My Boyfriend is Indestructible
Chapter 2

Bruce awoke, as was becoming typical for their Fridays, on the sofa. He rubbed his eyes and took deep breaths to clear his head, and as soon as he was sitting up Peter was there, offering him a cup of coffee. He accepted, taking a few grateful sips before asking, "How did we do?"

Peter thumped down next to him. "You tell me."

Bruce closed his eyes, letting another sip of coffee draw him into focus. "I remember..." He frowned when the coffee hitting his stomach made him feel overly full. "I was eating?"

"You ate almost ten pizzas," said Peter, grinning excitedly. "And you used the word 'metabolism,' which is the biggest word yet, I think. And I was tossing fruit into your mouth from across the room...which is why the carpet cleaner is out." He scratched the back of his neck. "Hulk's a pretty big target but we still have to work on our communication."

Bruce licked his lips. There weren't any traces of tastes left in his mouth, but as he rolled his tongue he remembered. "Cherries?"

"Yeah!" Peter beamed, but then he grew sheepish again. "We had some more target practice, until you killed a lamp." He pointed to the empty surface of a nearby table and a mark left on the wall behind it. "Spat those pits like they were bullets."

Bruce stared at the wall and recalled rather than felt a flash of embarrassment. "I did, didn't I," he murmured, not sure if it was pride or uncertainty making his chest grow tight. With Peter watching him so closely, he tried to be more specific. "I wouldn't say I remember it all clearly, but if I concentrate, I can catch it. I can feel..." He flexed the fingers of his free hand. "You were drawing things on his palm, to see if he could tell what letters they were. Like H, for Hulk."

Peter scooted in closer, putting them shoulder to shoulder. "You remember a lot this time," he said proudly. "There was one more important thing. Remember it?"

Bruce tipped his head back for a long gulp of coffee and then set the mug on the table in front of him. His brain tried to cloud up on him, but he clenched his fists and concentrated, imagining his memories as swirling atoms to be aligned. Echoes of sensation rippled up his forearm. "You took my blood."

"Ding ding ding." Peter hopped to his feet and disappeared behind the sofa, returning a moment later with a zipped up pouch. He opened it to show off a long, narrow capsule, cold to the touch. "It took a while to convince you, but it was actually easier once I got out the supplies. Hulk was very interested in your bag. I think you were trying to explain to me how to prep the needle, but you couldn't get it out, so we had to stop a few times for you to settle down before getting it done. But here it is! Properly stored, just like you showed me."

Bruce started to reach for it and then stopped himself. "I'm not sure if it'll test any differently than my own," he admitted. "The radiation poisoning is still in my bloodstream even when I'm not transformed. But there might be something in Hulk's that will give us an idea of the biological trigger..." At last he took the bag from Peter and closed it up. "I'm surprised you were able to convince me."

Peter watched him place the bag on the table next to his mug. "Are you aware that you keep switching pronouns?" he asked.

"You're doing it, too," said Bruce. He relaxed into the sofa as Peter sat back down next to him. "It's strange, talking about it any other way. Sometimes it feels like me, sometimes...it doesn't. Sometimes it's hard to construct a sentence. I don't know, Peter." He rubbed his forehead. "At least it's getting easier to remember."

"And I haven't had to sedate you, even once," Peter reminded him, nestling in close. "We should celebrate."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You've been great." He kissed Bruce's shoulder. "I want to take you to dinner."

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Dinner, as in, out?"

"You've come out to Aunt May's," said Peter. "To my apartment."

"To a coffee shop," Bruce conceded.

"Let's go to dinner." He kissed Bruce's ear playfully. "It doesn't have to be fancy or anything. I've got tuition to worry about. But we should go out, and eat, yeah? Like couples do?"

Bruce couldn't help but smile as Peter nibbled at his earlobe. "It's not going to bother you, people making assumptions about us?"

"Not even a tiny bit."

Bruce chuckled; everything was always so simple with Peter, and he was finally beginning to appreciate it. "All right," he said, turning for a proper kiss. "Let's go out for dinner tomorrow."

"You just had to do it, didn't you," Peter grumbled as he webbed a lamp post, giving just enough of a yank to sling himself through the intersection. "You just had to steal a truck full of plutonium on date night."

He had been finishing up his rounds, just about ready to find a place to change for his evening out with Bruce, when the call had come through on his homemade scanner: bank robbery. Followed by construction accident, followed by flaming food cart, followed by armed men hijacking an armored Oscorp vehicle and attempting the flashiest, most ridiculous semi-truck-vs-army-of-cop-cars escape chase ever. The would-be thieves had already smashed through a dozen cars and were showing no signs of stopping, and Peter groaned to himself as he thought of each minute slipping away.

"Who the hell drives plutonium around downtown New York this time of day anyway?" Peter muttered to himself as he hopped lightly between police cruisers until he could leap on top of the truck's cab. "Oscorp, oh Oscorp, when will you learn?"

The truck swerved to avoid a parked taxi, and Peter had to stick in place for a minute before he was able to swing down to the driver's side window. One good punch took care of the glass, and as the driver swore and fought to stay in control, Peter reached inside.

"I don't have time for the usual shtick," Peter said, trying to snare the gear shift with his web. "So can you just pull over and make this easy on me for once?"

The driver shoved the muzzle of pistol into his throat, so he retreated, the report of the gun hard in his ear. "Guess not." He braced his feet against the cab and was about to simply tear the door off when his phone started playing Bruce's ringtone.

"Aww, damnit." Peter stuck his back to the cab and fumbled the phone to his ear. "Yeah, it's me, sorry, I know I'm late," he said as soon as the call connected. "I'll be there soon, I promise-don't abort yet, okay?"

Bruce chuckled, though he sounded a bit nervous. "I heard about the bank," he said. "And the cart. What is it this time?"

"Uhh...a truckload of fun, that's what it is." Peter winced as the truck blew through yet another red light, leaving braking, blaring vehicles in its wake. "But this is the last one. As soon as I stop this truck, I'll be over there."

"So should I get us a table?"

"Yeah, in fact..." Peter glanced up at the street signs racing by and winced. "We'll be passing you in about twenty seconds. I'll be right there-gotta run."

Peter hung up and tucked the phone away. "Okay, now where was I..."

The driver kicked his door open. Peter went with it, losing one foot's hold along with his concentration, and for a moment he flailed wildly as speed and inertia tossed him about. By the time he had his bearings the pistol was in his face again. He grabbed for it, avoiding a few shoots, but as soon as he'd wrestled it out of the man's hands, the muzzle of an assault rifle came next.

"Whoa-whoa!" Peter threw himself out of the way as bullets sprayed across a storefront awning. A glob of webbing wasn't enough to block the barrel so he grabbed it, kicking through the broken window to try and get his attacker to release his weapon. Bullets screamed past suit and took chunks out of the exoskeleton. He was only just barely aware when they passed 44th Street. The thunder of gunshots was already almost deafening, even without wailing police sirens and screeching tires over top of it, but he still heard quite clearly when a roar issued from the direction of Carmine's Italian restaurant.

Peter turned. Even his thieving adversary stopped shooting, and a moment later something huge and green burst onto Broadway in a rage.

Peter slumped against the truck. "Oh, no."

There was no time to think. Hulk sprinted between the cop cars and caught up within seconds. He grabbed the back end of the truck with both hands and lifted, bracing his feet to draw the vehicle to a sudden and very rough stop. Peter leapt clear and just in time-once Hulk was satisfied with the loss of momentum he slammed the truck down with a snap of his wrists that nearly whipped the engine block out from under the hood.

Traffic skidded to a halt in all directions. The police wisely kept their distance, and even Peter was stunned motionless at first, sweating through his suit as he watched Hulk pry the back doors of the truck open. No no no, not tonight, he thought helplessly, but then there were shouts and gunfire, and he swung quickly toward the commotion. "Hulk!"

Peter landed on the street next to him, but by then Hulk already had both hands inside the vehicle. Bullets ricocheted off Hulk's rough skin until he crushed the guns the two men were carrying with quick pinches of his fingers. Then he had each around the waist, and both men screamed as they were dragged, grasping and struggling, out into the street.

"Hulk, wait," Peter called to him, and when the robbers continued to curse and wail, he webbed both their mouths shut. "It's okay-I've got them. Put them down, gently!"

Hulk stared at him. He wasn't even breathing hard let alone had broken a sweat from the easy workout. There were still shredded remnants of Bruce's shirt and pants struggling to cling to him, as if he had transformed without warning, and his eyes were bright and angry. He didn't look ready to relent to anything, and Peter was about to make a leap for his shoulder, when abruptly he snorted and let the robbers fall.

Peter sighed with relief. "Good. Thanks." But as soon as he crouched down to tie the men up, Hulk walked past him. "Hulk?" Peter tried to watch and work at once, but one of the men was reaching for a gun tucked in his boot, and he had to pause to knock the bastard out. "Hulk, hold on!"

By then, everyone up and down the street was stopped and staring. Peter could hear their frightened and curious murmurs like bees in his brain. When Hulk ripped the driver's side door off the truck and heaved it thoughtlessly over his shoulder, it was autopilot more than anything that drove him to react. With a rather ungraceful squawk he leapt into a proper angle and snagged the door with two strands of web, yanking it to the ground before it could fly off into the sidewalk spectators.

"Hulk, please, just-" Peter ran toward him, grimacing behind his mask as Hulk rocked the entire truck onto its side wheels. A few shakes later the driver spilled out. With one hand guiding the truck back to stability Hulk snatched up the pudgy European man by his legs and let him hang.

Peter stopped in front of him. "Hulk," he said firmly, "remember what we've talked about."

Hulk snorted again. Once the truck was on all wheels again he let it go and pointed to his captive, who had begun to swear in Russian. He twirled his finger and gave Peter a look.

"Oh." Peter obliged him by shutting the man up and then binding his wrists together; only then did Hulk set him carefully down on the ground so his ankles could get the same treatment. "There," said Peter once everything seemed settled. "We got them."

He took a look around. Everyone was still staring at them, and the cops had finally ventured out of their cruisers and were edging closer with guns drawn. The air around them felt tight and on the verge of explosion, and he could see Hulk fidgeting anxiously beneath it. "Quick," said Peter, giving Hulk's hand a tug. "Put your hand up, like this." He held his own up, vertical, in front of him.

Hulk followed suit, and Peter gave the center of his palm an enthusiastic slap. "Yeah!" he shouted exuberantly. "Nice job, buddy! We did it!"

The cops exchanged looks, and Peter waved them closer. "It's okay," he told them, motioning for them to put their guns down. "It's okay, we're on the same side. You know this guy, don't you? He fought off the aliens, remember?"

The cops still looked hesitant, and Hulk glaring at their raised weapons didn't help, so Peter stepped between them and again gestured for calm. "This is Hulk," he introduced. "He's a good guy, really. C'mon, Hulk, tell them." He nodded to Hulk in encouragement. "Take a deep breath."

Hulk frowned between Peter and the approaching police, but then he straightened up. "Hulk is P..." He stopped, scrunching his nose, and corrected himself. "Hulk is Spider-Man's friend."

Peter grinned. "Nice save." He turned back to the cops who were finally lowering their guns. "See? He's a superhero, just like Iron Man. He saw that these assholes were giving me some trouble, so he lent a hand." He motioned to the squirming Russian by their feet. "You can take them in, now."

More police started to crowd around, and as some gathered up the robbers, one brave officer edged closer to Peter and Hulk. "So he's, um, he's really an Avenger?" he asked, watching Hulk, who was in turn eyeing their growing audience of law enforcement and street gawkers. "He's cool?"

"Sure he is," Peter said automatically. "Doesn't he look cool?" But when he looked for himself he could tell that Hulk was getting antsy beneath all the attention and camera flashes. He gave Hulk a light smack on the arm. "Come on, big guy. Let's get you home before you have a total wardrobe malfunction."

"But dinner," said Hulk, gesturing impatiently back toward 44th Street.

"Ah...we'll order in." Peter braced his foot to Hulk's elbow and used it to climb onto his back. "A whole tray of lasagna, if you want. Or two." He saluted at the officer. "Sorry about the mess."

"Um, thanks for the help," the man replied, and with a mystified smile, he waved back.

"Welcome," said Hulk, and then he took off, taking advantage of the already stopped and congested traffic to hurry them back to the tower.

"That isn't what this is about, Parker, and I think you know that."

"I know, I know, I just think maybe you're overreacting, and, to be honest, I'm probably in trouble enough already, so if you could lay off a tiny bit..."

Bruce woke up on the sofa, naked and covered in a blanket. He was fairly well used to it by then, but a pair of voices in the room rather than one was something new, and he scrubbed at his face, trying to speed up his usual gathering-of-wits procedure.

"Laying off isn't exactly what I do."

"Yeah, but, you could maybe...I dunno, try something new? This once?"

Bruce's vision cleared just in time for him to catch Natasha's Did you really just say that to me? head tilt. She wasn't dressed for combat, but her arms were crossed and her posture strict, as if she could get her hands dirty at any moment if she needed to. Bruce stared at her, confused and bleary, and it wasn't until she met his gaze that everything snapped into focus. He knew why she was there.

"Happy to have you join us, Dr. Banner," she greeted him.

Peter turned. He was still in costume, and seeing the tears caused by flying bullets made Bruce's fingers clench. Then Peter was next to him, helping him to sit up. "Bruce," he said with nervous cheer. "You okay? There's some water here, if you need it."

"Yes, please."

Bruce accepted a glass of water, trying to ignore the way Natasha was staring at him. But there wasn't any point in trying to avoid her, so as soon as he'd had his sip, he brought them to business. "So I guess Director Fury was watching tonight's news," he said. "There must have been footage this time."

"There was, and I've seen it," said Natasha. "But would you mind telling me what happened out there yourself?"

Peter sat down next to him and took his hand. Bruce flinched, hesitating over the question of whether Natasha already knew about them, but her expression didn't change. "I was waiting for Peter," Bruce said. "We were going to have dinner. I saw the truck go by, and I remember thinking..." He glanced to Peter. "'How dare they.' And I changed, and I stopped them."

"You remember stopping them?" Natasha asked.

"I...do," Bruce replied, surprising himself. The scene bubbled up inside him and he could feel the truck's carriage beneath his hands. "We high fived, and I said a few words to the police, and...we left."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. "Hulk gave a statement to the police?"

"Well, more or less."

"Told you so," said Peter.

"Mr. Parker tells me you've been 'practicing' as the Hulk," said Natasha, and there was no way to judge how she felt about that from her expression. "That he's getting better at communicating and controlling his anger, and you've been getting better at remembering."

Bruce frowned, but the pride in Peter's face was unfaltering, and he didn't have it in him to do any scolding. "Yes, that pretty much sums it up," he said. "But we've taken precautions. Every time we've had sedatives on hand and JARVIS on standby. There haven't been any mishaps."

"Until tonight."

"That wasn't really a 'mishap,'" Peter interjected. "Hulk showed up when I needed him, took out the bad guys, and then we left. No one got hurt and nothing... okay, the truck was totaled, but it was totaled anyway. I'm sure Oscorp's insurance will cover it." When Natasha continued to stare at him, he squirmed and kept rambling. "Isn't that what Cap would have done, if he were here? React to a threat and, you know, 'neutralize' it, quickly and safely? And that's what Hulk did."

"Peter," said Bruce.

"This is what Director Fury asked me to do," Peter continued passionately. "We've been working hard, and Hulk is more controlled than ever. Isn't that what the director wants? For him to be able to fight when he needs to without things going all smashy?"

"Yes," said Natasha, and Bruce and Peter both blinked at her in surprise. "You're right. That's exactly what Director Fury wants from him." She smiled. "So keep up the good work."

Natasha headed for the elevator, and the two of them exchanged looks. "Is that it?" Bruce called after her.

"That's it," said Natasha. The elevator opened for her, and once she was inside she turned to face them. "Just try to keep it out of the streets, okay boys?"

She left. Bruce and Peter were momentarily speechless in her wake, but then Peter laughed and squeezed Bruce's hand. "I knew she'd see it my way."

"How much did you tell her?" Bruce asked, though immediately afterward he couldn't think of anything he was specifically nervous about her knowing.

"Not that much, really. I didn't mention the blood sample, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, it's..." Bruce shook his head; Fury and his would always have their eyes on him, and there was no point getting paranoid over what they did or didn't know-especially as concerned his sex life. "It's fine. Thank you." He smiled. "For standing up for me."

"Always," said Peter. He swung his legs around into Bruce's lap. "I'm sorry you got involved in that. I could have handled it, you know." Before Bruce could reply, Peter leaned into his ear. "But it's pretty awesome that you came to my rescue."

Bruce blushed as he moved his fingertips over Peter's knees. "I couldn't help it," he admitted. "I heard the rifle, and then when I saw you, hanging off that truck..."

"'How dare they,'" Peter quoted with a playful growl. "I love it." But then he grew more serious, and he pressed his lips to Bruce's temple. "I love you."

Bruce's heart skipped a beat. Once again his body seemed to move without him, and he turned his head, catching Peter's mouth in a passionate kiss. Suddenly it didn't matter that he should have been frightened by Hulk breaking loose in broad daylight. It was ultimately a loss of control he couldn't afford to take lightly, but Peter's quick intake of breath seared away any sensations of guilt. All over again he was struck and overwhelmed by the realization of everything Peter had given him, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap him up, worship him, return his sentiments a hundred times over and then some.

Peter returned the hard kiss, and when he leaned back, Bruce followed, chasing his lips until they were stretching out together on the sofa. It took them a moment to untangle their legs and kick the blanket to the floor, but then Peter was parting his knees, and Bruce settled gladly between them. He loved the nights when Peter came to him just after finishing his hero rounds: the way the spandex clung to their skin, warm and sweat-moistened and almost sticking them together; the way Peter melted beneath him, receptive to every touch and eager to be taken care of. Bruce was all too happy to set the pace. He kissed Peter's lips almost to bruising before tipping his head back to suck a slow, sloppy line down his throat and collar.

Peter groaned, rubbing up against Bruce with every part of his body that could reach. The ridges gliding over his back and thighs were mesmerizing. As Bruce moved lower Peter encouraged him, arching his back into each heavy kiss, tugging playfully at his hair. It was all familiar territory, and yet there was something exciting and unnerving about the sudden feeling of déjà vu that swept over Bruce.

He was in control and Peter was in awe of him. When his mouth found the head of Peter's cock, lipping and sucking at him through the fabric, the stuttering of Peter's hips put a prickling heat under his skin. Echoes of sensation trickled into his extremities, but it wasn't until he pinned Peter's thighs to the sofa cushions that everything started to come together.

"Fuck, Bruce," Peter whispered, muscles tense beneath Bruce's grip. "Please, don't stop."

Bruce leaned back. He was breathing hard, and when he lifted his head, he was given pause by the sight of Peter stretched out in the suit before him, flushed and lovely. He remembered a similar view and a swell of pride. He remembered Peter accepting him more fully than anyone before and the rush of pleasure that had accompanied it.

Peter was holding his breath; he must have realized what was happening, because when Bruce met his gaze, he offered a small nod of encouragement.

Bruce lowered his head again, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Peter's thigh. He let memory flow through him as he licked up and down Peter's groin, thrilling in the taste of his sweat. Peter bucked against his chin so hard Bruce had to hold his thighs down; he felt strong and he reveled in it. The reenactment was for Bruce as fiery as the original, and by the time he was throwing Peter's knees up over his shoulders, he was grinning widely. All the barriers were breaking away. He couldn't have asked for anything more.

Peter let his head fall back as Bruce fucked his thighs. His eyes were closed; maybe he was trying to relive his night with Hulk even more fully, but Bruce didn't mind. His breath heaved out of him in deep huffs with every pump of his hips, until his chest seemed to expand with the effort, until his hands felt huge around Peter's slender hips-until he remembered feeling powerful, a god of muscle and sweat and devotion. But even when Peter's thighs trembled tightly around his cock, drawing him further into frantic bliss, the color of his skin never changed. He felt Hulk pulsing in every chamber of his heart but he remained himself, through every thrust, every smack of his lips, until Peter clenching with release drew him to a sudden and exhilarating climax.

Peter lowered his legs, and Bruce started to drape himself over him, but a flash of anxiety held him back. He listened to Peter softly panting and was afraid of cutting him off. But then Peter reached up, fingers sticking to Bruce's shoulders as he drew him down. "It's okay," said Peter, faintly smiling. "I can breathe."

Bruce relaxed across Peter's chest with a long sigh. "I remember," he murmured, emotion making his throat tight as he wriggled a little just to feel Peter's arms around him. "I don't know how, but I remember."

Peter rubbed his back happily. He was quiet for a long moment, and then he gave Bruce's hair a gentle tag. "Hey, Bruce. You can say it back any time now."

Despite already being flushed, Bruce still blushed darker. With a quiet chuckle he pushed up on his elbows and leaned in for a sweet kiss. The words came almost too easily, drawing him tight with emotion that made his fingertips tingle. "I love you."

He kissed Peter again, but it didn't last long before Peter nudged him back. "You don't have to say it just because I said it," said Peter, even though he couldn't hide his pleasure; he kept touching Bruce's shoulders and chest, playfully exploring not unlike their first time sleeping together. "I want-"

"I mean it," Bruce reassured him, and his next deep kiss was met with no lingering resistance. "I love you, Peter."

Peter was convinced. They wrapped each other up, kissing through recovering breaths, until retiring to the bedroom for the rest of the night. Neither remembered dinner.

All things considered, Peter was surprised the brakes hadn't come on sooner.

Two weeks after the armored truck incident, Peter was awoken from a sound sleep by Bruce clambering out of bed. Exhausted from a day of lab work and crime fighting, he was slow to pull himself together, and by the time he was sitting up Bruce was already out of the room. "Bruce?" He was squinting blearily at the bedside clock when a loud thump from the hall startled him fully awake.

"Bruce?" Peter climbed out of bed, pulling on a shirt as he followed too-heavy footsteps into the living room. He already had an idea of what had happened even before he heard Hulk's deep breath huffing throughout the apartment. He glanced to the side table where one of their just-in-case syringes was still prepared from earlier in the evening. "Hulk?"

Peter found him in a corner of the living room. Hulk was hunched facing into the wall, his broad head lowered and mouth twisted in a grimace. He flinched when he heard Peter approach and wouldn't look at him; Peter hadn't seen him so upset since the first night of their experiments.

"Hulk?" Peter inched closer until he could reach Hulk's arm, and he gave it a comforting pat. "You okay big guy?"

Hulk shrugged him off and then looked guilty for it. He squirmed uncomfortably and sank deeper into his chest, and when he tried to speak, all that came out were bitter, nervous grumbles.

"Shh, it's okay." Peter moved closer to Hulk's knee, and when he leaned into it, Hulk didn't try to shake him a second time. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Did something happen? Was it...a bad dream?"

Hulk's nostrils flared with a heavy exhale, and he drew his arms in tighter. After a moment of fidgeting, he nodded.

"What was it about?" Hulk grimaced and tried to turn away, but Peter followed, rubbing his knee. "C'mon, tell me," he persisted. "You'll feel better if you do."

Hulk shook his head. His face screwed up as fear and disgust warred in his features. Finally, he looked down at the floor in shame. "Betty," he said.

"Betty?" Peter frowned. He was sure he'd heard the name in passing, maybe back on the Hellicarrier, but he couldn't remember the context. "Hulk, who's Betty?"

Hulk shook his head again, but violently, and Peter was quick to quiet him down. "Okay," he said, climbing onto Hulk's leg and then reaching for his shoulder. "Okay, take it easy. We don't have to talk about it."

Peter nestled between Hulk's shoulders, and almost immediately he felt Hulk shift beneath him with a deep, calming breath. "Good, that's good," he said. He massaged the back of Hulk's neck as he gradually relaxed. "It's okay. You're okay, now."

"Peter," Hulk mumbled. He let out a long sigh and seemed to wilt. "Sorry."

"Shh, it's okay." Peter kissed his shoulder. "Just keep breathing. I've got you."

They stayed that way for nearly half an hour, Peter gently soothing and Hulk struggling between phases of agitation and calm. Then seemingly out of nowhere Hulk retreated; with another long sigh he melted away, until Peter's feet touched the ground and he could welcome Bruce into his arms. A quick glance at the clock showed it was only four in the morning, so Peter scooped his lover up and carried him back to bed.

"Maybe you'll tell me in the morning," he whispered as he pulled the blankets over them both.

Peter didn't feel Bruce leave the second time. By the time he woke up it was after eight, and Bruce's spot in the bed had already lost its warmth. Peter tried not to let concern get the better of him as he ventured again into the living room, and there found Bruce, not in the corner but on the sofa.

Peter took a breath, but before he could get his greeting out he was halted by a muted commotion. Bruce was watching something on his tablet. It sounded like some kind of action movie, with tiny voices shouting and things exploding, but then Peter heard a roar from the speakers, and he shivered.

Bruce didn't react as Peter stepped up behind him. All the air in the room seemed to have solidified around him and he didn't take his eyes off the screen in his lap. Peter gulped and looked for himself. Even though he already had a pretty good idea of what Bruce was watching, seeing it gave him a chill.

The video was of Hulk, but rather than smashing up trucks or aliens, he was in a lab. Uniformed soldiers and scientists in white lab coats streaked across the screen, running for cover as Hulk threw fistfuls of equipment in all directions. He looked bigger than Peter had ever seen him, and there was no trace of human consciousness in his vengeful face. The last thing visible before an explosion knocked the camera out was Hulk's wide hand closing over a man's head.

Bruce started the footage over, and for once Peter didn't feel confident enough to interrupt him. He watched, hands tight on the sofa back, as the image reset to an intact lab and excited, smiling personnel. In it, Bruce was being led to the center of a shot, where a tall-backed apparatus like a dentist's chair dominated the floor. The scientists crowded around, applying sensors to his skin and offering reassurances. One woman in particular lingered after the rest had withdrawn, and she gave Bruce's hand a steady squeeze. Bruce smiled up at her, his face beaming with affection. She swept a lock of long brown hair behind her ear.

Peter swallowed, and was careful to squash whatever strange emotion it was pawing at his throat before he asked, "Is that Betty?"

Bruce tensed, but only for a moment. "...Yes."

The experiment played out. Peter was speechless as he watched the serum being injected, the device starting up. He thought he saw the familiar face of a decorated general among the military observers toward the back of the room, leaning forward as Bruce shuddered in the grip of the radiation. Bruce's skin began to darken; he cried out, his voice distorted and thin from the speakers, drawing up goose bumps across Peter's skin. The scientists began to rush about and Betty shouted for them to stop, but it was already too late. Bruce writhed and grew, his bulging muscles making quick work of the restraints. Within seconds he was a wailing beast and the carnage began all over again.

Betty rushed forward, but was only visible long enough to be recognized before Hulk lashed out, the back of his hand striking her viciously out of the frame. Bruce flinched with the impact and it made Peter want to throw up.

This is how it happened, he thought. He wound his fingers tight in the sofa and forced himself to keep his eyes on the screen, just like Bruce. This is where Hulk came from.

They watched until the end of the footage, but just as Peter was beginning to straighten up, Bruce pressed his finger to the pad and drew the video progress bar back to the start. Peter felt cold all over again. "Bruce?" he asked gently. He pried his fingers loose so he could touch Bruce's shoulders. "Um...how many times have you watched this?"

Bruce didn't answer right away. It wasn't until Betty made her appearance that he inclined his head. "Peter, would you mind making us some coffee?"

"Yeah. Sure." Somewhat at a loss, Peter kissed the top of his head and headed for the kitchen.

He couldn't hear the video anymore, but that only made the silence in the apartment nearly unbearable. Even after he'd started the coffee he tried to keep busy, opening cabinets, checking the refrigerator. He didn't want to think about eating let alone decide what kind of breakfast to make. His mind kept spinning. He had seen Hulk enraged before-he had swooped down from the rooftops and put himself in a giant's path-but the footage, grainy and incomplete as it was, put everything into painfully sharp perspective. Over and over he thought of Hulk's careless sweep of his arm and the thud of flesh and bone against his knuckles. He imagined the shock of it running up his arm and shaking his heart loose.

Distracted as Peter was, he heard clearly when Bruce left the sofa. He hurried to the nearest cabinet to grab a pair of mugs and was filling them as Bruce entered.

He looked exhausted. Peter tried to project sympathy and reassurance, but he couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound naïve and insensitive in his head. So instead he handed Bruce a mug and waited as he took a long drink.

"Sorry I woke you last night," said Bruce, his voice gravelly with fatigue.

"No, it's..." Peter fidgeted. "It's okay."

Bruce took another sip, and Peter did the same. He was just working up to broaching the subject properly when Bruce beat him to it.

"Director Fury got me the footage," Bruce said, staring into his mug. "I'd seen it before, years ago, but now...it's different. Now that I remember it."

Peter started to move closer and then stopped himself, uncertain. Part of him hoped that if he didn't say it, they could pretend that all their hard work hadn't led to such unpleasant consequences. "You, um. That woman, Betty, she..."

"We don't..." Bruce cleared his throat and thumbed his nose. "Betty was-is-General Ross' daughter," he explained. "She and I..." He finally met Peter's gaze and then winced. "It was a long time ago."

"No, I mean, she..." Peter shifted his weight back and forth. "She's all right, isn't she?"

Bruce blinked. "Oh. Yes, she's..." He took another drink. "It looks terrible on the film, but she made a full recovery. She was even here in New York back in July, visiting her father. She's brilliant, Peter-I should have introduced you to her, but I didn't..."

"No, that's...fine." Peter put his coffee aside barely half finished. "That would have been..."

"...Awkward." Bruce laughed suddenly, rubbing his eyes. "Oh, Peter."

Peter couldn't hold back anymore, and he did the only thing he could think to do: he urged Bruce's mug to the countertop and then wrapped him up, holding him tightly to his chest. It seemed to be the right choice. As soon as Bruce was in Peter's arms he shuddered and then returned the embrace just as fiercely. "I'm okay," he said, his face in Peter's neck. "I am okay, it's just so..."

"I know." Peter threaded his fingers through Bruce's short hair. His eyes ached. "I'm sorry."

They stood together that way for several minutes. Peter tried to be strong and comforting, or whatever it was that Bruce needed then. He couldn't stop thinking about echoes of impact traveling up his arm from his knuckles, and when Bruce clutched him tighter, he wondered, How much more does he have left to remember? How many people has he hurt without meaning to?

"Bruce." Peter closed his eyes, and though the words stung, he forced them out. "We can take a break for a while, if you want."

Bruce was quiet for a long time; Peter could feel different groups of muscles tightening along his body as he considered his options carefully. "Okay," he said at last. "I think I do." He sighed, his hands on Peter's back apologetic in their hesitant caress. "Thank you."

Peter swallowed hard, but otherwise fought not to let his emotions show.