Chapter 12: Problem-Reaction-Contusion
A/N: Hello, readers! It's been about a month, but here's #12! (YES) Hopefully it's getting harder for you to choose who to empathize with here. Love and figuring out feelings is a sloppy, sloppy process, especially when things, or more notably, relationships, initially seemed so clean-cut. Ambiguity begins to set in and reaching the finish line you intended becomes that much more rewarding. But is that even an option for our science guys, I wonder? Another long chapter, so enjoy!
A stare-down was occurring. Determination versus determination. Isis was going to get through to Bruce, whether he preferred it or not. He was a bundle of complexity, composed chaos wrapped in a gentle exterior. How much he reminded her of herself. His scarred mind gave off quite the readings. Yes, there was pain pitted deep within. But there was also a need, a desire to keep afloat. For years, his highest priority has been to… contain. He contained his pain, and suppressed the joys that would distract him from it. But that was what made pain such a tricky thing: it wasn't a single entity.
Pain is a colony, a tactical one. It bides its time within its host, gradually strengthening as the years roll by. Sometimes it lays dormant, buried so deep it births the delusion of respite. But it does not go.
Misery and remorse tunnel through the brain like ravenous moles, leaving behind a trail of scars. Those scars are hard to face, and even harder to stare down. Who, then, would ever willingly demolish their faux walls of mental fortitude?
"Mm," Isis hummed, "I knew you'd be my greatest challenge." She steepled her fingers, calmly breathing in the tension she did not carry.
Bruce responded with a crooked smile. "That what I am to you? Some unprecedented hurdle to feed your sense of accomplishment?"
"Well, that is part of it, yes." Suddenly she stood, her wooden bracelets clattering quietly. Atop her register counter was a small plate holding a half-burned stick of sage. She took it in her hands and it alighted once more with a match, giving it a gentle blow for good measure. It crackled, the smoke of its dried leaves quickly permeating the entire room. With gentle care, the plate was carried over to the doctor and held over his clouded head. "You silly, silly man," she practically crooned, "don't you see you're in your own way? You come to me for assistance, yet you refuse to accept it. Who, I wonder, is sitting before me right now… you, or the darkness that lives inside you?"
The doctor blinked, genuinely startled by the question. "I…" The earthy aroma filled his lungs, wisps of smoke dancing around his face. Everything waited for an answer. "I… don't know." His fingers gripped tightly at the material of his pants, sudden realization twinkling in his eyes. The numbness he cloaked around himself unraveled too quickly for him to properly adjust. Emptiness was its own brand of hell. But this uncertainty was worse. Isis reached down to touch him, and he flinched. She didn't buckle.
"I realize this may be a tall order, but I need you to trust me. To really trust me." She finally set the sage on the table, kneeling beside him. He didn't look at her. "I can not only sense your emotions, Bruce, but I can see certain parts of your life. And I'm going to do a bit of digging. The sooner I get to the bottom of it all, the sooner I can help."
Banner took a long breath, slightly turning his head from her. "Yeah." He said. "Alright." He slowly faced her.
Giving a satisfied smile, Isis pressed her fingers to his temples.
Scenes of old lashed out at her mind's eye, all frantic and all wanting to be seen. She felt the petrification, the regret, the questioning. Isis focused on one.
She saw a woman of brunette hair and a sweet smile. Her spoken word was euphonious, though unintelligible. Her name was Betty, and the empath felt the love she offered him, and the acquiescent rejection that followed. No matter how much they both wanted it to work, there was no happy ending to be had. Her family ties had proven to be… unfortunate, and exploitative. It was dangerous for them both. He thought about her sometimes, wondered how she was after all these years. Still, Isis dug further.
She became him, looked down at his trembling hands, heard his angered sobs. "When was this?" she wondered. Overwhelming emotion crashed over her head like a tidal wave, and she could hardly fight the encompassing fury that overcame them. Green crept over his fingers, and she finally knew. This was one of the first times he changed. What a feeling. The pressure built inside her chest, bubbled upward. Hidden under the soil was a skyscraper of wrongs. Everything had piled up, one on top of the other, until it was too tall to bury.
There were countless instances like this in his life, time and time again this endless well of violence was piqued. She felt it all. The godawful cracking of bones, excruciating stretching and pulling of muscles and tendons, all while being thrown in the passenger's seat. It would surely drive even the most untroubled person insane. How did he do it?
By now, the woman's eyes welled with tears, but she was determined to find something else.
Where did all this anger come from?
Was it anger towards his predicament? Some past grievance? She shut her eyes tight, once again braving the unforgiving territory that was the doctor's memories. Something new came to her now. The view was hazy, flickering and fickle. It was an old memory, possibly suppressed. Eventually it came into full focus.
A child's distressed voice tore through the silence.
"Mommy!"
"You get the hell out of here, David! This is between me and your mother." A man glowered at the 6-year-old child that was Bruce, his hands gripping roughly at his mother's shoulders. There was a standoff in the kitchen, innocence cracking with every passing moment.
"Bruce… Honey… Go out and ride your scooter. Everything's fine."
Everything's fine.
"No! Dad's always yelling at you and doing bad things to you! Your eye's a weird color, and I know he did it!"
"Bruce, baby—"
"STOP HURTING HER!" With all his might, Bruce kicked his father's shin, driving low blows in the hopes that this bad man would stop and finally leave.
Everything is fine.
"Agh! You mother-!" His father raised a hand to slap him… but the woman grabbed his wrist.
"You do what you want to me, Brian, but you do NOT lay a finger on my son."
Bruce's heart pounded in his ears, helplessness weighing him down. He was only a small child. All he wanted to know was… why? Why did he beat her? What made his father so angry?
"You know what, David?" Brian Banner yanked his arm away and reached for something on the counter, his wife's eyes widening in horror, "Your mother's right. You'd better close your eyes, kid."
EVERYTHING'S FINE.
Hideous malice etched on his face, he raised a knife to her and-
"AAH!" Bruce fell back against the wooden floor, clutching his head.
Jerked out of her trance, Isis struggled to catch her breath, peering over with unsure eyes. "My god, that… hasn't happened in years, I… Bruce…?" He didn't answer.
The man was curled into fetal position. His fingers tugged incessantly at his curls, teeth gnashing as he trembled. She went too far back. Deep-seated damage sought tenure in the unquieted soil that was his psyche; her disturbance was a disturbance too many. That familiar rush of unfathomable emotion radiated from the doctor, and now it was her turn to fear. "Bruce, you've got to listen to me, darling. Focus on my voice."
"I CAN'T." He growled. Memories rushed to the forefront, things his mind protected him from. The murder of his mother. His years in foster care. The abuse. That teeming, festering, BOILING-
He ran his nails across the floor, pain already climbing up his body. "You… YOU… need to GO." His voice fluxed between human and something else, Isis' stomach dropping. "NOW!" Doctor Banner glared up at her with dangerous, emerald eyes. The Other Guy was forcing his way out despite his efforts, quickly ripping through his smaller frame. The seams of his clothing began to tear, and it was the last thing Isis saw before bolting out the door.
I'm so sorry…
…
"Will you please listen to me?" Tony followed Pepper, her heels quickly clicking down the hall.
"As entertaining as it would be to hear whatever nonsense you come up with on the spot, it wouldn't." A short exhale passed her lips, her lashes fluttering apathetically at Stark's pleading face.
"Look, I didn't 'trade you in'. I promise I didn't. And I know this all has been one giant dick move, but I do love you. That's never changed."
Pepper stopped. "And you… also love Bruce."
Tony clenched his jaw. What good was it prolonging this torture? It was hurting her. It was consuming him. He had to be honest with her. Otherwise… he wasn't sure. He reached inside himself, pulling out the truth hidden in plain sight. It trembled and quaked in his grasp, but it was still truth, and it was still liberating. "…I don't think I can help it, Peps. I wish I could lie and say that I never really look forward to our time, or that his goddamn smile isn't as... It'd be nice to say a lot of things. But Bruce is just a different breed, he's… something else. And I… I see that, just as much as I see you." Tony's eyes softened. For a moment, he could truly breathe. One weight was traded for another, however, the savvy business woman throwing him a lukewarm stare.
She patted his shoulder. "See? That wasn't so hard." Just before her soft hand left him, she swore gently, and began to take her leave.
"Pepper. Pepper wait—" The floor beneath them trembled. There was an uneventful few seconds, then the quake returned, stronger this time. What the hell was going on?
A bone-chilling roar echoed faintly through the building's fortified walls.
Shit.
…
A familiar, colossal figure stood amid a drove of abandoned vehicles, looking very disoriented. One of the buildings sported a large hole of broken brick, dust picked up by the wind. An upturned caravan lied helpless half a block away, tossed without effort. People scattered. The streets reeked of distress.
"Yup," Tony sighed, "that's our Guy."
With a worried heart, Pepper spectated from the building's topmost platform, coat fluttering in the pushing winds. Any ache she felt prior was swallowed for the moment. This was exactly what she'd been worried about. That same question of "why" buzzed around her burdened head.
The genius was dressed in metal, hovering above the Tower as the suit scanned for civilians in immediate danger. Twenty-three people. Seven of which were children. A young man was spotted, unwittingly standing beneath a loose business sign. It creaked ever downward, its large bolts bent out of shape. With astonishing speed, Iron Man jetted down and whisked the man away before he could be crushed.
"Thank you…!" The civilian gaped, stomach dropping on his descent. He glanced in the distance, having landed blocks away, then back at his savior. "I-I thought the Hulk was gone for good! He—"
"I got it under control, kiddo." And with that, he returned to the big green Danger. Stats and percentages appeared on his visor viewscreen. He knew what he had to do. "Jarv?"
"Already on it."
…
Tony swallowed. Phantom pains ran through his body, reminded him of the worst-case scenario. A deep caution settled within him, and he abided by it.
Now surrounding the behemoth were four empty suits; another three were tasked with evacuating the area. He drew in, slowly. "Bruce?"
Hulk was unnervingly still, back to Tony and the rest. In his grip was the ripped hood of a car; his fingers went through it like clay. Though he said nothing, the metal creaked with strain within his grasp. It went without saying that he was ready for anything.
"Bruce." Iron Man tried. "I know you're in there. Look, I dunno what happened, but everything's—"
"No." Hulk turned, finally laying eyes on the metal men around him. His trademark grimace eased into his expression. Noxious rage cloaked his vision. The four duds tensed, widening their girth as he approached the true Iron Man. He managed to contain himself at the familiar sight of the genius, though no less discontent. "No Bruce." He jabbed his thumb hard into his chest. "Only Hulk."
"Okay… Big Guy. You're totally right. Why don't we just simmer down and talk, yeah?" A metal hand was extended, and for a moment, things seemed alright. The Hulk's gaze softened, a short huff of an exhale shrinking him ever so slightly. But then Iron Man received a faceful of car hood. The force dragged him through the road, vehicles violently yielding to his impact. He pulled himself from the furrowed asphalt, only to see a motorbike headed his way. He dodged, inches away from catching its brunt. The Hulk snarled at him. "…Alright."
Roughhousing it is.
"Do it."
The drones fired each of their palm blasters, beams catching Hulk from all sides. It burned, and it only angered him further, but at least they had his full attention. He roared, pushing back against the blue salvo.
"Please be reasonable." Jarvis interjected, one of the suits daring to abate fire. "We can handle this without jeopardizing the area. You just have to calm yourself."
The behemoth grunted loudly, arms raising to deflect front-coming fire. Reasonable? Calm? How could he be? Intense emotion was his dinner bell; it demanded him, and he was always prepared to answer its call. After all, he was made to face what Bruce couldn't.
With strain, he opened his arms, wincing as the beams pelted his front once again. They were quickly brought together again, hands joining for a devastating thunder-clap. The incredible force shattered all glass in its path, shards cascading down like hellish rain. Tony's drones were thrown back, its ear-piercing sound surely echoing for the next few miles. What followed was a deafening quiet. And that's what Hulk wanted.
"Hulk protects Banner." He glowered up at his wary assailants, which were now floating high above him. The behemoth seldom spoke beyond a word or three, and this was quite the surprise. "Weak people get in Hulk's way. Call always for puny Doctor. But Hulk protects!" He was 3 stories high with a single bound, slamming a slow-acting drone to the unforgiving ground below. A lamppost came down with it, contorted like a pipe cleaner. Hulk's fists came down hard on the strong metal; he wanted it down for good. They couldn't understand him, or why he was here. They wouldn't. His anger screamed louder than his words. Another suit came to its aid, obviously no match, but it played its part well. It was a good thing the guy had tunnel vision.
"He's doing quite the number on the suits," Jarvis remarked. "Do make this count."
"What, you don't trust me?" Tony'd been keeping his distance for an opportunity just like this one. The other suits were just a distraction, and a minor sacrifice. He slowly descended and locked on target with the help of his viewscreen. Taking in air, he raised his arm, aimed, and fired. Sorry, Bruce…
A large needle shot into the Other Guy's back, just between the shoulder blades. Bullseye. There was a grunt of confusion, green eyes meeting Tony's, and the droids were quickly forgotten. The metal-clad Avenger descended, his faceplate lifting. "I really wish these weren't the circumstances, pal." Hulk eventually managed to remove the foreign object, but its contents were already flooding his system. Something of malice washed over his expression, recollections of similar past experiences piqued. He started to charge for the other… but a unique pain soon ailed him, toppling him like a domino.
The green powerhouse was dissipating though still quite tangible, boiling away but still contained. Though he shouted, it felt as if he were being silenced. This sensation was familiar… but it was already too late once he realized. Bruce was coming back. He shrunk painfully, slowly, hints of his color persisting… until it all fell quiet.
…
"You do what you want to me, Brian, but you do NOT lay a finger on my son."
"STOP HURTING HER!"
"You'd better close your eyes, kid."
Tired eyes fluttered open to a sea of white. A sickening sterility filled the nostrils. "Oh… my head, it's… Where… am I…?" A blurred face came into view.
"Easy, don't get try to get up." The voice was a tad garbled, but still familiar. Something cool touched his forehead and he shrank from it. "Yeesh. Still burning up." There was a sharp prick in his shoulder immediately after. "This oughta get it going down."
Another face pushed into his line of vision. The voice was deep, authoritative. "We should be able to iron out the kinks with a bit more testing."
Panic seeped into the doctor's thoughts. Had he been taken? What had he done, and to whom? He fought to sit upright, though the effort was dizzying to say the least. He collapsed back onto the soft, cotton surface he rested in, feeling clammy. His respiration was rapid, and he realized just how unwell he felt. "What… what's happening?" He put up a hand to shield his eyes.
"Bruce, it's me."
"…Tony…?" The doctor peeked between his fingers, and sure enough, Stark stood at his side. Cautiously returning his hand to his side, he glanced to his left. Nick Fury was here, too.
The Director was stoic and unreadable as ever, though the gleam in his eye suggested he had some words for them both. "Nice to see you, Banner. It's been a while."
"What… am I doing here?" He paused. "How many…?"
"None. Everyone's safe. Stark here helped keep the danger to a minimum. Though, to be honest, I am surprised that you were in the city at all." The Director gave the billionaire an accusing look.
"Well, I never said he wasn't." The two shared a loaded gaze.
"That… doesn't explain everything," Banner breathed. "I-I've never felt this way coming back." He glanced around, briefly acknowledging the reclined berth he laid atop. He was in something of a hospital room, clearly SHIELD-owned. A small dresser by the head of the berth held a change of clothes, and he soon noticed the uncomfortable predicament he was in. Draped over his shoulders was a patient gown, sheets rising up to his midsection. He glanced between the two, awaiting an explanation.
Tony chewed the inside of his cheek, fingers drumming over his folded arms. "…SHIELD's been developing a formula to induce Hulk-dormancy for a while now. And… I used it on you." Bruce said nothing. "The compound's still imperfect, and your body's been fighting the adverse effects for close to a day. Fury here entrusted me with the concoction should you ever return from hiding… which you did."
"So you've had it this entire time." The doctor ran a hand over his aching head, though the corners of his eyes managed to crinkle with humor. No wonder. Tony really did have it all under control. He finally looked over at the Director. That formula would never be perfect. He tried the same thing time and time again. Little did he know SHIELD's top scientists had been building upon his findings.
"I'm just glad no one was killed. Now, if you could," he gestured to the door opposite the berth, "I'd like to get properly dressed before my, uh, detainment."
The Director exhaled sharply through his nose. "You know that's not how we do things."
"That's exactly how you do things with me." Pinching the bridge of his nose he shut his eyes tight, lucidity coming to him, slowly. "I'm not sure how Tony kept me off the radar, but I know you've been searching. Everyone searches at one point or another." Bruce reached for the clothes, another, brief dizzy spell catching him. His thoughts were still quite jumbled, the previous day lost to oblivion. All he wanted right now was to be left alone.
Fury was the first to head for the door, but he lingered at the entrance. "You got one thing right. We were searching. But you need to know… I'm not like Ross." The name carried a murky trail with it, binding to the doctor's ears. Betty's dreadful father. Few others sickened him more. Fury continued. "SHIELD at its core is for the good of the people, and I know you are too. Now, you can keep tearing yourself apart if you want… But the world marches on." And with that, he departed.
Tony trailed behind, but not without offering a glance in the other's direction. The door shut quietly behind him.
…
Bruce sat shirtless on the berth for a few minutes, brooding. Perspiration dewed his temples, and there was a moment he felt faint. But he fought the urge to lie down. He soon noticed a mild throbbing that started in the middle of his back. It was nagging, persistent, and a little different from the aches he'd usually be left with post-transformation. Though his limbs each felt 20 pounds heavier, he trudged to a sizeable mirror hanging left-adjacent, and silently examined himself. "?" His broadish fingers dragged along the shoulder, skirting around a strangely bruised patch of skin. It was purple in coloration, and particularly sensitive. What the hell was in that amalgam? Messy brown curls began to stick to his forehead and he pushed them aside with his other hand.
It all could have ended much worse, and he was glad that it didn't. So why then did he feel a little… betrayed? Perhaps the fever was goading him into restless thought. It was childish. Maybe it was Hulk. His musings soon wandered to Isis, and he hoped to goodness he hadn't turned the area into a pile of rubble. He pulled the provided shirt around himself, much too hot to button it up, yet far too chilled to remain without it. This wasn't anything a little Ibuprofen couldn't fix, he was sure. He just wanted to leave. Stumbling into a pair shoes at the foot of the dresser, he made the call and headed for the exit. He pulled the handle.
On the other side stood an apprehensive Tony Stark, fist hovering to knock. His eyes flitted over Bruce and he gingerly stepped back. "Well, this works too." Doctor Banner tilted his head slightly, as immovable as Tony was unstoppable. "I'll let the matter of you needing to rest slide for a moment and ask you this: What triggered it?"
"That's personal, Tony." Banner joked flippantly, proceeding to brush past the other. But a hand caught his shoulder. With hardly the resolve to protest, he sighed. "…I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours."
Tony let go, a knowing glint in his eye. "Sure."
"Why didn't you tell me you had a way to subdue the Hulk?" Said Bruce. "Why let me tiptoe around, paranoid?"
"Because I never actually planned on using it." Grim lines formed on his forehead. "After your Hulk-out months back, Fury decided the Big Guy needed an off-switch. But no one knew how your body would react to something so unnatural. You weren't around to test it on, and whatever blood samples they had were all contaminated to some degree."
Tony never wanted Bruce to feel as though he didn't trust him, because he did. He really did. And when everyone else insisted on treating him like a monster, Stark went and did the opposite. It was something he prided himself on, so this all seemed like a step in the wrong direction. It was one thing to possess the volatile chemical compound. It was another to actually use it. It was stupid and incredibly risky, and perhaps… he'd panicked. Still, the change was abrupt and in the middle of the bustling city. Not to mention property damage, bad publicity, and overall mayhem. It just wasn't good. Without a more powerful suit readily available, it was the only way to keep the peace. "I never said anything because I never agreed with it. I just happened to be the best one for the job."
"Because I'd let you get close enough to use it."
"Exactly."
"…" The doctor breathed quietly.
"Now you. Out with it."
Bruce pursed his lips, averting his gaze. "Let's just say it was a soul-searching incident gone wrong. I met with an empath and she… saw some things about me… And that somehow made me see some things." His head shook at the chilling memory, shoulders lifting in discomfort. "I was overwhelmed. I didn't expect so much to come so fast, especially since..." He rubbed his chin intermittently; the skin had considerably more grain to it, and he suddenly desired a shave. Yes, it was much better to focus on that. He lolled his head to the side, and his brown gaze captured a loose string of fabric hanging from the other's sleeve. "In so many words, Tony, these last several days have been… not the best."
"You're telling me." Tony fell silent for a moment. He had much to say and ask. For instance, who was this so-called empath? But this wasn't a time to agitate things, not that he wanted to. "Have I told you I'm sorry yet?"
"No, but I—"
"—Well I am. And you," he noticed the heaviness of the doctor's eyes, the flushness of his face and neck, "you look like you're about to drop." Without skipping a beat, he slipped an arm around Banner's waist, guiding him to the small bed.
"Tony… I've gone through worse ."
"I know you have." With a curious gentleness, he sat him down. His lashes veiled a sobered concern, and he watched him carefully.
If Bruce's body could talk, it would be thanking the esteemed engineer. Despite himself, Bruce sank so readily into the berth; under normal circumstances it would have felt like a block of hay. Relief washed over him, and it took some effort not to release a contented hum. After a moment, he looked up and caught Tony's wary gaze on him. He swallowed and looked away. "Don't… look at me like that."
"Like what?" Tony feigned a look of confusion, fingers splayed just beside the feverish doctor's pillow. "Like I actually give a damn? Like you shouldn't be in here, yet you are?"
Again their eyes met in a brief pause, and all that could be had was a moment of nothing. Then suddenly, the doctor let out a real, hearty laugh; the outburst was startling. Seldom had he been able to pull such genuine amusement from himself. But this… All this was just too funny. Life really was a circle, wasn't it? Parallels and situation-doppelgangers that led to the same things, just at different times. At his base, Tony would never not be what he was, and neither would Bruce. Was that such a bad thing? His chuckles were muffled by his hand, fingers partially hiding his eyes. God… All this trouble he caused… And still Tony is the one taking care of him. When was he going to get the chance to return the favor?
"Uh, Bruce?"
His laughter died down. Lacing his fingers over his chest, he turned his head from Tony, a creep of a smile on his face. "Sometimes, you just gotta laugh it off. Life is funny. And you're funnier."
Tony had no quip for that. Instead, he offered a reminiscent smirk of his own. "Thanks, I think." There was a considerably long silence between them, and it was only natural for Tony to think of all they've yet to resolve. He didn't like being avoided, and the lengths Bruce went to do so… admittedly stung. Moreover, a very unhappy Pepper Potts awaited his return, and only tension waited for all three of them together. But it had to happen. The emotional strain was formidable, unsurmountable. Everything had to be laid out on the table, and whatever happened, happened. Misery was not on his To-Have list. But that time wasn't now.
"You, my dear Doctor, are an oddball. But that's what I like about you." He leaned down, boundaries pushed with velvet ease. His hand slipped under Bruce's pillow, pulling from it a semi-solid icepack. "Couldn't keep this on you earlier. Those cold flashes were tenacious." He gently laid it on his forehead. It was heaven.
"This… This is everything to me…" Said the doctor. He couldn't be more grateful for such sweet alleviation. If only the headache could abate. Exhaustion pulled his eyes shut once more, and his lips parted as he quietly sucked in air. His body was spent for the moment. A cold hand pressed to the side of his face, a voice he couldn't answer echoing in his waning consciousness.
His last memorable thought was one of comfort.