Vital Communication Chapter 25
Disclaimers: Still building Stark Towers (or I guess, Avengers Towers) in the sand. Do not own, just playing. PS – I'm sorry, but real life demands have required me to drop my posting to once a month. Please see my profile for ways to stay in touch with me for the in between times.
Warnings: Back to the angst, kids, sorry. It will not leave me alone. This chapter folds up time, a bit. I'll do my best to break it up, but there is no set reference to how many days pass. Also, dealing with the after effects of nightmares in this, but not the details.
Wrapping up their new plan of action, Bruce realized it was time for dinner. He had put the responsibility of the kitchen and its use solely in his hands, knowing Tony had little desire or talent with food preparation. However, while groceries had been delivered and stored, the kitchen desperately needed a good cleaning before he felt comfortable cooking in it. It was a side effect of how he preferred his lab.
He quietly sighed, trying to avoid Tony's attention while he thought through this problem. They'd either have to order in again, or go out. Both options had their share of problems. Taking delivery, and there would be no break from the ghosts of the past. Going out, meant dealing with a fawning public at best, or really, worst. Neither was a great option, as after the Invasion, few of the Avengers could pass down a New York city street without recognition.
'Well, nothing for it, he needs the break. Hell, I need the break', he thought to himself, watching Tony talk to JARVIS via the tablet. At a likely break, Bruce interrupted, "Tony, let's get out of here for dinner, hm?" The offer is plain, no additional conditions.
Tony whirled mid-sentence, and looked at Bruce, mouth forming an "O" of surprise. "Why?" fell from his lips.
"That kitchen isn't ready, won't be ready," Bruce shook his head, "And, well, I want a break. If we stay here, we'll work. I'm tired," he lied, hoping Tony didn't pick up on it.
"Oh, that's fair. Okay, let's go," and mercurial Tony spun away to find his car keys, shouting, "Daddy's going out, behave!" to the robots.
"C'mon lollygagger, let's get a move on!" he throws over his shoulder as he moved to the front door. Bruce shook his head, stood and followed.
Over the course of the next few weeks, they work on stripping the large house practically to its fundament. Wallpaper was torn off the walls, old fixtures removed, carpeting pulled. New fixtures were installed. Bruce convinced Tony to forgo carpeting in most of the house, and just replacing it in rooms it seemed right to reinstall it.
They shared space in the basement lab, the only place really livable while they redid the upper stories. Nights were interesting. Each dealt with nightmares, and required a certain delicacy to handle. Several nights, it felt like they stood sentinel over each other, as one would rescue the other from the awful dreams, then the rescuer would try to sleep, letting the process repeat until day break.
It was a wonder they found any true rest.
Bruce had insisted on a pallet on the floor, not wanting to trust he'd not hurt Tony with his inevitable flailing. He also didn't want to run the risk of a 'Hulk-out' if Tony hit him while struggling in the depths of his own nightmares. On the fourth night of this, Tony spectacularly struck out at Bruce when the doctor came to pull him out. Surprised, Bruce's control slipped, and Hulk took over, concerned and worried for his Tin Man.
The huge, green man scooped Tony into a cuddle, resembling a parent with a scared child. Humming off key, a half forgotten memory, Hulk began to rock back and forth, trying to calm Tony down. A single, sausage thick digit carefully pet Tony's head and chest. And it was this soft tapping that finally broke the nightmare's hold, allowing Tony to wake up.
His eyes blink open to take in a surrounding blend of black shadows and green warmth. "Oh God," he sighed, and shattered, crying, turning into the leathery, velvet hide of the broad chest that supported him.
Hulk rumbled, hoping it was a soothing kind of noise. He tried to remember what had helped them in the distant past, and shifted Tony's tense body so he could reach the engineer's back and rub it gently. It felt right, like something he'd had a very long time ago. Tony was completely encircled and hidden from view of all but JARVIS' sensors while he heaved wracking sobs. Hulk just kept giving comfort and support according to half remembered memories of a broken childhood, for an hour, until Tony's sobbing died off and he was reduced to the odd sniffle. They might have faintly heard Tony's bots chirping and bleeping in distress, but they were ignored.
Believing the tempest to be over, Hulk gave Tony one last, very soft pat on the back and gave back control to Bruce. The shifts were quick, hardly painless, but both went quietly, as neither wished to draw attention away from Tony and his needs.
Bruce held Tony tighter, and whispered to him, "You're okay. Not alone. Never alone if I can help it." Over and over he spoke, quiet words of companionship. And maybe, maybe something more, if Bruce believed in himself.
Another 30 minutes passed before Tony took a deep breath and stiffened to pull away. Bruce let him go, reluctantly.
"Thank you," Tony quietly said, scrubbing a hand through his hair, then wiping his face with both hands.
"You've done as much for me, these past few nights," Bruce replied, just as quiet, hands laid in his lap, fingers twisted together.
Tony grunted in agreement, lost in thought. He looked at the bots grouped around them, close, but far enough away that Hulk had easily ignored them, considering his next move.
"Bruce? Would it be easier if we shared the bed?" Tony suddenly asked, glancing at him through his eyelashes.
Bruce considered this idea a moment, and said, "Maybe. Wouldn't have to stumble across the room, half asleep. Some nights, it's like trying to avoid Legos around here."
"I used to sleep better when Pepper was with me," Tony admitted in a barely heard whisper, head down, eyes closed. He didn't want Bruce to think he waned some kind of sexual favor or teddy bear, but it did help to have a presence near him while sleeping.
"When you slept at all, I'm sure," Bruce said, with a bit of a laugh.
Tony snorted, amused. "Yes that is a prerequisite, Doc," he said, moving to stand. "C'mon, Bed's way more comfortable than the concrete floor." He offered Bruce a hand in getting up.
Bruce took Tony's proffered hand and hauled himself up. He then noticed the draft around his derriere. "Ah, that explains the black out," he said, chagrined.
"It was rather green in here for awhile," Tony grinned, his unrepentant side emerging a little.
"Yeah, some times he as to handle a situation, regardless of how I feel about it," Bruce admitted, "Though we do find ourselves in agreement from time to time." He padded quickly back to his duffel and found another pair of pants to sleep in.
"Well, that explains why you prefer a particular type of pant," Tony surmised.
"In the interest of factual reporting, I don't normally sleep in any clothes," Bruce admitted with a faint blush. Tony looked at him in the semi-darkness, a single brow raised. "Too many episodes in the early days of feeling constricted and getting rather irritated by it," Bruce shrugged, and Tony by the bed.
Bruce then waited for Tony to slide in before doing so himself. That night, they managed undisturbed sleep for the first time in at least a month.
A few days later, Bruce was in the hall lined with photos from Tony's childhood. He was carefully removing the pictures, wrapping them in bubble wrap, and crating them up for storage. Each was a small window into the childhood of his friend. Visual evidence of the downward slide from a happy, trusting child, to a sullen, angry teen, crossed the years before him.
He took down one picture, a family portrait of the Starks when Tony was, at best, 12. The blank eyed look was present on Tony and Maria's faces, and oddly, a banked rage, all too familiar to Bruce, on Howard's. Bruce knows, from SHIELD records, that Howard was an alcoholic, just like his own father. He does not believe that Howard was physically violent towards either his wife or son. But he's not sure, and damned sure wasn't about to ask.
"No one's had the ideal childhood on this team, have they Dummy?" he asked of the robot helping him, depressed. Dummy chirped an interrogative. "No, it's fine. We don't need..."
"Bruce?"
'Damn', Bruce thought to himself, 'too slow'. Tony stood at the end of the hall, partially out of breath from running up the stairs. "I'm fine, Tony. Did Dummy?" he asked, leaving the question open.
"Yeah, JARVIS relayed the ping. What are you up to?" Tony answered, looking around the half empty hall.
"Pulling your gallery down. Or did you want fodder available for Clint and Natasha? Or Steve?", Bruce said, handing Dummy the now bubble wrapped frame to be put in the crate. Dummy's pincer claw carefully clasped the frame and he turned on his chassis to slot the wrapped picture in with the rest. Tony snapped his jaw shut on a witty comeback. Each situation Bruce mentioned was potentially weird, when Tony thought about it. Clint would see it as an opportunity to harass him about 'silver spoons', while Natasha would just use it as a way to control him. Steve would just ask for stories about growing up with Howard. Tony certainly didn't want to hand any kind of ammunition to the spy twins, nor to All American himself. He focused on the photos, pushing down the simmering anger that surged like the tide whenever he thought of Steve.
When Dummy turned back to Bruce, he chirped again, and Bruce nodded.
"Yes, if that one's full, we'll have to get another crate. Can you get it back to the basement? Or shall we haul it to the attic?" The last question was directed at Tony, who was lost contemplating the remaining photos, trying to remember when each was taken. "Tony?" Bruce brought Tony back to the present.
"Yeah, sorry," Tony said, chagrined at being caught out, reminiscing. "Um, storage?" he thought for a moment. "I've got a vault for such things, a conservation company. We'll put the crates downstairs, and give them a call to collect those, and some of the antiques." Bruce agreed and gave Dummy his directions.