Bruce Banner (isalwaysangry) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-09-13 12:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, bruce banner, tony stark |
Stark Penthouse: Bruce B/Tony S
WHO: Bruce Banner and Tony Stark
WHERE: Penthouse
WHEN: Back around here
WHAT: Tony has a panic attack, Bruce talks him down
RATING: Panic attacks, fear, angst
Bruce waited a little while after Selina went to sleep. Tony told him to wait to come up while he talked to Selina, and he did that, he was patient, but her mentioning Tony's panic attack troubled him. Enough that he decided to take action instead of being his usual passive self. The whole point of being in the building was being available. So he shuffled his way to the elevator and pushed Penthouse. He was uncertain if company was wanted at this point, or if he'd get pointed out of the door as soon as he got there. Or if Tony was asleep. It wasn't going to stop him from trying. He talked to Tony since he came back, but he hadn't seen him, and he assumed that was intentional. It didn't take a genius to know Tony didn't like people seeing him this way. Bruce understood that. At his worst, he preferred solitude too. It was difficult to break that habit. There was a long list of bad habits to break, and he was skeptical about succeeding with most of them. He was newly clean shaven and his hair was cut to a manageable length. He still only had a few sets of clothing, so it was worn and a little faded, but clean at least. Lost in thoughts was a dangerous place for him, so instead Bruce focused on Tony. The elevator dinged on the top level and he hesitated only a moment before stepping through. "Tony? It's Bruce." It was obvious that the Penthouse had become Tony’s main base of operations in the last four or five days since his arrival back on Earth. Besides a meticulously accurate record of how many medical personel had been in and out of there, the signs of Tony’s occupation were impossible to miss: discarded clothing, half-empty water bottles, used smoothie glasses, open welding catalogs, glowing models in virtual blue wireframe hovering overhead, a crumpled blanket on the sofa. One of the suits, looking incredibly new and very silver without a full paint job, was standing frozen sentinel at one end of the room. The surrounding city was not visible through the custom tinted glass, the opacity of which was high enough to throw the room into a comfortable darkness that was dominated by the blue modeling and the reading lamp next to the end of the couch. The only other light was behind the stone bar, which illuminated Tony where he stood behind it, shoulders at an angle, weight on his palms, head low. He pulled his chin up when Bruce came in, and it was clear from his expression that he had forgotten about his invitation in the flood of unwanted memory that Selina’s questions had brought down through his mind. It was hard to listen to her struggle for breath and panic about her fake kid (so Tony kept calling Helena, because he couldn’t imagine having a kid there when you hadn’t actually had a kid, which was stupidly complicated, and he hoped it never happened to him). Tony wasn’t sure if it was all the questions about Loki or maybe his own attempts to breathe for her, but something had set him off, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about his chest getting ripped open, and JARVIS had little red alarm lights flickering everywhere, which weren’t helping. The AI cut off mid-sentence (‘Sir you must try to-‘) when Bruce arrived, and Tony could barely speak through the hot flush and cold wash that kept taking turns dousing his face. It felt like he was dying again, and he was fucking terrified that he was just about to fall over and that would be it, game over, no overtime, everybody go home. A bottle he had somehow managed to get open had fallen over, and expensive liquid was dripping steadily into bits of glass on the edge of the counter. Tony tried to hold himself up with his hands, but he wasn’t good at keeping his balance for long yet. His trainer kept saying it would come in time, but nothing was coming in time, and now he wasn’t going to have any time, he was just going to die right here because he couldn’t breathe. Tony took a gasp and looked away from Bruce where the man stood at the door, taking a blind step around the counter in some aimless attempt to retreat. He almost went down like a felled tree, but he caught himself again on the counter. More strangled gasps. What was it he’d told Selina? He had no idea. Couldn’t remember. No oxygen. Bruce took in the details about the room quickly, and he was glad Tony managed to find some kind of distraction with the new suits. Even if it might not be the best recovery physically, it might take some energy out of him, it was good for his mind to be distracted while his body healed. Tony was one of those people who seemed perpetually in motion, which meant it was harder for him to sit and wait while his body failed to fix itself quickly. It was an instant later that he saw Tony at the bar, and he knew the look on his friend's face very well. Panic attacks were something he was personally and professionally aware of. His heart lurched and he moved quickly, next to Tony in a second. He didn't put his hands on him, although he was concerned with how he clung to the counter, but touching him unwanted was only going to make it worse. Instead he leaned nearby, present but not in his personal space. "Tony, I'm going to need you to breathe with me. Breathe in for two seconds, count one, two, and then out. We'll go to four and then six after that. In through the nose and out of the mouth. Look at me, I'm right here. Let's do it together, okay?" His voice was soft, and decidedly not his detached doctor tone. It was just Bruce, warm and gentle. He displayed what he was said. In slowly, two counts, out, watching Tony while he did. He'd keep doing it until Tony felt comfortable enough to follow it, patiently not pushing. Tony kept darting glances in Bruce's direction, as if he might be able to pretend the man wasn't there by simply looking away and back again repeatedly, the film strip running out and flipping on the running wheel of the projector. His eyes rolled white as he tried to fight off the feelings that made no logical sense, the crushing, ripping feeling in his chest, the dry feeling of the desert air on his eyeballs and under his nails, the smell of his blood and car battery acid mixing with hospital chemicals and some doctor pointing at an aortic diagram. JARVIS's automatic red alarm light, which documented Tony's heart rate and a number of other diagnostics, was still pulsing insistently. Tony flailed back off the edge of the counter, collided hard with the wall, and slid down into a rough sitting position. By then Bruce was standing nearby, and Tony hadn't seen him move. He blinked as he saw the doctor's mouth moving, and heard his voice, but he barely understood what the man was saying. He caught "look at me" so he did, and he could, at least, reassure himself that a) he wasn't in the desert and b) at least if he was dying, it wasn't alone. Tony sat in the shambles of the brandy bottle and took another long gasp over his tongue, but at least this one went slower, and JARVIS's alarms weren't beeping quite so insistently. The metal suit wasn't standing anymore, but moving, stepping ponderously forward on its chain of wires to peer at Tony from around Bruce's position, like a curious puppy. Tony wrapped one arm around his stomach (but he didn't clutch at his chest). He wrapped his elbows close to his ribs and clenched his jaw, newly shaven and pale in the wake of so much weightloss. He forced himself to take another breath, looking at Bruce for what seemed like the fiftieth time, cold sweat standing out on his skin. Bruce's hand started to move toward Tony when he pushed backward, wanting to help him from falling, and that instinct warred with not wanting to invade his personal space yet. Not until he was breathing again and conscious of who it was touching him, not some demon or memory that he couldn't shake yet. Bruce slowly crouched down so he was level with Tony again, keeping eye contact. "It's Bruce. Look at me, I'm right here. We're in your penthouse, at Stark Tower, in New York City." That was said to ground him in the right now, the 'look at him' repeated since it worked the first time. The shattered bottle concerned him briefly, but it was broken, and he couldn't clean up the glass just yet. This was more important. The sweat was noticed and also had to be on the list of next thing to do. "Breathe with me, okay? Just like this." Bruce watched Tony and over-exaggerated his breathing. Sucking in a breath noisily, holding it, and then out, in and out. He put his hand against his own chest so it was obvious to see the rise and fall of it. "Count in your head. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four." "Know," (gasp) "who you," (gasp) "are. Not having a," (gasp) "stroke." Tony gave Bruce a glare that was meant to be resentful and just came out scared, because there was too much white around his eyes and not enough color in the rest of his face. He was pressed as far back as he would go into the wall, and it felt like that rock in the desert, that split-second before everything went loud and painfully white. Tony made a grab at Bruce's shoulder that was nearest, thinking to protect him, but he remembered where he was just a moment too late, and he halted the movement by jerking himself backward. All idea of resentment or humor completely fled his face. "Okay maybe I am," he said, very fast. Obedient for once in his life, Tony took a breath and counted in his head, as instructed. He was swearing between digits in his head, though. It went something like "one-fuck-two-shit-" and so on. He only managed an actual breath one or two times before he got the hang of it, and it was even longer before he could breathe without shaking. "You're not having a stroke," Bruce said reassuringly. "I'm a doctor, I would know." He knew that Tony's mind was probably telling him all kinds of things that weren't true right now. Including that he was somewhere else, or something was happening around him that wasn't. When he reached out toward Bruce, but then away, Bruce waited a second before reaching out and taking Tony's hand. Palm to palm, a soft attempt to ground him in the physical reality. Not pulling or anything that could be misconstrued as aggressive. A simple touch. He waited while Tony started breathing regularly and kept doing it at the same time. "Now longer. In on a five count, out on a five count. One, two, three, four, five." Bruce was completely calm, or at least he sounded like he was. Breathing exercises were a daily necessity for him. He should have come up sooner. He cursed himself now for waiting, but he was there now. It would have to be enough. "Stay with me, Tony. Focus on where we are. We're in your penthouse. You're home. It's just you and me here. And JARVIS." He wasn't sure what exactly Tony was seeing or thinking, but stating the facts now seemed better than assuming anything. Tony survived a lot of things now. It could be any of them setting him off right then. Tony’s palm was clammy and unpleasant at the touch, and he wrapped his fingers around Bruce’s wrist in a hard grip that he tightened and left in place without looking at the man. Doctor, right. Tony didn’t think of Bruce as much of a doctor, but he used him as a convenient stand-in when people wanted him to “go see a doctor.” He didn’t really rely on the man for medical expertise. It was a different kind of reliance. Tony got his breathing under control, bit by bit, and it felt like he was clawing his way back into sanity. He was doing everything in his power not to think about death-dying-protecting-chest-reactor-Lok Tony didn’t so much let go as push Bruce’s arm away, as if he hadn’t just been holding onto it like a lifeline ten seconds before. Scraping his hands forcefully over his face, he took another forced breath in through his nose, held it with the counting thing, and then out again. “Hey Bruce. Nice of you to stop by.” Leaning forward over his knees, he reached out over the puddle of brandy and gingerly picked up the bottle, which was broken on one side but still mostly intact if you looked at it from a certain angle. Without glancing over at Bruce he lifted the non-broken side and moved to pour some of it into his mouth from the broken edge of the neck. He had decent aim, too. Bruce accepted that hard grip without hesitation, letting Tony use him as a lifeline to focus again. After the incident, he relied on his medical skills, because there was a part of him that thought if he saved a life for every one he took, he could accept his unwanted immortality. So the medical side, that was about redemption, or about atonement. But learning how to be a friend - have a friend - after decades of loneliness? That was something worth living for. On a good day, at least. Tony was his lifeline these days, so it was only fair to be the same. He waited while Tony breathed and focused, and he moved backward when Tony pushed him. Not roughly, but he moved from a crouching position into sitting, relief passing through him that Tony got through the worst of it. For as calm as he'd been, he was afraid too. "No problem, that was practically a yoga lesson, you'll be a pro in no time." Humor was something Tony used as a defense mechanism, and it was an easy one to indulge. Except a moment later he was trying to drink out of a broken bottle, and Bruce was faster at the moment. He reached forward and took the glass right out of Tony's hand. The liquor spilled in the process, but he didn't care about that, setting it out of arm's reach. "Please don't do that," was all he said. Nothing sharp or lecturing. Quiet, sincere, and direct. He got up briefly to pick up a dish towel and pour water on it, coming back down and offering it to him. “I’ve had yoga lessons. You’re a shitty teacher.” Tony gave his friend a lopsided smile. He didn’t look much like himself, because he hadn’t taken the time to carve out his usual dashing beard and goatee, and he had to be at least forty pounds lighter than he had been before the surgeries. All the muscle was gone, and he didn’t even sit fully upright with his usual lounging grace. The energy to throw out words and limbs was missing too, and Tony was generally straining joints and trembling limbs these days. The familiar spark of determination was present in his dark eyes though, and the blue light glowing through the shirt (The Who world tour) was unwavering. Tony didn’t have the coordination to go after the bottle, and he thought too much of himself to chase after liquor. He could barely deal with people handing him things, because when Tony wanted something he procured it for himself and kept it. Tony couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually plucked something out of his hand. He blinked at this unfamiliar reality, and then scowled. “Hey. I’ve just had a very traumatic experience,” he protested, annoyed. Wearing a look of bromidic displeasure, like that of the spoiled child he played so often on tv, Tony took the damp towel without attempting to stand up, and scrubbed his face with it. Some of the color was coming back into his face. "So I've been told. My teaching assistant position and brief stint at teaching college classes were tragic events." Tony did look terrible, but Bruce was used to seeing people at their worst. Then again, this was much more personal. It was going to be a longer recovery process than he expected, or maybe he had a picture in his mind that Tony would somehow bounce back quickly through sheer will power. Which was irrational. He remembered what Pepper said about Tony faced with his mortality, and it was right there in front of them to see. "You're going to have another kind if you mix alcohol with everything else. Also, out of a broken bottle? Come on." He met the annoyance without guilt. Tony could glare at him all he wanted. He noted the color and his body temperature was hopefully dropping. Bruce studied him and knew all the right things to ask for most people, but Tony was not most people. He nudged Tony's shin with his foot gently. Just because. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but you can if you do. Throwing it out there." Tony threw defensive barbs, not confessions. It was still important to have the option. "One time you told me about your nanny when you were fourteen." Tony took a sidelong look at Bruce’s face. The man looked okay. A little rumpled, a little worn, a little sad. Normal Bruce. The guy needed to smile more. Tony was probably not helping the situation, and he’d been so sure that Bruce (his Bruce, thanks) and Selina would be good for each other. Guess he’d been wrong there. Tony sighed. His heart (brain?) was starting to slow down, finally, and he scrubbed at the back of his neck with the towel before tossing it in the puddle of liquor and watching the amber stain the patchwork pattern. “Yeah, you should stick with papers on theory.” It was like Tony was incapable of being nice when he didn’t feel good. He twisted a little uncomfortably on the cold ground. He could still feel a few weeks of immobility and the surgeons knives when he sat still too long, and judging from the sedentary pace that he was regaining muscle, Sleeping Beauty definitely didn’t have it as good as everybody said. Tony looked at his feet spread out in front of him. He had sleek black tennis shoes on that he’d worn maybe twice in his life. He was going to have to change his pants, these ones had brandy and glass on them. Tony frowned again at his shoes. “Guess I still got the cave and the hospital in my head. And that bastard out there-” He felt his pulse thudding in his ears again and let out an explosive breath. Tony started to force himself to move in an attempt to get away from his thoughts, lunging forward and catching the edge of the counter before hauling himself shakily onto his feet. They'd been good for each other until they were bad for each other. Bruce knew how he was, and he knew how it was going to end. He was incredibly stupid for someone so smart. His heart hurt every time he talked to her, but he couldn't stop. And he couldn't talk about it to anyone. Luckily he was always sad, so it was hardly a big difference in temperament. At least he still had Tony. Tony, who wanted him to stay at his home, and give him a lab and some sense of normalcy. That was enough. He smiled wryly at the jab, but it didn't bother him. "I'd have to write them under my new fake name, and I don't want people to start calling me Lenny." Bruce rose when Tony did, reaching out a hand on his arm to steady him. "It's okay, you know. To not shake those things off easily. You survived them, but surviving doesn't always mean healing." He didn't suggest therapy or seeing a doctor. That would come at a different date, when it wasn't so fresh. "I still get tense when someone only grabs me when I'm not expecting it. It doesn't even need to be violent. Twenty years dead and he's still in my head." He told Tony about the abuse before, and he understood the frustration. Of wanting it to just stop, and what it meant that he wasn't strong enough to make it go away. "I'm just saying, you're not alone. You have people who love you, and we're here for you. You can tell me anything you want. What do you need from me right now?" Bruce could clean up the floor or get him clean clothes. Tony didn’t think Bruce and Selina had been a stupid endeavor at all. In fact, if the two of them had skipped in front of him holding hands, he would have been pleased to see it. Tony was, at heart, something of an optimist in the romantic area. He liked to assume that everything was okay, or would be okay, or was likely to work out in his favor. This was probably because generally, Tony got who/what-ever he wanted, and when he thought that other people were revolving around him, he felt better about his life. Optimism came in strange forms. Tony took a breath that did not grow any more steady, but lost some of its reliability as it broke halfway into his lungs. He tried again, with no more success that time. At least his pulse wasn’t speeding up. He kept darting looks around the room, as if expecting to see the red lights blinking, not sure if he was still alive without the damn lights to tell him so. “None of us have time to…” Tony made a sharp gesture with one hand toward the floor. “I can’t be in pieces again. It’s been months.” Tony scowled, as if Bruce was directly responsible for how long it was taking him to recover. “I don’t need anything from you,” Tony said, resentfully, looking Bruce in the eyes. “You don’t always have to take care of me. It was a temporary phase. I got worried because it looked like I was dying for like… two seconds. Maybe three.” Tony shook his head. Lenny was the worst name ever. Ever. The experience with Selina set back his progress to nearly the worst place he could be. Back before he first joined the Avengers and thought maybe optimism was a possibility. Now it was like a bleeding wound with no chance of cauterizing it. Still, he was trying. He was in the tower. He talked to people. He tried to problem solve with Steve instead of running, which didn't go well, but it was an attempt so it meant something. But it was no secret that Tony was responsible for his current whereabouts. Maybe unconsciously sticking close to the only person who made him feel better was his way of getting comfort. "We make the time to put the pieces back together. Crane's over. The city's recovering and so are you. You have the time. It's okay. I know you're frustrated, but we can come up with things to do here. New projects." Bruce's response to the scowl was calm as usual, because one of them needed to be. He took the resentment too, and anything else that might be flung at him. He glanced at the mess, making mental notes on what needed to be done in the place to clean it up. He could handle all of that, so Tony wouldn't have to deal with broken glass in the morning. He sighed and leaned on the counter, shaking his curly head. He didn't break eye contact since Tony made it. "You would do the same for me. You do the same for me, ever since we met." The one back home, and the Tony that was here. No matter which one he was around, it always ended up that way. "I'm not your caretaker, I'm your friend, and you can yell at me if it makes you feel better. But I'm not leaving." He meant that night, in particular, because he wasn't going to leave Tony in case of another one. But in general too. Tony had so few friends he barely noticed they were there. Once the status of friend became intimate, they were almost a part of his life, little puzzle pieces, more supportive than money, more important than his inventions, as alien as…. well, as people could be. Machines made sense. People could be unpredictable. Tony strove to be unpredictable, just to remind people that he was normal and human and extraordinary, all at once. People usually cooperated by being impressed. “We only think we have time,” Tony replied, showing signs of growing agitated again only with sudden flashes of his teeth through a grim smirk and a tightening around his eyes and knuckles. “We think that right before something blows the fuck up, Bruce. And Loki is going to come back, looking for trouble.” His voice was picking up speed again, and he leaned heavily into the counter, frowning ever deeper. “Selina was asking… if I could protect…” Tony took a sharp breath in, and he was about to say something at Bruce, probably something cruel, when he caught sight of the suit, standing rather close and watching curiously. Tony pointed a commanding arm at it. “You! Get back over there where you belong. I shouldn’t have made you ambulatory.” Tony whirled back toward Bruce and gave him a very awkward bro smack on the shoulder. “There are projects… lots of alien tech the last invasion left behind. You wouldn’t believe some of the circuitry….” He took another breath, forcing it slow. "If Loki comes back, we'll be ready for him. We've beaten him several times now, we can do it again." Bruce hesitated and dropped his eyes. Shame rippled through him, and guilt, because Loki was only free right now due to the Hulk. Free and causing nightmares for Tony. "I'm sorry we let him - I let him - escape. But that also means the big guy's looking for payback. I'm not sure he'll let Loki get up again next time he gets his hands on him." He wasn't sure why the Hulk didn't kill the god the first time, but he wouldn't make that mistake again. Bruce's personal feelings on that were varied. "You're not alone, Tony. We all protect. Together." He assumed Tony would probably snap at him with something, and he steeled himself for it. Bruce was no stranger to being on the receiving end of cruel comments, whether he deserved them or not. He turned his head toward the suit. "I didn't think a suit could look crestfallen, but it kind of does." He smiled, a real one not slight or wry, at the smack on his shoulder. Projects he could talk about, and come up with ways to distract his friend until his concerns were slightly less burning under the surface. "I was wondering about their weapons. Some of the electrical charges, the ones used to stun prisoners, were very precise. Different than ours, there were a variety of settings. I could tell because all versions were used on me at some point." And! "We talked about creating a place where the Avengers could use their powers and train together. It would have to be big and highly sophisticated." See, there were things to do, and team building exercises seemed increasingly valuable at this point. "Wanda said they have something like it at the Avengers Mansion, but I feel like we can do better." And bigger. Tony tilted his head to the side when Bruce dropped his eyes. One of the good things about Tony, he wasn’t all caught up in blame and who did what. It was clear from his expression that he had forgotten entirely who had been responsible for Loki’s escape, and blame was honestly the farthest from his mind. He’d gone a slight detour thinking about ways they could kill Loki and then tell Thor it had been an accident without completely lying. Hulk was probably one of those ways. Sadly, Tony wasn’t quite clinical enough to use Bruce that way. The man was a friend, and for Tony, Hulk = Bruce and Bruce = Hulk. They were different forms of the same person. “It’s not really crestfallen,” Tony said, tearing his eyes away to look at the suit. “It’s working off base code. I made a mistake a while ago with that code, so there are some basic defensive reactions when I get--” Tony coughed. “--When it seems like I’m in danger. But it doesn’t overreact.” Tony squinted at the suit as if it was a bad child. It went back to pretending it was asleep on its charging cords. “Training is good. We should focus on things that can take him out, though.” Distracted, Tony thought about moving back over to where the suit was, but he didn’t think his legs would last him that long. Ugh, he needed more protein shakes. When would he be able to get around, for God’s sake. He moved for a nearer, more reasonable goal, a chair about three feet away. He tipped into it and tried to pretend the collapse was natural. Bruce was always caught up in blame and guilt. It was difficult for him to really understand or feel happiness, because there was always a part of him that said he wasn't deserving of it. After everything that happened, and everything that probably would happen in the future. He was still very aware of Loki being his fault. As for letting the Hulk take the god down, that was a complicated situation he hadn't made a decision on. He hadn't intentionally set off his darker side with the specific goal to kill someone before. Fight for other people, yes, protect their life, yes, but assassination? That might be a little too far for him, although it was clearly on his mind as a possibility. Bruce frowned and looked over at the suit again. "I can see the potential benefit of that, outside of the obvious fact it can react to a different kind of emergency." He vaguely remembered being told about how some of them were keyed into Tony that way, in their future. Something about them unconsciously reacting to nightmares and panic attacks. "You might want to correct the code, when you have the chance." It took a certain amount of steel to stop himself from helping Tony to the chair. He knew his friend wouldn't appreciate it. "Weapons only do so much, if people aren't trained in how to use them properly. Or how to work as a team properly. We could have done better during the alien attack." It wasn't a criticism, since they did well, but at the same time, it was a slapdash sort of response. "But he did go down fairly easily to brute strength. It wasn't even a challenge for the other guy." The problem was getting hands on him. "I'm getting you more clothes. Don't glare at daggers on me over it." Bruce warned him first, so he didn't think his friend was disappearing on him. Then penthouse wasn't impossible to navigate, so he came back with a set that was similar to what Tony was wearing now. “The ‘obvious fact’ you just mentioned slipped by me last time. That’s how I met half these scrubby teenagers with too much power. The suits got away from me, and they decided they were going to go take them--the suits, I mean--out, and then there was a battle. It just made me worse, and that made the suits worse, and then..” Tony paused, breaking out into a sweat again and closing one fist over the other as he worked his fingers into his opposite palm. “You can imagine.” He stirred and tried to regain his previous platform. “But now. He doesn’t do that. Can’t tie it to heart rate and adrenaline.” Tony pointed at the robot. It made a tiny little whirring sound as it tipped its head. “Doing diagnostics now,” Tony said, obviously babbling but unable to make himself stop. “Picking up more than just me. Looking for the enemy. There’s not one, so it’s not slicing walls in half.” Tony looked pleased with himself--to the extent he was able in that state, anyway. “Don’t get too cocky about handling Loki, big man,” Tony said, losing his self-satisfied look and narrowing his eyes at his friend. “He’s always a challenge, in one way or another.” Tony sighed and lifted one toe to stare at his shoes. They were still new. New, white shoes. Not the cave, not anywhere. New shoes at home. Breathe. Right. “Bring me more of that bottle you broke,” Tony added. “You owe me.” Not that Bruce had broke it, but details. Bruce smiled wryly. "To be fair, obvious isn't always obvious to me either. I get wrapped up in projects and what they can do more than what they should do, even now." He should have learned better by now, since his biggest mistake was one he had to live with actively forever. But his mind got away with him. He reacted to things instead of thinking them all the way through. "So I can imagine yes." He could imagine worse too. Much worse. "Glad to hear he's not picking me up as an enemy. Aw, you do care." He was gently teasing, because he could tell Tony was babbling and still trying to get it together. And humor was a nice off-set for him. "In my time you made suits that could come to you from a very long distance, but it took some tweaking that started out more like this. Figuring out the safest routes, how not to react to the wrong things. Trial and error, you know that." Bruce found Tony's creations fascinating. "I'm not being cocky, I'm stating a general fact. Brutal strength, something strong and direct, doesn't give him time to use his tricks. It doesn't have to be the Hulk." They had other heavy hitters. A suit for example, just on its own without a mind behind it but only directions, could also be useful. Bruce set down the clothes near to Tony, and then gave him a pointed look. "You know I'm not going to enable that. There aren't a lot of times I'd say no to you, but this is one of them." He was weak when it came to the people he cared about, he knew that, but he also wanted them to live. So the latter always won out. Tony let the stories of his past errors go. It wasn’t that they weren’t important, it was just that recently they kept stealing his oxygen, and he needed it. Roughly, he dried his palms on the flat cushions of the chair on either side of him, working the material into his skin so he could get a better grip on it. He propped his weight on his palms, locked his elbows, and dragged himself back a couple inches. He’d done it several times when he was in the hospital bed, but this time, he didn’t act like his entire chest was falling into his ribs. Sitting back on his shoulder blades, he once again made a concerted effort to breathe. “I have several models that come to me,” Tony remarked, raising both eyebrows at the idea of being ahead (behind? parallel?) of his other self. Usually stories and commentary of other versions of him made Tony both annoyed and anxious, but not today. Having other versions of himself fuck up their lives was the least of his worries. He needed to deal with the one he had. As for Loki--Tony just shook his head. He didn’t think the same trick would work on the bastard twice. He wasn’t planning on going into it just then. He set his mouth askew and gave Bruce a quizzical look. “A drink isn’t going to kill me. Don’t be a drama queen.” Bruce watched him carefully, not wanting to appear worried or hover, but reassuring himself that Tony was breathing and not going to be set off again. He inwardly relaxed, letting his own breathing steady completely. Coming in to see Tony pale and barely keeping it together was anxiety provoking, and the other guy genuinely cared about Tin Man himself, so he was aware. There was no danger in either of them toward Tony, he was the safest person in the world when it came to the split-personality of Bruce Banner. "A drink with the meds you're on is not a good idea to start with. Alcohol also dehydrates, and you're already dehydrated right now." Which meant Bruce almost immediately went over to pour Tony water. With all the sweat that was pouring out of Tony, it was stupid of him not to think of that immediately. He brought the glass over and insistently offered it to Tony. "I already told you, as soon as it's safe for you to drink, we'll have one. Sorry to be a killjoy, it's just my natural state of being." He glanced back at the suit, thoughtful for a moment, and then returned his attention to Tony. "I'm going to clean up the glass, you don't want to step on that in the morning. It's not the best wake up call. You could change. I hope you don't mind me couch surfing for the night, the up side being I'll be in charge of breakfast. Whatever you want. Within reason." Bruce wasn't going to budge on that part. He wasn't going to go back to his area and anxiously stay up all night wondering if Tony was set off again. He wasn't going to leave him alone. The look on Tony’s face was distracted surprise. It was the same look that he wore when he tripped over a pizza box or pressed a button that caused a large explosion, a how did that get there? sort of look. It wasn’t that he forgot about what meds he was taking (and there were several, to keep his weak body from catching some deathly illness, for the extravagant pain, even for the muscles that were slow to build up). It was that once he swallowed them, they vanished out of the front of his mind. JARVIS and Pepper generally took care of making sure he got them--at least, the ones he didn’t need for the pain. Still healing from two sessions of scalpels and a couple different versions of cardiac arrest, Tony took care of the pain meds on his own, thanks. Bruce’s argument against a drink got a grudging hmph of acknowledgment. He shrugged at the idea of the man being a killjoy, generally accepting of the state of things. No drink then. That was okay. He wasn’t in the middle of one of the shaking terror fits, so he could live with it. “Fine, I guess.” Tony glanced at the glass. “I don’t… I must have dropped it. I was talking to Selina, and my chest… no, my lungs, got all tight…” Tony trailed off, frowning, staring at the puddle creeping out from behind the counter. Unconsciously, he laid his palm over the light on his chest and dragged his hand over it. “Yeah, you can stay. I think I’m… going to put on a movie, or something.” Tony turned his head and stared blankly at one wall. Some invisible projector somewhere turned on, and without comment, JARVIS started playing The Love Bug. Herbie zipped across the screen. The film was on mute. Tony took the water and just held the glass for a few seconds, lips pressed together. “...Thank you.” Bruce was probably going to try and find out exactly what Tony was on. He was given access to his doctors beforehand, although he was positive that Pepper and JARVIS were keeping an eye on him too. They'd done it a lot longer than Bruce, but he was going to worry either way. With all the trauma Tony's body had been through lately, overdoing meds was one more thing he couldn't take. He was visibly relieved when Tony dropped the alcohol request, but he doubted that was the end of it. As long as there was liquor somewhere around Tony, it was going to come up again. He'd have to think that through and try to handle it. "It's okay, I've got it." About the spill. "You know any time your lungs get like that, you can let me know. Or JARVIS can. I'm only a few floors down now." Bruce knew there would be a next time, the way Tony had been asking. He hoped not, but the reality said something different. And someone had to be there. He glanced over his shoulder to see The Love Bug and smiled. "I don't remember the last time I saw Herbie." Many, many years ago. He hadn't seen a movie in years. "You're welcome," he said softly and sincerely. "Thank you for letting me stay." Now and in general. |