Not mine, no money, no sue. No Steve either. Nary a Bruce. Whither Clint? Sigh.


Chapter Two

Hulk

Hulk roars and hurls himself against the walls that do not smash. He has been trying to smash for ages now. He will not stop. Hulk does not stop!

Noise is good. He roars again, and brings his fists down on the metal floor. The sound is good. Loud.

It fills up some of the empty in Hulk's head.

The walls and floors and ceilings of this room do not smash at all. They are grey and shiny, shiny like Metal Man. They ring when he tries to smash, ring deep and low and loud and long. He roars again to hear his voice bounce around the puny room. It is like a hundred Hulks are roaring.

It is good. Loud.

He smashes at the wall again, at the maddening little gap too small for Hulk's fingers in the metal.

Why does this room not smash? Hulk can smash anything! Hulk is strongest, the strongest there is!

Banner would know, but Banner not here. Banner left Hulk alone.

He roars and roars and roars, making the walls vibrate and shake. The boom-thud-bells of his feet and fists ring against the walls shiny-like-Metal Man. The noise is huge, Hulk's noise is huge! Hulk makes the loudest noise that there ever could be!

It helps. But it still does not fill up the empty place where Banner should be.


Bruce

Bruce faded in and out over the next few days. Time passed in rapid stop-start bursts. During those brief times that he was able to stay awake, his body felt empty and heavy, like pottery, and just as brittle.

He hadn't felt happy yet. He supposes it'll take a little time. He did just take a pretty nasty beating from his own rampaging id, after all.

"Slowly... easy now..." said the nurse as Bruce edged himself over, grunting in pain as his ribs protested his every move. He gingerly swung his feet over the edge of the bed, his left arm in a sling, his shoulder and ribs bound uncomfortably tight.

"Nothing's wrong with my legs," he said, and reflexively tried to smother a pang of irritation that never came.

"You've had a real shock to the system," the nurse, Gavin, said, his eyebrows rising in admonishment.

"Do tell," Bruce grunted.

The nurse folded his arms. "Look, a little more care now will mean a faster recovery, Doctor."

After so many years of fending for himself the sudden care and solicitousness was jarring, almost irritating. Also the nurse talked about himself an awful lot. Bruce was accustomed to silence, though more recently he'd become used to the eclectic and droll babble that poured from Tony, jumping from topic to topic. Tony never expected him to reciprocate – and oddly, that made it easier to join in.

"Slowly now," Gavin said. "Take your time." He was thirty-five, married with a young daughter, he liked European soccer, motorcross derbies and movies about war and history, he thought the whole of South-East Asia was the 'Third World' and in his humble opinion, green tea tasted like grass and meditation was 'a load of hippie crap'. Bruce rolled his eyes.

"I know. I also know that I'm going to explode if I don't get to the bathroom in ten seconds, so if you don't mind..."

"Do you need a hand this time, or are you okay on your own?"

Bruce could feel his traitorous blush beginning somewhere around his chest and rising slowly. He cleared his throat. "Uh, no. My right arm and shoulder are fine, I've been worse, and besides, the sooner I'm coping on my own..."

Gavin snorted. "If you haven't noticed, I'm the guy with the actual medical degree, not you. There's no first prize for being a tough guy. If you need help, call."

"I'm fine," Bruce repeated, and slipped into the bathroom before his blush could crest the neckline of his pyjamas.

After relieving himself and washing his hand, he examined the face in the mirror with clinical detachment. Unfortunately, it was his own. His right eye was almost closed, puffy and bloodshot, and his forehead had a beauty of a goose egg rising on it. Both cheekbones and the right side of his chin were discoloured and shiny with ointment.

He couldn't quite connect himself to the gaunt man in the mirror. Bruises aside, something wasn't right. He'd told the nurse the truth: he'd been worse off than this before, far worse. Yet he felt somehow dissociated from his own reflection. For god's sake, he'd turned into a green distortion of nature on a regular basis, and he'd still known himself. This guy with the bruises was a stranger, an empty-faced no one.

He studied the lines of the face under the patchwork of purpling bruises and the raspy scruff of beard on the cheeks. He looked the same. High, square forehead, frustratingly untameable hair with a smattering of grey at his temples and in the stubborn lock above his eyes that never stayed brushed back. His eyes, so brown they were nearly black, his small neat ears, square chin. Those deep worry lines between his brows. The even deeper lines of disappointment running from his nose to the unexpectedly soft, gentle mouth. Nothing unfamiliar, nothing strange. Not particularly handsome like Steve, but not ugly. A man of middle height, ordinary-looking, normal.

He frowned, and the brows drew together in a practiced motion, the lines growing deeper, carved-looking. It wasn't right. Something was missing, something important. In the eyes, it was there - He didn't quite recognise the eyes. They looked... flat.

Running his damp hand over his rat's nest of hair, he huffed a quiet laugh. For a clever bloke he could really be stupid now and again. Of course something was missing.

If it hadn't been for the curious emptiness in his head, Bruce wouldn't have been able to believe it. The long nightmare was over. He was free.

He tried a tentative smile. The bruised face in the mirror smiled back. It was a polite smile, flat and vague and a little distant.

It certainly didn't look like the happiest he'd ever felt.

"So, Banner, you're free," he said aloud.

Jesus, even his voice sounded flat. He cleared his throat again. "You're free now," he said, and it felt a bit better. It struck him that he had no need to stifle his irritation at the nurse's solicitousness any more. He could get irritated all he liked. He could be angry for himself!

Why on earth did he feel so damn numb?

"Bad grammar," he told the stranger in the mirror. "Poor service at posh restaurants. The way Tony leaves coffee mugs all over the lab, even when it's supposed to be a contaminant-free area. Bastards who cut you off in traffic. People who walk too slowly in front of you on a narrow sidewalk. Uh, the way Clint picks at his teeth with his arrows. People who don't meet your eyes when they learn about the Other Guy. Pepper's heels on the floor above yours. Thor chewing with his mouth open."

Not a twinge of annoyance. Bruce stared at the guy in the mirror, who looked calmly (blankly) back at him.

Maybe he was still adjusting?

He ignored the little voice in his head that whispered, three days. You've had three days. Why haven't you felt happy yet?

Gritting his teeth, he delved further into what had been a never-ending well of rage. It barely felt like a puddle. He had to dig deeper. He had to break through this numb nothingness.

He gripped the sink and stared into his own flat brown eyes. "Come on, Banner. Wake up. Never being asked to spar, being left out of team photos. People who don't vaccinate their kids. Enforced inequality, caste systems, racism, sexism, ableism. My sixth birthday. Being lied to, over and over again, by the government, by the army, even by SHIELD. Female circumcision, honour killings, honour rape. Mum's funeral. Having my research stolen after the Other Guy happened. People who don't leave me alone when tell them to. When I'm trying to save their damn lives. General Thaddeus Ross. Betty's wedding."

Zilch, nada, zip. Even those things guaranteed to make him upset or outraged or furious didn't pierce through the fog. Bruce tried to feel panicked by this – and of course, couldn't.

So this was how Steve had felt, buried under the ice.

He leaned forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with his own reflection.

"Brian Banner," he said softly.

Nothing.

The sink under his hand vibrated suddenly and he could feel the corresponding shudder in the tiled walls. He stepped away from the cold stranger in the mirror, eyebrows furrowing.

"What..." he mumbled. "What is that?"

"Bruce?" came Clint's voice from his room.

"Um. I'm okay," he called out.

"Good to hear, buddy, but we've um, got a situation with your ex."

"My..." Bruce swallowed and then turned, yanking the door open. "I don't care," he said truthfully.

Clint was standing at the foot of his bed, the nurse behind him with a put-upon look on his face. The archer was poised on the balls of his feet, a loose professional stance that spoke of coiled tension just waiting to be unleashed. Bruce knew that pose. "There's an emergency."

Clint smirked. "Bingo." He jerked his head towards the nurse. "You're on your feet, you need this guy?"

"You can go, thanks," Bruce told Gav.

"But..."

"Out, sister," Clint ordered. Gavin scowled, but obediently went.

Bruce gestured at his colourful face. "I don't think I'm pretty enough to go assembling right now. And anyway, what can I do? Go see the Other Guy."

"We did. He roared at us."

"Oh." Bruce shifted his weight. "That... would be a problem then."

"We have no idea what our green friend is gonna do if we let him out of the testing cell. He's been smashing at that adamantium for three straight days."

"Don't let him out."

"Sorry?" Clint blinked.

Bruce gripped the doorjamb hard. "You heard. Don't let him out. Don't ever let him out."

Clint's eyebrows lowered, and he tipped his head. "Don't you think that's a bit brutal?"

He huffed a bitter laugh. "Then he and I still have something in common. Leave him in there."

"Much as I'd like to oblige you on that, we sort of need him. You. The Hulk," Clint corrected himself, and then blew a breath through his teeth. "There aren't enough pronouns for what you guys've got. So, give it a shot?"

"Can't you go without him this once?" Bruce swallowed hard against the sudden swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Look, you don't need me. You don't need him. Just... leave him there. Leave him in there, don't let him out. Don't ever let him out."

He blinked. "Harsh, Doc."

"You don't even know," Bruce said darkly, and hobbled towards his bed. The hollowness that had opened up inside him yawned, a chasm just waiting for him to fall in. The sick feeling crouched like a toad in his belly.

Clint tipped his head the other way, studying Bruce thoughtfully. "You don't look too bad, considering the Hulk used you like a tea towel only a couple of days ago."

Bruce smiled thinly. "Thanks."

"Look, Big B, I'm sorry but we could really use the Other Guy on this one," said Clint, sighing. "It's Doom."

"Fuck," Bruce muttered. "Not again. Tony can take that guy out, he did it last time."

"And Doom took notes," Clint said evenly. "The Doombots are three times more deadly, twice as big, and their software is according to Stark, 'fucking impenetrable', and about three hundred of them are swarming towards Istanbul right at this moment. So tell me, Lonely Planet, what's so important about Istanbul?"

Bruce turned his eyes down, hating it. The numbness stole the sting immediately. "Second biggest city in the world," he mumbled. "Almost three thousand years old. Strategic position between Europe and Asia."

Clint folded his arms, the heavy archery muscles clenching. "We could use our heavy hitter, Doc."

"I never want to see him again," Bruce hissed. "Let him stay here. Let him rot!"

"Good night, Istanbul," he shrugged. "I'll tell 'em you couldn't be bothered."

"Fuck you."

Clint only smiled.

Bruce ran his good hand through his hair, rubbed it down his face roughly. "Look, can't you talk to him?"

"Tony's been to talk to him, I've been to talk to him – hell, even Tasha's gone down and tried, and he hates her," Clint said, inexorable as the tides. "He roars and smashes. He's not open for business to any of us. Go and see him."

"Tony said he'd come after me," Bruce said slowly, his chin dipping. "That he'd be after me first."

Clint shrugged again. "Probably. He's not making a lot of sense. He hasn't slept in three days, Bruce."

"Does he ever make sense?" Bruce muttered, and resigned himself to losing the argument. He picked up his robe and shook one sleeve down over his good arm, before hooking it behind him and straining awkwardly to reach the other edge. His ribs screamed at him, and he stopped with a strangled gasp.

Clint picked up the dangling cloth and draped it over Bruce's bound shoulder. "Surprisingly, yes. He makes sense now and again," the archer said in a quieter voice, as though sensing his victory.

"Well, yeah, that is surprising."

"You fight alongside someone, you get to know 'em pretty well," Clint said, wrapping the robe around Bruce. The demonstration of care seemed a little out-of-place, and he raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"You drew the short straw, huh?" he said as Clint tied the drawstring around his waist, over the sling. "Get Frankenstein to go down to see the monster?"

"I volunteered, actually," Clint said shortly. "Stark's been a pain in the ass, not letting anyone in to see you. Said you'd had a big shock and not to disturb you. But now he's busy trying to crack the Doombots, so I took the opportunity to see you and tell you the score. The others have been worried."

"Oh."

Clint stood back, regarding Bruce with a sort of weary sympathy. "I know it's sort of a habit by now, but can you at least pretend not to expect the worst from everybody?"

Through the numbness and the emptiness, Bruce felt a little pang of shame. "Clint. Um, sorry."

The archer simply nodded his head and turned to lead the way out.

As he stepped into the elevator, he turned back to Bruce, his face carefully neutral. "This is gonna get loud."


.

Bruce hadn't known what to expect.

It wasn't this.

He now knew what had caused the shuddering of the sink under his hand. The whole of the testing cell was ringing like a struck bell – a bell the size of a barn. Over the deafening sounds of metal chiming was a long, continuous howl. The vibrations shuddered through the air, and every now and then he could feel the tremors escape under his feet into the Tower's very skeleton.

Bruce turned back to Clint with an incredulous look.

"Three whole days," Clint yelled. "No breaks, no change. He just keeps smashing and roaring!"

Bruce turned back to the cell, eyes wide in dawning horror.

Clint edged towards the peephole, a small slit in the cell's door at eye height on an average human. His hands were clamped over his ears. "You gotta get right up against that for him to hear you over that racket!" he yelled.

Bruce eyed the slit in the adamantium dubiously. "You're sure he can't get his fingers through?" he shouted back.

The blows stopped with shocking suddenness, echoes dispersing into the air like ghosts.

"I..." Clint's hesitant voice was very loud in the ringing hush. "I think he knows you're here, Doc."

"No, really?" he muttered, and swallowed.

Slowly, Bruce edged towards the slit in the metal. The inside of the cell was gloomy and indistinct. No light source, Bruce realised. Of course.

He tried not to think about what it would be like, locked in a room for three days, screaming and railing against the dark.

Framed by the peephole, something moved in the shadows. Oh god. Oh god.

"Banner."

Bruce's breath caught in his mouth and every muscle in his body locked.

"Banner," the subterranean growl came again.

"Oh, my god," he whispered, his hand flying to his mouth and shaking uncontrollably against his lips. The emptiness, the hollowness was gone, oh god, was it ever gone. In its place was a quivering, fluttering dread that was as familiar as breathing.

"Banner."

He'd had practice against this fear. He knew it well, knew how to use it and tame it. He set his jaw, breathing slowly, so slowly. His pulse jumped in his neck like a trapped frog.

"Yes," he managed.

"Banner. Here."

Bruce sent a desperate look back at Clint, who shooed him on. The archer's own eyes were ringed in white, his pupils shrunk in fear.

Slowly and tremblingly, he crept closer until he could raise his gaze to the hole in the testing cell.

Green eyes met his.

Bruce cried out wordlessly and stumbled away from the wall, his hand clamped back over his mouth.

"Bruce!" Clint hissed. "Get back there!"

Bruce tried to calm his breathing, and couldn't. All his study, all his techniques had flown. He took two more faltering steps backwards and teetered as though on top of a tall building, his balance shot to pieces. His good hand clenched into a tight fist as he shook uncontrollably, his eyes squeezed shut. The intensity of it. The anger in those eyes.

The betrayal.

"Banner!" the rasping voice rose in a roar, and Clint swore under his breath. He strode forward and grabbed Bruce's shoulders, ignoring the cry of pain as the knitting bones protested.

"Get in there," Clint growled. "Talk to him."

Bruce's teeth had clamped together so tightly that his jaw muscles were aching. He looked back at the little peephole where those burning green eyes still hovered.

"Talk to him!" Clint snapped, and pushed Bruce back towards the door. The physicist stumbled, biting off another cry of pain as his shoulder and collarbone spasmed in agony.

"Banner!" Hulk said sharply, and there was a new note in the gravelly voice. A panicked note. "Shooty-bird hurt Banner! Hulk hurts Shooty-bird!"

"No!" Bruce cried, and threw himself up against the adamantium door. "NO, DON'T HURT HIM!"

"He hurts you, hurts us!" Hulk snarled, and the green eyes met brown once more. Bruce swallowed. The eyes were the same shape as his, the exact same shape. "Always hurting! Hulk smash Shooty-Bird!"

"No, he didn't," he said frantically, "he didn't hurt me!"

"Banner hurt?"

"I'm okay," Bruce said, almost gabbling in his panic, in the need to have the behemoth understand. "I'm okay, I'm fine, Clint didn't hurt me, I'm all right, there's no need to hurt anyone, no need to smash anyone, it's okay, it's all right, I'm all right, I promise, I promise..."

And oh, this was familiar too. This was what it felt like to be locked inside Hulk's head once more, to plead with the monster over and over again to listen, to understand, to stop. Even the sense of panicked despair felt the same.

"Banner promises to Hulk?"

"I promise!" Bruce said desperately.

With a growl, the Hulk subsided. The eyes moved back a few feet from the peephole, still glowering at Bruce's.

"Banner is there."

"I'm here," Bruce said.

"Hulk is here," the beast said, and thumped at the ground. "Hulk is here."

"That's right."

"Banner left Hulk alone," he rumbled.

"I'm here," Bruce said again, wondering what the fuckthis was, what the fuck he thought he was doing, and was a nine-foot tall radioactive green rage beast trying to make him feel guilty or something?

The monster made a noise that was half-roar, half-snarl of frustration. "No! Hulk is HERE! Not THERE! Banner left Hulk alone!"

"You..." Bruce stopped.

A fist the size of a man's skull crashed against the metal wall. "Banner left Hulk alone!"

"Oh fuck," he breathed. "I did. I left you alone."

Green eyes dropped to the ground, hurt as a child, and then snapped back up, glaring. "Banner is there!"

"I know," Bruce said, and pressed closer to the door. "We're not together any more. We're separate now. You're your own self, and so am I."

"No," Hulk grunted. "Not. Hulk isn't finished."

Bruce waited, but the monster didn't elaborate. "You're not finished? You need to say something else?" he prompted tentatively.

Hulk growled low and his huge arms tightened, the muscles swelling ominously. "Banner so stupid."

That was rich, coming from someone who hadn't yet discovered the wonderful world of adverbs.

"What?" Bruce whispered. "What's the matter?"

The Hulk shifted in the cell, the darkness shifting around his massive shoulders. "Empty."

"What?"

A finger as thick as Bruce's wrist rose and tapped on the brutish head. "Alone. Empty."

"I know," Bruce said, and took a long, shuddering breath. "Me too. Empty."

The monster moved back even more, and Bruce got his first impeded, clear look at what the gamma radiation had wrought.

It's so huge, was his first thought.

It... looks like me, was his second.

Is it... sulking? was the third.

Hulk shuffled back in the room, his stone-like teeth bared in a snarl and his massive hand knuckling the metal floor. He smashed it once, twice, and then turned his back with a grunt. "Banner left Hulk alone," he growled darkly.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said, and peered into the gloom.

"No!" Hulk whirled. "Not sorry! Never sorry! Banner never sorry for Hulk!"

Jesus, he's so fast!

"No, I..." Bruce tried, but Hulk roared in outrage and smashed at the metal floor once more.

"Not true!" Hulk threw both colossal fists against the walls, and it boomed out like a struck gong. "Banner lies!"

"Look," Bruce managed, but the monster cut him off once more.

"No lies! Not sorry! Banner never sorry! Banner always hurt Hulk, make Hulk run, tell Hulk hide, make Hulk stop, keep Hulk trapped, try to put metal in Hulk's head! Banner sorry for everyone but Hulk! Banner hates Hulk!"

"I..."

"Banner hates Hulk!"

"Stop it!"

"Banner hates Hulk!"

Bruce felt his spine stiffen. Where the emptiness had been there came a giant wave, a tsunami of pure hatred that rose up within him and spilled out of his mouth. "Yes!" he bellowed. "I hate you, all right? I hate you so, so damn much! Banner hates Hulk!"

The Hulk roared like a wounded lion.

"I hate you! You hear me?" Bruce grated through the slit, his whole body ablaze, his eyes hard. "You hear that? I – hate – you!"

"Banner hates Hulk!"

"Finally got through, has it?" Bruce spat, feeling wild and slightly unhinged. "Has Hulk ever thought why? You cost me my life, my job, my home, my humanity, my dignity, the woman I loved, everything!"

"Banner hates Hulk." The monster's voice sounded satisfied this time, and he settled in the gloom with a purling rumble. "No lies."

Bruce's breath was coming quick and fast, and his chest was heaving. He glared at the beast his arrogance had created with light-headed loathing. "You should never, NEVER have existed," he said, the words whistling through his teeth. "You're a mistake, a fucking mistake. An accident, an abomination, a freak of nature, an – you're an abortion. A monster."

Hulk's eyes glittered at him in the gloom, green as acid. "Hulk always there," he said, and the tone sounded almost mocking. "Hulk always exists."

Bruce laughed, hearing the note of hysteria in his own voice. "God, you're so fucking thick," he said, his voice dripping in scorn and fury. Oh, the anger was familiar, so familiar. He embraced it like an old friend, feeling it fill his chest with red coals. His breath came hard and fast through his nostrils as he glowered at the eyes so unnervingly, unnaturally like his own.

Hulk's lip curled. "Hulk knows liars. Leave Hulk alone. Banner leaves Hulk alone for always now."

Bruce glared back, revelling in the feeling of such utter hatred where only a short time earlier, the emptiness had consumed him.

Hulk grinned like a shark, his pebble-like teeth very white against the olive-green of his skin. "Hulk hates Banner," he said. It was a promise.

Bruce whirled on one heel and stormed out of the room as best he could.

"Oh yeah, that helped," Clint muttered. "Really got him on side."


.

It was very quiet in the Tower with everyone away on the Istanbul mission. Bruce wandered about for half a day, dodging the irritating Gavin and investigating some of the projects on Tony's server. Some of them were intriguing and inspired a few ideas and modifications, but he couldn't seem to drag up the enthusiasm to dive into the blueprints and work them out. Very unlike him. Normally he'd have stuck his glasses on and become surgically grafted to a chair, no matter his physical condition.

"Well, maybe you're still healing," he told himself, and drifted out of the workshop aimlessly. The hollowness was returning.

Empty, the Hulk had said.

Tea, Bruce decided, and tried to force the hollowness and the growing worry and the memory of those horribly familiar green eyes out of his mind.

Pepper found him in the eighty-seventh floor's communal kitchen, making a pot of tea and idly channel surfing for news about the battle. She was dressed like a pinstriped javelin of business, all long legs, sleek narrow skirt and killer heels, and she tapped her glass tablet as she walked. "Channel two-four-two," she said crisply as she flopped down on the sofa and kicked the heels off, throwing the tablet onto the cream leather beside her.

"Hmm?" He said absently, bringing over his tray. It was awkward with one hand.

"They're on two-four-two, it's World News," she said, bringing her legs under her like a little girl. Her hands gripped her knees tightly. "Turn it over?"

"Oh, right... hang on," he said, and tried to put down the teatray on the side-table one-handedly. She took it from him without a word and put it on the coffee table before them as he grabbed the remote and turned the channels.

"... say that the Avengers have been on the scene for at least an hour now," said the pretty if dishevelled Istanbul anchor. Her hair was coming out of the elegant chignon in messy, sweaty strands. "Eyewitnesses report that the improved Doombots are finally responding to the Avengers' tactics. However, it seems there has been a controversial lineup shuffle amongst New York's favourite heroes, with the familiar green behemoth known as the Hulk not included in the response to today's incursion."

The scene flipped to a wobbly, out of focus shot of what looked like an ancient fort, its ramparts and medieval turrets squatting amongst a small clump of trees that hugged a brilliant blue harbour. Around this tiny speck of greenery sprawled the whites and terracottas of Istanbul. Silvery robots flew, stiff and unyielding and predictable, all around. They reminded Bruce of moths circling a lamp.

"Why'd they pick that beautiful old castle to make a stand?" Pepper asked, almost indignant. "It'll get destroyed, and it's obviously ancient!"

"The trees, the wood - that reserve area has very few buildings in it, despite the fort," Bruce said, tightness in his chest and throat. "No civilian casualties from the battle."

"Just from the fire, then," she drawled, as the little wood went up in flames from a misplaced bolt of lightning.

Bruce coughed. "Well, uh, it's the thought that counts."

The bright gold and red of Iron Man could be spotted amongst the Doombots' bulky bodies, as could the occasional crimson flash of Thor's cape. And then, a steel-grey streak flashed across the scene, followed by one or two detonations.

"From first impressions on the scene, we can speculate that Iron Man Tony Stark has contacted the War Machine in order to make up the shortfall in the team's numbers," the anchor said. Bruce felt his eyebrows knit. "Stark and Rhodes are well known to be close associates, though we have had no comment from either at this point."

"Why do you think that might be, sweetheart?" Pepper asked the woman in a voice like sugared poison, and rolled her eyes.

"He called in Rhodes?" he said, and Pepper nodded, her gaze locked to the screen.

"Had to," she said. "I don't understand all the jargon Tony spouted, but these things have been upgraded to the point where basically nothing except brute force can stop them. Rhodey's not as fast as Tony, his suit's older and he's not as manoeuvrable – but he does have a lot of guns."

"But he's only getting three or four at a time," Bruce pointed out.

Pepper smiled faintly. "Oh yes, right, he's really letting the side down."

Sometimes he forgot about Pepper's ability to skin people with faint sarcasm.

Bruce flopped back heavily, ignoring the twinge from his ribs and tapping his fingers against the bandages around his arm. In half an hour, he could have reduced that entire flock of robots to so much scrap metal, and he could have done it single-handedly. Or well, the Other Guy could have. Rhodes was good, but these things were right up the Hulk's alley – unfeeling, numerous and just strong and smart enough to put up a bit of a challenge.

Clint had been right. They really could have used him.

"The reaction to the change in lineup has already drawn comment from key political figures and online, with several high-profile military commanders denying all knowledge of the change," the anchor continued. "The US Army has not yet released a statement as to whether Lt. Colonel James Rhodes, the pilot inside War Machine, has permanently replaced the Hulk in the Avengers lineup."

Pepper sucked in a breath as one of the Doombots came close to frying Tony, and then buried her face in her hands. "Oh god," she said, muffled.

"Hey, are you okay?"

She sighed heavily into her palms and then sat up very straight, gazing at the television. "I thought it'd get easier when we broke up," she said softly. "But it hurts to watch just as much as ever."

"He's still your friend, of course it does," he said.

She shook her head, her fingertips hovering over her lips. "No. He's more. He - he'll always be special. But that," she nodded to the screen, "is why he can never be everything."

Bruce didn't quite know what to say to that.

"Questions have already been raised as to the Hulk's current whereabouts, and the reasons for the switch. There is already widespread indignation online from Hulk fans, and newly formed American basketball team the Harlem Hulks have already created a Facebook petition to bring back the not-so-jolly green giant," the anchor said.

Bruce's eyebrows shot straight up. "The Harlem Hulks?"

Pepper huffed a laugh. "You stopped Blonsky from trashing it completely. Did you think they wouldn't remember?"

"I thought they might remember it a bit differently," he mumbled.

The anchor appeared a little blase about the whole 'robots of death' issue behind her, and continued talking as though she were reporting on a particularly juicy political scandal with all the time in the world. "Some may consider that the substitution is not in the best interests of the Avengers, or indeed of the world. Without the Hulk, the team's effective brute force has diminished significantly; there is no measurable upper limit to the Hulk's strength. We can only hope that Thor and Captain America's more-than-human strength can make up the lack. Judging from the duration of this battle compared to that of the Doombot invasion of Darwin last year, War Machine has some extremely big footprints to fill."

Bruce shifted a little uncomfortably, and wondered when the Other Guy had grown a fanbase.

"Tony," Pepper breathed anxiously, as the bright figure was backhanded by a robot into the walls of the fort. The ancient stone didn't budge an inch as Iron Man slid down the wall for twenty or so feet before his repulsors caught alight once more. The offending robot was swiftly dispatched by a hammer as Thor sent Mjolnir barrelling through the flock.

"I freaking love that hammer," Pepper said fervently.

Steve and Natasha were fighting in close formation back to back by the main entrance to the Fort. Bruce's good hand clenched involuntarily. As magnificent as they were, their skills were not the best suited for the brute strength and high-explosives fight. Both of them were firing guns that looked like SHIELD experimental weapons – Natasha cool and collected as she aimed for heads and necks, Steve squinting slightly in concentration. When the robots got too close, Steve's shield would lash out with his normal targeted precision, and Natasha laid them out for him by creating a swift and sinuous target.

But it would take only one shot, just one in the wrong place. He swallowed against the hollowness.

Empty.

Shut up, Hulk, he thought angrily. You're not in my head any more.

"They shouldn't be there," he croaked.

"None of them should be there," Pepper replied in a harsh tone. "But they are, because they're all gigantic idiots with overblown senses of..."

"No, you don't get it." Bruce said. "The fight should be over by..."

"It should never have started," she muttered. "Now, shut up and drink your..."

"I'm not Tony," he snapped. "You can't just..."

"I know," she sighed. "I know, I'm sorry."

He reached over with his good hand, and patted hers gingerly. "Me too."

"I just..." she stopped and made a frustrated noise under her breath. "I just wish that what happened to you could happen to him, you know? That the Iron Man could just get zapped out of him, and he'd be normal and safe from now on..."

Bruce froze for a moment. Then he forced himself to relax, hoping that she hadn't noticed. "But then he wouldn't really be Tony any more, would he?"

She closed her eyes and sighed again.

On screen, Clint took out a cluster of robots with one of his scatter-arrows, and then threw himself off a building with casual ease, still firing. The sight sparked something deep in his memories, and he leaned forward. "Wait."

Pepper glanced at him. "Oh, he's always doing that. The Hulk usually..." she trailed off and stared at him in horror.

"Shit," Bruce said.


Hulk

Hulk does not miss Banner.

Hulk does not miss Banner.

Hulk does not miss Banner.

Hulk does not miss Banner.

Hulk does not miss Banner.

Hulk does not miss Banner.

Hulk does NOT miss Banner.

Hulk does not, not, NOT miss Banner!

Banner is puny. Banner is a weak, puny, worm.

Banner is always scared. Hulk knows the taste of Banner's fear, and Banner was scared. Always Banner scared of Hulk! Banner runs like a mouse, runs and runs. Runs away from Hulk. Just like always.

Banner lies. Banner lies and lies again, lies like his words are air and not real, like Hulk knows they are. Words stay. Lies stay.

Banner keeps Hulk locked up. Inside Banner's head, now inside stupid grey room. No smash in stupid room. No smash ever, Banner running away, locking Hulk away. Hulk wants so much to be free.

Banner hates Hulk. Hulk knows that feeling, of Banner's hate all mixed up with his fear. Hulk did not take Banner's life. Banner ran away from it. Stupid stupid Banner, always running!

Banner is wrong. Hulk did not take Banner's life - Hulk was always there. Banner tried to take Hulk's life. Metal in Hulk's mouth, and the taste of despair. Hulk wants to live. Banner had no right.

Banner is annoying. Little insect voice at the back of Hulk's mind, always buzzing and buzzing, always so scared. Don't smash this, don't smash that, run away now, don't smash him – oh, but Hulk can smash when Banner says smash! Not when Hulk says smash! Banner is bossy!

Hulk just wants to be left alone!

But... Banner is lonely. Banner is always lonely. And they are both empty now.

No. Hulk does not miss Banner.

Hulk hates Banner.

Hulk does not miss Banner.

Hulk doesn't.


TBC.

FYI, the fort researched for this was the Fort of Rumeli (Rumelihisari), and any inaccuracies can be handwaved away with the explanation of 'MARVEL SCIENCE.'

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What are we, a team? No, we're a chemical mixture that creates feedback... we're - we're
reviewers.