Affgl how many reviews?!

Your determamfidd unit is broken Please reboot.

Arrgh I love you all with fervid and all-consuming passion. Thank you thank you thank you!


Chapter Thirteen


Hulk

Hulk misses Bruce.

The pointy thing... the pointy thing sticks into Hulk's arm, and the world melts. Slow. Everything slow and boomy and Hulk hates it, hates it, hates it.

Fire.

Fire everywhere, but it burns so slo-o-o-ow...

Bruce.

Hulk's eyes are funny. He feels wrong.

Everything is still so wrong.

Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce

Cannot... remember names. Names for. Team. Things.

Cannot.

Bruce.

Hulk needs Bruce.

All that matters.

Slow slow slow everything. Is slow. The world. Is slow and full of fire and Hulk. Hulk is alone. And.

Cannot.

Hulk... smash kill smash kill KILL run to the green places, the safe places, the man is cruel and Mummy is screaming sobbing bleeding dying and there is fire everywhere and nothing has names anymore. Bruce! Bruce!

Banner left Hulk alone Banner left Hulk alone Banner left Hulk alone

Team. Smells like. Like Bruce.

No, stay. No smash.

Slow. Hands are slow. Tired?

Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce

Bruce Bruce...

Bruce.

Help.


Thor

Such sorrowful silence.

Thor was not made for such a mission. He was a being of action, of joyous battle, the strength of arms and the deafening clash of warriors. This slow, secretive combing of clues was more Loki's specialty than his – but no. Matters were dark indeed without raising the spectre of the past.

But oh, how he wished Loki was here.

No. Cease these foolish thoughts. You know very well that his hatred is deep-rooted and absolute. Every visit to his cell brings more of his vituperation upon your head. He is lost to you, maudlin fool, and you have not yet lost the good Doctor. Not yet.

Stifling his irritation, the Thunderer folded his arms. The black suit that Tony had provided him with was most uncomfortable compared to his Asgardian finery. Mortal clothes were so restrictive.

Thus far, their search had been unsuccessful. Two of the facilities had delivered no clues as to the whereabouts of their friend. Three more had seemed promising at first, but they had proved to be misleading in the extreme. This Sterns villain was cunning, Thor mused gloomily. Records, equipment, personnel files, accounts – these had been expertly hacked and altered to give the appearance of foul play. Upon further investigation, these flimsy clues were proved to be nothing more than smoke through their fingers.

Worse still were the traps. Two of the facilities had been rigged with poisonous gases and explosives – a cowardly way to wage war. The first time one of these had been triggered, their valiant archer had risked asphyxiation. Quick thinking on the Captain's part had saved his life, and Thor had sent the fouled air rushing from the building with a blast of wind from Mjolnir. That had been a test of his healing wounds, certainly.

Thor gingerly evaluated the pain in his back and side. He was not grievously wounded, and he was mending rapidly. However, he would not be so fortunate should the Hulk deal him another drubbing so soon after the first.

That was a truly bitter pill to swallow. When the Hulk was truly consumed by his rage, not even Mjolnir's might could stand against him. Thor was not the bullying, swaggering pup of his youth any longer, but he still had a reasonable measure of pride in his abilities.

It had been a long and desperate afternoon, and the sun was slipping under the horizon in a truly magnificent display of golds and russets. Thor looked around at the gold-touched faces of his comrades as they clustered around the quinjet. Disappointment, anger, determination, hopelessness.

The silence was palpable.

Hulk sat, swaying slightly, in the centre of the quinjet's main cabin. His glassy green eyes flickered from the depths of anguish to the fiery heights of hate. He had been tranquilised twice at his own request. Each time, Clint had apologised profusely, and each time, Hulk had moaned and roared until the concoction took root in his mighty system.

And each time it wore off just a little faster.

"Where next?" asked Tony wearily. He wore a fine suit, grey to match his tired face. He did not cut his usual confident, flamboyant figure as he sat with his head cradled by one hand, the other stroking the Hulk's hair.

"Bruce," the Hulk moaned, and he reeled unsteadily towards the left as the drug buffeted him beyond his understanding.

"Boston," Natasha said, consulting her device.

"When do we get back to New York?" asked Tony.

"Yeah, we tried the university already," said Clint rather acidly from his place in the cockpit. He had, after all, nearly suffocated there.

"You're okay, quit your bellyaching," said their Captain. "It looks like a research lab... is that right? Natasha, I think I'm reading this right..."

"It's abandoned," confirmed Natasha.

"Nuclear?" Tony asked.

She shrugged.

Hulk rumbled like a dying Frostbeast and lurched even further to his left. His eyes hardened, and then softened, and ever thus they cycled as his rage and sorrow battled with each other and the drug. Tony smoothed back the giant's hair once more. "It's all right," he murmured. Such care, such devotion in his voice. None with ears and eyes could deny what Stark felt for Banner and his beast. "It's okay. We're finding him. We're still moving. I'm here, Big Guy, I'm here."

"Tony," the Hulk mumbled, and his great arm flung outwards without his normal focused co-ordination, denting the floor carelessly and wrapping around Stark's legs with desperation and needy propriety. Thor touched his painful jaw. No doubt Hulk's drugged state was the only thing stopping a rain of destruction upon the cities of mankind.

"Do we need to enter as we have done, then?" he asked his companions.

"Please, please tell me I'm done with the goddamned dog and pony show," Tony grumbled.

"It's deserted," Steve repeated, "we'll go straight in. Get suited up."

"Oh, thank fuck."

It had been necessary for Tony to assume his mantle of celebrated scientist and... what did the television say? Personality? Yes, as a public personality. Tony had led the way, and Thor himself, along with their Captain, wore their uncomfortable human suits and dark glasses and loomed large and silent behind their fast-talking friend. While Tony flirted and quipped and demanded, Clint and Natasha would slip easily into the belly of the building and search for their stolen doctor.

Thor had to admit that he was impressed with Tony's manipulation. Of all the locations they had travelled to, only one had refused him entry. Yet even then he had created a masterful diversion, wheedling and posturing even as Natasha and Clint slunk through the shadows to search the place. They had found much that would be of interest to the authorities – but no sign of Bruce.

"Why's he doing that?" Clint asked.

"Hmm?"

"Hulk. Leaning that way."

"The tranqs, do you think?" Tony carded his hand through the Hulk's hair once more. "Man, he is out of it. Last time I saw someone this blitzed was in a mirror."

"Ah. Memories," said Natasha dryly. Stark shot her a glare.

"Hulk?" Steve said gently, and lowered himself to his haunches before the green beast's sorrowful eyes. "Are you all right there?"

The Hulk simply growled beneath his breath and his shoulders slumped.

"Mayhap he yet grieves," Thor said, as quietly as he could.

"Hey now," Steve said, and carefully turned the mighty head to meet those unfocused green eyes with his own. "Are you feeling something? Is that why you're leaning?"

"Bruce..." he said, and to Thor's great alarm, he growled – a sound that echoed through the cabin, deep and long and dark.

"Running out of options here, guys," said Clint. "Junior's going to want to play eventually."

"Turn to the left – to port, portside, whatever weird-ass term you use. Go left," said Tony suddenly. "Maybe he's feeling something. Turn back. Go back to New York."

"Tony, he can't feel anything," said Natasha slowly. "He told us he couldn't feel Bruce's location, back when he could still think..."

"He can still think!" Tony flared, and the Hulk growled threateningly at the raised tone. Tony's hand buried once more in Hulk's hair, and he turned the massive head until it was fairly resting on his lap. "Sorry, Green Bean. Sorry. Got a bit carried away." He soothed the Hulk for a few more moments, and then he looked up, his eyes hard. "He can think," he said, stubbornness edging every syllable. "It's just – well, let's see you do half as fucking well with half a brain stolen and a system full of elephant tranquilisers."

"What about that..."

"Just." Tony paused and then looked down at the great head he cradled. "Please. Guys, please. Let's try it. We can't keep this up – Sterns is ahead of us, wherever we go. We need to change the situation to our advantage. I don't like playing games where some asswipe sets the rules."

How Thor missed his lovely Jane. She was so intelligent; this was meat and drink to her. But she was still in Switzerland, and her work was important. Still, so much had happened since her journey's beginning, and Thor desperately wished to see her and tell her of it all. Of Hulk and their team, and how the one had drawn the other together in a bond tighter than he had thought possible.

And he was sad, and enraged, and afraid, and he wished to feel her small arms around him and take comfort in her small and stubborn sweetness.

"Jade Jaws as a sniffer dog?" said Clint sceptically.

"Maybe..." Tony's eyes betrayed his own doubts, but he held firm. "Look, let's be logical here. He's becoming more and more uncontrollable as time passes. He's slipping back, yeah? Back to being a creature of emotion first and foremost. Maybe that... that more elemental Hulk, that reactive Hulk, can sense Bruce more easily, whereas the more rational one can't."

"The more rational one threw me into a roof, and almost used Thor to dig to China," Steve reminded him. Thor scowled.

"I was merely picking my moment," he protested. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Suuuuure. And I never had sex with that woman. Close, Thor, but no cigar."

"I don't get it," Steve said, a trifle peevishly.

"You don't want to," Natasha sighed. "You think this will work?"

"What the fuck do I know? But he does. Look at him."

Thor's eyes dropped to the Hulk once more, and took in the slant of the bulky shoulders. They were indeed leaning back towards the city of their origin, and his blocky chin was pointed away from Tony in an almost yearning manner towards the same direction. "I feel that Tony is right," he said, his eyes snapping back to Steve. "We are being played for fools, and I for one do not wish to dangle at Sterns' puppet strings further. We should trust in the instincts of our friend."

"Does this mean no more tranqs?" said Clint, and he glanced back over his shoulder with poorly-hidden nervousness. "Because I have a violent allergic reaction to being in planes that get ripped to shreds."

"No more tranqs..." Steve said, and his jaw rippled. "No. No way. I'm not condoning that. As long as we can keep him under control, we leave him to sober up, but the minute he's a loose cannon..."

"Right," Clint nodded.

"Last resort," Tony said. "I'll try and keep him calm. He likes having his hair patted."

"Bruce did that a lot," Natasha remembered.

"Clint. The secondhe's out of control," Steve repeated.

"I will assist," Thor said, and with some relief he began to remove the hated and itchy mortal garb. "Let me first attire myself appropriately."

Clint shrugged in acceptance. "Following the Hulk's nose, here we go. Hold on, kids, going for a spin."

"Thanks, Thor," Tony said in some relief as the quinjet began to swerve back to the south. "Thanks, guys."

"We want him back too, Tony," said Natasha. Then, as though embarrassed of her statement, she turned away to clothe herself in her warrior's gear and begin her transition from nondescript technician to the Black Widow.

"You're right about one thing, Tony." Steve began to unbutton his suit jacket, shaking his head. "Sterns has been ahead of us the whole time. We can't keep dancing to his tune."

"I've been sort of known for a couple of good ideas here and there," Tony said, and looked down at Hulk once more. At their change of direction his head had shifted – now his nose was practically buried in Tony's stomach. His vast green hand fell from his lap to land with a clang against the floor, adding yet another dent.

"Might want to call a panel beater after this," Tony said, and he smiled rather sadly.

Thor turned away, tugging off the tie and the white shirt and calling his armour. His friend's smile was such a painful thing to witness.

The silence fell again, thick and cloying, unbroken but for the metallic whirr of the engines and the low crooning moans of the Hulk.

It made him jump when the communications device let out a shrill and strident trilling, and from the startled sounds around him Thor was not the only one taken by surprise.

"Shit!" Tony said under his breath, and carefully edged his hands over the Hulk's ears. He had jolted violently at the sudden noise, and a small barking roar had escaped him. His eyes were still clouded and so the drug yet coursed through his system. At the feel of the hands upon his head he took a deep, rasping breath and looked pleadingly up at Tony.

"Bruce," he said.

"It's all right, Big Guy, just the phone. It's Tony. Remember? Tony. It's all right."

Hulk rumbled miserably and his head lowered again, his eyes closing with a dreadful finality.

"Where the hell have you idiots got to?" came Fury's voice crackling over the speakers.

"Keep it down!" hissed Steve and Natasha in unison as Hulk stirred again.

"What, is it your fucking naptime?" Fury sounded furious. How very appropriate. "Get your asses back here! I've been dealing with assholes left and right ever since you lot decided to turn yourselves into the goddamned Scooby Gang. I've got half the labs in the country in my ear about how Stark waltzed in and talked their ears off while the rest of you heroes sabotaged their life's work. Anyone care to give me a reasonable explanation because at this point? I am highly uncertain there even isone."

"We're looking for Bruce," said Clint.

"Barton, everyone on this damned crate is looking for Banner. You think you're so special? Get that expensive waste of taxpayer's money back here before I do something we all might regret."

"Can't, Sir." Clint looked back at the rest of them. "Got a lead."

"Well, good to hear that all those people were upset for a reason." Fury was exceptional at laying on the heavy sarcasm, Thor believed. Even he himself was slightly cowed. "Care to share this miraculous find?"

"Ah, not really," said Tony, aiming (and failing) to match his usual flippancy. "I don't know how much information you can get out of a drug-fucked Hulk, but you know what? How about you give it the old college try? I'll selflessly volunteer to watch."

Natasha smiled faintly.

"You're following – wait, you've got the Hulk there?"

"He is swift on the uptake," Thor drawled.

"Yes, and that's why we wanted you to keep your voice down!" Steve hissed. Then he added, "uh. Sir."

"Are you insane?"

"Jury's out," Tony said, and shared a brief, bleakly amused look with Steve.

"And lo, the mastermind who is undoubtedly behind this stroke of unfathomable genius speaks. You know what the Hulk is capable of, Stark!"

"With all due respect," Steve said, "we know what Hulk can do a little more intimately than most. And it wasn't just Tony's idea. We all agreed."

"Sort of," Clint muttered.

"Hulk is a team member," said Natasha, her voice even. "He has a right to search for Bruce – more right than any one of us."

"Agent Romanov. I gotta confess that I find myself disappointed. Thought you out of all of this lot might have a bit more sense."

She zipped up her uniform and wrapped her fearsome Widow's Bite around one wrist with a snap."Guess not. Sorry to disappoint."

"Ah, before you go gnawing on your peg leg, Blackbeard," Tony interjected, "it might interest you to know that the Hulk is tranked to the gills right now, and he's been a perfect model of decorum the whole trip."

"That somehow doesn't exactly ease my state of mind," Fury said dryly. "You saying none of you have been injured?"

All eyes turned at that point to Thor, who blinked at the sudden attention. He cleared his throat. "No, Fury. We are all in good health," he finally said.

Tony gave him a drained, relieved smile.

"Yeah, right," Fury said, clearly disbelieving. "And you need lessons on how to lie convincingly."

Thor was abruptly toweringly angry at this man who would halt their mission. "I had them," he said acidly. "For two thousand of your years. I was never an apt pupil, true. Would you care to guess who taught me?"

This man and his people were formidable allies, but the son of Odin would not stand any opposition in this desperate quest. Their small group had a gaping, bleeding wound, and Fury wished to detain them for fear of the Hulk's distress and anger? Hah, he was right to fear. Why, if Thor were in the Hulk's place, he would have torn the world to shards.

There was a slight hesitation from the phone.

"Thor," murmured Natasha. "We're all on edge. Calm down."

"I am calm," he replied, his voice tight and his throat a steel trap. "There is not a single thundercloud yet in the sky."

"It's that yet we're worried about," Steve said, and his hand gripped Thor's shoulder. "Hold it together. We're all in this."

"Well, you can all get out of it," Fury snapped. "You people are certifiable. Going on some damn-fool kamikaze mission with the Hulk on board? You're all out of your mind. Sending you our co-ordinates. Get that quinjet back here before the tranqs wear off him. The cell's set up and waiting. If he's so damn docile, you can just lead him in by his precious little hand and contain the threat. We'll take over from here. Operate a goddamned professional search."

"Not stopping and not coming back, Fury," Tony said absently, and his hand dipped into his pocket to produce one of his phones (Thor had honestly lost count of how many he had). "And if you think a fact-finding mission with La Femme Nikita Barbie and Double-O Ken here isn't professional, then I think you might need to ring a friend, buy a vowel or two, y'know. Because ah, that's bullshit."

"We will find our comrade in arms and we will bring him home, with or without your assistance," Thor agreed, his tone frosty. "I advise you not to stand in our way."

"All for one, one for all, yadda yadda. I'm so D'Artagnan," said Clint. "Whichever the hot one is."

There was a sigh. "Captain?"

"We're following the Hulk," said Steve, softly but extremely firmly. His hand tightened on Thor's shoulder. "He might be a loose cannon right now, but he's a member of this team and an Avenger, and we don't follow your orders. Sir. This is my command. And Sir, I am sorry to inform you that we will continue to follow his lead until this team is whole and we've got Bruce back. We stick together."

"The old wartime spirit," said Fury with a snort of disgust. "Well, you idiots wanna commit suicide in a flying tin can with a – what did you say? Loose cannon?" He laughed. "Rogers, that ain't just a loose cannon, that's a WMD in freefall and you know it."

"We've got a bit of experience with those too," snapped Tony. "Now, have you said everything you were gonna say, or can I hang up rudely and in doing so interrupt your next – frankly very insulting – little spiel on why we shouldn't go look for Bruce?"

Hulk rumbled, causing the entire cabin to freeze momentarily. "Bruce," he said, his face contorting, before it smoothed out again. The echoes faded away.

"Goddamn," Fury breathed. "He really is... you crazy sons of bitches."

"Objection," Clint said. "Natasha's a girl."

"Not helpful, Clint," Natasha muttered.

"For god's sake-" Fury began.

"Get rid of him," said Tony, and he turned back to his phone. "He's boring me to death, and he'll piss Hulk off. Me and Hulk have a no-boring-people policy."

"Sir, this is in no way a resignation move or anything, but I'm hanging up now," Clint said brightly. "Also, say hi to Hill for me, I know she pines."

Click.

"Well, that was fun," said Steve sourly.

"Way to take a stand, guys," said Tony, looking up. "Steve, that was masterful, I do declare. I'm all flushed and dampened."

Steve shook his head, and he patted Thor's shoulder. "Thor here was the one who really took the stand. I just followed his lead."

"Are you all right?" Natasha asked him, and Thor took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Aye. But I weary of this search, and I cannot calm my uncertainties. Bruce has been missing for thirteen hours, and he is vulnerable without Hulk's power. I fear for him."

Tony's breath faltered, and then he threaded his fingers through Hulk's hair once more. "Me too."

Thor turned to look out of the window at the gathering clouds. "Yes, I know you do."


Bruce

He felt like Sisyphus, rolling the stone forever uphill. That was how it felt to struggle against the numbing apathy, and actually think.

As it was, Bruce was sure of two things. One: he desperately needed to go to the bathroom. Two: he'd kill for a cup of tea.

God, he wanted a cup of tea.

Well. Maybe a little more than just two things. Despite the vast effort it took, he'd managed to piece together something of the machines before him. Hulk-withdrawal or not, Bruce was no idiot. The thing – the bomb – was a scaled-up version of the one he'd once created, after all, and he could recognise his own damn work.

Great, Sterns was a plagiarist as well as a power-hungry self-aggrandising green lunatic. No peer recommendation for you, Bruce thought wryly to himself.

The blood, though – that was more worrying. From what he was able to discern from his position chained to a steel girder (apparently telekinesis had limits, who knew) the blood was to act as a catalysing agent. The gamma bomb alone wouldn't create the effect Sterns so craved. Bruce's accident really had been a fluke; a one-in-billions kind of chance. The blood was to ensure that the induced mutations fell along those lucky, lucky lines.

He still hadn't examined it too closely. Sterns still believed he was whole. If Bruce could still feel things, he would have been boneless in relief.

Perhaps a nice cup of Oolong – no. Getting off track.

So. Blood to ensure that the gamma did the job and didn't just kill everyone. Yet without that one-in-billions magic spark, the bomb would just be a bomb.

Killing everyone.

So, no real upside to any of this.

He tested the chain yet again. Thanks to Sterns' habit of manipulating him via telekinesis, he hadn't felt nor seen the cast underneath Bruce's long-sleeved button-up. He was vaguely grateful that the bruises on his face had finally healed, or the game would have been up before he could blink. That long-sleeved shirt was baggy enough to conceal the cast – and if he ever saw Tony again, he was going to lord it up for weeks. Baggy clothes = lifesavers. Tony would have to concede it.

God, he missed Tony.

Scratch that. God, he missed being able to miss Tony.

Being intellectually aware of his detachment this time around actually made it worse. Last time he had simply drifted, but now he needed to act and he needed to act fast.And his goddamned brain was spliced in half!

"Yes," Sterns murmured, pleased.

Bruce's eyes flickered over, and he surreptitiously tested the chain once more. It was wrapped around his ankle – no other restraint was necessary, not in this body – and culminated in a heavy, bulky shackle. He hoped he could get a hold of something thin eventually, although if Sterns had read his file then he would know all about Bruce's forays into escapology. Probably also the reason he'd never ventured close enough for Bruce to use his (rusty) martial arts skills.

Jasmine. Green. Sencha. Stop it.

Sterns was visibly smiling as he moved around the machines, his lips drawn into smug, satisfied lines. His forehead flared and a power coupling attached itself to the base of the bomb, and he sighed in appreciation of a job well done. Bruce glanced over the power readings – blurry as heck without his glasses, but needs must.

"That's not enough," he murmured.

Sterns shot him a poisonous glare. "It will build."

"How are you stealing this much power? Actually, scratch that question: where on earth did you get the fission core?"

"People are fools," Sterns said and moved around to flick some gauges and turn some knobs. "They cannot believe that radioactive material can be stolen at all, and so they don't even entertain the possibility."

"And the coolant?"

Sterns merely gave him a superior look, and turned back to his machine. "Beyond your limited capacity to understand."

"You mean that thing has no containment at all?" Bruce was astounded. Even before the bomb's detonation, radiation would be leaking through the available atmosphere. Without a cooling system, it was a conflagration waiting to happen, one which would throw radioisotopes through the air for thousands of miles in every direction. "Huh. I suspected you were nuts, and uhm, ta-dah? Now I have proof. Look, far be it from me to suggest, oh mighty mind, that you haven't considered the extremely flammable nature of the..."

"Shut up." Sterns turned to him fully, and another blast from that bulbous, grotesque forehead caught him straight in the gut. He doubled over, gasping. "You have no concept of the elegance of my work. There is no danger of a reactor fire. My systems are perfection itself."

Bruce could only wheeze.

Sterns smiled again as he regarded him, a slow cruel smile that chilled the blood. "Let that be a demonstration to you. Don't interrupt me again. Some of these levels are extremely volatile, and the measurements are delicate. Who knows what could happen if my hand were to... slip."

Bruce gritted his teeth and tried to straighten around his aching stomach. The blow and the movement had reminded him that, right, yeah, ribs. Shoulderblade. Injuries. It had been so many years since Bruce had had the simple human ability to be injured, really injured. He hadn't missed it much. Allowing for his awkward movements and delayed reactions in such a tense situation was now quite as alien as Asgard. "Right," he croaked. "I'll just be over here then."

Sterns turned away once more. Bruce swallowed against the pain of his ribs and wiped at his blurred eyes.

Escape. He needed to get out of here and warn everyone.

A diversion? Bruce snorted at himself. Great, sure. The bomb itself would make a fantastic diversion, except it would be far too late and Bruce would be far too dead for it to matter. Everyone would.

Perhaps Hulk would be the last one left to howl himself mad, alone forever amongst the rotting, crumbling cities.

Shut up. Think. Think.

Chai, his own homemade masala chai. Plenty of cardamom and ginger, and a hint of oh shut up for the love of—

He couldn't dislocate his joints. He'd tried before, once. He'd been captured in the Middle East by militant forces, recognised (DAMN the internet to the depths of hell) and brought to the border. They intended to air-drop him over the wall; a perfect targeted engine of devastation. Bruce hadn't liked the idea of a career as a weapon any more this time around than he had the first time, and so he had tried to slip the cable ties around his wrists. Unfortunately, they were annoyingly professional and secure.

He hadn't waited until the border to let the Hulk loose.

Numb and stupid, he studied the cuff around his ankle. It was a heavy thing, close-fitting to his skin and bolted tight. Not with any stupid padlock, either – Bruce could have them undone in seconds if he'd had his rakes and picks. No such luck, it was actually bolted together, the nuts and screws tight. The chain that trapped him by the stupid pillar was a giant industrial link chain, red with rust, but sound. He could barely lift it at all.

His mind was a dense fog, and it was so damned hard to think, think, think.

How many years had he wished his intelligence gone? How many years had he prayed to be normal? Like everyone else?

Careful what you wish for, Banner.

Underneath his terrible icy numbness, a sucking, roaring chasm of urgency and fear beckoned. He ignored it and the overwhelming urge to slump against the pillar and sleep.

He looked with bleary eyes down at the chain and the shackle, and made the decision. It would severely limit his chances of making it out, but as it was he had very little choice.

Hulk, I hope you're still in the mood to carry me when you get here.


Hulk

Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce...

The fire is getting hotter.


Tony

"Here."

Tony looked up. Steve was holding something out to him. He took it blindly, fumbled, and tucked it beside him.

Sitting down beside him, Steve reached out carefully to Hulk. The big guy was now growling almost constantly, and his eyes were far more alert. But there was still a vague flicker of recognition in his face as he registered Steve, and his growls grew a little softer, a little less vicious. He let Steve pat his shoulder without trying to punt him across the quinjet, so yeah: result positive.

"No change?" Steve said quietly.

"He sat up," Tony pointed out.

"I see not all of him made it away from you." Steve said, nodding down to where the Hulk's huge, clenched fist rested in Tony's lap. "Isn't that heavy?"

Tony snorted. "Unbelievably. But I'm not letting go."

Steve smiled faintly. "Didn't think you would."

Tony looked over at the thing he'd been passed, and with some surprise he recognised Steve's sketchbook. "Thought they weren't ready to be looked at by our virgin eyes?"

"They might not be," Steve said, because he was being cryptic today, it was Cryptic Steve Day, how awesome, "but I think you just might be."

He clasped Tony's forearm for a fleeting moment. "Let us know if anything changes. I'll be looking over sites with Natasha in the cockpit."

"It's a sign of maturity," Tony muttered.

"What is?"

"Not making a cockpit joke right now."

Steve shook his head. "Good to see you're still yourself, soldier."

"I'm always myself, who else would I be? And if you say Skrull, I'm not talking to you for a week."

Across the cabin, Thor gave a grim smile. The sky around them was dark and roiling, and Clint had threatened him twice with Hulk's tranqs if he didn't calm down and let him fly the goddamned plane without the threat of a lightning bolt swatting them from the air. "We have enough troubles on our hands," he murmured.

"Amen," agreed Steve. "I thought... look, I don't know. They cheer me up, looking at these. Drawing them. I thought they might cheer you up too."

"The only thing that will cheer me up right now will be getting Banner back and possibly turning Sterns into a really crappy colourblind Megamind cosplayer."

Steve looked puzzled for a moment, and then gave up with a sigh. "Give us a yell if he moves again."

"Like a yodeller on his wedding night, Mon Capitan."

Steve cocked his head and gave him a level look. "Tony. You don't have to try and make everything into a joke. It's all right to be worried. We are. You don't have to keep the armour on in front of us, you know."

Tony actually glanced down at his rumpled, slightly damp grey suit (Hulk drooled, which was gross, but Tony liked his arms where they were so he wasn't about to complain). Then he rolled his eyes. "Oh, very metaphorical, very poetic."

"Glad you liked it. Hope you like the sketches too. I think I got your beard right."

"You better have, I spend a fucking fortune getting this thing reshaped every month, and Ramón is a bitch when it gets out of line."

Steve's chuckle was sad and faint as he left towards the cabin, but his walk was as purposeful as ever. Tony took some comfort in that. Sure, living with the guy had shown him that Captain Stevie Wonder was as human as the next experimental human test subject (read: Bruce). He put his pants on one leg and then hopped around like a moron until he found the other one, just like every other guy. Still, there was just something about Captain America walking with purpose to make him feel like it would, possibly, end up okay. Maybe he'd mainlined too many comics as a kid or something.

Hulk growled like a territorial tiger, and his clenched fingers tightened as his eyelids slid shut. Tony smoothed a thumb along the huge green forefinger, marvelling at how the massive muscles were dense and hard as steel beneath his comparatively squishy callus. The whorls and lines at his knuckles were so human. His palms were broad and warm, just like Bruce's.

Sixteen hours.

Was Bruce even alive?

Not a useful line of questioning. Tony had been held for three months, and he'd been... all right, fine, so he hadn't been okay. But he was on his way to okay. Soon. He'd be okay soon. One day he would conquer okay and become its shiny metal Emperor.

Besides, he'd come out of his own kidnapping with a cool new headlight and an awesome invention that out-awesomed anything he'd ever done before. Upsides to kidnapping, tell your friends.

Hey, Bruce was a genius too, and he was fucking tough as nails. He'd already been through the kind of wringer that Tony woke up in cold sweats about. Sure, Tony had been dying of palladium poisoning. But at least he hadn't been hunted down by the whole world.

Hadn't Bruce even escaped a few kidnappings before?

Oh right. Hulk, the kidnappee's best friend.

Tony glanced down again at the continually snarling, twitching giant that knelt at his feet. The Hulk, the living embodiment of physical power – kneeling before him and clinging to him. That sort of thing could go to a guy's head.

With a silent sigh he let go of the huge green hand and picked up the sketchbook, flipping through it idly. First page was full of their resident weightlifting shampoo commercial. The bottom right corner was a particularly good one. Thor was depicted in the kitchen with a mug in his hand, his head thrown back, laughing with his usual joyous abandon.

Dang, Steve had some talent.

Seriously, he could sell these.

Next one was Fury. He was bent over a screen, his hands either side of it to brace himself. His expression was set in a scowl, and the light was artfully shaded to show the shadows that lingered everywhere but on his face. Metaphorical, gotcha.

Clint, Clint, Clint – sniggering with his mouth full, his eyes lit with puckish glee; drawing his bow, his face oddly intense; slumped over with Natasha on the couch, fast asleep, his mouth open and his usually action-ready limbs loose and boneless. Tony even knew that snore – the huuuuurk, grrrrngh-gnrrrrgh-huuuuuuUURK! Clint got when he fell asleep on his back.

Hang on, he knew how Clint snored now? When the fuck did he learn that?

Hulk. Pushing paint around, his brutish face aglow with a sort of innocent wonder. Tony couldn't help but glance from the picture to the Hulk at his feet. World of difference. He sighed again and turned the page, only to be confronted with himself.

One of him laughing – and hell, he didn't know he looked like such a geek when he laughed. His eyes got all little and scrunchy. Still devastatingly handsome though. As was the next sketch, of himself making some (naturally, totally relevant and amazing) point. His eyebrows were quirked, as were his lips, and he had one hand circling around in his 'explaining things to peasants' gestures. The last one was of him looking sort of... sad, and soft, and dirty. Right, must have been right after Pep left. He was covered in grease, and his eyes looked... older.

Turn the goddamned page.

Natasha this time, and Tony was surprised at the massive surge of affection he felt just looking at her image. He'd sworn never to trust the creepy and terrifying people who creep and terrify and then stick needles into your neck... But.

She'd changed his arc reactor.

She was definitely in character as someone else in the first one. Her head was held differently, her eyes shuttered and veiled even though the expression was open and innocent and a little ingenuous. It was unnerving how she could just totally become someone else so entirely. The second one was the Natasha he knew. She was all business, all Black Widow, but with a hint of her occasionally surprising humour lurking in the tilt of her mouth, in the corners of her eyes. Her dry wit still caught him off-guard sometimes.

"Bitch," he told the picture affectionately. "I'm on to you now." He grinned a little at her half-hidden smirk, and then turned the page.

And god, his breath was gone, gone, fuck. He was underwater, he was being Hulk-punched, he was. Choking.

Bruce.

Bruce rumpled. Bruce in a suit (looking fucking fine, even if it was one of Tony's out-of-season cast-offs), Bruce in only a ruined pair of trousers, Bruce with his hands in his hair, Bruce with his glasses twiddling between his fingers. Bruce bent over a microscope with science! in his eyes, Bruce in a crappy hoodie and baggy track pants stretching slowly into a yoga position (he'd teased him mercilessly), Bruce with his big, broad hands wrapped around his 'FRANKIE SAYS RELAX' mug. Bruce with his soft hair and his warmth and his daggerlike mind and his self-deprecation and his sarcasm and his bottomless empathy and his nightmares and his generosity and his...

Tony threw the book down and breathed very hard for a few moments.

Okay.

Okay.

No, fuck it, he was the fucking Emperor.

He was in... in luh...in luh. In L-word.

With. With.

You're the motherfucking Emperor, dammit! Get a grip!

Emperor Tony Stark of Okay put his head in his hands.

He was.

With Bruce.

Doctor Robert Bruce "I am Fundamentally Unlovable and a danger and no-one should get near me" Banner.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and fisted his hair in his hands.

He concentrated on the air rushing in and out of his lungs for a few moments. He was still breathing pretty damned fast, all told. His lung capacity had been severely reduced thanks to a certain surgical procedure though, so maybe that was just. Uh.

No, wait. Logic. Logic was good, logic had never yet let him down. It was just Tony missing the guy, that was all. He'd been stolen after all. Kidnapped. It was all the leftover feelings from his own holiday to Afghanistan; all the painful emotions from the gaping wound left by Bruce's absence. He was confusing all of that... thatness... with... with something else. That was all. He was just tired and overwrought and thank you very much he was not in luhhh-lalalala! With Bruce bloody Banner. Because that would be weird and awkward as fuck and make working with the guy a real double-scoop of uncomfortable. Tony didn't want to stop working with Bruce, no way, and so logic had proved that there was no love here, nope, move along, the velvet rope is there for a reason.

Logic unassailable, Tony picked up the sketchbook again, nodded briskly at the many renditions of the face of his – his colleague -and flipped to the last page.

Shit.

Aw, shit.

Et tu, Logic?

The sketches were beautiful and perfectly detailed, like all of Steve's work, because he was the pinnacle of human assholery. They were all of Tony and Bruce together in the lab, and Tony? Looked like a besotted fool. Bruce was smiling softly at him, his weary humour dancing in his eyes – but Tony was draped over the guy like an expensive fur. In another, he was looking over at him like he was the aforesaid double-scoop of icecream. In another, he was bumping the guy's hip. His hip.

Yep. He was in goddamned fucking stupid awful embarrassing painful messy L-word, Emotionsville, Feelings County, Grosstopia.

Bruce's hair was a mess in one of them, and Tony's fingers skimmed over the graphite lines, itching to tousle it further. Bruce's goddamned hair. He had a fucking spaniel on his head, and Tony... L-worded it. A lot.

His eyes. Big, weary, soft and kind. So dark, nearly black. Lips startlingly full. So, L-wording them too? Okay then.

He L-worded his big hands as well, that finicky, delicate precision... so fucking sexy the way he moved Tony's holograms around, like he'd been born to it.

Sexy...?

Squinting, Tony regarded the last of the sketches. Himself and Brucey-babes of course. His hand was resting on the column of Bruce's neck, and he could see it now, all tanned and thick and strong, the pulse jumping under his fingertips. All clean lines and stubble and whoa, okay yeah, he was definitely into that. Way more than he'd expected.

He'd seen the guy naked only a few billion times, and so it wasn't hard to recall the image. He had a nuggety but surprisingly spare body, not a muscle factory by any means, but lean. He ate a metric fuckton of food, but you'd never see it on him, the way he looked. God knows how he'd kept himself fed when he was on the lam. Very broad shoulders (something Tony had a bit of a weakness for, to be honest), a nice round ass and good strong runner's legs (insert bitter laugh). And then there was all that dark, dark hair.

He was a fuzzy bastard all right, unlike any of the taut and waxed athletes and models Tony had rolled around with before. It was intriguing, and a bit fascinating. Tony wondered what all that scruff was like. Was it scratchy? Or soft? Or a bit of both?

Oooookay, not about to pop one in front of the Hulk, because that would be horrendously inappropriate.

Jesus, and Hulk was Bruce and Bruce was Hulk.

Yeah, no.

He wondered when the hell he'd fallen in l... L-word with his equally fucked-up teammate and Super Secret Science Club buddy. These last two weeks? A year ago? The minute they met?

Had he ever notbeen a little in love with Bruce?

Groaning aloud, Tony let his head tilt back to thud against the wall of the quinjet. What a day to have a revelation.

Was he even into guys?

Maybe Tonysexualism could be a Thing.

Why was he thinking all this now? Bruce was still fucking kidnapped. Oh god, no, no, no, no, no. Bruciekins, if you die I am going to kill you so goddamned hard. You are not fucking dying just when I've figured this out, and not before I've finally gotten to know how you tick and how you even exist and how you kiss in the morning when you wake up.

Why had Steve given him this? Did Steve know? Did everyone?

He was the Emperor of stupid.

Emperor Tony Stark of Stupid groaned again, and threw the evil, evil sketchbook on the floor. It landed with a loud slap.

Hulk's eyes opened.


Hulk

Hulk is a scream.

The scream is the only thing left with a name.

Br...

...BRUCE!

...

There is nothing left of Hulk, nothing. He is all eaten away to screams and fire.

The fire is green and the fire will burn and burn until the world is smashed and then Hulk will still go on smashing the bits until the bits are smashed and then there will be only Hulk and he will be alone with the fire and the screams forever and ever

The fire is green and the fire will burn and burn until the world is smashed and then Hulk will still go on smashing the bits until the bits are smashed and then there will be only Hulk and he will be alone with the fire and the screams forever and ever

(no hulk is good hulk is good and Bruce will be proud of hulk)

Hulk is the fire and the fire is strongest there is and HULK will smash SMASH the puny things, these things that crawl because the fire burns bright and hot and angry

it must be fed and it likes the dead so Hulk will smash and smash and kill KILL until the screaming stops

And it will be good

B

Ru

...

cE

. ...help

(tiny little voice inside, do not smash Team do not do not)

Hulk...

SMASH.

.


*runs away* Please put the knives awaaaaaay!