Walking the Path Between Welcome and Exile (2/5)
Story information; Chapter One - Tony, Chapter Two - Natasha
Clint
“That painting? Pretty sure it has a twin in a conference room at Culver University,” Bruce pointed out. In fact, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s group meeting room seemed to be a clone of the boring basement room in Culver's biophysics building.
Bruce walked around the perimeter of this room Natasha had escorted him to, stopping at the coffee machine set up on the small hospitality cart. He hesitated, his paranoia kicking up again. What if the coffee was drugged? Why this room?
Natasha left her place by the doorway, and he thought she moved like a dancer, like a gymnast, (like an assassin.) She filled a styrofoam cup to the brim, sipped it down a little, and handed it to him.
“Am I wrong, to be so... careful?” Their eyes met and he wondered what his own were giving away to her.
“Being careful is never wrong, Doctor Banner. In fact, I think any agents who are assigned to you would appreciate it if you could be a little more careful. You have a way of falling right into trouble, Bruce.”
He arched his eyebrows at that statement.
She quirked hers up in reply. “I read all of your file on the way to Kolkata. You don't, as they say, have a leg to stand on.”
“I don't go looking for trouble.” He tried, he really tried, to keep a low profile while he moved from place to place.
Her expression warring between a trace of a smile and skepticism, she said, “It's adorable that you think that. Bruce, you can't seem to help yourself. All the people you tried to help, it's all in writing.”
Embarrassed, he leaned against the wall and hoped she'd drop the conversation. He drank his coffee slowly. He needed the caffeine. And he was hungry. His stomach growled, and Natasha looked amused for a brief moment. He had a sudden flashback of her looking terrified at him instead.
“The pizzas and the team will be arriving soon. Agent Barton is bringing a copy of your file and should be here any minute. A paper copy. You're not cleared to use any of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s computers.”
The door opened and Hawkeye - everybody had such dramatic nicknames, Black Widow, Captain America, Iron Man -- walked in, a thick file in his hand. He went to Natasha and Bruce was reminded again of what he'd seen in that little shawarma place. A quick touch and eye contact between them, and Natasha nodded.
Clint said softly, but Bruce heard him clearly enough, “He's awake. Go and see him, Tasha.”
She glanced at Bruce and he gave her a little wave of his fingers.
“Save me some of the pizza, Bruce. Don't let Clint and Thor eat it all.”
She left, and Bruce studied his new babysitter.
Barton had his gear with him, ready to be used, Bruce supposed, in case of some kind of attack. He was curious about the archer's trick arrows. Maybe Tony had engineered them. He wondered what else S.H.I.E.L.D. agents did when they weren't saving the world or following him around. They'd all seemed very involved and serious and busy on the helicarrier. Well, except for the guy who'd been playing video games instead of tracking what he was supposed to be watching. Tony had spotted him. It had been funny and had made him feel a little more relaxed since he'd had proof that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were capable of acting like human beings after all.
Barton put the file down near Bruce and hopped up on the table to sit cross-legged, far enough away from Bruce that there was no danger of encroaching on his personal space. Bruce wasn't sure if that was to make him feel comfortable or for Barton's peace of mind.
Bruce threw away the empty cup and slid into a seat. He opened the file and squinted a little - he had no idea what had happened to his glasses - and read the first page. Mostly it was photos and demographics - his birth-date; that he'd been born in Dayton, Ohio; employment history before the accident; and a list of jobs he'd worked as he'd fled from country to country.
He paused to touch the names of some of the restaurants or places where he'd been employed as a undocumented day laborer, doing just about anything - plumbing, electrical work, digging ditches, gardening -- and remembered some of the people he'd worked alongside of over the years. Marta's baby would be starting school now, and Jimmy and Gina would have celebrated their third wedding anniversary. Jason and Enrique, Sally and Maria, they were all people he'd found some comfort with, although he turned down their offers of sex. He just couldn't take the risk of elevating his pulse. Two hundred heartbeats a minute was a physical threshold for involuntary transformation.
Barton was playing with a pen and watching him closely, he realized, and Bruce shot him a wry smile.
“Just taking a trip down memory lane,” Bruce reassured him and turned his attention to the rest of the page.
Of course, his educational record, including his graduation from Harvard Summa Cum Laude from the MD/PhD program in Health Sciences &Technology and Biophysics, was there. Harvard was where he'd met Betty; they'd both volunteered as test subjects for an experiment in hallucinations. Those had been good times, aside from the whole melting your brain experience. Fury had added a personal note that Banner had always had a tendency towards self-experimentation.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had listed his known aliases, including his current ones. He'd have to rustle up some new ones.
The height and weight section included a notation that his weight tended to fluctuate depending on his resources.
He looked at Barton, a little incredulous. “So... I lose ten pounds when I'm broke and that gets added to my file?”
“Sure, Doc. Anything and everything, it all goes in the paperwork.”
“Agent Romanoff, she said you used to tail me?”
“For nine weeks. You were hanging around in Guatemala before you left on that medical charity boat to Sierra Leone.” Barton grinned, and his stoic features transformed into something a lot more mischievous. “Won a bet on your love life while I was assigned to you, Doc. Sucks to be you, though.”
“I... what love life?”
“That was the point, genius. Oh, you'll smile and be nice to them, and the boys and girls get all dewy-eyed, but kissing is as far as you go.” Barton flipped the pen into the air and caught it again. “You kiss'em usually ten minutes before you're out the door and off to a new place.”
Bruce felt like rolling his eyes. He supposed this was another sort of test, to see if he could handle teasing without getting moody and hulking out. If he could tolerate Tony Stark jabbing pointy things in his side to see if his eyes would turn green, he could handle one mouthy S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.
Bruce studied his fingers. “Just practicing safe sex. By which I mean it's safer if I don't have sex. How much did you win?”
“Two hundred bucks.”
Bruce felt his eyebrows go up. “You owe me at least a beer, Hawkeye. Maybe some nachos to go with it.”
“Decide to stick around, and I'll pay up, Doc.” Barton grinned at him again, and Bruce decided he didn't want to know if there were any current pools being run on his staying or leaving.
“Mm-hm. And I bet that you were sent to tag after me as a punishment detail. What'd you do to annoy Fury?”
Barton laughed outright. “It's classified. Commit to being an Avenger, sign the paperwork, and I'll tell you.”
Bruce made a non-committal sound and began speed-reading through the documents. The earliest ones were copies of army records. The disastrous experiment was documented, the damage and bodily injury he'd done as the Hulk, the people killed as he'd shattered the building, a notation that his research, and Betty's, had been appropriated from Culver University. Psychological profile. Family history. An email to Betty that Ross had intercepted in February of 2006. Interviews with witnesses across the US and in other countries who'd had interactions with Bruce Banner or the Hulk. Reports of attempts to trap him, and estimates of his abilities. An inventory of lab equipment and notes left in the rooms he'd had to abandon. Property damage and casualty lists.
He paused after reading the report on two hunters he was believed to have killed in Canada.
Shaking his head, he said, “No. That couple in Canada, three years ago? That was not me. I called the authorities and told them where the bodies were, but they were dead when I got there.”
“Okay, Doctor Banner. Duly noted.” Bruce took a few moments to regulate his breathing. Hawkeye had sounded a little too soothing when he'd replied. Bruce wasn't anywhere close to losing it, but there was no need to panic his babysitter.
Ross had gotten close to catching him several times, and he frowned when he read how he'd been traced to the bottling plant in Brazil. That cut on his finger. His damn blood had gotten in a bottle after all, and some man had been hospitalized because of gamma poisoning. It had tripped a flag in the system and he'd had to leave his dog and run for it. He hoped the dog had survived. The army had gotten his laptop, and there were printouts of all his emails to Mr. Blue. That was how he'd been tracked down by General Ross the last time he'd come to New York.
After the fight in Harlem, though, S.H.I.E.L.D. had been in charge of searching for him, not the army. Ross hadn't been happy about the hand-off, according to the terse emails fired off to Fury in his file. He didn't agree with Fury placing Bruce on Threat Level Red, surveillance only. S.H.I.E.L.D. had rescinded his status as an alleged domestic terrorist, too.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him a codename when they'd taken over. It fit, he supposed, to be given the name of the first man who'd lost control of his anger and killed. Cain had been condemned to wander the earth, and be shunned by others. He remembered part of a quote from the bible, “A fugitive and a vagabond thou shalt be.” A little over-dramatic, but a correct assessment of his past and his future.
He closed the file and pushed it across the table to Barton. “I'm done.” He kept his voice soft, neutral. The truth was the truth; he'd learned to live with it.
“You didn't finish it.” Barton accurately opened the file to the last document Bruce had read. “What did you read? You just - shut down.”
“I've seen enough. Oh, and S.H.I.E.L.D. spelled my codename wrong. It's C-a-i-n. You know, I'm not really hungry. I'll skip the pizza. Think I'll walk back to Tony's place.”
“Doctor Banner, are you all right? Want to take some deep breaths?”
Barton thought he was getting upset. He wasn't. He'd made sure to not raise his voice or clench his fists. The other guy wasn't going to show up. Not yet.
“What's going to happen, Agent Barton, when I leave this room, this building? Am I in custody, or are you guys going to start following me around again?”
All those years of running, fruitlessly trying to find a cure. He could feel his heart start to pound in his chest. Anger, the child of fear, rose in him at the thought of being hounded, pursued.
He got up fast, but his new keeper had been faster. He found an arrow was aimed straight at him, and Barton was blocking the door.
“It won't hurt you, but it will knock you out. Don't make me use it, Doc. You can leave later, when you calm down.”
“The other guy will show up before any sedative takes hold, if I know I'm being drugged. I, ah, thought I'd do myself and the world a favor a while ago and check out, but it didn't work. Don't make me angry, Barton. Just let me leave now. New York's been beat up enough, don't you think?” Bruce had spoken in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice, but Barton was still pointing that arrow at him.
“Thought the deal with anger management was knowing that nobody can make you feel angry, only you can decide how to feel, how to react. Yeah, I've had some classes. What? You think you're the only one who ever smashed stuff up when he got ticked off?” Barton's eyes flicked toward the chair Bruce had abandoned. “Let's sit down and talk for a minute, okay, Doc? Do that, and I'll put this away. Prove to me that you can stay settled down and I'll walk you out of here.”
Narrowing his eyes, Bruce weighed what Barton had said as the seconds ticked by, then he closed his eyes for a moment and let the tension slide out of his body. He sighed, then did as Barton had asked and sat back down, put his hands on the table. Barton lowered his bow, put the arrow in his quiver, and pulled up a chair several seats away from Bruce. Waiting for Barton to decide that he wasn't in danger of hulking out, Bruce stared at his hands, willing them to behave and not fidget.
“You think we nicknamed you after the guy who murdered his brother in the Bible, don't you?”
“Didn't you? It fits.” Barton looked at him sharply, and Bruce wanted to reel in the sound of his own voice, because, yeah, that bitter note was not neutral. He strived for neutral.
Barton leaned forward. “Look, the agent in charge who came up with that name back when S.H.I.E.L.D. got your case is a giant nerd, all right? And he'd already spent a lot of time interviewing people who you'd helped and some who helped you when you changed from being the Hulk. And then there was the meditation you learned how to do, and those beginner classes you took in martial arts. Also? The shoes issue. You did a lot of manual work, not to mention the doctoring you did. And you're wandering around all the time. Let's not forget that part.”
Bruce massaged his temples for a moment or two before laying his hands back down, sure that the headache that was creeping around the corner would make a full-blown entrance within seconds.
“My shoes?”
“Lack of shoes. You'd turn big and green, bust your shoes up, and end up barefoot. So, we got a soft-spoken, barefoot guy with Zen kind of thinking, who meditates and works hard at mostly lousy jobs, wandering from place to place, dead broke usually. A healer, who's been known to flip somebody over his shoulder once in a while.” Barton gave him a wicked grin and widened his eyes. He looked like he was daring Bruce to make a guess about whose name they'd given him.
Bruce gave up keeping his hands still and scrubbed them over his face. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
“C-a-i-n- e. Kwai Chang Caine. See the resemblance? We didn't forget how dangerous you can be, Doc. But it was pretty clear that you weren't trying to terrorize anybody, except when Ross tried to capture you or you landed in a very bad situation.”
His muscles had tensed up again, but he relaxed them after Barton said that ridiculous analogy. Starting to wonder just how screwy you had to be to qualify as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, he protested, “I don't have a tiger or dragon branded on my arms, you know. I'm not a Shaolin priest. I'm a very lapsed Catholic.”
He pointed a finger at Barton. “And you know what? Forget buying me one beer, I think you owe me a six-pack, on behalf of all those other agents with too much time on their hands doing surveillance on me.”
Barton chuckled. “Doc, we never had a spare minute. Between the attention from Hydra and those drug dealers in Puerto Barrios, not to mention just generally getting in the middle of feuds, you were high maintenance.”
Bruce reluctantly smiled at him. “Sorry.” He bit his lip and slid his hands under the table, hiding them, so he could twist them together.
The impulse to run that had flooded through him earlier was gone. He was reckless, he knew that, but there would be a better time to leave. S.H.I.E.L.D. was at least giving him a long leash. He'd find the right time to slip it.
“Am I a prisoner?” He said it quietly, watching Barton's eyes.
“No.” Barton got up from his chair and moved right next to Bruce, sitting down on the table, legs dangling over the side. He nudged Bruce with his foot. “I meant what I said. I'll walk you out of here when we're done with this conversation, if that's what you really want to do. But Fury doesn't think you should be out on your own right now. And in my opinion, and I do have one, Fury is still assessing you and what you could bring to the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. He's deciding if the benefits outweigh the costs. He doesn't want to track you down half-way across the world while he figures this out, that's why he's asking - nicely for Fury - if you would stay the hell put. Camp out at Stark's place. Keep Tony Stark busy playing science bros with you and out of Fury's imaginary hair, and he'd probably hire you for that reason alone.”
“So you would have knocked me out for my own good?” Bruce said slowly, looking up at Barton.
“Yeah. There's already a precedent for the team. Ask Natasha sometime if she'll tell you about it,” Barton said.
“I'll meditate on it. Remember the lessons from my masters.”
“Grasshopper, using sarcasm like that will help you fit right in around here. Stick with us, Doc. I think the Avengers could do some good together.”
“Ah. 'Don't think about where you have come from, or where you will go; the one is not so good and the other you may not want to know.' And that's your Zen for today.” He said it out loud to amuse Barton, but actually it was something he told himself often.
“Coulson is going to love hearing that you said something Zen.” Barton was snickering.
“He's alive? He's the giant nerd?”
“Yeah. He made it. It was close, though.” Barton's expression had changed and gone very flat.
“Tony told me that Fury said he'd died.” Fury would lie, then. Bruce would remember that.
“Fury is a 'the means justifies the end' kind of guy.”
“I'm a little surprised he let me see my file,” Bruce said.
“He didn't. Team decision. Natasha and I talked it over with Cap, and Tony and Thor gave it a thumbs up.”
Bruce felt his breath go a little ragged and he didn't know why. He was spared thinking it through by the arrival of Tony and Thor carrying between them seven boxes of large pizzas, and Steve Rogers hefting a large cooler through the doorway and setting it on the table.
Clint jumped up and rooted through the cooler, then handed Bruce a Dos Equis.
“Cheers, Kwai Chang.”
Steve looked at him and Clint oddly, and then shook his head. “What was it this time, a movie, book, historical figure?”
Clint pulled out another Dos Equis and clinked it against Bruce's. “Old TV show called Kung Fu. We can catch some episodes some time, cause they're great. We'll make Bruce watch them with us.”
Rolling his eyes, because he couldn't resist doing it any longer, Bruce decided that Coulson wasn't the only nerd in S.H.I.E.L.D.
He'd finished two beers and three slices of pizza by the time Natasha joined them. He silently handed her the rest of the box he'd been guarding from the others.
She touched his arm. “Thank you.” The smile on her face was reserved, but he thought it was genuine.
Then again, she was a master at her work. Clint wasn't bad either.
Hawkeye had been talkative, friendly, teasing, even if he had been prepared to tranquilize Bruce, and that behavior seemed at odds with the quiet, intense, and vigilant man he'd appeared to be when Bruce had first met him.
Being nice, that could be an act, to lull him into cooperating. But maybe Clint Barton was this way when he wasn't on a mission. It sounded like Clint considered himself an Avenger, and accepted the others as his teammates. Or he wanted Bruce to think that, anyway. He and Natasha were still S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, though, and which way would they jump if the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. disagreed with each other? If Fury ordered them to take him down? Well, they couldn't, but he didn't like that they could have divided loyalties over him.
He decided that people were complicated. Dogs were simple, and he missed the stray he'd taken care of when he lived in Rocinha. He hoped someone in the favela had taken him in.
Bruce didn't really talk to anybody as they sat around the table and ate. They talked to him, though, and he listened to the stories and jokes. He was full of pizza and beer and tired and being with this group of people was starting to feel comfortable.
That was dangerous.
The other five had become intertwined. He could see it in their body language and voice tone. And him. He felt that connection, too, as much as he kept trying to ease himself back to being an outsider. They'd become... comrades, the bonds between them forged in battle. Probably that feeling would fade, after a time. These people were all strong individuals with strong opinions. There was bound to be clashes in the future between them, after all.
He did finally ask something he'd been wondering about, after he'd talked privately to Steve about not agreeing to play lab rat for anybody, but especially not for General Ross.
“Did, ah, all of you sign up for future Avengers duty?” He thought they had, from the conversations he'd been listening to, but it was best not to assume.
“Yes, but Clint and I will work with S.H.I.E.L.D. on other assignments when we're not needed for the team,” Natasha said. Clint nodded in agreement.
“Avengers, yes. S.H.I.E.L.D. as a consultant, yes. Jumping whenever Fury says to hop to it - no. Sorry, Captain. I'm still not a soldier.” Tony raised his beer in a toast - to himself? “But Cap, you call the Avengers to assemble for a mission and I'll be there.”
Steve said, “Thank you, Tony. You know, the Army declared me dead a long time ago, when they changed my classification from missing in action to killed in action. That ended my stint, and I'm not re-enlisting. I took the assignment from S.H.I.E.L.D. to be the team leader of the Avengers, and I intend to keep it. But I'd like a chance to go on leave. I saw a lot of the states and Europe when the Army assigned me to do PR work, but there wasn't time to really take in the sights. Just do a show, and travel to the next town. In battle, you can't really focus on scenic views. I was just a kid from Brooklyn before I went into the Army. I'd only been up to the city or to New Jersey before.”
He turned to Bruce. “You've traveled a lot, Doctor Banner. Maybe we could talk sometime about places you've been that I might like to see. I have a motorcycle. How did you travel usually?”
Bruce held up his thumb. “With this, mostly. And I walked a lot. Sometimes I could afford buses, or boats. I've used snowshoes in Canada. I avoided planes; too much security. I have seen some beautiful sights, rainforests and mountains, glaciers.”
Thor said, “Midgard indeed is a lovely world. It has changed much since the Jotunheim fought to own it, many years ago, but it is still breathtaking. I wonder that the people of Earth do not take better care of this jewel, though.”
“Green energy - that's the way to go. Stark Tower is totally powered by arc reactor tech. Bruce, wait till I show you around and you see the labs, you're going to love it. Tonight, okay?” Tony sounded eager, and Bruce didn't want to disappoint him but he knew himself well enough after all the times he'd transformed to know he'd have to crash soon.
“If I'm not too wiped out. Sorry,” Bruce said apologetically. “Blame the other guy.”
“I, too, have pledged my protection to Midgard and if I can I will stand with the Avengers to battle any foes that threaten this world. And my friends, I ask your indulgence. Tomorrow morning I will take Loki home to Asgard. Your council, Nick Fury has informed me, have agreed to let Odin punish Loki for his crimes against the people of Midgard. The tesseract will power our return, and be safely kept in Asgard. Odin has pledged it. It would be fitting if those who defeated Loki stood witness for your fair world that Loki has been returned to Asgard for judgment. As for myself, I would find great comfort in your company.”
Bruce decided he'd stay. Thor had not talked about his brother to Bruce, or to any of them, he thought. He didn't want to tell Thor that he once had a mother, until his father had killed her, and that even so, a part of him had continued to love his father, and mourned him when he'd died. Thor loved his brother, and when he looked out at Bruce tomorrow, Loki his prisoner, Bruce thought that instead of seeing hate directed at Loki, Thor should see understanding instead.
Thor
Late in the evening, before he and Tony had left the others in the nondescript lobby of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mid Manhattan office, Clint had given him a light punch on his bicep and Natasha another small touch on his arm. Steve had laid a hand on his shoulder, and Thor had clapped him on the back. Bruce was a little startled about all of that. Sometimes he went for weeks without another human being touching him. Sometimes he said goodbye to new-made friends with a kiss and a hug to indulge himself, to steal away a memory to savor.
He told Tony they'd better do the tour of the labs tomorrow. Tony hadn't even argued about that, so he must look as tired as he felt. Plus, he was kind of a lightweight when it came to alcohol. It was one of the reasons that he rarely drank, despite his demanding beer from Clint as his cut of that silly bet about his sex life. That had been... what? Indulging in a little fun with a teammate? He didn't know. It had been a long time since he'd been part of a group, and he was rusty at it.
Two beers wasn't going to even start to get him drunk, but they loosened him up, made him feel a little sleepy.
Being a lightweight wasn't the only reason why he didn't drink much. The real reason? He feared the ghost of his father might possess him if he became too drunk. He remembered the sequence so well. Cause and effect, and the budding scientist in him had taken careful notes. Chug the beer, gulp the whiskey, then rage through the house, destroy things, hurt people. Kill people.
“C'mon, big guy. Happy's waiting.” Tony slung his arm around him and steered him towards the car. Tony, he decided, was just very tactile. He wouldn't read anything more into these gestures than that. He let Tony keep touching him, though. It would make a good memory.
* * *
In the end, there was little to say to Thor before he and Loki departed the next morning. Thor was sad and grim. Even Tony had been subdued, respecting Thor's anguish over his brother's fate.
Thor had clasped arms with each of the other Avengers, and he'd said quiet words to each of them. Then he escorted Loki to the place of departure, while the Avengers stood as the just witnesses for the Earth.
To Bruce, he had said should the Hulk wish to spar, he would be most glad to oblige him. He thanked him once again for joining in the battle, and expressed his utmost desire that Bruce continue to be an Avenger. Bruce made a non-committal sound and Thor took him by the shoulders.
“My brother forced your mighty warrior free without your consent or guidance, and I shall carry your grievance to Odin. He will judge Loki. I am sorry for the harm he did to you, and I shall pay any price you ask, in Loki's name.”
Bruce's gut clenched when he looked up at Thor. He hated talking about his father, but he would. He thought that Thor needed him to do this.
“I don't hold you responsible for your brother, Thor. And, um, listen. I've got some experience with this. Somebody you love, family, they do something awful, terrible, and you're angry with them and disappointed and sad and maybe even scared of them, but sometimes, you still love them. Maybe you hate them, too, at times, but the love for them, it's still there. It's, ah, okay if you feel that way.”
Thor's eyes were really very, very blue. Looking intently at Bruce a moment longer, he drew him into a rib-cracking hug that lifted him off the ground. Thor set him down and Bruce felt himself redden, discomfited for a moment.
“You are wise, my friend, and I shall remember your words of comfort. Fare thee well till I return to Midgard.” He grasped Bruce's arm in a warriors clasp for a long moment.
Loki, subdued and silenced, took his place with his brother and together, hands on the tesseract's new casing, they were gone. Loki was no longer the Avengers' problem. The tesseract was no longer S.H.I.E.L.D.'s concern. His agreement with Fury was completed.
He caught Natasha's eye and she took him away from the milling crowd.
“If S.H.I.E.L.D. is done snooping through my backpack, can I have it back? I could use a few shirts, my other pair of pants. The few bucks I had in a side pocket, too.”
He'd had some money in his trousers when Natasha had found him. Of course, that had been lost when he'd transformed into the Hulk on the helicarrier.
“We can buy you anything you need, give you money,” Natasha said, carefully.
“Mmmmm. No. I think I don't want to feel... obligated to S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“You're really very stubborn, Doctor Banner.”
“You already knew that, Agent Romanoff. You read my file.”
She touched him on his arm, a light caress that seemed to have become routine between them, and left.
Cont'd in 3/5.