Vital Communications Chapter 33

Warnings: none specific

Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately

Tony had preceded Bruce back into the main room of the suite, going to one of the maple bureaus to change out of his own clothes to a pair of thin, well worn, red flannel pants. He walked over to the bed, and stooped at the head to rearrange the pillows, tossing the decorative ones into a large basket tucked in a corner behind him. He pulled the covers back and slid onto the left side of the mattress with a quiet groan, leaning his back against the headboard.

Bruce eventually followed, but deviated to the huge walk-in closet to find the small pile of clothes he'd brought up weeks ago from his own floor. He dug around in a basket for a pair of cotton pants and pulled them on under the towel, going commando for comfort. Rucking the fabric to his hips, Bruce pulled the towel free and tossed it to the hamper just outside the closet door.

"So," Bruce said, emerging from the closet. He was unsure now on how to move their relationship forward. In his worry, his hands automatically began dry-washing.

"Quit that and sit down," Tony said, patting the space next to him. The blankets were invitingly turned down, the pale cream and powder blue soothing in the dark oak of the furniture and restful, pale green walls.

Bruce let out a quiet chuckle and walked over to sit on the bed, his back to Tony for a moment. "You know I'm bad at relationships," Bruce said, voice hardly more than a whisper. His fingers locked together for a moment, knuckles going white under the strain.

Tony shifted to his knees, and quietly said in warning "I'm moving behind you, Big Guy," before knee walking across the space to Bruce's side. "We both are. But, we can be fuck-ups together, huh?" Tony leaned into Bruce's shoulder.

Another, more self-deprecating chuckle from Bruce. "Yeah, that's a guarantee."

"Hey!" Tony mock pouts. He gets a happier laugh from his friend. Boyfriend? Nah, too teeny bopper. Tony would think about it later. "All right, what's got you tied up in knots?"

"Everything," Bruce whispered, as though speaking any louder would make it all crash down around him.

"How do you really feel about the pardon?"

"Right now? Petrified. What if they don't agree? What if Clint, Natasha, and Phil can't find Ross? And us?" Bruce ran his hands through his mostly dried hair, fluffing and tangling the curls even more.

Tony reached over and grabbed Bruce's right hand, arresting the motion of his fingers. "Hey, it will be okay. Those three don't know what mission failure is. And Rogers won't give up. You're stuck with us no matter what happens in this relationship." Tony's thumb idly rubbed over the back of Bruce's hand. The motion relaxed Bruce, who just leaned into Tony with a deep sigh.

"Yeah," Tony said, letting go of Bruce's hand to wrap his arm around Bruce's shoulders. They sat in silence like that for half an hour.

When Bruce cracked two huge jaw popping yawns in quick succession, Tony nudged him hard and Bruce flopped over with the action, crumpling to the bed.

As Tony got up out of the way of Bruce's legs, he reached for his glasses, gently tugging them free so he wouldn't crush them. After setting them on the nightstand, he turned back to Bruce and started to shift his partially unresponsive body under the covers, "Let's get you tucked in Bruce. It's been a hell of a day."

"You're starting to spoil me," Bruce mumbled, his eyes half-closed.

"Yeah, and? Isn't that the point of a relationship?"

"Maybe? Only really had the one, so you know how that went."

Tony walked around the bed to get back in on his side. "Learn to expect it, Green Bean. Things are gonna be different from now on."

"If you insist..."

Tony was sure Bruce wasn't really aware of their conversation anymore. "I do. C'mere," he offered, settling down and opening his arms in invitation. "We can cuddle."

"You're behaving oddly," Bruce commented, sounding slightly more awake as he shuffled over the open space of the bed into Tony's embrace.

"Can't I be nice to someone who's had a shit run of luck lately?"

"Hmpf. I'm not made of glass, Tony."

"Heh, yeah no. I know that."

Comfortably slotted together, Bruce began to relax into the warmth of Tony's body. He yawned before responding in a mumble, "We're gonna have to go slow."

"Sleep now, we'll figure it out."

"Mhm," Bruce grunted, drifting off to the faint hum of the arc reactor.

Down a few levels from the penthouse in the Tower, Phil, Clint, and Natasha spent time working on gathering initial intel and going over their weapons, making them ready for action. Phil called in a favor from Jasper Sitwell, and had him divert some surveillance to finding General Ross.

"So, the wunderkind duo, together forever?" Clint said in a teasing way, as he checked his bow over for damage, ensconced on a leather arm chair, the quiver at his feet.

"They'll be good for each other," Natasha offered from the coffee table. She sat on the carpet, using the table to hold her guns, Widows Bite bracelets, and assorted cleaning supplies.

"Really?" Clint asked, checking the riser and connection points on the breakdown composite bow.

Natasha shrugged. "They appear to balance each other's issues out. Didn't they say they'd been sleeping together since they'd been at the mansion?"

Clint nodded, distracted in his task of checking the pair of bow strings kept in a waterproof pouch for fraying.

Phil, over at their dining table, was working on an encrypted laptop making all their travel itineraries, hummed, showing he was paying attention, but currently had no comment.

"Have you noticed that Tony looks more rested, and even Bruce looks relaxed?", she added, checking on the sharpness of a couple of knives.

"Well no, not really," Clint admitted, putting the bow in its case and picking up the quiver to check the arrows.

"Still true," Natasha said, buttoning the knives back into their sheathes. "They share similar demons, and I believe Tony might have finally grown up."

"Tony never needed to grow up, Natasha, but he did need to learn to trust again. And I'm done here. We leave tomorrow for Culver University at 9am," Phil said, standing and carefully stretching. His scar still pulled if he wasn't careful, though his partners took pains to make sure the skin stayed supple enough through massage to not cause pain. He'd get most of his range of motion back, but for now, his partners did all the heavy lifting.

"Give us ten more minutes, beloved, and we'll go to bed," Natasha said, estimating the last of her work. Clint nodded agreement with that, and Phil went into the kitchen to prepare for morning.

Hey all, it's been awhile. Thanks for sticking with me. Gosh, I can't believe I let this go for a year and a bit. I'm sorry for that. Depression sucks. And if you suffer from it, or think someone you know might suffer from it, please, I implore you from the bottom of my heart, get help. Even come to me here in my comments and say you need help, and we'll get you some.

This is the end of this particular arc of Vital Communication, the series. There will probably be more, but I want to play with other stuff for awhile. Thanks for being with me on this rollercoaster!