I have had some pretty damn good pizza throughout my life, but after having just one bite of Stan's House Special, I can't help but feel as if I am eating heaven on a plate. Stan didn't hold back on the food and served both Bruce and I more food than we can possibly eat, likely taking note of just how skinny Bruce and the hungry look in our eyes. He watched the two of us wolf down his feast, listening intently as Bruce explained everything that had happened to him in the past few years.
Well. Almost everything. There was only so much Stan could know without placing him in danger, and somehow, I doubt that he would believe that the quiet, unassuming man in front of him now turns into a giant, green monster whenever he loses his cool.
"Stan, I give you my word that whatever you've heard about me isn't true," Bruce now finishes, a hint of desperation in his tone as he tries to convince his friend of his innocence.
It appears that he has nothing to worry about, however, as Stan only gives a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, I never believed it! I always knew that you were a good man, Bruce. There's nothing that can convince me otherwise. It's why I liked you and Betty so much. I mean, you know how I always felt about the two of you."
I visibly see Bruce stiffen in his chair beside mine at the mention of Betty's name, his mind likely recalling the scene that we had witnessed between Betty and her partner at the campus earlier today.
"She's with someone?" He quietly asks Stan.
Stan shifts awkwardly in his chair, his mouth tugging down into a sympathetic frown. "Yes. He's – he's a head shrink. They say that he's one of the best." A beat. Then; "Have you talked to her?"
"She doesn't know that we're here," I explain, wiping at the corner of my mouth with a napkin. Damn, that pizza was so good. "But she has something important that we need to get of her. A file, to be exact."
"Why would you need one of her files?"
"To help me be a free man again," Bruce says, causing Stan's eyes to widen at the words. "Betty can't know that we're here – it's too dangerous. I'm not a fan of sneaking around behind her back, but the only way that we can get what we need without drawing any unwanted attention is if we sneak into her lab and download the file ourselves."
"Easier said than done though, with all those security guards crawling around campus. The only way that we can get into the building is by showing them a security guard."
Stan leans forward in his seat. "I want to help the two of you – although, I'm not sure if I can help with sneaking into this lab – but if there's anything else I can do, then tell me and I'll do so."
"Would you mind letting us stay here for a night or two?" Bruce asks.
"Of course! You can sleep in the spare rooms upstairs. You're both welcome to stay as long as you like."
"We won't bother you for too long, we just need a place to lay low until we get the file," I say, before adding as an afterthought, "We still have to go and get our bags from the motel as well."
"Stay as long as you need – but I still feel as if there is more that I can do to help you! Surely there is a way for the two of you to get into the building without that student card. I mean, my workers occasionally go in for deliveries, maybe they can get what you're after…"
Bruce grimaces. "I don't want to involve anyone else if we can help it. It's too risky. Besides, I…"
But whatever Bruce says next is lost to me, as my eyes trail over to the red and white striped uniforms that are hanging up in the corner, the logo for Stan's restraint printed proudly across the back of the jacket. A light bulb goes off above my head as I stare at the red hat. "Actually, Stan," I interrupt, a small smile creeping onto my face. "I think that there is a way for you to help us after all."
"I feel stupid."
"You look fine."
"I don't care how I look. I feel stupid."
"I take it that this is the first time that you've done something like this?"
Bruce hums. "Uh, judging from how relaxed you are though, this clearly isn't unfamiliar territory for you."
Jerking at the bike lock for the bike that Stan had lent me to ensure that it is secured in place, I pull myself upright and adjust the bright, red Stanley's pizza cap on my head. Even in the late morning, Culver University is flourishing with students, laughter and chatter drifting in the warm summer air around us. The heat makes the uniform cling to me a little uncomfortably (the bike ride over hadn't helped with this), and I flap the ends of my oversized shirt to try and create a cool breeze for my sticky skin.
"I'm a spy," I explain. "Blending in and using different aliases is something that I sometimes have to do. Just pretend that you're a spy, and it'll make it more fun."
"I'm already pretending to be a pizza delivery guy," Bruce dryly mutters, reaching into the basket at the front of his bike to pull out the stack of pizza boxes, the smell of the hot food causing my mouth to water.
"Which, you have to admit, is a pretty damn good idea," is my cheerful response as we start to make our way up the footpath. "We can get in like Stan said all his other workers do, get what we need and then leave without anyone suspecting a thing. And, we'll have spare pizza to eat afterwards. I'd say that's a win for us."
"That's only if the security guard believes the lie," Bruce replies, clearly still sceptical of the plan. The way that he keeps wringing his free hand beside him is also a clear indication of just how nervous he is, likely worrying about the repercussions of us getting caught. It's completely understandable. While the plan was a good one, it wasn't entirely foolproof. But if Bruce wants to ensure that we walk away free with the file, then he is going to have to calm down. Freaking out and nervous behaviour is only going to draw unwanted attention to the two of us.
"Then we work our charms until he has no choice but to let us into the building. Or, I'll knock him out if I can get close enough," is my light reply, my attempt to try and ease some of the worry radiating from him in massive waves. But when he only offers me a half-hearted smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes, I sigh. "Relax, Bruce. This is going to work. Just sit back, and I'll do all the talking if need be."
He nods, but the grim expression remains on his face all the same as we finally reach the steps leading up to the building. We take them two at a time before we reach the entrance. Inhaling deeply, I puss the door open and hold it there with my hand, allowing Bruce to enter the building first. I quickly follow suit, letting the door swing shut behind us.
No going back now.
The security guard that is on duty today is different to the one that had been working yesterday. With surprisingly no students in sight (the majority of them were likely in classes right now), the curly-haired, olive-skinned man leans back in his chair, his dark eyes flicking over the newspaper he holds in his large hands. I can feel Bruce's nervous energy from beside him, and all I can do is hope that the guard currently in front of us is more agreeable than the guard yesterday had been.
Bruce is first to stop in front of the guard's booth, clearing his throat to alert the man of our presence. "H-hey pal," he tries to say in an easy-going tone, though even I can detect the slight shake to it. "Um, we, er –"
"We've got a delivery for room five," I quickly finish.
The guard – whose name tag reads Lou – finally tears his gaze from the paper in front of him to Bruce and I, his face scrunching up with scepticism. "It takes two guys to deliver some pizza?" He drawls.
I jerk my thumb Bruce's way, offering Lou a frown. "New guy here keeps mucking up all the orders, so they sent me to babysit him."
"Uh-huh. What room number?"
"Room five."
Lou's dark eyes flicker between Bruce and I, studying us curiously. I keep my expression neutral, and I hope to God that he interprets the nervous look seemingly permanently glued to Bruce's face due to my recent words, and not the fact that we are trying to break into the lab. After a long, few drawn-out moments, he finally gives a shake of his head. "I don't think that you'll find anyone up there."
Bruce swallows thickly at this and doesn't say anything, clearly lost for words. Thinking quickly, I shake my head with dismay. "Ah, man. We're gonna catch hell from our boss if we don't collect. Can you at least let us try?"
Lou's brows crease as he considers my words, and the look of pure scepticism doesn't disperse from his face, so, thinking quickly, I reach over to pluck the top box from Bruce's pile of pizzas before turning to hold it out towards the stubborn guard. "Look, I just realised that we have an extra medium. Why don't you take it? On the house."
Ever so slowly, the sceptical guard pulls himself from his seat to tower over the two of us, his 6'5 frame easily towering over Bruce and I. It's when he crosses his thick arms over his broad chest that I keep the smile on my face but hide my free hand behind my back, allowing electricity to crack between my slim fingers. Maybe the idea of knocking him out wasn't so far-fetched after all…
A moment. A beat of silence. Bruce fidgets nervously where he stands, while Lou and I stare one another down. Then;
A smile splits Lou's face in half, and he gladly accepts the box from my hand, opening it to peer inside. Satisfied with what he sees, he gives us a nod of his head and jerks his head towards the stairs to our right.
I exhale in relief, though for an entirely different reason than what he may think it is for. Thankful that I didn't have to take a more violent approach, I extinguish the electricity and pull the hand forward to bump my first against his. "You are the man," I say, watching as Bruce awkwardly bumps his hand against Lou's when it is offered to him.
"God bless you, brothers!" Is Lou's happy response before he then settles back down in his chair, a content smile on his face. Bruce and I only respond with a wave before we then take off before Lou can change his mind, leaving him to eat his pizza in peace.
The two of us dare not say as word until we have clambered up the stairs and Lou has disappeared from our sights entirely. Once he's sure that we are well and truly out of earshot, Bruce heaves a sigh of relief. "I can't believe that worked."
"'O ye, of little faith'," I say, stepping back to allow Bruce to lead me towards an elevator at the end of the hall. "We won't have to worry now. I think that he's going to be occupied for a while."
"I uh, I have to say, you handled things quite well back there. Is … is it easy for you? To pretend to be someone else?"
"I mean, like I said before, it's part of my job, so, I kind of have to be good at it. It's all about confidence though. If you're confident in whatever story that you're trying to tell, then it makes it harder for people to distrust you."
Bruce hums, eyes narrowed in thought as we reach the elevator, and he pushes at the buttons. "Confidence. Right," he mutters to himself, causing the corners of my mouth to flicker up ever so slightly before the doors open and the two of us clamber into the small space.
The first part of the trip is filled with a comfortable silence, aside from cheerful music gently emitting from the speakers in the corner of the elevator above us, and despite the calm, I can't help but keep a close eye on Bruce beside me. Despite the fact that we have managed to work our way past security, he still seems nervous. He's no longer wringing his hand in an obvious way, but instead, has now resorted to tapping his free fingers against the side of his leg while the hand holding the pizza boxes grips them so tightly, that his knuckles appear taut against his pale skin.
He's still on edge – and something tells me it has nothing to do with the security guard we have left behind us multiple floors below.
"How are you holding up?" I ask, effectively breaking the silence.
He startles, my words having possibly dragged him back from wherever his mind had taken him, and he almost shrinks in on himself. "It's just…strange, being back here is all. I've spent the past couple of years thinking that I would never have the chance to step foot in this place ever again. But, here I am, heading up to my old lab in the same elevator that I used to take every morning."
It's easy for me to picture the scene he's describing; Bruce, likely in a pristine white lab coat, fuller and carefree with a coffee in his hand as he presses the buttons on the elevator. Greeting the other professors, students or even the guard on watch every morning without fail. His hair messy and his glasses askew as he scrambles around his lab, scribbling away and using his equipment as easy as breathing. Maybe Betty was there working alongside him, offering him a peck on his flustered cheek whenever the opportunity arose.
Compared to his life now? On the run, looking over his shoulder everywhere he went? Yeah. It's pretty understandable that he may find the whole situation surreal.
The same thing happened to me when I was first brought home from the facility. Never in a million years after everything that I had been through and survived did I think that I would be sleeping in my childhood bedroom and eating dinner with my loved ones again. It had taken a long time to adjust, so I can understand on some level what it is that Bruce is feeling right now.
"Well, you do realise that if Mr Blue can figure out a cure, you could be doing this every day again? You could go back to being a regular man and get your old life back."
"To some extent."
"To some extent," I agree. "I mean, you'd have to ensure that Ross understands that you are no longer a threat, and that he can't extract the Other Guy from you and turn him into a weapon."
Bruce lets out a humourless, bark of laughter. "Easier said than done."
"Well, I'll be there to help you should you need it," I assure him. "But there's no reason that you couldn't get your old job back and – well. You could always try and get Betty back as well."
"She's with someone else, Lydia."
"And had circumstances been different, then there's every chance that she may not be," I fire back, though not in any aggressive kind of way. When Bruce remains silent at this and the doors open, we step out into the corridor and I continue, "If she knew what had happened and why you had taken off then there's every chance that she may take you back. Besides; you're a scientist. Women dig smart, friendly guys. Or, they should anyway."
The last part doesn't quite have as much effect as I hoped it would, but he does shoot me a flash of a grateful smile as he leads me further down the corridor.
We make a right turn and then a left – thankfully passing no one else as we move – until Bruce finally comes to a slow and staggering halt. I turn to question Bruce on the sudden pause of movement only to find that he stands frozen in place, dark eyes fixed on a large, glass-walled room to our left. It's filled with rows of computers on desks and shelves topped with small machinery and equipment of all shapes and sizes. Notice boards hang from the walls with slips of paper, sticky notes and messy scribbles or neat handwriting covering them from top to bottom. There are framed photos on desks and even a lanky man with dark hair and broad-brimmed glasses seated in the corner of the room, hunched over in his seat as his fingers tap away at the keyboard in front of him. It looked like a regular office space to me, but the look on Bruce's face says that it's something else entirely.
His face has paled considerably, and there are small beads of sweat starting to slide down his forehead as he stares at the office, rigid and clearly anxious. His breath comes in quickly and falls out sharply, a look of pure panic seemingly glued to his face that only intensifies the longer he stares.
I know the beginning of a panic attack when I see one, and I immediately step forward into his line of view and try to stand as tall as I can to block his view from the lab. "Bruce? You're OK. You're safe. You're with me and you're safe. I promise."
His breathing only goes more ragged, and I instinctively reach up my hands to try and offer them to him –
He flinches back as if I have burned him, gasping and raising his hands to protect his face, effectively dropping the pizza boxes in the process. The look of terror in his eyes is strong enough to cause me to step back, the sight before me resembling a cornered rabbit, frantic and panicked as it tries to find a way out. It's enough to confuse me as I try to think of the cause of Bruce's sudden fear. He had been fine until we had seen the office –
The office.
I swivel to look through the glass, my blue eyes skimming over every object in the room in hopes of finding something that would explain Bruce's erratic behaviour, but there isn't anything for me to find. Nothing glaringly obvious, anyway. Cursing quietly under my breath, I turn back around to face the scientist.
Holding my hands up, palms facing forward to show him that I mean him no harm, I speak quietly and calmly. "Bruce, it's me. It's Lydia. I don't know what just happened, but I want you to know that you're safe here with me. OK? We're safe. You're safe."
It takes a few more moments of gentle coaxing on my part until my words start to sink in. Eventually, Bruce lowers his arms back to his side and inhales at a much slower and steadier pace, closing his eyes. He mutters something almost silently under his breath – his lips moving too quickly for me to be able to discern what exactly it is that he's saying – and it isn't until I gently ask him if he's OK that he opens his eyes to send me an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "That – that used to be the lab. They've – they've changed it but I – it was like… I was – it, it was like I was there again."
There. I know what he means by this; not physically there in the lab but trapped in his own mind as the memory of what had happened to him that day ran rampant behind his eyes. Seeing what had once been the lab had sent him down in a spiral, bringing back all the horrible memories and feelings associated with his experiment that had gone wrong.
"I understand," I assure him gently. "That's nothing to be sorry for – you can't help it. Are you OK now though?"
"Yeah. I – I kept control of my heart –"
"I'm not asking whether you prevented the Other Guy from making an untimely appearance, Bruce. I'm asking if you're OK."
He looks mildly surprised at the words as if he has never been asked if he's OK before. Which, in hindsight, probably hasn't happened to him for a long time now – possibly since before the accident. When he picks up on the sincerity lacing my tone, however, he eventually jerks his head. "I am now. Thank you."
"Look. I totally understand all of this being difficult and painful for you. You don't have to go in if you don't want to. You can always wait out here, and I can go in and transfer the data onto the USB –"
He's shaking his head before I have even finished that suggestion. "I uh, I appreciate the concern, Lydia. But I'll be fine."
I immediately go to argue that he may still need a moment or two to process the inner turmoil he is likely going through right now, but the look of sheer determination that slowly starts to creep onto his face causes the words to die in my throat. Judging by this expression, I can't help but think that even if I do attempt to try and convince him to stay put, he's going to walk into the office regardless. So, I only offer him a small smile of encouragement.
"You sure?" When he gives one last final nod, I bend down to retrieve the pizza boxes that he had dropped. Thankfully, the pizza remains safely packed away in the still-intact boxes. Straightening back up, I gesture for him to move forward. "Alrighty. After you then."
Bruce leads the way, trekking slowly and with care as we step into the lab, eyes skimming over every object in sight. I can't help but watch him carefully. Even though he says that he is OK now, I can't help but think that another panic attack could potentially occur, and I want to be ready to help him if it does.
But, it doesn't. His face remains pale his eyes nervous, but we weave our way through the desks and equipment for ten minutes without any incident.
Bruce's eyes scan every computer and desk that we pass, and it isn't until we've inspected what feels like the one-hundredth computer (which in fact, is only the twelfth) that Bruce turns to me with a glum look. "I have no clue which one is hers. These computers are different from all the ones that we used to use."
I huff. "Figures. It would make sense that they would go for the technology upgrade if all of the last computers were damaged or destroyed."
Bruce lets out a defeated sigh before glancing around, his eyes quick to land on the man still seated at his desk in the far corner of the room. He's so engrossed with whatever it is that is on the screen in front of him that he hasn't noticed Bruce and I quietly weaving our way through the lab.
Bruce jerks his chin towards him. "He might know which one it is."
I'm already turning around and walking the man's way before Bruce can finish speaking. It's worth a shot.
The man doesn't see us coming and doesn't look away from the screen until Bruce and I come to a halt on the other side of the desk. He glances up at us, reaching away from the keyboard to push his glasses back up his nose while his eyes widen in surprise. "Can I help you?"
I put on the cheeriest smile I can muster. "Hi! We were wondering which one of these computers belongs to Betty Ross? I'm her cousin and she asked me to download a movie file from it."
"Why do you have the pizza boxes then?"
Shit.
My smile doesn't slip in the slightest at his words, my mind already forming an excuse in my head. "My partner and I were already delivering some pizza in this building when she called me and asked," I say, the lie rolling off my tongue as easy as breathing. "She told me where the lab was and it wasn't until we were here that I remembered that I forgot to ask which one it was."
The man nods his head, looking down as he considers my words when Bruce suddenly speaks up from beside me;
"Hey, Grace, is that an extra pizza that we have?"
Immediately catching on to the silent suggestion, I quickly reach up and grab the top pizza from the pile in Bruce's hands. "You're right; so we do. Here, man," I say, leaning down and placing the pizza box on the corner of the man's desk, watching as his eyes widen in surprise. "It's all yours."
He doesn't hesitate. Reaching for the box, he points towards a computer two rows away, second from the end. "That's Dr Ross' computer there. Let me know if you need any help in finding that file."
"Cheers, man," is my bright reply, Bruce and I wasting no time in turning on our heels and moving towards the computer the guy had pointed out.
Bruce pulls the chair out from the front of the desk and offers it to me, but I have already reached for the one placed in front of the desk beside Betty's, and motion for him to take the one he offers. He promptly sits down and swishes to the side to make room for me, before he plugs in the drive and turns on the computer. We wait patiently – or, I do anyway. Bruce's knees bounce up and down a thousand miles a minute – for the machine to boot, but it isn't long before the lock screen appears, demanding a password before it can allow us any further.
"You don't happen to know the password, do you?"
Bruce nods, fingers inching forward towards the keyboard. "She uses the same password for everything. I don't see why she wouldn't do the same for her computer," he mutters, tapping away at the keyboard before hitting the enter key. To my relief, the lock screen disappears and is instantly replaced with the desktop.
"Annnddd we're in," I mutter, watching as Bruce then opens a folder called 'Campus Research Data Base.'
"Hopefully, this will make finding the data easier," Bruce says, before typing 'Gamma Pulse' into the search bar. The screen is briefly filled with blurred words as the computer searches through thousands of files, each disappearing by the second. Expecting an easy victory, the disappointment that crashes over Bruce and I as 'NO MATCH FOUND' flashes across the middle of a very empty screen hits the two of us like a tidal wave.
"What the hell?" I breathe as Bruce shakes his head, clearly just as confused as I am.
"No, no, no. It – it should be here…"
"Try typing in something else related to the project."
He wastes no time typing his own name in the search bar, and when the same unwanted result occurs, he tries typing in Betty's name. Options come up under this, but when Bruce curses and slams a frustrated fist down on the desk in frustration, I gather that none of the files in front of us is the one that we're after either. Which can only mean one thing.
"They must've deleted the file. Tried to cover their tracks, hide what happened."
Bruce rakes an anxious hand through his dark locks. "Without the data, Mr Blue might not be able to do anything."
" Ask him first before we jump to that conclusion," I say, not liking where this conversation is heading. "There could be something else that he could do instead. Maybe since you spoke to him last, he's thought of something else that can help you that doesn't require the data."
It's a feeble attempt of trying to keep his mind from going down the road of disappointment, but it's all I have to offer him at this point in time. Hadn't we travelled all this way knowing and thinking that the data from the failed experiment was the only thing that could save Bruce from the Other guy? But it seems that my words are enough to spur Bruce on, as he only types away at the screen once more.
I raise a brow as 'ECRYPTNET' flashes across the screen, turning to shoot Bruce a curious look. Without taking his eyes from the screen but clearly picking up on obvious confusion, he lowly mutters as he submits his login in detail, "This is how I talk to Mr Blue."
Sure enough, a message pops up from the screen; 'Mr Green! How goes the search?'
Bruce sighs as he quickly types out his own response, and I peer over his shoulder to see what it is that he's saying;
'The data is gone. Is there anything else that you can do?'
Bruce and I hold our breaths as he sends the reply, his fingers nervously drumming against the desk while we wait for a response. Even I feel nervous, impatiently bouncing my leg up and down, a thousand different thoughts racing through my head. I can't help but wonder where exactly we would go from here if there wasn't anything that Mr Blue could do. We had come all this way, with one goal on our mind; get the data to Mr Blue. Find a cure. If we couldn't, then there's every chance that Bruce will remain this way forever –
As a new message flashes across the screen, Bruce and I practically lurch forward, our eyes peering at the screen. As our eyes flicker over the words in front of us, we slowly deflate in our seats and the brief smiles on our faces disperse entirely;
'Without it, I'm afraid I cannot help.'
My heart sinks as disappointment washes over me like a tidal wave. So, that's it? There's nothing that we can do?
Bruce inhales a shaky breath beside me, and a horror washes over me as I imagine what it is that he's feeling right now. When I had found him in Rocinha, he had a sad acceptance of the life he had been living, believing that he would spend the rest of his life hiding and on the run, fleeing from place to place to keep out of Ross' power-hungry grasp, the General likely trying to hunt him down as we sit in this lab right now. Never staying anywhere long enough to call it home. Spending everyday worried that he may hurt someone. That had been his life when I had found him.
And then, I had barged into his home, demanding that he let me help him. I had promised that I would do everything that I could to help cure him, instilling a new hope within him that was strong enough to bring him back to Willowdale, a place that he likely thought that he would never step foot in again. We had spoken about what parts of his old life he could get back if he wanted, and it had all been ripped away with just a few little words from the one person who could help us.
Guilt and sympathy clench me in a tight vice, and I tentatively reach a hand to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm so sorry."
He lets out another shaky breath and lifts his head to give a tired smile that doesn't meet his eyes. They're filled with a haunted sorrow, and it makes my heart break for him even more. The quiet moment doesn't last too long, however, as another message flashes across the screen;
'So what now?'
Bruce rubs a tired hand down his face, before he reaches forward to type his response into the computer. A response that leaves an pit of unease in my stomach;
'I've got to keep moving.'
After our disappointing end to our search in the lab, Bruce and I don't hesitate to hightail it out of Culver University, not wanting to risk staying too long and getting recognised by any of Bruce's old colleagues or students. Instead, we had walked to the nearest park so that we could find somewhere nice and quiet to eat the remaining pizza, hoping that the food and warmth from the setting sun would help us cope with the disappointment we had met back at Culver.
Spread out across the grass with the pizza between us, the two of us ate in silence, too lost in our own thoughts to talk. My eyes keep flickering to Bruce, studying him carefully to see how he appears to be dealing with everything. There was a sadness seemingly now permanently etched to his face, and it prevents me from asking him if he is alright, knowing full well that he is anything but OK right now.
We arrived back at Stan's in the early evening to find that the restaurant was flat out busy. Every chair and table was filled, with Stan and his staff running about trying to keep a handle on things. Having worked in hospitality briefly before joining SHIELD, I offer my services to a grateful Stan, allowing Bruce to have the space that he may need to process everything that had happened this afternoon. Having seen the looks on our faces when we had first walked back into the restaurant, Stan had assured Bruce that the spare rooms were still there for us to use as long as we wanted, and that if he needed anything from Stan then he should just ask. Bruce had only given a small nod his head and murmured a small 'thank you' before slowly making his way upstairs.
Hours pass, and the work is tiring but manages to keep my mind of the failures from today. Eventually, the customers trail out of the shop and the workers go home, leaving Stan and I to close up the shop. I stack the classes that had been freshly cleaned in the dishwasher on the shelf near the front counter when the front door of the restaurant opens, followed quickly by the sound of a male and female laughing. I turn at the sound, a greeting forming on the tip of my tongue, but it fizzles out of existence when I see who it is that has just walked in.
Betty Ross, and her head shrink boyfriend.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Oh, God. If Bruce comes down…
Stan, standing on the other side of the counter is just as stunned by his new customers, and glances at me nervously from the corner of his eyes. He licks his lips nervously before he then works a false, bright smile on his face as he calls out to the bubbly couple, "Ah, we're pretty much closed kids."
"Aww, c'mon, Stan! It's Friday night!" Betty protests with a bright smile as she tugs her boyfriend forward, moving closer to the front counter. Oblivious to our unease and despite Stan's protests, the couple happily seat themselves in the counter chairs, shrugging off their coats.
"I don't really have anything left … only Margarita, really."
"Oh, I got to have a Mister Pink, please!"
"She worked through dinner again, of course," The man beside Betty chuckles, a look of adoration on his face as he looks at Betty. I can't help but wonder if Bruce had looked at her like that before the accident.
Stan casts me one final glance before then looking out through the door that leads to the back of the shop, clearly thinking of what would happen if Bruce were to walk out into the main restaurant where Betty may see him. But, when I offer the old chef no solution, he throws his hands up in defeat. "Lydia, would you mind helping out in serving these two kids here?"
I simply nod before stacking the last glass and making my way towards the small group, hating the way that Betty shoots me a curious but warm smile.
"I didn't realise you were hiring more staff, Stan," she says, a kind smile tugging at her lips.
"Oh. Uh, Betty, this is my niece's friend, Lydia. She's, uh, helping me out for a couple of days. Lydia, this is Betty Ross, an old-time customer of mine."
"Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," I reply, extending my arm to shake her hand.
"I'm Samson," the male sitting beside her adds. He's wearing a neat, blue shirt that matches his eyes and his dark hair is styled neatly atop of his head, a cheerful smile working its way on his thin lips that matches the cheerful look on his face. "Are you from Willowdale?"
"Oh, no. No, just passing through."
"You're a friend of Bella's then?" Betty asks, and it takes me a moment to realise that she must be referring to Stan's niece. Or at least, I hope she is. When I nod, she smiles and turns to Stan. "Stan, is she still studying…?"
The rest of their conversation falls on deaf ears, as I move through preparing their order in an almost clockwork fashion, my mind focusing on the fact that Bruce could walk in on our small party at any given moment, and not realise that Betty was here until it was too late. He had excused himself earlier in the evening, but he was bound to re-emerge at some point, and I hope to God for his sake, that it's after Betty and Samson leave. I don't know how much more loss he could take in one day. I have to excuse myself, somehow, and god find him to warn him before it's too late –
"Oh my God."
At Betty's gasp of shock behind me, I whirl around to see that Betty has pulled herself to her feet, her face pale and jaw slack, leaving her mouth hanging open in the perfect 'o' shape. Staring at something beyond a very confused Samson towards the back of the shop, I turn my head to see what it is that she's looking at, though it doesn't take a genius to guess what it is. There's only one thing – or person, I should say – in this shop that can make her look as if she has just seen some old ghost.
Sure enough, a startled and wide-eyed Bruce stands in the doorway leading out towards the restaurant kitchen, frozen like a deer in headlights as he locks eyes with Betty.
There's a sadness to it, really. This is the first time that the two of them have seen each other for years, and it is far from the happy reunion that they had both hoped for. But it appears as if they don't get a say in the matter, as they are forced to stare at one another now, both too lost for words and anything but blank stares and sad eyes, a thousand words and memories flashing between just the two of them.
I'm seconds away from breaking the silence, but the words die in the back of my throat at the sight of the bag in Bruce's hands. The bulkiness of it indicates that it is full to the brim with his belongings. I can't help but narrow my eyes at the sight, concluding that he was on his way somewhere. He had likely been coming down to bid Stan and I farewell.
"Bruce," Betty whispers, breaking the tense spell. Startled by the sound of her voice, Bruce flinches before turning to flee through the kitchen, disappearing entirely from sight.
"Shit!" I exclaim, before slamming a hand over my mouth when I realise my mistake. Sure enough, Betty whirls on me with narrowed eyes of confusion, sparing me a suspicious look before she takes off after Bruce, calling out after his retreating figure.
The room explodes into chaos. Samson pulls himself to his feet and calls after her, but Betty either ignores him or doesn't hear him as she swings past the kitchen door, telling Stan not to go anywhere as she passes him. Stan only offers her a helpless look before she disappears, leaving a confused Samson to fire a million questions a minute at the restaurant owner, demanding to know 'What on earth is going on?' and 'Who was that?' while Stan does his best to try and calm him down. I ignore the two men and instead place the last of the glasses down and quickly undo my apron, tossing it carelessly on the bench beside me. If Bruce was leaving, then so was I. I'll be damned if I let him run off without finding out if there really was some other way that I could help him get rid of the Other Guy.
Racing around the counter and past Samson and Stan – who are borderline yelling at each at this point – I make a beeline for the kitchen doors. I'm within arm's reach when they swing open, however, and I immediately jump back to ensure that they don't hit me. However, I find myself retreating backwards with my hands raised up as Betty marches her way back into the restaurant, features flaring with anger and confusion as her eyes zero in on my guilty form standing before her.
"You," she snaps, raising an accusing finger my way. Her clothes stick to her skin and her hair is drenched, hanging loose and clumped together behind her head, informing me that it is likely raining outside.
"You knew who he was!" She continues, before turning her angry gaze to a saddened Stan. "And you! Tell me if I think I saw what I just saw!"
"Betty…"
"Yes. That was Bruce Banner that you just saw," I say evenly, lowering my hands and looking her straight in the eye. There was no point in denying anything. She wasn't stupid. She knows what she has seen.
But it still seems that my words surprise, her as she gasps. Tears well in her eyes and mix with the drops of rain on her cheeks as they trail down her pale skin, and she shakes her head in disbelief. "After all this time, he – he's finally back?" She whispers.
"He needed to," I inform her, conscious of the fact that the longer that I stand here explaining everything to her, the further away that Bruce gets. If I want to catch up with him, then I have to leave and do so now. "He's been wanting to come back for a long time now, but he couldn't."
"How do you know?! How do you know him? Who are you?!"
"My name is Lydia Hathaway. I've been trying to help Bruce for a few weeks now. And unless I leave right now to go after him, then chances are that neither of us is ever going to see him again. Because he's leaving and this time, he won't come back."
"I just can't believe it," Betty whispers quietly under her breath from where she sits beside me, her fingers gripping the steering wheel in front of her so tightly that her knuckles appear taut against her pale skin.
It's been half an hour since Bruce fled the diner and I had confirmed to Betty that Bruce was back in Willowdale. Almost immediately after I had warned her that if he left now then he would likely never come back, she had demanded that she come along with me to help find him, leaving no room for discussion.
At first, I had protested. If we found him, I didn't want to pressure Bruce into a situation that would force him to reunite with her in a way that was similar to the one back at Stan's. A part of me doesn't even know whether or not Bruce is ready to face after all these years either. But then, I had looked at things realistically. Betty had a car, and she knew this town far better than I did. She knew Bruce far better than I did and might have more of an idea as to which direction he is heading in. Allowing her to tag along would be the best chance of finding Bruce, so, I quickly gave in.
I grabbed my belongings and thanked Stan for his hospitality, promising to give him a call sometime the next day to let him know whether or not we found his friend. Samson had been quick to suggest that he tag along with us as well, but Betty had both quickly and kindly turned the offer down, explaining that she didn't want Bruce to feel too overwhelmed with so many different people around him. So, she had simply promised to call Samson to let him know how things went. While I don't voice anything out loud, I can't help but feel that the real reason that she didn't want Samson helping us look for Bruce is because she doesn't want the two of them meeting just yet.
After forty minutes of driving through the streets searching for Bruce, our hopes of finding him start to quickly diminish. To distract us from these unwanted thoughts, however, I had spent the time explaining to Betty why Bruce and I were in Willowdale. Of course, what I said was simply a version of the truth rather than it as a whole. I couldn't exactly tell her about S.H.I.E.L.D., and I felt that it was Bruce's place to tell her about the Other Guy rather than mine.
"Why didn't he tell me he was back?" She demands, but there's no animosity in her voice. Instead, there's surprise, and confusion…and even a little bit of hurt.
Looking out the window, searching for any lone figures on the street, I quietly explain, "He saw you had a life. He saw you with Samson, and he didn't want to ruin what happiness you have no by showing up in your life again after all these years. He thought you had moved on."
"But I didn't," she admits quietly, turning the car down a street and driving us over a bridge. "He was the first man that I ever loved. I couldn't forget about him no matter how hard I tried. He was always there."
I hum in agreement. Though I had never experienced a love like that before, I can understand that what Bruce and Betty had shared with one another was something that would be impossible to get over. It doesn't mean that she didn't love Samson. But it also doesn't mean that forgot about Bruce after all these years either.
"Why did he run?"
"It's not up to me to tell you that. Bruce will hopefully explain everything if – when, we find him. It's too complicated for me to explain properly anyway," I reply, my eyes suddenly narrowing on a figure walking on the side of the bridge in the distance. Judging from the build and height as they walk, holding up a thumb to passing cars that ignore him, I assume that it is a man.
Hope ignites within me at the sight of the bag slung across his shoulders. "Speed up a little," I say to Betty, nodding my head towards the figure.
She inhales sharply and steps on the gas, driving the car right up to the figure before slamming on the brakes. The figure turns around as the headlights shine directly on his face, and I can't help but sag with relief at the sight of Bruce standing before the vehicle.
"It's him!" Betty exclaims, before undoing her seatbelt and moving out of the car that she leaves running. I do the same and step out of the car, holding my hand up to create an invisible air above the car to stop the rainwater from saturating us. But Betty bolts from the side of the car as a desperate sob racks through her body, rushing forward towards Bruce who has just enough time to spare her a look of complete and utter surprise before she throws herself at him.
She slams into him hard enough to make him stumble, but he regains his balance and is quick to wrap her in an equally tight embrace, squeezing his eyes shut before he buries his face into the crook of her neck. Rain continues to pelt down from above and saturate them to the bone, but neither of them cares. They only cling together as if their lives depended on it, murmuring soothing words and assurance in one another's ears.
I can't help but watch them with the smallest of smiles on my face, relief crashing over me like a tidal wave. Saying nothing and allowing them to have their quiet moment for just a little while longer, I wave my fingers and allow the barrier to extend over the two of them, preventing them from getting soaked even more.
Seconds pass. Then minutes. There's no one else currently on this bridge but the longer that we stand out here, the more likely it is that someone will come along and discover our small party, drawing some unwanted attention to us. Bringing my spare fingers to my mouth, I whistle loudly, the sudden shrill noise causing the two of them to part from one another and turn to look at me still standing beside Betty's car.
"C'mon! You guys are soaking wet!"
Bruce nods, and with his arms still clasped around a wet and shivering Betty, he starts to lead her back over to the car. As the two of them draw closer, I can't help but notice the way that Betty's mouth hangs open in surprise as she stares at me. But before I get the chance to ask her if everything is alright, she raises a shaky hand and points a finger towards my arm above my head, still creating the air barrier above us.
Ah. Well. That explains the look on her face then.
"H-how, how are y-you doing tha-t?" She asks, teeth chattering almost uncontrollably.
Bruce and I exchange a look, and I hope that he can easily read the silent question on my face as I tilt my head to the side; can I trust her? It seems the message is understood, however, as Bruce only offers a firm and single nod of his head, pulling Betty closer towards him in an attempt to keep her warm.
Sighing, I turn back to Betty and explain, "Look. It's a long story. I'll tell you everything, but not out here in the middle of the rain. Let's get somewhere warm and dry first, alright?"