's face. Otherwise she would be aggravated at seeing him and trying to work through the discrepancies in his behavior.)

The intruder looked uncertain.

"What's on your mind?" Pepper inquired when the intruder was not forthcoming.

"I talked to her—to him—today," the intruder said, looking upset at the mere mention of this.

"Tony can be a bit abrasive," Pepper said dismissively. "I'm sure whatever he said—"

"He said there would be consequences," the intruder burst out unhappily.

Pepper frowned. Out of context, that could mean almost anything. Obviously it was something distressing to Cassie. The intruder was wringing her hands in a nervous gesture Tony never would have succumbed to.

"Explain," she ordered.

"He said he would do it," the intruder obliged, twitchy and unable to sit still. "He said he would be me and testify if I said I didn't want to do it."

Pepper's stomach dropped to somewhere below her chair. Surely this girl would not be that selfish.

"I see," she said slowly, carefully.

"He said there would be consequences," Cassie said, barely speaking above a whisper. "What did he mean? He said he hated me! I didn't mean for this to happen! I didn't!"

Pepper looked at the intruder wearing the face of her closest friend and realized exactly what this was. Tony had obviously started something with this child, and for whatever reason he had left her hanging. Normally that would be reason to get irritated with him, but Pepper suspected there was a great deal more to this situation than a simple lack of follow through. Besides, after everything that had happened over the past month and—even more—the last three days, Pepper had a difficult time finding fault in what Tony did.

"Cassie," she said, calmly folding her hands in front of her as she slipped into lecture mode. The intruder looked up, and Pepper forced herself to ignore the liquid quality to Tony's eyes. This was Cassie, not Tony. "Because of your actions, a man has had to live your life for a month."

"I didn't realize—"

"Cassie, listen to me," Pepper cut her off. Cassie's mouth snapped shut. "It doesn't matter. You acted selfishly, and someone else suffered for it. He is hurt and angry, and he is justified. What you don't seem to notice or care about is that, despite all of this, he is still trying to help you."

"But he said there would be a cost!"

"Of course there will be a cost," Pepper lifted her eyebrow at the intruder.

She often compared Tony to a child, but she would rather deal with a child than a teenager. Teenagers were caught in the middle—somewhere between irrational oversimplification and just plain irrational. They did not have the maturity to deal with the adult world, and it was shocking when it slapped them in the face.

"Legal matters take time," Pepper explained. "If this goes to court, which it very well might, then this could take months. Maybe years."

"Years? But if they have evidence…"

"This isn't television," Pepper said harshly. "Bad people don't simply go to prison. There's a process. And there are hundreds of people vying for the attention of the lawyers and the judges and the courtrooms. It could be six months before this even reaches the courts.

"If you choose to remain uncooperative," she continued. "If you choose to force Tony to remain in your body, then yes, there will be consequences. For instance, you are not Tony Stark. Tony is an unparalleled mathematical genius. There is a reason his company makes the kind of money it does.

"Tony is also a highly public figure. Already there have been questions. I've had to send out rumors of a retreat. The people of New York have not been happy that their golden boy hasn't shown his face in so long. Not to mention the board of directors."

"I didn't know he was famous," the intruder mumbled.

"He's Iron Man, Cassie," Pepper said, frowning at the girl's ignorance. "You can look that up later. I'll have Jarvis give you access. The point is, you'll be a virtual prisoner. You'll remain locked in the tower until the trial ends and we get the two of you back to normal. Before that, I'll have to work some serious legal magic to keep Tony from being placed in the foster care system. Because that's what they'll want. But we need him. His company needs him. The Avengers need him. His friends need him. And if I have to apply to be a foster parent to get him into my custody, I will. After that, we'll have to figure out what to do with you. I imagine Tony won't want the reminder."

Cassie stared at her through Tony's wide eyes. It was painful seeing that fear on her friend's face. It angered her. Even when Tony was afraid, he never showed it. He grew angry, vengeful, dangerous. Sometimes he drank, and then he was frighteningly reckless. But he did not show this kind of fear. How dare this girl warp him like this!

"Will I go to foster care?" Cassie whispered.

"Yes."

"He… he said he would adopt me if no one else would help."

"It would be better for you if you went into foster care," Pepper said bluntly. No matter what Tony had said, what he had offered, she was not going to let this happen. She would not put a kid on the streets, but Pepper had seen enough of her friend's pain. This she could not allow. "Use state aid, seek therapy, finish your schooling. Get some friends. If you stay here, you'll wind up alone and hated. It's not a much better fate, I think.

"I'll leave you alone to consider this," she said finally. "Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

A rough headshake was her answer. Pepper left the room.

All things considered, Tony was handling the situation very well. By comparison, Bruce knew he had nearly lost control of himself multiple times since their fellow Avenger had found his way home. He was doing better now, his mind having taken the known events and—not rationalized, of course, because there was no rationalizing what had happened to Tony—acclimated itself to them. He suspected he would eventually pay for this tight control over his emotions, but for now he knew he could sit safely here in the hospital with Tony and not worry about hurting anyone.

He did not even need a sedative.

Tony slept peacefully for several hours. That was an impressive feat for him under normal circumstances. Considering the reason they were in this medical facility, Bruce thought it was an accomplishment worth writing home about.

Tony regained consciousness a bit after lunchtime, although it was a stretch to declare him awake. His eyes were open, but they were blank and distant, lost somewhere far from the hospital room.

Though he would have preferred to be at home with the billionaire back to his usual snarky, adult, male self, Bruce had to admit he actually enjoyed sitting here with Tony. It was relaxing, and some small, egotistical part of his brain was determined to maintain this position of protection. As long as he was here, Tony would be safe.

He would not lose this man again.

"How long until you guys let me out of here?" Tony asked, about an hour after he opened his eyes. Bruce had been expecting the question earlier.

"You have the flu," Bruce said. "That alone is reason enough to be cautious, no matter how mild the strain. With everything else, you'll be stuck here until tomorrow at least."

Tony sighed and closed his eyes, curling an arm around Bruce's waist and resting his head on Bruce's chest. Utterly relaxed, Bruce just ran his hand over the cropped dark hair.

"Was her hair this short before you got to it?" he asked, suspecting the answer but curious to know if he was right.

"It's awful, I get it," Tony mumbled. "I did it with a pair of kitchen shears in the bathroom one day. It's stupid. I thought…"

Thin fingers clutched hard at Bruce's shirt (Tony's shirt), and Bruce instantly shifted his arms to cradle the delicate body that both was and was not Tony.

"I thought if I stopped looking like a girl, he'd stop…" Tony finished, his voice thready with remembered pain. "It took so long to get out of there. No one believed me. No one cared."

"Why didn't you call?" Bruce dared to ask.

"I did. A couple times from a pay phone once I got out of Oregon," Tony gave a shrug, made awkward by his position. "I don't remember phone numbers except for the Stark Industries main line—that thing hasn't changed in decades—but I got some temp. She thought I was making shit up, and she told me to stop calling."

That had been pushing two weeks ago. Bruce closed his eyes, concentrating on the warmth of the body in his arms and the low stutter of Tony's breath. He thought he was beyond this, but then Tony said something that made the anger come rushing back. He was going to make sure that temp never sat at the main operator switchboard again.

"I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," Tony pointed out. "Hey… Bruce?"

"Yeah."

"When I get… back to normal," Tony hesitated, fingers curling and relaxing nervously on Bruce's chest. He kept his gaze down, refusing to look up and meet Bruce's searching gaze. "Will you… I mean… if me being a guy doesn't bother you…"

Tony trailed off uneasily.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Bruce exhaled slowly. This was a not entirely unexpected turn of events. He and Tony had gotten close in the months since the mess with Loki and the Chitauri. Clint delighted in tormenting them, calling it a bromance of scientific proportions.

Looking back at all the times Bruce had rolled his eyes and Tony had laughed, he wondered if Tony had thought then to take it any further. Bruce certainly hadn't. Honestly, he was still a little hung up on Betty, and he knew Tony was still half in love with Pepper.

Clint had pointed this out already. He told Bruce that Tony was getting very attached. What he did not say (but what Bruce had focused on nonetheless) was that it probably was not a good thing at the moment. Not only was Tony dealing with an incredibly stressful situation, but he was being bombarded by unfamiliar hormones and all of the confusion that came with them. Bruce had the uncomfortable feeling that Tony was seeking out a safe port in a storm that was threatening to drown him.

A sudden whipcord tension rippling through the body beside his alerted Bruce to his extended hesitation. Tony was on the retreat, showing it physically before he blurted out an apology.

"You know what? Forget I asked. I shouldn't have assumed—"

"Tony…"

This was going to be ugly. Bruce knew better than to think Tony would handle rejection—or rather perceived rejection—with any grace. Oh, he would bluff his way through with the best of them, but there was no way his head was in a good place right now. Bruce was not quite sure what this could do to him.

"—that you'd be interested in that," Tony spoke right over him, predictably.

He was tensing, trying to squirm away. Bruce tightened his grip without thinking, then winced when Tony's protests rose in volume and pitch.

"I mean, with Betty waving your flag, of course you're not—"

"Tony."

"—even gay, I mean I should be asking Clint or that guy in SHIELD tech who's totally closeted, but you know Don't Ask Don't Tell was rep—"

"Tony, just shut up."

"—repealed—don't tell me to shut up, Bruce!"

Well, he had known this would be bad. That was a lot of anger—a rage that had probably been building for weeks—and now it was aimed at the one person who should probably be as far from it as humanly possible.

The anger did upset him, but not in the way most people feared it would. It was the sudden liquid aspect to those fevered green eyes that drove the stake through Bruce's heart. He was making Tony cry. Admittedly, that was not as frightening as it would have been had Tony been himself—Bruce had already noted that this body was assaulting Tony's brain with all sorts of chemicals the man was not used to handling—but the tears were awful all the same.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

Tony held his glare a moment longer. He seemed determined to hold the tears back, but Bruce knew better. This was an unusual situation set smack in the middle of an even worse one, and it was going to happen, no matter how much Tony wished it would not.

When it did, it was somewhat anticlimactic. Tony sucked in an angry breath, fixed his stare on Bruce's chest, and glared dully at the darkening stain beneath his cheek.

Bruce relaxed his hold and let his head fall back with a sigh.

"Look, Tony—"

"Don't you dare give me the it's not you, it's me speech," Tony hissed.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's all you."

While that was the truth, Bruce thought perhaps he should not have said it quite so bluntly. Tony was obviously of the same opinion.

"Fuck you."

"It's not what you think, Tony," Bruce said harshly, instantly reacting to the sharpness of the crude retort.

By this point, he knew better than to think gentle words would be well received. If there was anything Bruce knew about Tony, it was that the man responded in a distressingly positive manner to negative attention. It was probably a throwback to a crappy childhood, but Bruce had never delved too much into that. Both of them had respected each other's pasts that much.

Sure enough, Tony tensed but did not slam his words back into his face.

"Do you honestly think I would be able to consider that proposal right now?" Bruce demanded. "Would you, if our positions were reversed? You just underwent a medical procedure only a small percentage of women ever have to endure, and you're a forty-year-old man. Where is your head right now, Tony? How can I trust that?"

"I am not a child," Tony said sullenly.

"No, but look at where I'm coming from, you ass," Bruce snapped. The insult shocked the tears away, had incredulous eyes turning back up to him. "I never really thought about the status of our friendship before now. Maybe I'll look at it in the future. But I sure as hell am not looking to make any sudden changes in our relationship while you're under the influence of a teenage girl's hormones."

At least the dumb gaping was better than the frantically furious tears. Bruce determinedly maintained his frown, refusing to look away while the gears spun away behind Tony's startled eyes.

Bruce doubted Tony had half the difficulty reading him as he had interpreting the deliberately blank stare on that tear-streaked face. He managed to keep his lips turned down, but Tony had turned into a veritable sphinx. Bruce had no idea what was going through his head, though he would not be surprised if he was told to pack up and go.

Finally, Tony blinked, his brows furrowing slightly.

"So that's not a definite no," he murmured.

Sometimes Bruce wondered why he put up with this. But then Tony was laughing—okay, giggling somewhat hysterically—and he could only close his eyes and shake his head and laugh along.

"I hate you so much," he protested.

"It'll pass," Tony assured him.

Like it was indigestion. He was not wrong, however.

"Yeah," Bruce murmured, and it was the most natural thing in the world to tug Tony back to his side. There was no resistance this time. Tony reclaimed that position, pillowing his head on Bruce's shoulder with a weary sigh.

"Bruce, if you want me to drop it…"

Bruce just wanted it never to have been brought up. Maybe, if Tony had waited until this was just a bad dream, well maybe then it would be something he would consider. Or if Tony was okay with being with another man. If Tony was happy being in a relationship where sex would probably never enter the equation. However, if Tony was just asking him because he knew he Bruce would never try to touch him with sex as an ultimate goal, then this was not a good place to be.

"When you're back to normal, I'll consider reopening the discussion," Bruce said finally. "That's not a yes or a no. That's just an invitation for conversation."

Tony sighed and inexplicably huddled closer. Bruce had feared his answer would create the opposite effect.

"Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

He tried not to let his unease transfer into the tension of his body.

"Thanks."

The way he relaxed proved he had been unsuccessful in his attempt at hiding his anxiety. Tony, fortunately, did not comment. Bruce squeezed his shoulder lightly in his own gratitude.

"Yeah."

Two days passed before Bruce could be persuaded to let Tony leave his hospital room. It was not a moment too soon. Even with the added help of McCoy and Storm, there was only so much one could do to keep a genius mind occupied. As the latest baby-sitter, Clint was completely relieved, both to know that Tony was mostly healthy again and that he no longer had to try to keep the billionaire from climbing out the nearest window. That part had not been an easy task.

Then finally, finally McCoy declared him well enough to leave the constant observation of medical staff. Tony threw on the change of clothes Storm dropped off, gave his hasty thanks to the mutants for their help, and then proceeded to yank on Cliff's arm impatiently.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Tony whined. It probably was not meant to sound so shrill, but it was a feminine voice—a teenage feminine voice—and there was only so much a person could do with it.

"Slow down, Tony," Clint wanted to smirk. This kind of behavior was charming in an irritating kind of way, and normally he would be grinning. But he was the messenger, which left him in the unenviable position of telling Tony that they were not going straight home.

"Is Happy here?" Tony demanded as they stepped into the elevator. "I haven't seen Happy."

"He's with Pepper," Clint said, bad news and reassuring news at once. "Hit the top floor. We're taking a quinjet."

Tony's hand froze over the button for ground level. Clint could see the tension rip through the slim body, narrow shoulders suddenly hunching, sharp green eyes glaring at him. This was Stark. That look was solely him. The girl could not manage that expression even in his body. He somehow managed it in hers. Not for the first time, Clint wondered how they ever thought Cassie was Stark.

"Seems a little excessive," Tony said, tone mild despite the suspicion on his face. "It's only a twenty minute drive."

"Cassie agreed to switch back," Clint said, bluntly striking Stark with the news rather than attempting to ease him into it. Tony never responded well when people tried to coddle him anyway. "We're going to Oregon."

Tony's hand fell, so Clint reached over and punched the button. On impulse, he ruffled a comforting hand through Tony's hair. (It was less choppy now. Storm had taken a scissors to it the previous day, creating a boyish style that looked less like someone had gone at it with a butcher's knife.)

The look Tony gave him made it clear the contact was unwelcome.

"Sorry," he said, sincere for once in an apology. "You okay with this?"

"I'm getting what I wanted," Tony said dully. "Why wouldn't I be?"

The elevator dinged, announcing their floor, and Clint led them to the roof access. The quinjet was parked a short distance away. Bruce and Steve stood beside it, waiting for them. Clint knew Natasha and Thor were already inside. It would have taken an act of God to make any one of them stay behind for this particular trip.

Tony hesitated by the wing of the quinjet.

"Why are we going to Oregon for this?"

"You're not going to like it," Clint muttered. Tony was not quiet about the things he disliked.

Clint was managing to get every incarnation of the Stark glare this morning.

"Okay, I deserved that," he admitted. "We're after some sort of mystical spell book."

"A magic book," Tony said flatly. "Of course it is."

"It's back at the Morgan home, and Cassie couldn't tell us where it was since we figured you moved it around without realizing what it was," Bruce said.

Clint had had his suspicions. If he had any doubts before, they were wiped out when, on Bruce's approach, Tony's entire body relaxed. They were not obvious about it. There was no greeting kiss (which, thank god, because that would have been creepy, considering Tony was currently a sixteen-year-old girl), nor was there any hand-holding or sappy looks. It was all in the body language that very few people would have even noticed. Tony was completely at ease in Bruce's presence.

Steve noticed instantly. His eyes went wide, darting past the pair to Clint, seeking confirmation for what he was seeing.

Clint rolled his eyes and mimed gagging. Tony did not notice. Bruce did. Clint was not quite sure what to make of the man's frown and minute head-shaking gesture, but he obliged the man and ceased with his admittedly immature behavior.

"I ripped that place apart," Tony said, confirming their suspicions, "I could have thrown it out a window for all I remember. Or at Mommy Morgan. I threw a lot of things at her."

"You threw things at Cassie's mom?" Clint was impressed.

"She hit me first," Tony said coldly. "Mothers should not be striking their children. She deserved whatever I dished out."

"You are my hero."

Tony winced. Clint was starting to wish he was mute. It seemed that nothing he said was going to get a good reaction.

Visibly bracing himself, Tony pushed past Steve (Steve was not moved by the weak-armed shove; Tony had to circle around him), heading toward the loading ramp.

"Let's get this field trip over with."

Note: I debated long and hard over whether or not to take this in a romantic direction. (Especially since I find the Bruce/Tony pairing completely adorable.) Unfortunately for their love affair, I kept running into this brick wall of the situation at hand. Contrary to what I've seen people do with most stories of this nature, sex with someone else does not erase past abuse. All I can see in a relationship like that is codependence and a lingering undercurrent of fear. Every place my head takes a relationship begun in violence (even if the violence was inflicted by someone who is no longer involved) is bad. Especially with a character like Tony Stark, who is prone to self-destruction anyway.

So, in the interest of not turning this story into a novel of one disaster following another, I was happy that Bruce had an iota of common sense. Tony still doesn't have any, but some of the people around him are helping me keep him from destroying himself.