7: Scene Five, Part 1

Bruce blinked and held his breath against the pain, gripping the table as he tried to get his bearings though he was temporarily blinded by the metaphorical knife of time travel slicing through his brain. But the feeling of the lacquer under his hands was familiar and when his vision faded back in he realized he was in Tony's extravagant office, not his own lab, and the memory of the rather ordinary night before Tony's death came back to him suddenly.

As his mind shuffled through the memory it occurred to him that he had been pouring himself a drink at the bar and he stared down at the soda container and the short tumbler filled with ice and he knew it was going to be obvious to Tony that something was wrong as he attempted to get the strength back in his knees so that he could let go of the bar.

Tony's voice had trailed off and Bruce felt his presence to his left before he managed to loosen his hands and turn his head to look over at the other man, hovering near his shoulder with not entirely misplaced concern. Bruce met his eyes, so rich and warm, and knew the concern was genuinely for him – not that he would go colossal and smash the place up. No – with Tony it was never about the Hulk. It was always about him.

"Are you okay?"

His voice was soft and laden with worry and Bruce's mouth went dry. This was it... right? He thought that maybe he should ask for some aspirin or something, make up some bullshit excuse to buy himself a little more time, but then... Hadn't he had enough time? Tony was right there, so close Bruce could touch him. So close Bruce could smell his cologne and the undeniable masculinity that was Tony Stark. So close he could see the way his face was aging yet only made him more handsome, the way his lips were set firm and creased in concern, feel the physical pull of his presence and the magnetic draw that was always there, always dragging him closer.

And although he wasn't sure he could say it – not then, so unprepared and off balance from the experience of moving through time, so used to burying those feelings down where no one could see them – when he opened his mouth, the words fell breathlessly out.

"I'm completely in love with you."

And unfortunately, being so close to Tony, Bruce could easily see the way his facade crumpled for a moment – his eyebrows twitching together in confusion, his lips falling into a frown – before he smoothed it all out into a neutral expression as he took a step back.

"That's a little out of left field."

Tony's voice sounded rough and he coughed a bit, obviously trying to cover his embarrassment and Bruce accepted that, although it still hurt a little. Over the months it took him to rebuild the time machine he had prepared himself for every eventuality, every possible reaction. This was, by far, not the worst.

"I'm sorry," he replied, eyes falling back to his cup and the ice, the open soda container. "I know you know but... I just had to say it."

Tony sighed and leaned his hip against the bar, crossing his arms casually over his chest, and Bruce could feel those eyes on him, studying him, trying to pick him apart like a machine and figure out why – why say it now?

"I'm getting married," Tony said at last and Bruce chuckled just slightly as he closed the cap on the soda, hesitating a moment before turning sad eyes and a sad smile back to Tony, feeling remarkably undaunted given the circumstances.

"I know." He shrugged, could see the confusion on Tony's face. "I would never want you to leave Pepper, that's not..." Bruce stalled out, unsure of how to explain why he had to say it when there was really no way to explain. "I just had to say it."

"But I told you," Tony returned, anger tinging his words. It took Bruce by surprise and he stared at Tony, momentarily unsure.

"I'm not real good at this," Bruce said. "It's just... things are changing and I needed you to know."

"But why?" Tony pressed, his eyes hard, making Bruce uncomfortable and he realized that this was a lot easier in his own mind.

Bruce swallowed, fist clenching the glass a little too hard. It wasn't that confrontation bothered him, it was just that it rarely ended well for him. And though he wracked his brain for something to say, something to explain to him why, after years of working alongside each other, he felt the need to say it now, that wasn't a lie – because Tony would tear it apart – and that wasn't the truth – because Tony would never believe it – there was only one thing he could think of to say, a phrase that had haunted him for over a year now. And he hated himself for it.

"There are a lot of things in my life I regret," Bruce started, feeling his chest constrict with every word, "and I don't want not letting you know how much I love you to be one of them."

Tony rarely looked stunned but in that moment, he did. And Tony didn't really recover, either, the silence stretching between them like a void that Bruce wondered if he could ever fill, even with the depth of all of his emotion. But, predictably, Bruce supposed, he would never get the chance to find out.

Instead, Tony just dropped his eyes, ran his hands back through his hair, shook his head and turned his back, walking away with a muttered "I can't fucking deal with this right now." And Bruce stared after him, wounded despite how stupid it seemed to feel that way. What was he expecting, really? He knew the likelihood that Tony would respond favorably was less than marginal – after all, Tony had specifically told him not to say it the only other time Bruce had tried.

Still, though, Bruce stared after him even after he disappeared from view, the door to his office swinging shut, feeling the lack of Tony's presence intimately. That was it. He was gone. Maybe they would see each other tomorrow, before well... before his death. But then it would be over. Again. And Bruce wondered if it would be worth it to build the machine again, try to tell him in a different way, but...

God, fucking idiot, he chastised himself. There was no other outcome. He had to get over this obsession. It was sick, it was fucked. Tony had to die and he had to accept it – he had to. So fuck – why did this hurt so bad? Every time. Maybe one day he would get used to the rejection. Maybe he would –

But then the door opened again, so hard the hinges groaned in protest and Bruce stared in shock as Tony stood there – lips drawn tight, eyes fierce, mission written all over his face. And Bruce tried to open his mouth, tried to say something, an apology, anything to appease the other man as his blood pressure spiked and he fought to control the fearful part of him that didn't know what Tony was going to do as he strode forward, purpose driven and angry. And he tried to back up but he was pinned into the bar and Tony was there so suddenly – Tony with all his magnitude, all his intensity, right up against him – and he lay his hands on either side of Bruce's face, stared him straight in the eyes and then –

And then he kissed him. His eyes fell closed though Bruce stared in shock at long lashes as Tony's lips met his own and for a brief moment he couldn't even appreciate it, could only stand there, frozen, until Tony's pride couldn't take another second of not being kissed back and he started to draw away but – but if that was all Bruce was ever going to get then he wasn't going to waste it.

He placed a hand on the back of Tony's neck and pulled him forward again, closing his own eyes and melting into the kiss until their bodies were completely aligned, tongues tangled and breathless and fuck but it was perfect. It was everything Bruce had ever imagined kissing Tony would be – fiery and passionate and methodical and perfect. And when finally Tony pulled away for real Bruce's fingers twisted in his shirt, wanting selfishly to hold him there, to keep him there. This was so much worse now, knowing that he was going to die.

"Tony," he breathed, feeling awkward and prepubescent and stupid and madly in fucking love in a way he had only ever gotten the chance to experience once before and he wanted to savor it and he wanted to hold on to it forever but – he had to let it go. Even if Tony wasn't going to die tomorrow, Tony still wasn't his.

Bruce made his fingers let go, made himself let Tony go, his hands fall to his sides but Tony's hands were still on his neck, a thumb running across his jaw and he smiled this awkward, lopsided half-smile that was entirely too endearing and Bruce wanted that memory forever because as soon as it was there, it was gone, replaced by a sad little frown.

"I have to get my head straight," he said, and Bruce nodded, reaching up to touch one of Tony's hands just briefly before they fell from where they had framed his face.

"I'm sorry," he said but it didn't matter, Tony's eyes were still sad – so sad. And he took one final look at him, full of pain and regret, before he turned and left for the second time.

And though Bruce had been alone so many times in his life, it had been a long time since he had felt loneliness like that.