Rooms

[As MJ W.]

[...] Okay...

[Days after the collapse of the underwater lab, Bruce had been too many places. The Hulk had carried him up out of the bay, and didn't stop until he'd traveled far. Far, far. Following some sort of internal compass even in his hurt and grief. He had to stop, sometimes, just to shout again, trying to let out the tightness and awful feeling at the back of his throat, but the sound never worked. Neither did striking anything - trees, old buildings, the ground. Most often, the ground, and never anywhere with people or anything that would lead to anyone being hurt. He followed the compass - north, south, north, west, west, west. He stopped with his feet in the water, salt in his throat, a rocky cliff at his back. And he knew, somehow, that the place he'd found was the right place to be. So he stopped. And sat.

Bruce woke among the rocks, salt still in his throat, feet in the water. The ocean lapped at him, and far above, perched on the cliff - in the cliff - was a familiarly rounded building. Edged in glass and modernly west-coast, even from the strange angle, Bruce knew Tony's Malibu home.

It was awkward, climbing up, finding his way toward an entrance. He was tired and hungry, and thankful for JARVIS letting him inside. There was food. There was a change of clothing. Everything around him screamed Tony, and Bruce did his best to wade through it while forcing back that same raw pain that had driven his counterpart. It was too much to be in Tony's space, at least a space that was so much him. Down to the sometimes-lingering traces of cologne and shop grease in the air. He couldn't stay. If he stayed, the Big Guy would make a reappearance, and he didn't really want to tear the Malibu house apart. He needed to leave, even if the only place he had to go would also hold traces of his friend. It wouldn't be quite as bad as his one-time home.]

[Before stepping through into the DC door to go to the lab in Gotham:]

[JARVIS]
JARVIS? Let me know what people are planning for a funer-- [...] for services, okay? [That's all he can manage to say about that.]

[Selina, Bucky (as James), Gwen, Pepper]
I have to go for a while. I hope everyone's okay. I just [...] have to go.

I'm sorry.

Despite all things said on the journals, Destin - who wasn't really Destin, like Emily wasn't really Emily - had all the game of a blind geek with a magic phone. At least the damn thing seemed like magic, because he knew all the words that flowed across the screen without actually reading a single letter. It wasn't close to normal, but it didn't feel off. It felt - right - and it was one of the few things that did.

Much like it felt right to talk to her - Stephanie - even though his palms felt slightly damp and he was currently staring at his closet - where he knew his closet to be, the phone informed him, as if it held some secret. He reached out, fingers running over shirts that he knew the composition of - 95% cotton, 5% spandex, 50% cotton and 50% polyester, 100% cotton (that one, it felt smoother under his fingertips). The phone told him it was white, but the one two hangers down was dark gray and that seemed to be the better choice if only because it was more forgiving than white. (White being the color that showed lipstick and coffee stains - as the phone also informed him.)

Gray it was.

And dark blue jeans that had probably been ironed (no, said the phone) - if they'd ever been worn (correct) - but it wasn't as though he could check himself in the mirror. (He looked clean and preppy - or so he was informed by the thing chained to his wrist.) The last thing to go on were his sunglasses that he wore around campus, and out he went, no stick in sight, nothing to help him but the steady flow of information from the phone about where to go, who was coming, which corner to go around - don't trip over the passed out fratboy - and to her dorm.

One nervous rub of his palms against his jeans, a deep breath for courage, and he knocked, lightly, all knuckle on manufactured wood.

[some time after this]

I...can someone...Kitane? I don't know what happened.