Note: Sorry, again, for taking so long! I've been writing near constantly on my RP account as Bruce, so although I've been productive, this fic has suffered for it. I posted my "Stars" one-shot yesterday, a sort of birthday present/drabble request for a friend on tumblr, so hopefully that helped a bit. The plot begins to thicken, and much Science Bros angst is to ensue from here on in! Also, some Hulkeye and Gammafrost, if you really, really squint. Thanks to all of you guys who have stuck with me so far through all of this!
Also, there's some language in this one, so be warned!
Chapter 13- Trust
"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough." ~ Frank H. Crane
"If I may…"
Bruce took a cautious step back, his shoes scuffing slightly on the smooth, white tiles as he instinctively flinched away from the god.
His heart hammered against his ribs as Loki's fingers shimmered with green energy, and he forced himself to take in deep, even breaths as round eyes flickered nervously over the Trickster's lean frame.
Panic welled in his chest, and he forced back the suffocating presence in his mind, the beast itching to come forward, aware of Bruce's agitation. He could sense the dangerous presence in the room, and he shifted and rippled beneath Bruce's skin, eager to escape the confines of his cage and protect Banner.
He didn't need to have an incident in here. Not now.
Loki's eyes grew slightly wider as Bruce tensed, seeing the flecks of green in the physicist's eyes, and the edges of his smile fell a fraction as a flash of memory surfaced. It was more of a flicker, really, causing him pause, and the god closed his eyes for a brief moment, the energy in his hand dissipating completely as he slowly lowered it back down to his side.
Blurred, hazy images of green and concrete flashed from behind his closed lids, along with the almost tangible imprints of fear and pain. The slightest crease formed between his brows as he tried to understand what it meant, to grasp the full picture.
But he otherwise kept his face smooth, showing no other hint of what he had seen, and he offered a smile, his dazzling, white teeth showing from between thin lips, reminding Bruce of some sort of predator.
Which is exactly what Loki was, wasn't it?
Bruce's shoulders retained that same tension as they did before, even when Loki dropped his hand. The Trickster's smile caused a shiver to run up his spine, the presence in his mind shifting anxiously once more.
The good doctor's nervousness and anxiety had been feeding the beast for days, and he had begun to shift more and more inside his head, approaching Bruce's carefully placed barriers, brushing against the confines of his mental cage. He was waiting for something: the right moment to escape, when Bruce was at his weakest, his most vulnerable. He needed to protect Banner, to ease the rage and aggression toward the god that threatened to overwhelm him.
Which explained at least part of the reason why Bruce seemed to have retreated so far inside his head these past days, having to try and force back the monster that loomed just over the edge, slowly teetering forward, threatening to cross over completely.
But not entirely.
He was also afraid. Overwhelmed with fear and worry and anger at how pathetic he felt. There was no way to control this, no sort of scientific explanation for what was happening, no way to try and prepare himself for whatever happened next.
He really was a time bomb now, just waiting to detonate, and with no way to know what the damage will be. Would he die from whatever this was? Would it cause him to lose control? Will he finally snap completely?
He shivered at the thought, already feeling the need to curl in on himself, make himself small enough that the rest of the world would just go away and leave him alone.
The Hulk pounded against his skull, demanding to be released.
"You're weak… you really think hiding will make this go away?! Stand up and take it, or I'll do it for you!" he snarled, voice reverberating around the inside of his mind, echoing until it miraculously faded into nothing.
Bruce screwed his eyes shut, a fresh wave of panic washing over him at the words, so much like those his father used all those years ago, now surfacing inside his head with the Hulk's voice.
When had he ever been able to speak to him before…? His knees felt weak, and he breathed deeply, urging himself to remain calm.
Bruce's attention was drawn from his internal struggle by a cool, even voice, and his eyes snapped open, fixing onto the man in front of him.
"I will take that as a no, then," Loki decided, his voice quiet so as to not draw more tension into Bruce's shoulders, as he grasped his hands behind his back.
"Tell me, Doctor Banner, do your eyes always do that?" he asked, intrigued.
His eyes squinted as he examined the mortal in from of him, and a small smile crept to his lips, despite the palpable tension that still lingered in the air between them.
Bruce gave him a perplexed look, a crease forming between his brow, before his mind caught up to Loki's words, and his mouth formed into a small 'o' of recognition. "Oh…you mean…no, they don't always do that," he muttered, feeling self-conscious under Loki's scrutinous gaze, like he was pressed under a microscope. He wondered why the god would find him so interesting, having no knowledge of the Other Guy, supposedly, but he shook it off, his face now a hard mask as he straightened, releasing some of the stiffness in his shoulders, and quieting the panic that was still ever-present in his chest.
"You do not trust me, doctor?" he asked, taking a hesitant step forward. "Have I done something to betray your trust in some way? To cause you to doubt my intentions?" Loki gave him a calculating look, but there was a note of sincere curiosity in his voice.
He really was trying to piece the scattered, broken memories in his head together, into one clear image for him to understand, and the doctor, although skittish and hesitant, seemed kind, beneath his hard exterior.
The doctor had helped him to heal over these past days, had seemed sincere in his concern and kindness. And Loki wanted to repay the favor, if he could. Of course he was still intrigued with the man. He couldn't help his idle curiosity, but underneath it all, he really did want to help.
His long imprisonment had been torturous and numbing, his emotions and passions suppressed under his prison's enchantments, under the powerful runes etched into every surface.
Now that he was free, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind, a thick fog cleared, leaving only broken fragments of confused memory in its wake.
He craved the raw emotions he had been denied all this time.
He craved understanding and clarity.
But most of all, he craved companionship, a stark contrast to the solitude he had searched for since he was a child, always the snake amongst the field of lions, the black sheep, the outsider. He had never belonged, and he realized that even as a child.
It was funny now, how much his feelings have seemed to have changed.
Months in captivity had made him crave for someone to talk to, to connect with, other than his brother, of course, the caring oaf that he was. With the exception of his brother and the daily visits from his guards, along with two visits from his mother, he had never once had another visitor.
Odin had never laid eye on him after his return. He did not want to be deceived by any of Loki's trickery.
Now here was a man that wanted to help him, despite the fact that he had, for some reason or another, tried to enslave humanity, a fact that he still could not wrap his head around completely. While the others shied away, out of fear, or anger, or suspicion, or a combination of the three, the doctor had tried to help from the beginning, despite how he felt about the god.
And Loki was fascinated by this.
Bruce swallowed, unnerved by Loki's curious green orbs, and he crossed his arms around himself defensively.
"Um, not exactly. You did before, but…it's complicated. I don't think I should be the one telling you this," he replied quietly, his words coming out in a rush.
He had to get out of here, deal with the rising panic attack that was looming just beneath this hastily constructed façade of normalcy, one that even he knew everyone saw right through. He couldn't talk about this, no matter how much he wanted to try and help.
"I j-just…I have to go," he muttered, turning on his heel and retreating from the room, leaving an all the more confused and intrigued Trickster in his wake.
An awkward silence had descended over the room, no one daring to break it. None of them felt even remotely comfortable with this, but there was very little they could do. Loki was Bruce's best shot at recovery from…well, whatever this was, and there was no other viable option. At least none that Tony could conceive.
Science had yielded no results or alternatives. Bruce had all but shut himself away in his own head, retreated away from the few friends he had managed to make over the last few months. He didn't seem to understand their worry, or else was completely oblivious to it, much to their frustration.
It was safe to say that all of them felt more than a little useless at the moment, and this tension hung in the air between them, so heavy and thick, Clint could have sunk an arrow into it.
After a moment, Tony refilled his glass and knocked it back, without a second moment's consideration, his lips pulling back against his teeth in a slight wince at the burn it caused. He turned to the rest of his team, not truly seeing them as he leaned back, his hips against the counter, a deep frown etched onto his features.
Frustration and anger welled in his chest, causing his features to harden as he held the now empty glass in his hand. This wasn't something he could fix, wasn't something he could wrap his head around and figure out, plunge his hands into, his fingers caked with grease and burns and oil as he tinkered in hopes of solving the problem and figure out how everything worked.
No. This was something he had absolutely no control over. And it was eating away at him.
He had trust issues. That much was obvious, in the way he didn't like being handed things, in the way that he fixated on the safety of those living in his tower, on the way that he put on a mask of sarcasm and witty retorts to hide his true feelings. He had placed his trust in the hands of others, and it had been betrayed, time and time again.
With his parents.
With the few girlfriends he managed to pick up after college, that were more than just one night stands, that had actually meant more to him than that.
With Obie.
The mere thought of the man caused a shudder to run up his spine, and absent fingers found their way to his chest, to the piece of metal it cradled there. He could feel the slight hum it emitted, could feel the cool metal through the thin fabric of his shirt.
He shook the thoughts away, swallowing down the memories of the man, of his life-long mentor, leaning over him, ripping out his heart as he lay paralyzed, the sound of his blood roaring in his ears as he tried to force out the questions he so desperately needed answers to.
No. He couldn't fix this. The only person who could was lying in a hospital room, waiting for his chance to stab them all in the back the first chance he got, knowing him, even with his "condition."
The same man who killed countless people, ripped mothers and fathers and children away from their families without so much as a glimmer of remorse.
The same man who manipulated the minds of those around him, causing Clint to have nightmares for weeks on end, from which he still hadn't fully recovered from.
The same man that had influenced a transformation, burdening Bruce with guilt over what happened to all of those agents on the Helicarrier. He knew that weight still pressed down on him, hunching his shoulders with remorse, despite the fact that he had had no control over any of it.
The same man that threw him from a window to his near-death.
And of course he wouldn't remember any of it. That would mean that Tony wouldn't be allowed to be angry! Wouldn't be able to lock the bastard away for everything he had done and throw away the fucking key! Lock him away for everything he was responsible for!
No. He had to idly sit by as the Trickster recovered his strength, regained his supply of magic, the same kind of magic that had most likely been the cause of this whole mess, and pray to a god he didn't even believe in that he would choose to help them, out of the goodness of his heart. He had to grin and bear it, just like Pepper always said.
Tony curled his lips bitterly in a mock display of a grin, lost in his own thoughts. He barely registered when Steve finally spoke, breaking the deafening silence of the room.
"So, should we head down to see how they're doing? It's not like we're doing any good up here, staring at each other," he asked, drawing his wary gaze from Tony to the rest of the team.
"Might as well. Maybe we should try and talk to Bruce about this whole mess later, try and give him some support?" Clint offered, picking up his freshly polished bow from the cushion beside him and slinging it over his chest.
Thor nodded in agreement, standing and subconsciously reaching for Mjölnir, which flew easily into his awaiting hand.
The god looked a bit strange, standing, his massive, silver hammer in hand, coupled with the blue cotton tee and stone-washed jeans he was wearing, but Tony chose not to comment (not aloud, anyways).
He chose instead to focus on shoving down all the simmering anger he felt, which of course he would never end up dealing with, no matter what he tried to tell himself. Yeah, repressing shit seemed to be his aim in life.
Guilt still glimmered in Thor's blue orbs, but he tried to put on a mask of a smile in hopes of lightening the weighted tension in the air. "Yes, I believe we should attempt to speak with Banner, help to ease his worry," he agreed, moving toward the doors with Clint following behind with nothing more to offer to the conversation than a shrug.
Tony shoved himself off the counter with calloused palms, lips taut as he filed from the room, Natasha, emotions a careful mask, and Steve, features contorted in concern for both Tony and Bruce, following closely behind.
"JARVIS, what floor is Bruce currently on?" Tony asked the air, a bored expression on his face.
"Floor 38, Medical wing," came the crisp reply, causing Thor's eyes to flicker across the room warily.
The ride in the elevator was cramped and much too awkward for Tony's tastes, and he made a mental note to increase the speed of the lift so he wouldn't have to endure this unbearable, awkward silence ever again.
When the doors finally opened, he was the first one out, despite the fact that he was situated toward the back of the metal container. He simply used his elbows and various other appendages to make his way forward until he managed to squeeze himself out entirely.
What? Acting like a douche and hiding under a thick layer of sarcasm was how he 'dealt' with his feelings.
Brushing himself off with a melodramatic flare, ignoring the grumbles and complaints from the rest of the team, he sauntered down the hall of the medical wing, intent on finding Bruce and finally talking some sense into him, stopping only when he was able to see Loki through the clear, see-through walls, his mouth slightly agape.
That wasn't something he expected to see.