Author's Note: Apparently this is going to be a longer fic. I'm going to deviate from my normal procedure of finishing the story first and instead, post as I write. So review for the chance to influence the way the story proceeds, or just encourage it to get written. This story will include Pepper, though it focuses on Tony and Bruce. I won't decide whether the slash element will be absent, one-sided, or eventually requited until I see where the characters take it. Clint and Natasha will likely play a role as well. Because I'll be posting as I write, there won't be an established posting schedule, so follow the story to receive notifications. Thanks to everyone who read, favorited, or reviewed the first chapter - the overwhelming response made me decide to pursue this story further!
Bruce Banner was exhausted. The other guy was gone, forced back to simmering potential, but it was his body that had to deal with the aftershocks. Fatigue dragged at him, and even the task of lifting his hand seem impossible. Everything ached, from his back all the way down to his toes.
Usually, he passed out. Slept for hours until his body had time to catch up.
Today, he'd just shifted back.
He couldn't explain the anomaly. So instead, Bruce concentrated on the shawarma. One bite after another, focusing on the effort of chewing and swallowing when even his throat muscles ached. He needed food, even if he was too tired to feel it.
Slowly, his system evened out. He could think again, and began to catalogue the damage. He'd let the thing inside out, twice. Bruce grimaced, looking around the table. Even though he'd known it couldn't last, he liked these people. He'd stayed long enough to think of them as friends. Now? They'd seen firsthand what he really was. Now he would lose them too.
Natasha faced him as she ate, watching him over mouthfuls of lamb. Exhaustion slumped her over her meal, but her eyes jumped back to him if he moved. Edgy, like in Calcutta. She'd projected calmness then too, but drawn her gun at the first test. And he'd heard her fear, as he lost control and his world went green. Bruce searched the dark eyes, wondering. Did she hate him for exposing the cracks in her carefully-constructed calm?
Barton shifted, scraping his chair across the floor, and propped his leg up on Natasha's chair. Her eyes flicked down to the movement. Just for a second, but Bruce saw some of the tension slip from her shoulders. When she resumed her watch, it was Bruce who looked away.
As for Barton himself, Bruce hadn't formed an opinion yet. He knew the face from the recognition search, but the man had still been an enemy when he'd lost control. But the careless way Barton dropped into a chair next to him suggested he didn't fear him. Barely registered him, in fact. The man's whole being focused on Natasha, blocking everything else out. Possessive, Bruce had thought at first, but further observation disproved the hypothesis. Barton was too locked in his own thoughts for jealousy. There didn't seem to be a claim between them, only an understanding. She anchored him, as he pulled himself back from wherever Loki had trapped him.
Across from him, Thor and Steve were strangers still. They were already retreating to their separate worlds. Beings of other worlds, other times, yet only one of them could go home. Bruce took another bite, resisting the twinge of sympathy. He'd already lost enough digging into Steve's condition. He wouldn't be involved again.
And last of all: Tony, silent. Bruce snuck a look to his right, checking.
He'd spent hours listening to Tony as they worked, the sound of his voice layered over keyboard taps and humming electronics. Tony spouted ideas and wisecracks in equal measure, a freeform flow that frequently made Bruce's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. To him, science was an equation to be solved, but Tony made it feel like poetry. It shocked Bruce how easily the two of them fell into rhythm.
Now, Tony's silence unnerved him. He'd gotten used to the running commentary, which had irritated him at first. Bruce frowned, realizing that he was going to miss it. Miss all of them, he supposed, but miss being a part of a team most of all. In the lab, he'd felt in sync. Sliding data screens back and forth between monitors. Thinking aloud, as they let a theory build between them. It had been so easy, so natural. Until Tony pushed the screens aside and faced him through the clear display of a monitor. Bruce was caught, trapped between the creeping horror of his condition and Tony's obvious fascination with it. But there was a connection between them, something real and terrifying. So he tried. He wanted this man to understand him.
But then, he'd lost control. Bruce had only confused images of bent metal and spinning sky. He remembered the hiss of steam and the scream of tearing metal. Then he woke alone, and felt sorrow seep into him. He'd ruined everything.
Bruce crumpled up the empty wrapper and stood, tossing the remains of his food into the trash. He'd stay long enough to see Loki off, and then it was time for a new place. A sense of futility swamped him, as he thought of starting over yet again. But he had no choice. Saving the world hadn't changed anything.
There would be no tour of Stark Tower. Only the battle, and the walking away.