Vital Communication Chapter 28
Disclaimer: Still playing in Marvel's sandbox. Do not own, make no claims to own, can't own. Wish I might though.
Warnings: None, other than discussion of how to deal with possible triggers
Breakfast was slightly awkward on Tony's part, but he thought he hid it well, since Bruce barely said two words after he showed up in the kitchen.
Bruce hadn't bothered with a shirt, giving him a splendid view of a toned upper body covered in dark hair. It didn't help, but Tony was determined. He could not afford to screw this up. He'd just savor the imagery in private moments.
"How do you want your eggs?" Bruce asked from the stove, stirring a pan of hash. He asked every morning, never assuming.
"Scrambled today, please. Shall I manage the toast?" Tony said, nodding his head in the direction of the toaster sitting on the counter close to the pantry.
"Sure, I think you can handle that," Bruce said in teasing agreement, turning to the counter to crack eggs into a bowl. Satisfied there were no shells or other problems, Bruce whisked in a bit of milk, and a tiny pinch of salt before pouring the mixture in a steaming, buttered pan. It was a running joke that Tony couldn't so much as boil water. They'd agreed that Tony would only attempt any cooking, if Bruce was there to watch him.
Tony watched him work, carelessly dropping slices of bread into the toaster. "Tell me again where you learned to cook?" he asked, leaning a hip against the counter to openly appreciate the talented man beside him.
"Self defense," Bruce laughed, "College was not party central for me, but I took a few cooking courses." He shrugged, "Roommates appreciated how quickly their hangovers could be dealt with because I had a hot plate and a fridge. Everyone kept it stocked for me, and I ate well during my graduate years." He managed to avoid mentioning Betty, but only just. Stirring the firming egg mixture in the pan, he thought about those years. "That was how I survived college, though not always 'curing' hangover, mostly just feeding the other kids on my floor. After everything, I was able to get the occasional job as a short order cook."
By the time he was done, there was a small mountain of fluffy yellow eggs in the pan. "Grab a couple plates, hm?"
"Sure, let me finish the toast," Tony suited actions to words and had 6 slices buttered and halved before he reached into a nearby cabinet for the stoneware. He handed the plates to Bruce and went back for a small one for the toast.
"Juice with your coffee?"
"No, not today thanks."
Plates were loaded up and carried to the table. Bruce went back to get a glass of orange juice. Tony took the toast and his own large mug of black coffee. They settled in silence to eat, finding it unnecessary to chatter after all their time together.
Tony thought about dragging out breakfast, but realized it would only delay the inevitable, so he ate steadily, giving Bruce the occasional worried glance over the rim of his mug.
Bruce ignored him, focusing on the list of tasks he had remaining. "So when do the plumbers arrive?" he asked, finishing the last of the toast. Tony had managed 2 halves for himself. Bruce was usually quite ravenous after a transformation, and Tony had been surprised to find him in bed instead of waist deep in the fridge the previous night.
"After lunch is what I told them. They informed me that they'd survey the work and pull together an estimate of completion. They are supposed to work on our rooms first," Tony said, finishing off his eggs and hash. He got up, gathered the plates and flatware, and took everything to the kitchen. He quickly put all the dirty things in the dishwasher, leaving the leftovers to Bruce. He refilled his mug with more coffee as he turned to face Bruce again.
"You still don't have to stay here. These people coming, they've been here before, so I have no concerns. Besides, we pulled out the truly valuable stuff already!" Tony tried to convince the other man, throwing in a touch of dry humor. And realized it was futile when he caught the shuttered look on Bruce's face.
"No Tony. It's okay, really. Some alone time will be good for me. Low chance of another transformation, even with the construction going on," Bruce said, walking into the kitchen to clean up.
"All right. Just, call me if you need anything, okay?"
"Okay. Now, get out of here before Pepper calls!"
"Yes, dear!" They laughed. Tony clapped Bruce on the shoulder and left him.
Bruce's enhanced hearing caught the faint rumble of the armor's boot jets minutes later. He sighed, slumping over the sink, up to his elbows in suds as he cleaned the cookware. Alone at last.
A soft beep called out to him and he turned his head to see Butterfingers and Dummy hovering in the doorway, the tiny spider bot on Dummy's twitching arm. Well, not so alone.
"Morning you three. Give me a few minutes to finish here, and we'll get started, okay?" he told them.
They trilled happily and backed out into the living room to wait.
The morning was spent hauling and pulling wire for the large common areas, including the kitchen. The wall crawler that Bruce had simply named Bug did a lot of the work, and Bruce wondered if he should ask Tony to make another. The tiny, palm sized bot removed old wire that wouldn't hold the data loads and pulled the new wire into place, splicing as necessary. Dummy and Butterfingers moved spools, dragging over full new ones, and taking away the respooled old wire.
Bruce didn't have much to do other than double checking the connections and whether the date stream was flowing properly. He stopped long enough to reheat some of the food Tony had ordered in, for his lunch, then again for dinner after the plumbers had completed their inventory.
They had arrived as Tony had stated, and Bruce showed them the house before letting them get to work. The plumbers checked all of the current pipes and connections, and then worked out where they would need to put in the requested bathrooms in the newly made bedrooms.
Bruce ignored them unless they needed something, which was, fortunately, rare.
The first two days went by without issue. On the third day, Bruce welcomed the plumbers inside, then excused himself for the day. He had promised the Hulk another afternoon to explore the wooded portion of the Stark property.
"JARVIS, any news from Tony?" he asked while in the lab bedroom, finding a clean pair of sweats to ruin.
"I am afraid not, Doctor. I have received nothing new regarding the house or yourself. I am sorry," the AI replied, a note of contrition in his voice.
"Well, I'm sure he's busy. The bots are okay with today?"
"Yes sir. There are tasks programmed for them to run. And I will contact Mr. Stark if you have not returned after 8 hours."
"Okay. I've got the tracker, and I'll leave my spare pants in the kitchen. See you later, JARVIS."
"Enjoy your day, Doctor."
After Bruce left, JARVIS tried to contact Tony anew, but was ignored. The information gleaned from the Tower indicated he was busy with Pepper, dealing with SI work. JARVIS left a note regarding contacting Bruce and then went about his own tasks, dividing his attention between the Tower, the mansion, and the house in Malibu and all related security.
Bruce went upstairs and left a folded pair of denim jeans on the bar dividing the kitchen from it's eating nook. The plumbers had checked the kitchen and had only upgraded the garbage disposal, then never gone near it again. He stepped barefoot out into the backyard and made his way to the tree line, the tracking device in one hand. As he hit the forest, the change rippled and rolled over him, so much easier when it was accepted and embraced. He barely stumbled, even as his feet grew 4 sizes.
Hulk paced across the forest floor, fastening the velcro strap of the black box Tin Man and Banner had insisted he wear when away from the House-home. Banner snorted at the appellation, but refrained from comment. He knew Hulk had a better grasp on the language than he let on.
The day was spent investigating all the places they had marked the last time they'd been out there.
Hulk found the quiet soothing and had fun skipping rocks into the small lake, creating waves that eventually lapped at his toes. He explored the waterfall that fed the lake, and found several varieties of fish, and a few turtles in the depths. Scared a few deer, and rabbits, and discovered a number of jays that did not like having their nests spied upon. A marching line of quail chicks behind their mother made Hulk laugh.
When the sun hung low in the sky, Hulk was prompted mentally to return to the house. At the tree line, the transformation was triggered again, and at each step away from the forest, more of Bruce was revealed. Not 10 feet from the door, he sank to his knees to catch his breath and assimilate the memories. Rocking back onto his heels, Bruce scrubbed his hands over his face and went through a series of breathing exercises to center himself back in control of the body.
The door to the house slid open, startling him out of the meditation he'd established, causing his eyes to flash a virulent green as they assessed for threats.
"Dr. Banner!" It was Captain Rogers. They relaxed minutely. Bruce's eyes slid closed. The pounding of their heart began to slow.
"What are you doing out there? Is there anything wrong?" The earnestness in Rogers' voice made their skin crawl.
"Give me a minute, please," Bruce said, holding up a hand to ward off any approach.
The footsteps halted, in a separate tempo, telling them that there was someone else present. They sniffed the air, discovering the scents associated with Steve Rogers, and Clint Barton.
Very faintly, but steadily increasing, was the scent associated with Romanov.
Bruce resumed his interrupted session, electing to shorten it with the arrival and annoyance of the team. He hadn't expected them back, and wasn't sure how he felt about the interruption of his peace. The surprise of the team's appearance made Bruce flashback to when he'd been alone, on the run, and hunted. He knew the situation lacked the overwhelming feel of THREAT, but if he didn't get himself under control, there was great potential for worse. By the time he was done, Hulk had accepted that these were indeed his teammates, and Bruce was fully in control, for now.
He stumbled to his feet, opening his eyes and smiling at his teammates, attempting to project a sense of benign calmness. "What brings you out here?" he asked, haltingly leading the way back into the house.
"Came to talk with you about our venture to DC," Steve said brightly, hovering, ready to help if Bruce stumbled again.
"Oh," Bruce said, voice dropping to a whisper. He got inside the house and took the pants Natasha was holding out. "Thanks." He limped past her to the nearby bathroom to change.
"JARVIS?" he asked, while in the bathroom. He leaned against the pedestal sink, avoiding the reflection in the mirror.
"Yes sir?"
"Is it too late to add to the delivery order?"
"I have already done so, sir. The others will have their favorites along with your order. Estimated time of delivery, 10 minutes."
"Thank you." The words were heartfelt. Bruce realized he'd have a harder time of it if JARVIS wasn't available. He'd have to thank Tony for leaving the AI there. He went out to inform the rest of the team.
"Thank you Bruce," Steve said, sitting at the bar. Bruce waved it off, going to the stove to make tea.
Natasha tried to unobtrusively insert herself between Bruce and the stove, concerned about his apparent instability, as he still limped quite noticeably.
Bruce stilled, the filled kettle in hand, eyes on the dainty dangerous redhead. "Can I help you?" he asked quietly, tonelessly.
She looked into his eyes, finding the swirled hazel fascinating. "Stark get you contacts, Doctor?" she asked, trying to disarm and keep him calm.
"What? No, not that I was aware. Eye exams are pretty personal, nearly invasive," Bruce replied, beginning to ramble in his exhaustion. He could hear Hulk growling in the mindscape.
"Your eyes aren't brown. And are you okay? You're shaking," she said, eyes flicking down once to catch the slight tremble in his arms.
"Post transformation adrenaline dump. That's why I am making tea, and food's on its way. Excuse me," he said, hoping she got the message.
"Doesn't explain the eyes, Doc," Clint said, though he couldn't confirm Natasha's commentary. He took it on faith, as usual, that she'd seen something worrisome.
Bruce's eyes closed in a slow, deliberate blink. On reopening, they had returned to a pale brown, like well watered coffee. He looked at Natasha, quietly asking her to move out of his way. She did, allowing him to put the kettle on the stove and turn the burner on.
"All right. Everyone sit, it's story time," he said, turning to wave Natasha to the bar. "Drinks? We've got the usual," he offered. Steve and Clint requested soda, and Natasha requested her own mug of tea.
Bruce made the tea, and proffered the second mug to Natasha, before putting his back to the farthest counter, and heaving a deep sigh. He began speaking of his effort to try to understand Hulk, after several years of trying to suppress him. He covered the more recent work of training with some practitioners of a spiritual sect in India that worked with an obscure idea surrounding constructed personalities different from the base.*
Each person he spoke to listened with all their attention to the information about Bruce's particular type of dissociative identity disorder. How he'd had it since childhood, given his background, and that it had formed the Hulk; how the gamma part of the super serum recreation had given Hulk his own body.*
"Wow," Clint said, breathily. "How long have you been able to..." he pointed at his own eyes.
"We discovered that trick by accident, after Culver." Was all Bruce would say on the matter.
"Dr. Banner, the food has arrived," JARVIS interrupted.
"I'll get it. It's likely quite a bit of food?" Steve said, sliding off the bar stool.
"Thanks, Steve," Bruce answered, turning to the cabinet that held plates. He grabbed out a short stack and set them on the counter, then grabbed flatware to leave in a pile. That done, he turned back to the kettle left simmering and refilled his tea. He turned off the burner and moved the kettle to a cold one to cool off.
Steve returned with an armful of plastic bags and deposited the load on the counter beneath the bar.
"JARVIS got either your standards, or the closest thing. The rest is for me, and maybe Tony, if the leftovers survive," Bruce said, rummaging through the bags to find each container for the others first. When they were content, he found the container of egg drop soup and a bag of fried wonton strips. He retreated back to the corner near the fridge, mixing crushed wonton into the thick soup before inhaling it as fast as he could without burning his mouth.
The others ignored him and his skittish behavior in favor of eating their own meals, and mentally going over what Bruce had admitted to them.
Bruce ate faster than them, rebuilding energy reserves with large amounts of protein and carbs, moving through a variety of Asian dishes one normally only saw in their native countries, as well as Americanized dishes. He still tended to treat ready access to plenty of food as something bound to be snatched away, preferring to keep his back to a walled corner in order to see anyone that might make a move on him. He had to force himself to stop after a large carton of 'house special fried rice' and take a break. He allowed himself more tea, hoping to calm down, and relax a little.
The team had their own individual issues, and weren't interested in doing Bruce out of a meal, at any time. Clint ate almost as warily as he did, and Steve ate slowly, savoring the flavors of his spicy beef. Natasha ate her traditional Pho almost as slowly as Steve, mostly keeping an eye on the others and thinking over this surprise.
Tony suddenly banged into the house, clomping around in the suit as he made his way to the living room. "Dammit!" he cursed. The unexpected sounds made the quad of heroes jump.
Bruce put down the now empty container and went to the entryway dividing kitchen and living room. He saw Tony shedding the armor into a jumbled mess on the floor and became a little worried.
"What happened?" he asked, moving forward to check Tony over.
"That junction gave out, shorted the suit's flight as well as that pack of sensors you mentioned. I had to walk the last mile," Tony said, grumbling as he dropped the armor's spaulders* to the floor with a clatter. He was covered in sweat and dust from the exertion of moving the 100 pound suit*. The hydraulics involved usually helped, but if the ankle junction Bruce had caught weeks ago had given out, it was possible that it was almost too much to get the suit to the house.
"I did mention it was bound to happen," Bruce felt obligated to point out.
"Smart ass," Tony grinned at his science partner. "Do I smell food?"
"You're in time for dinner. Ordered your favorites. Oh, and the team's here," Bruce said, short, clipped sentences betraying how he felt about the invasion. He was glad Tony was back, as it would deflect some of the team's tight focus. There were personal reasons as well, but he stuffed those into the back of his mind to hash out later. He could hear Hulk chortling now and vaguely shook his head.
"Expected them. They came by the Tower first, so I sent 'em here," Tony said, giving the armor one more scathing look before following Bruce into the kitchen. He dished himself some chicken and vegetables and leaned against the island to eat. Bruce frowned at the admission. It would have been immensely helpful if Tony had warned him first.
"What?" he eventually asked the three sitting at the bar and staring at him, or no, it was Bruce they were staring at, as the curly haired man walked behind him to get to the stove and refill the kettle. "Remind me to get you an electric kettle again," he muttered around a mouthful of chicken.
"Nothing Tony. We were just discussing a new development," Steve's words were diplomatic, but Bruce could tell he was confused and concerned. It wasn't every day that someone admitted to being certifiable*.
"Oh? What development? Are we changing the roster already?" Tony asked, curious as to what new thing had gotten the captain's back up. "The band was just settling into a groove."
Bruce snorted a laugh into his tea, making Tony's cocky smile even out into a grin.
"No, but Bruce told us about his abilities with the Hulk. And we're just discussing the ramifications," Steve said, frowning. He was thinking of how this would affect the team, if at all, and what it meant to Bruce's overall stability.
"What ramifications?" Tony asked, the grin dropping off his face, tightening, as he got angry and defensive. "Does it affect his control? Does it mean he'll transform easier? Does it?" Each question accompanied an alarming raise in volume.
Bruce reached over the corner of the island to touch Tony, "It's okay, Tony. It is rather shocking news." Tony subsided with a grunt, and Bruce turned his head to look at the others. "Tell me what bothers you about this?"
Clint and Natasha shared a look, having one of those conversations without talking.
"Unless Steve has concerns as team leader, we're fine," Clint said for the two of them. Natasha smiled, the information was useful to know, and she would be able to adjust to the Hulk that much faster. If they continued as a team, that was the key.
Steve sighed, and got up to pace. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out like I wanted. This is an unusual situation, you must admit." He stopped to look at Bruce. "And it's got nothing to do with being from the 40s, or earlier really. Can't imaging this is all that common today."
JARVIS interrupted, "It was considered schizophrenia in the 1920s, Captain Rogers, but it appears to have largely been misdiagnosis. Doctor Banner's case is certainly unusual, with his alter actually having his own body. There are no other cases like his."
"Thank you, JARVIS," Steve replied. "Okay." He scratched his head. "I was surprised. The only thing I want to know is how we know the Hulk and you are present together. Maybe how to avoid startling you if at all possible."
"Easy," Tony answered in place of Bruce, "It's in the eyes." As his focus remained on his food, it was hard to determine if he was serious or not.
"Depends," Bruce said, "The eyes are the best way to tell, unless I start talking, or turning green, or getting bigger." Bruce ticked off each point on one hand.
"All that?" Clint was surprised at the variety.
"It really depends on the threat level," Bruce shrugged, "Like when you came out into the yard? We had to assess if our formerly safe place was in danger."
"The other thing, Bruce, you're speaking in the third person," Tony pointed out, using his fork for emphasis.
"True. That is a habit more noticeable now. We're comfortable here," Bruce said, so straightforward and honest, it took Tony's breath away. He was giving away what amounted to the "keys to the kingdom" and that level of trust was something Tony hadn't been on the receiving end of, ever. The last time he trusted like that, well, the man was dead. "I am sorry Steve. There is truly no gentle way to spring this on people, and once one symptom is noticed, it's only a matter of time before the rest are added up. I can avoid the confusion and hopefully explain if there's a problem."
Steve nodded, accepting what Bruce was saying.
"As for triggers? I, WE," he emphasized, "don't like being startled, at all. And no, Tony's teasing has never startled me. The yard was a short moment, though there was no danger of a change." He looked at his friends. That was a new concept to him. Before, it was just Tony. "I'll work on a list and make sure you all see it, but don't go around on eggshells or something just because I might be triggered. We've been working on this, and I can handle most situations."
Each person nodded as he finished speaking, accepting that there would be some bumps in the road as they adjusted to this wealth of trust.
AN:
* - Tulpa – wiki/Tulpa, and no, not an especially obscure religious/spiritual group, but the idea is.
* - In the MCU, Bruce was trying to recreate the Super Soldier Serum, instead of building a gamma bomb (for radiation survivability).
* - the Spaulder is a piece of armor (yes, real armor) that is the shoulder, and a bit of plating over the upper arm. wiki/Spaulder History geek!
* - I have no idea how much the suit weighs. I can't find any info, not even a guess with a quick Google search. So, 100# it is.
* - technically, he is.