Hi all! Thank you SO MUCH for the awesome reviews, I am so happy you're enjoying it!
A massive hello and thank you to Izzybeth, who US-picked this for me!
Still not mine. Sigh.
Chapter Eleven
Steve
Sketching with those tablet things was simply too new and unfamiliar for Steve. The programs were impressive, he'd grant, and he'd tried a few, but after humouring Tony's insistence for a couple of months he'd given up. It just wasn't for him.
He sharpened his pencil and glanced up at the two dark heads bent together, their hands darting to shape or tweak something in the glowing lights around them, their eyes glittering with knowledge. He preferred to sketch as he had always done – with paper and his hands, the graphite smearing across his fingertips, rough and shining on the page. It was a way of connecting himself to the past and the man he had been, so very long ago. Steve wasn't tremendously lonely anymore - oh, he sometimes was, but these days his team was everything to him. Still, he worried about forgetting. About losing everything, all over again.
Sketching in pencil and paper had become a way of recording his memories, both the old ones and the new. He liked using his skills and muscle memory in a way that linked his life together, turning it into a seamless whole rather than an icy yawning chasm between two disparate and wildly differing eras. He liked watching the faces of his friends coming to life underneath his busy fingers. It made him simultaneously wistful and proud.
His teammates had become accustomed to having their portraits drawn at irregular intervals. At first it had been the subject of much teasing from Tony and Clint, but it was a normal occurrence now. They barely even glanced at him plonked in his usual corner of the lab, his head stooped and his pencil busy.
Bruce's hair was giving him trouble, but then it always did. And why was drawing hands so difficult? Steve peered at his own free hand, studying the shapes it made, the way it moved. His hand was way too big now to use as a model, and the fingers too long. It didn't have the airy, virtuosic flair of Tony's or the broad, careful precision of Bruce's.
Watching Tony and Bruce work was always like watching some oddly beautiful choreographed dance; each man sliding out of the other's way, handing over materials and tablets and equipment without speaking. The only sound was Guns n' Roses (Steve had become rather fond of the 'Jungle' song and the one about the sweet child, though the rest of Tony's music was pretty inaccessible) piping through the air at half-volume. After long periods of this silent ballet of science, they would abruptly begin to talk very quickly and excitedly in completely unintelligible polysyllables. Steve didn't understand a word, but he enjoyed the enthusiasm that poured out of them. Tony had been rather... unlike himself recently. Steve thought it was likely due to his breakup with Pepper. And Bruce...
Well. Steve felt for the poor fella, he sure did.
The whole team had accompanied the Hulk back to his room after lunch, and the giant seemed fiercely, childishly pleased to have them there. The whole Thor thing had made his whole chest clench as though his heart had suddenly redeveloped its old problems, but it appeared that their resident green perambulatory battering ram was actually warming up to the Asgardian. Thor hadn't made the best of impressions on their first meeting, of course – unless that could be interpreted as the impression Mjolnir made on Hulk's chin. On their way back to the Hulk Cage, Thor had cheerfully challenged Hulk to an arm wrestle as they tromped down the stairs like a well-ordered line of ducklings. Yet instead of thumping the god through the wall, Hulk had simply snorted, wrapped a mammoth hand around Thor's - and picked him up with one arm.
"Stupid puny god," he had rumbled.
"Ah. I concede. Put me down?" Thor had suggested, feet dangling.
Hulk chuckled in that mega-bass voice of his, and put him down. "Hulk wins, Shouty Long Hair. Always," he told him.
"I will best you yet, my friend," Thor said, shaking his bright head and grinning, the light of challenge in his eyes.
Tony had been right about Thor's mood. And Bruce had been right to suggest the spar. Thor was livelier than he had been in weeks. Steve wasn't really sure what it was that kept him flitting between realms so often, but whatever it was it had been making their resident noble optimist rather grim and despondent. With Doctor Foster away, Thor didn't have anyone outside the team to confide in. Steve was slightly ashamed that he hadn't picked up on it himself. The spar with Hulk had lifted his spirits considerably.
"Okay, this sequence..." said Bruce, tapping one screen. "Take a look. I think this is the level we're looking at."
Tony peered over. "Now that's a more promising result."
Steve's pencil glided over the lines of his face, his beard, the way he cocked his head and grinned at Bruce.
"Not a perfect recombination," Bruce said, pulling off his glasses. Underneath his breath, Steve cursed. Bruce never left them alone, and it was irritating when you were trying to sketch the man. His hair was challenge enough. "See, the amino acids? And the gamma doesn't quite reach the levels prior to Stingray..."
"But it's a closer simulation than we've achieved so far," Tony finished.
"Yeah," Bruce said, a deep sigh accompanying the word. "What do you think? Can we move this into the real world yet?"
"I think it behoves us as mature and responsible men of science to play with as much radiation and electricity as possible," Tony said with a manic glint in his eye.
Bruce gave Tony a level look. "Responsible. Yes, that's precisely what this is."
Tony ignored that and draped a careless arm over Bruce's shoulders. The man was standing straighter than he had been two weeks ago, and his chin was held higher. In fact... Steve flipped back through his sketches. Yes. Bruce was standing far taller than he had only a month ago, and his eyes were clearer and younger.
"Cheer up, sourpatch," Tony was wheedling. "This'll work, you know it will. So the amino acid chains don't quite match up. Everything else, though! Look, it's perfect! I think this is our 'Eureka' moment – hang on, we need a bath for that. Wanna get in a bath with me? I have nice towels."
Bruce laughed under his breath. "Just the blood tests, Tony. I'm not about to go throwing myself and Hulk into an electricity chamber until I'm sure."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "And are you sure?"
There was a silence.
"No," said Bruce heavily, and then slipped out from underneath Tony's arm to go and do something rather technical over at another screen. "I'm not. Not yet."
The engineer's now-free arm tapped at his side in an impatient tattoo. "Bruuuuuce."
Bruce looked back over his shoulder. "I know I have to make the decision. I've been thinking it over. We'll go to miniaturised testing before we do the human-slash-rage monster trials. I'll decide when we've got a result from the bloods."
Tony rubbed at his neck a little, and then perched a hip on one of the gleaming benches. "Scared?" he asked quietly.
Bruce paused, and then shifted another graph level. "What do you think?"
"Definitely scared then."
Bruce laughed again, a soft and rueful sound. "Terrified."
"What about Hulkster?"
"I'm not sure. He doesn't seem to hate the idea. He just wants to be free."
"He's getting pretty attached to you. I mean, attached like this, not attached like attached the normal way. Normal for you. Not that you're very normal. I mean, normal for you two in the way you were."
"I know what you mean." Bruce stopped and turned, dragging a hand through his curls. Steve swore internally and erased half the lines he had drawn. Bruce's hair was so difficult! "He keeps holding me like I'm a favourite toy. I'm not sure if he looks at me like a father or like a rather stupid younger brother. Either way, I know he needs me, and I need him. I just have to decide how."
"There are advantages to either state," Tony said in a noncommittal way, obviously trying hard not to be pushy.
"We can communicate." Bruce nodded, scratching at the side of his neck. "Hulk learns faster with me here to interpret for him. He's not... confused, by my inner voice." He smiled. "He thinks I think too fast."
Tony grinned. "Just the way I like 'em. Brainy and dangerous."
"But then, when we're combined..." Bruce looked pensive for a moment, and then sighed. "I really don't know, Tony. Give me a few more days."
"You're half a person, Bruce."
"I know."
Tony's hand rose to grasp Bruce's shoulder gently, his thumb pushing under the physicist's collar to stroke once against the tanned column of his neck. "Whatever you choose, I'm here," he said simply, then released him and turned back to the screen he had been working at.
Steve's eyes widened.
He'd just...
Was Tony...?
No. No, he was imagining things.
But then... he'd stroked his neck, and Bruce had let him... and...
Looking down at his page of half-finished scrawlings, Steve's breath caught in his mouth.
Every one. In every one, Tony was smiling at Bruce. Or touching him. Looking over at where he worked. Holding his gaze. Standing close.
Every. Single. One.
Steve had even spent some time trying to capture the strange glitter in his eyes.
His head whipped up and he gaped, open-mouthed, at Tony. He... but Tony was a notorious lady-killer!
Steve wasn't a total ignoramus. Many of the jerks that had made his life so eventful before the serum had made some accusations about Steve and Bucky's friendship that had cemented in him a dislike for anyone who persecuted or denigrated 'confirmed bachelors', as his mother used to call them. He'd known about the concealed community within the community, always in hiding from the bullies of the world. Well, who hadn't? It had been common knowledge but never spoken of, a life lived in secretive caution surrounded by disapproval. He'd known about the furtive stolen moments between certain men under his command. He'd defend them to the death if he had to, and their relationships too. One of the things he'd liked about this new, shiny world was the parades; bright and flashy and proud. Lives no longer lived in fearful secrecy. Not perfect, not yet, but better than it was, at least.
But...Tony? Brag about his night with the December twins, flirt with anything vaguely female, togged to the bricks* playboy, charming, suave and smooth Tony?
Then Bruce briefly glanced up at the other scientist - and Steve broke his pencil in half.
Bruce too?!
Steve felt like the Hulk had sat on him.
Bruce had barely even looked at Tony for a moment, but the sheer intensity of it... the muffled, strangled want. He had no idea, Steve dimly realised in his shock. Neither of these giant geniuses had any idea.
And people called him out of touch!
Had any of the others noticed this?
Natasha would have, naturally. Probably Clint as well. Thor? Steve slumped back in his designated 'Cap's Scribbling Chair' and rubbed his numb mouth with nerveless fingers. No, Thor probably wouldn't have noticed. Maybe. Actually, there was a distinct possibility that he had... Thor was far more observant than anyone gave him credit for. He simply never commented on anything he felt it was not his right to speak about. Steve might be the last Avenger besides the Hulk to figure this out.
Swell, now he felt really intelligent.
Hulk adored Tony, he remembered, and rubbed at his mouth again. Absolutely adored him, and Bruce and Hulk were the same darned person. Hell, maybe even Hulk had this pegged, and it was only these two titanic minds still left in the dark?
For a pair of smart fellas, they were apparently really, really stupid.
Steve studied his sketches as the shrieking in his mind died away to be replaced with a feeling of inevitability. These two men, their faces – Tony, always looking to Bruce like a sunflower turning to the sun, and Bruce always turned away, turned in on himself.
Now that he had seen this, recognised it, the connections flew together like pieces of a puzzle. Bruce was clearly repressing. It was what he did, what he was good at. He had done so for as long as Steve had known the man, pushing his emotions back into a locked box at the back of his mind. It was painfully obvious that he felt he didn't deserve to have even the friendly affection his teammates showed him. He usually kept strictly to himself – his rooms, his lab, even his chair in the rumpus room sat slightly apart from the others. It had taken this Hulk crisis for Steve to connect with the guy at all.
And if he couldn't even accept two whole years of honest friendship...
Except for Tony's. Bruce and Tony had connected instantly, to Steve's initial bemusement and irritation. He hadn't understood then and he didn't quite understand now. Bruce had fought Tony's belief in him from the get-go – he even fought it now, every step of the way - and yet he needed it like breathing. No matter where in the world he fled to, Bruce had always returned for Tony. That was universally understood.
Steve glanced up at Tony, who was flicking data from his screen to Bruce's and grinning at the other man when they landed. How had he missed Tony's growing fascination with the man? It had been glaringly obvious practically from day one. He'd dismissed it as the appreciation of one genius for another. But then, Tony had never stopped pushing Bruce. He'd never stopped wholeheartedly believing in him even when Bruce pushed him away time and again – he'd never stopped fighting Bruce's self-doubt and solitude.
These two morons were in love, and they didn't even know it. Steve never swore, but several of Clint's favourite expressions were now lining up on his tongue.
He rubbed at his mouth one last time.
Geez.
Bruce suddenly laughed aloud, and pulled his screen closer. "I can't say I wasn't expecting it."
Tony peered over his shoulder, and smirked. "Well, there won't be any incredibly handsome genius philanthropists on board this time, so I'd say it's a poor remake, two stars."
"JARVIS, could you save my work please?" Bruce asked and jotted down a couple of notes on the legal pad beside him.
"Of course, Doctor Banner."
"Something up, fellas?" Steve put in tentatively. He felt like he was looking at two totally new people, rather than the same guys he had been living with for nearly two years. His eyes were open now, he supposed.
Tony jumped on the spot like a scalded cat, and then pressed his hand over his chest. "Jesus, Cap! I totally forgot you were there, you almost gave me a fucking aneurism!"
"Sorry," he smiled apologetically. "Got caught up in it, I guess."
"Can we see?" Tony craned his neck to see onto Steve's sketchbook. It wasn't unheard of for Steve to show his subjects his scribbling, but in this case... maybe not. It wasn't his place to enlighten these two idiots. Steve closed his book slowly.
"Ah, maybe later," he said, and evasively changed the subject. "Going out?"
"Uh," Bruce said. "Got to go to the helicarrier." His nose wrinkled. "My favourite place."
"Chin up, Bruceykins, forecast is clear blue skies with zero chance of green this time," Tony said, nudging him with his hip.
"That gamma... whatsit?" Steve asked.
"That's right, and trying to find the Leader's signal. Back to the helicarrier to offer them my expertise," Bruce said and rolled his eyes. "Everyone's got to use gamma radiation now. It's the new black."
"Bruce the gamma hipster," Tony sniggered. "Liked it before it was cool."
"I do wear glasses," Bruce countered, and they both collapsed into chuckling.
References. If there was one thing Steve would change about the 21st Century, it was all the incessant references to things he didn't understand. "What's this?"
"Right, grandpa, there's this thing called the internet..." Tony began, and Bruce nudged him in return.
"Quit it, Tony. It's a meme, Steve. "
"Oh, memes. I like the one about the grumpy cat." Steve nodded. That sent Tony into an even louder spate of sniggering.
"I should be back for dinner," Bruce said, folding up one of the tablets with a complicated move and putting it into a black travel bag. "Tony, could I take the chopper?"
"You can fly a helicopter?" Steve blinked.
Bruce shrugged. "After a certain... incident, I thought it might be prudent to learn. Fast getaway, that sort of thing."
"Why not use the teleporter?" Tony asked.
"Because the helicarrier moves. I don't much like the idea of arriving thirty thousand feet over open water."
"Chopper's yours, no dings or no tip," Tony said and waved a hand. "Want me to set up the blood trials?"
Bruce froze. Then, as though he was consciously forcing his limbs, he slowly and carefully relaxed. "I don't know if that's a good idea," he said in a very steady tone. "If you're exposed..."
"Pfft," Tony said, tossing his chin up – and getting right up into Bruce's personal space, Steve couldn't help but notice. "I've got all the gear. We've been over this approximately a zillion times. I won't be doing any allele splicing or irradiating of goo just yet. I'll just get it all set up for you."
Bruce glanced over at the biochem freezers, and then gave Tony a doubtful look. "All right, I trust you," he said in a low voice. "Don't do anything stupid."
"Please," Tony said, and spread his arms in a grandiose manner. "Me? I'm a genius, Moose. When do I do anything stupid?"
"Last week you picked up a Doombot and tried to disassemble it on a battlefield before it exploded," Steve murmured.
"You stay out of this, Pops."
Clint
It was still pretty uncomfortable to be surrounded by his former colleagues. Clint shifted his weight, his sunglasses firmly fixed on his nose and his arms folded over his chest. He knew very well that he was giving off some serious 'keep away' signals, but hell, the way everyone looked at him. You'd think SHIELD hadn't ever seen a former meat-puppet before.
His companion wasn't totally at ease on the helicarrier either.
"You really didn't have to come. I could have made my own way," Bruce said without turning to him. His fingers flew over a keyboard, and some technological doodad was making a very grating whining sound. He did pretty well for a guy working with only his left hand. He'd taken off the sling, and the cast was barely visible under his button-down shirt. The bruises on his face had finally faded to faint ghosts of their former glory.
Clint shrugged briefly. "Any excuse to fly."
"Tony lent me the chopper."
Clint wanted to laugh. "A chopper? Chopper's nowhere near as sweet a bird as the quinjet. It's the next best thing to having wings."
"If you say so." Bruce adjusted his glasses. "This won't take too long."
One advantage of hanging with Bruce on the helicarrier? People left you the fuck alone. No-one else was in the lab, and it seemed somehow bigger without its usual busy white coats rushing about. It was a bit boring, but Clint would take boring any day over the suspicion – or worse, the sympathy – he saw in the eyes of the other SHIELD agents.
Screw 'em. He was a SHIELD agent, yeah. A shit-hot good one, mind-fuckery notwithstanding. But he was an Avenger first, and they stuck together. His eyes flicked back to Bruce, raking over the guy and cataloguing in seconds the faint shadow of stubble, the slight blankness of expression that spoke of total absorption in a task, the suggestion of dark rings beneath his eyes. He pursed his lips.
"Hey Banner. What did you find on that decoy thing?"
"It's not actually a decoy, I think," Bruce said, and arched his back. The joints audibly popped. "Ow, god. Been a while since I worked this much, I'm out of practice. It could be some sort of tracer – it emits a gamma signal on a particular wavelength, around 6 picometers or so, and it's inconstant. It's actually increasing in short bursts every few seconds and then decreasing, like it's pulsing or something."
"A beacon?" Clint's professional instincts kicked him hard in the brain. Something was fishy, and he'd spent too long as a trained fisherman not to smell it.
So to speak.
"Could be." Bruce blew out a breath before stooping to hunch over the graph again. "Anyway, I'm working on the assumption that this frequency is somehow significant to Sterns, and I've been calibrating the tracking program to prioritise that wavelength before searching for other sources. What's taking the most time is ensuring that the program excludes all other gamma sources. I need to make sure that it doesn't pick up Hulk, fission cores, nuclear reactors and lightning strikes..." he stopped dead with his hand half-raised to a screen, his eyes stricken.
"Doc?"
Bruce was a pale statue. "Oh wow. We totally missed it."
"What? Are you all right?"
Bruce's mouth worked uselessly for a moment, and then he swallowed. "I, uh. I just worked out why Hulk and I were separated."
Clint's arms dropped out of their folded position. "Stingray zapped you. Electricity."
"Not electricity," Bruce licked his lips. "Lightning."
"Isn't lightning just electricity, though?"
"Sort of. Lightning is an electrostatic discharge, sure, but it has also been observed to produce X-Rays and it creates magnetic fields as well. And, well," Bruce scrubbed his hair roughly, "studies made from space-based telescopes have observed the formation of antimatter particles and... radiation. A specific form of high-energy emission. I am an idiot!"
"Ah. What?"
"Lightning strikes are a natural source of gamma rays." Bruce's head landed in his palm. "Oh, I am a class-A moron. How did we miss it?"
"Lightning has radiation in it?" Clint was staying the fuck away from Thor for a while.
"Yes, high-frequency gamma radiation. And I took a bolt of it directly to the head in the middle of the change." Bruce's voice was muffled by his hand, and then he sucked in a deep breath and scrubbed that hand over the top of his head, rubbing slowly at the place where that lightning had struck. "I'm lucky neither of my brains got toasted."
Damn, but it was weird when Banner inadvertently reminded you that he was a guy with two bodies.
"That gamma must have flooded our system," Bruce continued. "Shot down into the neocortex centres, just like Tony thought."
"What, so it was like the straw that broke the camel's back or something?" Clint was at sea with all this science shit.
"Right, and I'd double dosed myself that morning. Hulk already emits gamma radiation; he's a gamma battery. I must have brought us to full capacity. And then..."
"Stingray overloaded you."
"Exactly." Bruce rubbed his hair, turning it from a disaster into a catastrophe. "The real-world trials won't work, not the way we've set them up. It's not about the hormonal triggers at all. I need to tell Tony."
"Need to tell Stark what?" Fury strode into the room, his coat slapping at the backs of his calves and Hill at his heels. "I'm in the mood for good news, Doctor. Don't keep me waiting."
"I, ah..." Bruce managed, startled but recovering beautifully. "It's not just a decoy, Fury – it's some sort of pulse, emitting at 6 to 8 picometers every two point eight three seconds. The technology's not anything I'm familiar with – you'd need Tony or Richards to disassemble it and give you a full report on that angle. The rads aren't at dangerous levels. Agent Barton and Agent Romanov won't have sustained any damage from close proximity. As for its purpose..." Bruce spread his hands helplessly. "I can't see any uniformity to it."
Fury regarded the doctor with his long, cool stare. "And Sterns?"
"Algorithm's all set up and running," Bruce said, nodding to the screen. "Just like old times."
"Without the wholesale property destruction this time, we trust," Hill said dryly.
"As Hulk isn't even in my head right now, I can safely tell you that that comment pissed me off," said Bruce, rather pleasantly.
Clint's lips twitched, and he was suddenly quite glad he was still wearing his sunglasses. It was so much easier to hide behind them.
"We're still paying for the damage," she said, her face businesslike but her eyes flashing.
"Neither Hulk nor I are responsible for how Loki's spear affected us," Bruce said calmly, and his gaze flicked to Clint. "Nor is Agent Barton."
"We aren't here to hash over ancient history, Hill," Fury said. "Banner, you got everything you need?"
"A weekend in the Bahamas would be nice."
"You help us catch Sterns, I will personally pay for the fucking tickets."
"I don't mean to insinuate that I don't trust you, but can I have that in writing?"
Clint strangled a laugh. Man, quiet and nice guy Doctor Banner was actually a bit of a bitch. Who knew?
Fury looked to be somewhat amused himself, in his own sardonic way. "Tell you what, you get that motherfucker's location, and I'll fly you there myself."
"Pics or it didn't happen," Clint murmured, and Bruce shot him a grin.
"When will this tracking algorithm pinpoint his location?" Hill demanded.
Bruce took off his glasses. "Patience, kids, we'll get there when we get there."
She subsided, her eyes hard. "Sir..."
Yep, Fury was definitely amused. "Well, looks like someone grew a new set of balls. How's the Hulk?"
"He's fine," Bruce said, turning back to the screen. "He likes fingerpainting and balloons and violently ripping into anyone who annoys me."
Clint made a squashed-pterodactyl noise.
"Hint received loud and clear," Fury said dryly. "How many times you got him out of his cage so far?"
"Twice, and both times he..." Too late, Bruce realised his mistake and clamped his lips shut. Clint wanted to smack his forehead – but professionalism, y'know. It could be a drag sometimes.
"Twice." Fury drew the word out, relishing it. "That a fact. And he didn't hurt anyone?"
Bruce sighed, pushing the screen away. "No. He ate a meal and sparred with Thor. No demi-gods were harmed in the making of this production."
"Sir, this is in direct violation of your orders," Hill said coolly. "I can have us reroute to New York to pick up the Hulk and get the Cube ready for..."
"Shut up Hill, that is an order," Fury said, still staring at Bruce. "He sparred with Thor."
"I made sure he understood that it was a... a sort of game," Bruce said, and his fingers began to twist around each other. "He was completely clear on the concept. He follows his rules perfectly. He's not a danger when I'm there."
"And yet you and Stark have been screwing around with ways to put you two back together, effectively eliminating that method of control," Fury said, his voice unchanging.
Bruce blinked, and then swallowed hard. "Yes, we have. There are extenuating circumstances that affect both Hulk and myself due to this separation."
"Such as?" Hill asked.
Bruce flicked another glance at Clint, his lips pressed so tightly together that they were turning white. They don't know that Hulk's really a part of Banner. They still think he's a separate being, a separate personality, Clint thought. They haven't got that news bulletin yet. And then his choice was clear.
"Director," Clint said, lifting his chin, keeping his tone clipped and professional and above all, calm. "With Doctor Banner or without him, the Hulk has proved that he can be taught, that he can reason, that he isn't some sort of mindless animal. Given that he has something resembling human intelligence, we have to extend to him the same rights we did to Thor. It's hypocritical in the extreme..."
"I'm aware of the circumstances, Barton," Fury said.
"No Sir, I don't think you are," Clint continued doggedly. Natasha was going to smack him upside the head. Goddamn, but he sort of wanted to do it himself; putting his neck on the line with his bosses to protect Banner and Hulk, what was he thinking? "Look, Hulk's not a bad guy. Angry, yeah, but not bad. He's fucking dangerous, sure, but so am I. So are you. So's this whole damn world we live in. He's not dumb. He's actually pretty bright."
"You can stand down as well, Agent Barton," Fury said. He tsked slowly, still staring at Banner. "Well. You do seem to pick up some champions, don't you? First Cap, now Hawkeye. I'm not gonna do anything to the monster, Barton, even if I could. I just wanna know what the Doc here thinks he's doing."
Bruce ducked his head, a faint smile crossing his lips. "I honestly have no idea, Director."
Fury was silent a moment or two, and then he harrumphed under his breath. "Well, don't be a stranger. Drop me a line when you ladies figure it out."
Spinning on his heel, the director of SHIELD stalked out of the room. Hill gave Clint a very cutting glare, and he grinned broadly.
"Always good to see you too, Maria," he said.
"Barton, don't tempt me," she grated, and strode away after Fury.
Bruce walked up to stand beside him, his glasses still held between fidgeting fingers. "Ah," he said uncertainly, "what the hell was that?"
"That," Clint said, grimacing, "was Fury making sure we know he has tabs on the situation at the Tower. Classic information power play. Should have known. Stark's security might be the best, but SHIELD's getting news out of there somehow."
Bruce raised his eyebrows. "You mean... you and Natasha didn't...?"
"No!" Clint snapped, and then calmed himself. "No. Wasn't me, and it wasn't Tasha. We're Avengers first, now. She wouldn't be reporting on our home life. None of their fucking business. And Hulk's one of us."
Bruce leaned back against the wall. "I... didn't know that. I always thought that – I'm sorry, I'm probably being offensive..."
"Nah, Doc, you're fine." Clint said. "Well, you would have been right a year ago. We were both still reporting in, both still regularly making updates on everyone's personal files. But... I don't know. It started to feel wrong, and so we stopped giving them anything important."
Like the way Thor's eyes turned distant and sad whenever it snowed. Like the way Tony clutched his coffee or his scotch or his tech like it was a shield that could protect him. Like the way Steve sometimes stayed awake all night sketching feverishly, or ripping the living daylights out of a long succession of inoffensive punching bags. Like the way Bruce wandered aimlessly like a ghost through the halls after a nightmare, his eyes bleeding green and his face blank and wrecked.
"None of their fucking business," Clint repeated, folding his arms again.
"Some people might say differently," Bruce said.
"What, that they have a right to know about you... about that? No, they don't. That's you, Doc, the inside of your head - that should be yours to keep to your own goddamned self if you want to. You didn't sign on for this life, you shouldn't have to do the full spy's fucking brain autopsy. You don't need to give them whatever pound of flesh you think you owe 'em. They've got enough already."
"I did sign on, in a way. I chose to come back after all. The contents of my head... hah, they're not precisely mine anymore as it is," Bruce's eyes slid over to the beacon-thingy, "just look at the reason we're back here. Besides, maybe it would have helped convince them to keep him out of the Cube."
"Quit it with the devil's advocacy, Doc. Hulk's not going to the Cube, and I'm not telling 'em about... what you said to us at that dinner. Now, shut up and science."
Bruce smiled. "Thanks, Clint."
"Yeah, yeah. You owe me sexy, sexy arrows that do cool shit."
"How do adamantium-tips, or metal dissolvers sound?"
"Like a dirty weekend with Miss Universe. Gimme."
Bruce laughed softly. "They're yours the minute I'm done with the Hulk experiment. Don't let me forget."
Clint made a lascivious noise. "Like I would. Mmm, adamantium-tips. Fuck that's hot."
Bruce pushed away from the wall, and shook his head. "I think there actually might be something in Tony's insinuations about you and that bow."
Aaaand of course we're back to talking about Stark. "My bow? Nah. The arrows, well, different story. Phwoar, baby." Clint grinned again, and then a beep interrupted them. "That was quick."
Bruce moved over to a screen, putting on his glasses once more. He frowned. "It's not the tracker," he murmured, pulling a few bars across and glancing over at the little beacon-thing, glowing a malevolent green. "It's that."
"The tracer thingy?" Clint paused. "Wait up, I thought that thing was just pulsing?"
"It's not a tracer, either," Bruce said and scratched at his cast. "I have no idea what this is. It's emitting more radiation now. Not dangerous to us yet, but we should have that lead-lined case handy, just to be on the safe side."
"Hang on, the guy with two good hands has got this," Clint said and pulled the heavy box towards the monitoring equipment where the tracer hung amongst a net of wires.
"Thanks," said Bruce, peering at one of the feedout monitors. "This... doesn't make sense. It's really increasing emissions. Clint, I think you should get out of the room..."
"If I leave, who'll do your heavy lifting?" Clint said with some bravado, but he eyed the evil-looking little thing nervously. It was beeping steadily now, the sound rising in pitch and volume. He couldn't understand why Banner loved this stuff so much. Radiation, an invisible and deadly force... Clint didn't like enemies he couldn't see.
"No heavy lifting required from here on in. I really think you should stand outside, these readings are starting to enter dangerous territory..."
"And how about you, Doc? You're not the gamma battery," Clint said, his eyebrow raising. "He's downstairs in the Tower, full of shawarma."
"I've got a little previous evidence that my body can survive a lot more radiation than this," Bruce said dryly. "Stand back at least – there are suits in the antechamber, maybe you could..."
"Right, sure," Clint said, and backed up until he was leaning against the wall once more. "Should I call the director?"
"No, get Tony." Bruce rubbed his chin for a moment. Then he began busily setting dials and levels, his hand sure and steady. "I've been working with him on gamma all day. Knowing him, he's probably close to my level of expertise by now."
Geniuses. So fucking annoying. "Right," Clint said and pulled out his Starkphone. "Should it be making that noise?"
"It would be great if you held the questions until after the demonstration," Bruce said, his eyes darting. "I'm gloving up, this isn't safe. I'm not sure-"
The sudden silence was utterly shocking; an abrupt vacuum. Clint blinked.
"Doc? Doc?"
Bruce had vanished. He'd been standing there, just there, not ten feet away, and the thing had abruptly glowed green with twice the intensity, and then. Gone.
The tracer-thing had also vanished.
"Doc?!" Clint shouted, and then it hit him.
The fucking tracer-thing. The pulse. The Leader.
"Not a beacon," Clint mumbled, his shock beginning to solidify into rage. "A trap."
He punched in the number for the Tower, his fingers shaking in his fury. Stark picked up on the third ring. "Legolas! No, don't tell me, you need the chopper after all. What'd you do, fly into a tree, start nesti-"
"That thing," Clint spat, staring at the empty air where his teammate had been. "It stole Banner. He's gone."
Tony only paused for a brief moment, and when he spoke again his voice was low and dark. "What what that thing that you just said?"
"It stole Banner. It began spewing out... more shit, more radiation, and the beeps got higher and closer together, and there was a flash..." Clint's free hand balled into a shaking fist. "The Leader, Tone. It was the fucking Leader. That thing was a trap. He knew we'd get Banner in to look at it."
Tony was silent for a long, long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was still dark and flat. "I'm coming up. Be there in five. Get me data."
Clint flipped off the phone and stared at that innocuous patch of empty air.
Someone was going to fucking pay for this.
Tony
Numb, panicked and stupid was how Tony felt when he arrived back at the Tower two hours later. He made his way directly into the workshop bypassing the landing platform. He couldn't really face the others right now.
The readings Bruce had taken from the beacon had been deliberate, meticulous and elegant, like everything Bruce did. The beacon had created a targeted portal, from what Tony could piece together from Bruce's scans and the last few seconds of data recordings. It was not unlike Bruce's own teleport system, but instead of shielding the targeted person, this fucking thing would have simply ripped Bruce through the dark matter envelope without any heed to how much pain he would be in.
There was no external signal. The fucking thing had been an enclosed system. It must have been pre-programmed to trip the minute Bruce had begun the gamma scans. Sterns knew that Banner was their expert; he knew what they'd do. Tony tore through the data as his panic began to swell in his throat, and came across dead end after dead end. Sterns had outwitted them. Sterns had outwitted him.
He'd even called Xavier in his desperation. The man had given his apologies with gentle and infuriating sympathy, but he would not be able to find Doctor Banner as he was not a mutant. His equipment, Tony must understand, was calibrated for the purpose of finding mutants and could not be recalibrated without the help of one particular magnetic mutant – who wouldn't be terribly amenable to the idea of lending his assistance. Swearing loudly, Tony had hung up.
Richards had been less than useless, running into the same brick wall Tony was bashing his head against. As the minutes slipped through his fingers, the panic grew and grew until it was almost a living thing; a heavy and spiteful conjoined twin attached to his chest.
And there was nothing else to try. Failure was dust and copper in his mouth. The panic gave way to a strange anesthetized nothingness. His dark workshop was a horrible reminder of moments spent laughing with the man, teasing him, his quiet, authoritative voice, his big hands with their surprising delicacy.
He slammed a repulsor beam of energy straight into the side of his half-renovated Jaguar, but it didn't help.
Turning, he looked around his workshop with dead eyes. Dummy, You and Butterfingers chirruped at him, and he lifted his arms numbly. He stood there as they stripped off the suit, and remained standing for approximately eight point two seconds longer than necessary, a statue, surrounded by metal arms that hovered in polite, mechanical expectation of his next orders.
"Fuck off," he told them. They fucked off.
Tony looked at the gorgeous car he had totally destroyed, and felt nothing.
Time to fill in the others. He turned to the elevator.
Clint had told them already. It was apparent in the way Steve's eyes burned with righteous fury, the way Natasha was already suited up and ready to go, her face marble and her green eyes cold as death. Clint himself was sitting with his head in his hands, expressionless but for two spots of high colour on his cheekbones that spoke of his anger more eloquently than any scowl. And Thor seemed to be restless, champing at the bit to be off and shove Mjolnir straight up Stern's green ass.
Tony drifted through the room to the bar, numb and deadened all over. The others watched him cross the floor like he was a ghost. "Tony?" asked Steve.
He didn't answer, just shook his head and leaned on the counter heavily. He didn't trust himself to speak.
"Where do we start?" It was Natasha, her voice sharp and freezing cold.
"Don't know," Tony mumbled, and poured himself a brandy. Steve took it from his hand firmly, and poured it down the sink.
"No," he said, commanding and powerful – their leader, not their Team Dad. "This is not the time for that."
"Fuck, Steve! I can have a fucking drink if I want, it's my fucking booze - oh wait, would you look at that, it's my fucking tower-" Tony exploded, whirling on the other man. His chest felt strange, pressurised, like the arc reactor was suddenly too big for the cavity hacked into his ribs.
"Stark," Clint said in a voice that grated like gravel on concrete. "We need to find Banner. Get drunk afterwards."
Tony gritted his teeth. "There's nowhere to start! I just spent two fucking hours combing through everything Bruce had on that stupid thing. It was a self-sustaining portal; no external signal, no leads as to coordinates, no nothing! Give me a fucking drink!"
Thor hefted Mjolnir. "And are we defeated so very easily?" he rumbled. "No, we must press on. We must find him."
"How about the tracking algorithm?" asked Clint, his head jerking upwards. "That was meant to find Sterns."
"It's picking up sweet fuck-all. Sterns is cloaking himself." Tony splayed his hands over his face. It felt rubbery under his fingers. "He's outsmarted us. That green cockhead has beaten us!"
"Like hell," said Steve bluntly. That was uncharacteristic enough for Tony to glance up at him again. Steve's nostrils were white, his lips thin. "We're going to get Sterns, and we're going to find Bruce. We're the Avengers; we don't leave our people behind."
"Yeah, nice pep talk, Cap, but there's nowhere to look!" Tony said, dropping heavily on a couch. Thor shifted his weight, clearing his throat.
"Please forgive me if I am wrong, my friends... but did you not find the beacon within one of your scientific facilities?"
Clint and Natasha shared a look. "Yes," said Natasha. "Underneath the building, in a secret passage."
Despite the despair and cold rage welling up through his body, Tony snorted. "Secret fucking passage. God, Osborne is such a tool."
"Could not this... this pathetic mortal," Thor clamped his mouth in a straight, taut line. He now and again struggled with keeping his impressive temper in check – he had a tendency to create flash-thunderstorms when he was riled. He took a breath, his mighty chest rising. "If he has chosen such a place to be his repository once, may we not search for our friend in similar facilities?"
"He's right," Steve said, turning back to the others. "Tony, I know this is bad but we need you to hold it together. Get us a list of Osborne's labs, and any other research facilities that deal with gamma radiation or nuclear physics. Check everything you can for unusual activity. What was Sterns' area of expertise? Where was he, before? Clint, help him. Check your underground networks. Contact international agencies – Interpol, you know the type. Natasha, we'll need to infiltrate these places. I.D., equipment, disguises. Get us what we need. Thor," and Steve paused, and his eyes grew dark and troubled. "We need... we need to deal with Hulk."
Tony's blood froze in his veins.
"He doesn't know yet," Steve continued, his voice trembling only slightly. "We have no idea what he'll do."
"I'll tell you what he'll do," Tony muttered, a hollow chasm opening up in the pit of his stomach. "He'll rip the Tower apart. He'll rip the planet apart to find him."
"I don't see you with any bright ideas here, Stark!" Steve snapped. Then he held up a hand in apology. "Sorry. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
"Fuck you, Rogers," Tony snarled. "Tell you what. JARVIS can handle the fucking secretary bullshit; I'm coming with you to see Hulk."
"You'll be wearing your suit." Steve's tone brooked no opposition.
"No, I won't." Tony's jaw clenched. "He won't hurt me."
"This will drive him insane, Stark," Natasha said quietly. "He'll be what he used to be. All his rules will go out the window."
"Not for me," Tony said stubbornly. "He won't."
"For Pete's sake, Tony, I will not lose you too!" Steve bellowed. Then his hand rose to cover his eyes. His huge shoulders were slightly hunched, as though warding off blows.
Tony just stared at him.
"Captain," Thor said gently, his hand moving to cup Steve's elbow and shift his hand from his eyes, "I believe that Tony has a chance in this. Hulk has already saved his life countless times, long before this unnatural division. The green beast truly shall not harm him. No more of your comrades shall be lost this day."
Steve was pinched and white, but his blue eyes were determined. "Damn right they won't," he said in little more than a breath. "You'd better be right about this. Hulk will never forgive himself if he hurts Tony."
And now Tony was totally lost. Steve wasn't just concerned for Tony's safety. He was also thinking of Hulk – of Hulk's feelings should he do something terrible (again) while he was lost in his rage. He'd assumed that Captain Do-Gooder was trying to coddle the poor little rich boy with the heart condition. But it was bigger than that. It was about all of them, about the team, giant green rage monsters included.
Steve... cared.
Suddenly, Tony felt a lot stronger. His resolve hardened, an iron ball in his belly. "I should go in first," he said, meeting Steve's eyes with complete seriousness. "He'll accept things from me that he might not from anyone else."
"We can't just shout the news to him from outside?" Clint asked.
"He almost tore up the floor in a nightmare," Tony retorted. "That floor is ten inches thick, it's made of solid adamantium, and he crumpled it like a piece of paper. Let's think about that for a moment, y'know, just try to picture that in your mind. Got it? Now tell me if it's safer inside the fucking cage or out of it."
"Calm down," Steve said, radiating solidity and steadiness, a rock in all this madness. "All right, Tony, you'll have your chance. You can go in first. But don't tell him until we're in there with you." He looked over at Natasha and Clint. "We'll meet up in an hour. Go."
They went, slipping soundlessly from the room. As she left, Natasha laid a hand on Tony's shoulder and gripped it tightly in a wordless gesture of comfort. Then she was gone.
Bruce
His entire body was screaming at him. And it was dark.
Bruce blinked his sandy eyes. He was lying face down on some sort of cold, hard surface, his limbs splayed out and trembling in pain. A slight movement sent every muscle into renewed spasms of agony, and a tinkle of crushed glass told him that his glasses had smashed.
Numbness was beginning to settle into his mind – too many hours away from the other half of himself.
He lifted his head, ignoring the howling of his muscles, awkwardly hoisting himself up onto one elbow. So very dark.
It was such a damn cliché, but oh well. "Hello?" he called out into the blackness. "Sterns?"
There was a soft, pleased chuckle.
"Hello there, Mister Green."
*1930 Slang: Dressed up, snazzy
Okay, please don't hurt me *wince*
