Chapter 6: What Does It Cost to Change?

Brown, tired eyes opened to the faint light of early morning. The doctor groaned exasperatedly. He had another… difficult night. The bed was suddenly so comfortable; he didn't want to move a muscle. Staring blankly ahead at a bare wall, he sighed. It took a few minutes to will himself to sit upright. His eyes wandered around the room and he immediately panicked. Part of the bed's headboard lied broken on the floor. The drawer beside the bed was splintered with visible fist marks, the touch lamp it displayed toppled over and cracked. Dear god. So he could rage in his sleep. Getting out of bed, he examined the room completely. Except for a large crack in the wall, nothing else had been destroyed; he had apparently calmed down before any real damage could be done.

Trying to keep a leveled head, he trudged to the bathroom to complete his morning ritual. No one was hurt, he told himself, nobody got hurt. Once finished, he realized his glasses had disappeared. After a few minutes of searching, he found them between the dresser and the bed, snapped in two. Good thing he had a spare pair. A quiet knock from behind caught his attention.

Leaning against the doorframe was Tony, a mug of coffee in one hand and a rolled magazine in the other. His wild mess of black hair stuck out in all directions; either he slept well or tossed and turned all night. The glow of his arc reactor was only amplified in the limited light, and his entire face was bathed in a blue hue. Bruce couldn't help but wonder how long he was there.

Sipping the steaming drink, Tony peeked over the brim of the mug, observing the doctor. Lowering the mug, he finally spoke. "Morning."

"…Morning." Bruce mumbled, catching the other's dark eyes. With his damaged glasses in hand, he took the opportunity to break eye contact, setting the spectacles on the dresser across the room.

Tony took a gander at the destroyed objects, and shrugged his shoulders. "This stuff can easily be replaced."

"I wasn't worried about the 'stuff'," Bruce sighed. He walked over to his dresser and stared wearily at his reflection in the mirror. Tony took another sip of his coffee, carefully watching the doctor. "I just got… scared is all. I could've hurt someone last night."

"But you didn't. It was just a night terror, Bruce. Yours just happen to be a bit more… animated."

"…You calmed me down."

"Well… yes." Sip. "You kept muttering something, this one line, something about it 'all burning'. Beats me what that could've meant. But you somehow heard me through all that chaos and eventually settled down. And look. No beatdown, no lost teeth. We're all fine. You can stop worrying now." Stepping away from the mirror, Bruce smiled. It was subtle, but still there. "I have been worrying less, you know; a lot of weight's been taken off my shoulders. But still… it—"

"Hey," Tony interrupted, "the first part was good enough. Don't ruin the moment." Suddenly, the billionaire shifted his weight and grimaced. Gripping the wall for support, he slowly turned, cussing under his breath. Bruce was immediately by his side, taking the cup and magazine. Silently, he helped Tony to the lounge room down the hall. He set the beverage and magazine on the coffee table and spoke, bitterness in his tone. "You're in more pain than you've led on."

Taking a seat, the billionaire buried his face in one hand. "Ugh. Bruce. You know it's too early for this."

"You've been hiding it." The following silence had answered his question.

"Fine," Tony caved. "I do have… occasional pain. Who wouldn't? You're… you." Tony reached into his pocket, pulling out a small baggie with two pills inside. Reaching for his cup, he swallowed them, back to back. "But I don't hold it against you. If I couldn't take it, I'd still be in rehab." This didn't seem to placate the doctor; he was beginning to close himself off again. "Hm. Y'know, this is exactly why I kept quiet," Tony sighed. "What you're doing right now. You crucify yourself for every mistake you make." After a few moments of apparent consideration, the doctor's eyes softened, appearing no less contrite. They were a mixture of emotions and unspoken words. If ever there was a time the billionaire was stumped, it would be now. Tony was shameless, lived life unabashedly, whereas every second of the doctor's existence was filled with remorse. It had to be something bigger; the Other Guy couldn't be the root of all his problems. Pain ran deep… there was always something just below the surface... Something untold but known. Something unseen but felt. "…Why do you hate yourself?"

Bruce stiffened even more, nervously lacing his fingers together. "Seriously, Bruce," Tony pressed, "I want a straight answer from you."

The doctor scoffed. "That's a silly question." Still, he answered, very quietly. "I became like my father." A rancorous smile tugged at his lips as he took a seat left of Tony. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.

"Look, enough about me." Said Bruce. His voice was low with agitation. "I'm tired of talking about me."

But Tony wasn't. He knew he could fix Bruce, and he would. He was, after all, an engineer. Still, he had dropped the subject. "Fair enough." The two sat quietly, and for once, Tony was okay with that. There was no desire or even a need to speak. He only enjoyed the guilty pleasure of Bruce's company. Bruce's breaths grew progressively slower, more relaxed. Stealing a glance in his direction, it was then Tony realized the doctor's eyes were closed. Was he drifting off? "Bruce?"

"I'm just thinking," he smoothly replied.

What the hell was he thinking so deeply about? Tony forced the curiosity down, though his eyes never left the pondering doctor.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" The billionaire asked, befuddled.

"You're staring at me. You know I don't like it."

Tony obliged, turning his attention to his magazine. "Afraid I might figure out what you're thinking?" He teased.

"Yes."

A bit caught off guard, Tony stared blankly at the pages. "Can't help it. I just happen to read people very well."

"Yes," Bruce repeated, "and I don't like it." The doctor wet his lips and sighed. Finally opening his eyes, he glanced out a small window to the left of him, his face bathed in a brilliant gold. One couldn't deny the morning's radiant beauty. He hadn't been paying much attention to things like this. Nature and seclusion. For a long time, those two things had equaled peace for him. But it was changing, painfully and slowly. And it was terrible. It was wonderful. It was terribly wonderful. He wanted to preserve this fleeting feeling, yet he wanted to bury it. Forget it. He was the epitome of contradiction. Would that ever change? This safe haven, this sanctuary called Tony Stark was something he needed. But he knew this new sense of security would eventually break… So why was he still here? Why was he still playing this game?

"Why do you go out of your own way for me?" He asked.

"Why does anyone?" Tony retorted, casually flipping through the magazine. A few seconds later, he set the magazine down and turned to face the doctor. "You're asking a question that's already been answered. Somethin' you want to tell me, Banner?" He leaned forward, eyes expectant and unwavering. Bruce hated that… but not really. Tony was the only person who could figure him out so easily. He could destroy what little boundaries the doctor had set… all with a simple look, or a few words. How does he do it? Perhaps that'd been his superpower all along. Whatever it was, it was working. It's been working since he met the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

"I've realized something," the doctor began. "I've realized just how sick I am of living the way I do. But I don't know how to live any other way; I'm not sure I can live any other way. This… thing has been part of my life for a long time now." The sunlight had revealed the brilliant color of his eyes as his attention once again turned to the window. Gathering his words, he drew in a deep breath, and continued. "I'm… better around you. You're the only person in a long time who's accepted me completely from day one. And I'm always grateful for that. Problem is the past keeps me from moving forward. I don't want to carry this misery on my back anymore." A force of habit, his hand wandered to his head, and his fingers combed through his slightly peppered hair. His gaze fell to the billionaire, who squinted at him through inquisitive and playful eyes. The smile on his face had said enough.

"I take it then, that you're officially accepting my help?" The doctor cracked a smile as well, placing a hand on the billionaire's shoulder.

"Yeah, Tony. I guess I am."