Despite Tony's big talk, Bruce chased him out of the training room three times the next day.
"Concussions aren't something to take lightly," he had scolded.
Tony had groused at him, obviously nursing a headache, and had gone off, presumably, to think up other ways to endanger his health.
The day after that, Tony was practically bouncing off the walls with nervous energy. He had consumed an inhuman amount of coffee, played around in his workshop for a few hours and then had wandered upstairs to drive each member of the team insane.
When he loudly sat himself across from Bruce at the table, Bruce put down his newspaper and snatched the steaming cup of coffee from the billionaire loose grip. Tony's eyes widened in irritation for just an instant, then narrowed to reflect a playful frustration.
"I don't take your stuff," he whined.
Bruce raised an eyebrow and folded up his paper. "You are constantly stealing my chemicals in the lab and you poke me from time to time just to test me. I think I'm entitled to steal your coffee on the rare occasion."
Tony glared at him as he made his way to the sink and poured of the mug.
"See," Tony muttered, "now you've wasted a perfectly good cup of coffee and I will be forced to bring my wrath down upon you."
Thor perked up from across the room, pausing in cleaning Mjölnir to ask in a booming voice, "Who will we be smiting on this fine day, Man of Iron?"
Bruce forced himself to keep a straight face as Tony turned to face the God of Thunder.
"Call off the dogs, Point Break," Tony grumbled, "Bruce just decided to pour out my perfectly good coffee."
Thor was barely fazed by the nickname, but his eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. "Where are these dogs you speak of?"
Tony barked out a laugh and lazily pointed around the room with his right hand. "Figure of speech, Thunderation, no actual dogs are present."
Thor continued to look a little wary, but went back to polishing the hammer that was basically an immovable paper weight to the rest of the team.
The corners of Tony's mouth tightened in contained mirth, and the corners of his eye crinkled as he looked at Bruce. If he didn't leave the room soon, Bruce could tell that the over-caffeinated genius was going to dissolve into giggles. That would be a good way to thoroughly confuse Thor—again—and Bruce wasn't in the mood to be caught in the middle of one of those exasperating conversations.
"Come on, Tony," He said. "We're going to train."
The moment Tony heard these words, he perked up. While training with the Hulk would be rather difficult and dangerous, training with Bruce was really fun. Because Bruce was careful to keep his heart rate and emotions under control, his workouts were relaxing and simple.
"Shorts and tennis shoes like normal for weights?" Tony asked, already beginning to put a circuit together in his head.
It would feel good to work off some of the pent-up energy and left-over frustration from his sparring with Cap. Steve had been feeling guilty about knocking Tony out, though he hadn't mentioned it again since his (many) apologies while preparing an ice pack. Tony could tell that Steve was still trying to say that he was sorry by doing little favors around the Tower. Someone had prepared extra bacon that morning and left the plate out for others, someone had sketched a pretty badass drawing of Iron Man beating up some baddies, and someone had folded Tony's rain jacket—previously discarded and left in a heap somewhere—and placed it on his bed. Tony may not have seen Steve do any of these things, but he's certain it's the Super Soldier's passive way of continuing to apologize. Trust Steve to mother Tony into forgiveness—not that Tony was holding a grudge.
"Er, yeah," Bruce answered, staring at something on his phone screen. "And I wear compression shorts, too."
"Ew, TMI," Tony laughed, heading off to his suite. "I'll meet you down there in ten minutes."
Tony rode down to the Training Room in the elevator, dressed in tennis shoes, a white Iron Man t-shirt, and athletic shorts. He had taken Bruce's comment about compression shorts to be a suggestion, and he was now distractedly tugging at them, convinced that they weren't adjusted quite right.
"Alright, Mean Green," Tony sang out, "I'm ready for some weights. I seriously need to work off some of this energy, I mean—"
Tony cut off abruptly as he caught sight of Bruce meditating cross-legged on a black yoga mat near the window. The other man's eyes were closed, his face relatively peaceful as the natural light drew shadows behind him.
"Aw man, come on, we're not doing yoga, right?" Tony stomped over to his friend, disturbing the peaceful atmosphere.
Bruce opened one eye and smiled at Tony. "If I'm right—and I generally am—you're probably still feeling a little bit of a headache from Steve braining you. This will be gentle enough for you to recover and work off a little of that caffeine-induced haze I imagine you're in."
Tony glared at him and settled onto the mat next to Bruce after peeling off his shoes and socks. He grunted and moaned his way to a cross-legged position that looked something like Bruce's pose. Without a glance at him, Bruce stood up fluidly and said, "We'll start standing at the top of the mat."
Tony growled a few obscenities as he levered himself into standing. Evidently standing all focused was called mountain pose, which Tony decided he really liked. When Bruce cued them to a forward fold, Tony hung helplessly with his fingers wiggling full inches from his toes.
Tony could hear the amusement in Bruce's voice as the talked his friend through sun salutations. Tony was beginning to enjoy the focus that this took, despite being hampered by his flexibility. When Tony failed to reach the full expression of the pose that Bruce was in, the scientist would suggest modifications to each pose.
As they ramped up the speed, Tony could feel sweat trickling down his lower back.
This isn't too bad, he thought. And it's not like anyone else is here but Bruce, so Clint won't make fun of me for not being able to reach my toes.
As they progressed into a different vinyasa, Tony grunted after he pushed himself into downward facing dog. "Is this how you control the Other Guy?"
Bruce peeked at Tony from underneath his arm, looking to see if this was a serious question. Tony supposed he must have been convinced by the tone and expression, because Bruce sighed.
"Walk your feet up to your hands, Tony. There you go." Bruce took a step to Tony's mat and placed his hand on his friend's upper back, applying a gentle pressure. "Now stay in the forward fold for a minute—nice, look how much closer you are to reaching your toes."
Tony gave a smile from his upside-down position, fully aware that he probably looked red in the face with his hair floating around his head.
Tony waited patiently—which was a little out of character—to see if Bruce would say anything else.
"It's not really about control, so much," Bruce said in a low voice. "This helps me be more accepting. I can't get away from this reality—I've tried that—so I might as well be happier living with it."
Tony drew a blank on words, rising slowly to standing. He reached up to put a hand on Bruce's shoulder, hesitated awkwardly, and ended up patting his back.
Tony cringed inwardly. He had never been very good at the whole "comforting a friend" thing, but hopefully Bruce got the gist of it.
"Well," Tony said, ready to change the mood. "As much as I've enjoyed this little stretching session, I think it's time to show me something even vaguely challenging."
Bruce laughed and stepped to the top of his mat. "Alright, Tony," he said. "Just remember that you asked for it."
Forty-five minutes later, both men were breathing hard and sweating through their shirts. Tony refused to admit the little tremors that went through the muscles in his arms, keeping his eyes on Bruce. If the timid scientist could do it, so could Tony.
"Alright," Bruce finally said, "the rest will be stretching before savasana—basically nap-time, Tony, so you should love that part."
Tony tried not to let the relief show in his face. "I could do this all day," he said, his slightly breathless voice giving him away.
Bruce guided them into a yoga squat—malasana—and dropped easily into the pose, palms pressed together and pressing into his sternum.
Tony followed confidently—he could do it if Bruce could do it—and let out a little gasp as a white-hot pain shot through the inside of his right leg. He toppled over onto his back, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted together as he waited for the pain to pass. Eventually it fell from a bright pulsing pain to a dull throbbing.
Bruce was standing over him worriedly, gently probing the groin muscle. Tony swatted his hand away in embarrassment, grabbing his thigh above the knee and pulling it toward him.
"I'm fine," he grunted, "I just pulled something."
"Your groin muscle," Bruce clarified, pushing down the smile that kept rising to his lips.
"Something," Tony glowered at him.
"Wow, Tony," Bruce tried to keep the laughter out of his voice when he realized that his friend was okay. "Pepper is so lucky to have you. You being so spry for your age, you must really know how to show her a good time."
"Hardy har har," Tony growled, looking like he might turn into a big green rage monster.
"Let's go upstairs," Bruce laughed, "We can get you some ice. And it looks like you'll be resting that for another few days."
Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. "One of these days I'm going to get you back for injuring me. You and Cap both. You'll see."
Bruce couldn't stop laughing as he helped the limping other man to the elevator.
This must be good for his rage problem, Tony thought sourly.
Too bad the comedy was painful and embarrassing, but it couldn't be all bad if it got his regularly stoic friend to dissolve into laughter.
Bruce swiped some ice from the kitchen, setting Tony up on the couch with a movie and an awkwardly position ice pack. Bruce plopped himself down next the billionaire, happily instructing JARVIS to play A New Hope.
"So, what should we tell the others?" He asked, rolling his head against the couch to shoot a questioning look at Tony. Tony tried to ignore the teasing laughter still shining in Bruce's eyes.
"There's no way out of this one," Tony said, gazing straight up to the ceiling to play up to drama. "We tell Pepper the truth—everyone else, we tell that Pepper and I got a little enthusiastic in bed."
He winked at Bruce and rested his head against the couch.
Damn Trauma Room, Tony thought with a rueful smile. One of these days he would have his vengeance.
