Wordcount (this chapter): approx. 2800
A/N: Are you saying I am actually capable of updating more than once a month? Blasphemy! Though, seriously. Shorter chapter than the others. Heavy focus on the Tony/Bruce interaction. Enjoy!
-Chapter 7: Pillboxes and Magic- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Bruce feels like puking. Tony sprints outside to the bathroom and does. The look on Bruce's face was too familiar. It was the same as Tony's glanced at a mirror in the hospital bathroom an hour after his mom died. Tony takes a deep breath and swallows down the taste of throw-up—Bruce needs him right now, and he doesn't spend more than a minute in the stall before dashing back. He flings Bruce's door open. Ms. Banner is standing wobbly, an arm over her Bruce's shoulders. Her other hand is on her forehead. "Hey Tony…" she starts.
She's okay. Bruce's mom is okay.
"Hi, Miss Banner. Good to see you up and about."
"Mom, save your voice," Bruce says. "We don't know if there's something acidic in your throat that talking could make worse."
"Didn't swallow nothing acidic," she murmurs as Bruce lays her on the couch. Tony, meanwhile, goes to the kitchen to get something to wash out his mouth and calls the cleaners to clear Bruce's mom's mess off the carpet. Once he's off the phone, he pops back into the living room.
"Carpet cleaners will be here in twenty. We should get her to a doctor."
"I am a doctor," Ms. Banner asserts from the couch, her thumb hanging in the hair and pointing at hereslf. "I could do open heart surgery on myself." Her voice is weak and crackling. Tony hates that type of voice.
"I can get a doctor to make a house call since none of us can drive," Tony says. "And the cabs would be stuck in traffic at 4pm."
"Wouldn't the doctor, too?" Bruce asks nervously. He's holding his mother's hand between both his. Whatever his mom has, Bruce isn't afraid of catching it. Tony understands him completely. When Tony was little: "Well, if Mommy has to get surgery, I want it too!" No kid wants their parent to suffer.
Later, the carpet is cleaned and the doctor asks Bruce and Tony to leave her alone while she examines Ms. Banner. Michelle is one of the few doctors Tony can trusts (Michelle and Bruce's mom currently comprise the list.) She was his mom's doctor when she had first gotten ill, but was later dropped in favor of a more 'qualified' doctor. Tony always wondered what could have happened if they'd kept her.
Sitting on the bed with his eyes shut and hands tugging into his hair, Bruce only realizes when Tony sits next to him by the feel of the mattress shifting. "You alright?" comes Tony's voice, soft and blanket-like.
Their thighs touch. Tony puts a hand on Bruce's back. "I will be. I need to relax," Bruce says.
"Can I help?"
"Probably not."
"If you had meds for anxiety, they could help."
"I don't need pills, Tony." Bruce shrugs away his arm.
"Your mom takes ones for depression," Tony says, folding his hands together. Bruce looks at him quizzically. "They're in the drawer on top of the microwave, behind the paper plates. Remember when I made pizza bagels a few nights ago and was looking everywhere for something recyclable to serve them on?"
"My mom's different." Tony turns to him, and Bruce looks away and stops like he's trying to find the right words. "This is all different. Kind of weird. Not my mom, I mean. You. Like, you're—you're finding out everything about me, I guess."
"And you're not with me?" Tony asks?
They look at each other.
"Am I?"
"More than most people have. Even Howard's noticed it." He shrugs. He and Bruce haven't broken eye-contact.
"You shouldn't call your dad Howard," Bruce says.
"You should take something for anxiety."
"I'm not anxious."
"I can feel it vicariously, Bruce. It's starting to affect me. Really, my left hand has just started twitching and making phone calls to long distance relatives it hasn't seen in six years to makes sure they are okay."
Bruce looks away and laughs. Tony smiles. "Oh god, Tony, I've actually done that before."
"No."
"Yes."
"Hell, this is a serious issue and all, but Bruce. Seriously?"
"I kid you not."
"Well that settles it. When you start sharing symptoms with Tony Stark's body parts, you know you have an issue."
Bruce looks at him and guffaws. "What?"
"I am attempting to cheer you up. Give me some credit."
"Well, there was certainly an attempt," Bruce says, smiling and adjusting his glasses.
Tony makes a skunk-face and leans into Bruce's shoulder. "Shut up, Banner."
"Never."
"How rude."
They just giggle for a bit, lie back in the bed and count the dots on the ceiling together and give up after twenty-seven.
"You're mom's gonna be fine though. It's stomach-bug season, she probably just got a really nasty one."
"Yeah, probably," Bruce replies, and Tony can tell he really believes that. Then Tony can't stop grinning because making Bruce feel that relaxed is just amazing, and the huge surge of confidence and warmth that may or may not be also from where their hips and arms are brushing together on the bed only adds to it all. Bruce points to the ceiling. "Twenty-eight."
"Please stop."
It is just a stomach bug. The doctor says she had a minor allergic reaction to a nausea pill she'd taken, hence the throw-up. The feeble voice and body is just a result of the bug she had caught. "It is absolutely nothing to worry about, but if you are worried, call me any time," Michelle says, smiles at them, then is on her way. Nothing to worry about. When she says it, Tony looks over at Bruce to see his reaction.
The relief on Banner's face is toxic. "Thank you!" Bruce says and waves as the doctor leaves. Tony can't stop smiling. Bruce closes the door after the doctor and turns around. He fist-bumps the air and runs up to Tony and they hug each other until they can stop smiling.
Bruce's mom can't work. That's a given. She is to stay in bed for the next two weeks or until two days after her fever breaks and the nausea stops. Being sick, she wouldn't have been able to volunteer at the hospital stands or waitress with food anyway. "Still, I want to work," she says.
"Well, you can't," Bruce replies. He and Tony are in the kitchen. Tony's melting cheese and tomato sauce on bagels, and Bruce is making soup for his mom. "So enjoy the time off."
"People are dying without me."
"Someone else will fill your spot. Everyone gets sick."
"Some worse than others," she adds. Tony spreads the paste on a bagel a bit too harshly. Bruce grabs his hand until he calms down. "I need to get better," she finishes.
"I agree," Bruce says. "So lie down and get working on it." Reluctantly, Ms. Banner does. With the couch taken by his mom, Bruce's bedroom becomes the new living space. Tony brings the food to it while Bruce feeds his mom soup. Later, they sit on the bed and eat while and watch Saturday Night Live clips on Bruce's laptop. "Want to go for a walk?" Bruce asks in-between skits.
"To where?"
"Not to anywhere."
"Just walking?"
"It's a nice night and being all sedentary is probably bumming you out a bit." Bruce can see it. The air of fatigue Tony gets at seeing his mom sick. Tony's probably imagining his own mom. Bruce figures a walk outside would give them both some much-needed stress release. "Tony?"
He blinks. "Yeah, um. Sure."
"Are you okay? You just spaced out for a sec."
"I am fine, I just—never mind. Are you sure we should leave your mom here? Alone? What if something happens?"
Oh. Bruce hadn't thought about that. Jesus, what if something does happen? She could die. She is probably going to die, and Bruce is going to have no one again just like when his dad left. Bruce realizes he is thinking psychotically and scrunches his eyes together, shutting them and trying to will away the thoughts. Tony is looking elsewhere, probably engaged some internal warfare of his own. Bruce tries deep breathing. Tony's question hours or seconds earlier still redolent in the air. It's too late to respond; responding would be weird at this point. Bruce is so fucking weird.
Tony doesn't usually think he's weird, job of a scientist is to analyze data and draw conclusions. Based on most all their interactions, Tony really doesn't see anything strange about him. Not in a negative sense, at least. Bruce finds his voice. "Nothing is going to happen. She is asleep and on her side so if she did puke she wouldn't risk drowning in it, which she wouldn't anyway because the doctor gave her something to calm her stomach that's worked perfectly for the past few hours. It's just a cold, Tony."
Bruce wonders if by comforting Tony he is also comforting himself. Maybe seeing that someone else can get worried and inexplicably paranoid (though Tony is paranoid due to a traumatic event, whereas Bruce is nervous just because he is a freak) makes Bruce feel more normal. It definitely offers solace.
"I just gave you a panic attack, didn't I?" Tony asks.
"What?"
"Did mean to. Sorry." Tony sounds genuinely distressed. He combs through his hair with his hand. "Really, I didn't mean to. Guess worry is contagious?"
"The panic attacks are worse by a mile. That was more of just making me worry over something for a minute."
"So there are panic attacks."
"You knew that."
"Yes, but now you have admitted it, Bruce Banner, and that is step numero uno a la path-o de recover-ero."
"One," Bruce starts. The two of them creep past Ms. Banner to the coat hangers and dress. "That was the worst Spanish ever." Once dressed, Bruce opens the door and, Tony then he walks through it. The night air is crisp and chilly. They should have worn more layers. "Two, I know I have problems."
"But you don't want to fix them?"
"I'm a republican."
Tony deadpans. "No you're not."
"Okay I'm not. Political parties are inane." They make their way down the stairs. "Still, fixing my problems would be more problematic than the problems themselves."
There is police tape over the old door with bullet gapes in it. Tony takes a sniff and says, "Meth lab. Someone must have been using the abandoned room as a base of operations."
"Not a very spacious place for a drug factory."
"Probably why they got caught."
"Yeah."
Bruce is happy for the subject change. They walk another ten minutes in quiet, the sounds and lights of the city loading their senses. Bruce sighs. This walk has always been his favorite when he's calm. When he's not, it's all screaming cars and blinding buzzes and adverts. With Tony it's even nicer than when he's totally relaxed.
"Do you want to talk?" Tony asks after a while.
"Do you?"
"A little. Not with you though, not right now at least."
"Why not with me?"
"Too personal. Besides, your issues are cooler."
Bruce scoffs and continues, "I don't have issues. Not real ones."
Tony looks at the skylights. "Didn't you tell me just a while ago that all problems matter?"
"Different set of rules for people other than me."
"You're like a girl." Bruce looks at him. Tony explains, "Girls always think every other girl in the world is pretty other than themselves—the nicer ones do, at least. You, meanwhile, seem to think everyone else is more important than yourself."
"I don't weight people on importance. I'm sixteen."
"Too smart for a sixteen year old."
"You, too, though."
"Right."
The way the buildings illuminate the sky makes it look like there are stars out.
"If it was physical, you wouldn't be doing this. If instead of grade-A anxiety, you had, let's say, cancer or broken bone, you wouldn't blink twice about heading to the doctor's."
"But it's not. It's a mental thing."
"Mental 'things' are still things, Bruce."
Tony can hear Bruce sigh.
"You can't die from a mental disorder."
"Externally, probably not." They walk a few more steps. "Though I hear suicides becoming a bit of a trend as of."
Bruce stops. He puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the side of a building. The doppler of car engines pass in waves. His head tightens up. "You don't get it."
"How?" Tony challenges, aggravated.
"Because you're not me, so you probably never will understand me." Not really, at least. Bruce notices his voice rising with Tony's and calms himself down. "That sounded like a depressed teenage girl, sorry."
Tony stands to the side of him, looking at the lock of hair in Bruce's eyelash. He licks his thumb and takes a step towards him. "Look at me."
Bruce does, and Tony grabs the strand with his thumb and pointer finger and yanks, ripping it out in an instant. Bruce cringes. "What the hell? Ow!"
"You have this one bit of hair that is flowing in the opposite way of all your others and getting in your eye, and it drives me nuts."
Tony tosses the hair to the ground, and the wind blows it away. Bruce feels his forehead and eyelash. It's bare, just skin and a bit of bangs—the way Bruce likes it. He won't have to keep shaking his head to get that strand out of his eye anymore.
"Thanks, Tony."
"Don't see why you didn't yank it years ago."
"It never occurred to me," Bruce says honestly. Tony looks at him sideways.
"You're weird." Then smiles. "And I mean that as the highest compliment."
Bruce smiles, but he still feels bitter. It comes across in his voice. "I'm honored."
There's a sigh and a gust of wind, and Tony sinks down until he's sitting on the pavement. He motions for Bruce to join him, and Bruce does. The night tints everything blue. Tony shuts his eyes. "Close your eyes, Bruce."
"What for?"
"Trust me."
Bruce trusts him. He shuts his eyes tightly. Tony opens an eye and peers at him.
"Close, not scrunch," Tony says. Bruce returns his gaze with a look reading 'Seriously?' and Tony responds, "My mom would have Howard do this when he got worked up. Deep breaths and really close your eyes."
"Okay." Bruce takes a deep breath and droops his eyelids together. The world goes black. "Now what?"
"Listen to everything you hear, run your hands along the pavement and see how it feels. I know, this sounds so yoga, but seriously. Try it."
Bruce opens his ears. He hears the cars and people in the distance yelling, the sounds of New York. But after a minute, it starts to change. He hears a dad calling his wife asking how the baby is. There is a woman who's car broke down and a cab driver stopped his service to help her. Clank of someone dropping change in a bucket. Wind. Eventually, the sounds mesh together and Bruce is just on autopilot just listening.
"Don't forget to touch," Tony says.
It's ridiculous, but Bruce feels his fingertips along the sidewalk, rough edges and shapes like sandpaper, but the texture is soothing. Bruce never noticed how much you miss of your other senses when you spend too much time just looking. He moves his hand a bit until it hits something soft and cold. He palms the object, rubbing circles in its surface with his thumb and warming it. The object starts to shift. It flips over and laces with his hand, and it's entirely surreal. Bruce loses sense of time. Eventually, a weight on his shoulder snaps him back to consciousness, and Tony Stark fell asleep waiting for Bruce to calm down, holding his hand and helping him along the way. Bruce doesn't want to wake him, but he has to. He nudges Tony up. Tony's first reaction is a grin.
"Other worldly, right?" he asks. Their fingers unlace.
"Thank you," Bruce says.
"Don't mention it."
They walk home.