All that is now, all that is gone (Avengers, Tony&Bruce, R), Part 2
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“Making the nanites smart? But wouldn’t that create a risk? What if you were getting ready to go underwater, and meanwhile the nanites were acquiring mass as fast as they could to harden the alpha-layer casing?”
Pepper’s got a point, although Tony’s not going to admit that out loud. She may not be a scientist or an engineer, but she’s amazing at finding faulty logic and risk factors. She’s got a bottom line, which Tony--being infinitely rich and infinitely smart--doesn’t. She’s also got a ragingly cute body, which is why it’s fun to work side-by-side with her in his full-sized adjustable bed.
In the course of three weeks, he’s gradually replaced everything in the hospital room, taking the proverbial mile from the inch he was given (permission to use an iPad). Now he’s got his own tower computer, projection displays, Barcelona chairs for visitors, and his own chef installed in the kitchen. Five days ago he was allowed to roll over onto his back, and he counts it one of the happiest days of his life.
“Not smart like me,” he says. “Not even smart like you. Machine smarts--an upgrade from bug smarts, which is what they have now. Or had.” Yes, he admits it, he feels a little sorry about the tiny machines left behind in the cold, barren waste.
“Hmm. I guess they’d be under JARVIS’s direct control when they weren’t under yours. I’m not sold; I want to see the logic trees.” Tony finds Pepper irresistible when she’s being a hard-ass, and also when she’s asleep and when she’s brushing her teeth and when she’s wandering around the penthouse in her Wharton track shorts and flip flops. She’s so all-around great that Tony’s kind of amazed she’s still here. When she was CEO she had to worry about him getting himself killed because it would decrease shareholder value; now she has to worry about it because (presumably) it would make her sad. He’s not sure if it’s an improvement.
“I can make that happen,” he says. “I’ll have my people contact your people.” He gives her a little poke in the ribs. “Hey, can you ask the nurse if they’re done processing the paperwork?” Today’s the day he’s getting sprung, and he doesn’t want to be in here a second longer than he has to.
When, after a couple of hours of teeth-grinding red tape, Pepper finally wheels Tony’s chair into the hallway, he feels like launching into a song like Snow White: Good morning, trashcan! Good morning, elevator! Good morning, guy who doesn’t understand why his cell phone doesn’t work 100 meters underground!
His giddiness is muted when Pepper doesn’t wheel him right out to the curb and into the plush Valcona leather embrace of his Audi A8. Instead, he finds himself in another grim military antechamber, surrounded by Access Restricted, Alarm System in Use signs.
“Why are we here?” Tony asks. “You trying to prove to me that there really is somewhere more boring than my room in this miserable base?”
“You said you wanted to see Bruce first. Before we went home.”
Tony feels a stab of guilt. Yes, he had said that, had thought it often enough, in between nagging his teammates who dropped by for a visit: Go make sure they’re not doing anything horrible to Bruce. See if he needs anything.. The thing is, between Bruce’s affable exterior, complex inner life, and very low standards for acceptable human behavior toward him, Tony didn’t trust their opinions. He got lots of He’s fine, he has lots to read, he’s says he’s having fun with the psychological tests, and he’d thought bullshit, because he knows the Catch-22: lock a guy up for being angry, patronize and manipulate the shit out of him while expecting him to say please and thank you, and then when he inevitably cracks under the futility of it all, use it as justification to keep him in longer. It would drive an ordinary person to madness, and Bruce isn’t an ordinary person.
So it would make Tony a pretty miserable friend if he said Screw all that, take me back to my penthouse right now. But that’s exactly what he wants to tell Pepper. The sense of elation is wearing off, replaced by a hint of nausea and a cowardly nostalgia for how much easier it was to stay in bed and not think about anything more complicated than what channel to watch.
He doesn’t admit any of that, of course, and after another couple of minutes, a SHIELD operative arrives in one of those LSVs that Tony persists in calling a golf cart because he knows it pisses Fury off. Pepper helps him into the rear-facing passenger seat, from which he gathers that he’s officially discharged from the hospital.
“You’re not coming along?” he says when she makes no move to get in.
“Not invited. And it’s probably better if you go alone.” She leans down to give him a brief kiss and he smells vetyver soap, a scent of home. “Call me when you’re finished; the car’s waiting outside.” He feels like a kid being put on a miniature train ride, and as the little vehicle putters away, he half expects her to wave.
The SHIELD base is vast, a combination of high-tech playland and Dante’s Inferno that even Tony’s twin personas don’t have full access to. He’s heard plenty of rumors, of alien spacecraft and teleportation and supervillains sealed into impregnable cells, and when he expresses skepticism, Steve just gives him the There are some things civilians are better off not knowing look. To his surprise, though, the party bus is not going down into the villain-laden bowels of the base, but up.
The operative gives him a yes-sir kissoff at an unmarked door, and it opens to reveal a tall woman with dark, chin-length, hair, wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants.
“Mr. Stark,” she says warmly, extending a hand. “I’m Camila Medina. It’s a real treat to meet you. Please come in and sit down--I understand you’re still recuperating.”
“Nice to meet you, too. Are you Bruce’s doctor?”
“Not exactly. Although I am a doctor.” He’s not sure if he likes the way she smiles at that, but he lets her put a hand under his elbow and escort him through a second security door. He takes the proffered chair and sits. The room is like an arena skybox, quiet darkness on one side and a wall of windows and monitors on the other.
What the room is overlooking makes Tony’s jaw drop: a huge geodesic dome with transparent panels, housed inside one of the base’s upsweeping, glass-sheathed towers so that it’s well-protected but flooded with daylight. At one end is a screened-off workspace with a desk and a sofa and a cot, but the rest is taken up with what looks like a playset for King Kong. There are giant rings suspended from the superstructure, piles of lumber and whole trees, a surreal toybox of cars and furniture, nonsensical for a human but perfect for an animal. An animal that likes to smash.
It’s then that Tony spots Bruce, sitting at the desk in the human end of the enclosure. His hair’s a little longer than the last time Tony saw him, and he’s wearing a military-issue sweatshirt, but otherwise seems perfectly fine, oblivious to his surroundings. He’s typing on a laptop with the lightning speed that never fails to impress Tony, who’s an inveterate hunter-and-pecker. It all looks perfectly normal except for the fact that Bruce is in a fucking zoo, locked up the way Fury promised he never would be when he brought him in, and this is so much worse than anything Tony could have imagined.
When he’s able to take a breath again he turns back to Dr. Medina with every intention of throwing her through the skybox windows and into the gorilla enclosure and asking her how she likes it. It must show in his eyes, because she takes a step back. Tony grabs the back of a chair, not because he’s planning to throw it at her, but because he’s suddenly feeling a little wobbly. The wave passes; not the anger, but the feeling the he’s either going to throw up or defenestrate someone or maybe both at the same time (now that would be a hell of a superpower).
“I assure you,” she begins, with a testifying-before-Congress smile, “Dr. Banner is being treated with the utmost respect and consideration. We’ve designed an entirely new--”
“Great! Good for you. You know what? I don’t care. I’m taking him home right now.”
“Mr. Stark, you--” the smile falters a little. “You’re not authorized. No one is; we have a general order not to release Dr. Banner under any circumstances, even to General Fury. But if you’ll let me explain--”
“No explanation necessary,” he says, giving her the ol’ professional smile right back. “I’m the one with the atomic suit and the superpowers. Okay, the suit may be kind of broken right now, but I have friends with superpowers. And none of them are going to stand for--” It’s then he remember that they’ve all been here to visit. Have all seen this travesty, and not done anything about it. His shit list gets much longer.
“I’ll take you to visit him,” Dr. Medina says, making a sound decision not to try explaining any more.
Because just opening the door to the tank and letting Tony walk in would be too easy, they show him into an antechamber and then make Bruce go through an airlock to reach an identical chamber separated from Tony’s by a clear, solid wall with chairs on either side.
Tony’s first feeling is genuine pleasure at seeing Bruce again. Whatever else happens, he likes the guy in an uncomplicated way that he hasn’t felt about any other human since he was a kid.
His second feeling is awkwardness as he realizes that he has no idea what he’s going to say. There’s a simple question--Why?--but he’d imagined that conversation taking place in his living room over a couple of drinks, not with Bruce penned up like a serial killer and Tony on the good-person side of the fence.
It takes Bruce a minute to sit down because he has to rearrange a satchel-like thing bristling with wires and tubes that he wears around his waist. That lets Tony get a good look at him. He’s lost weight; his cheekbones are more prominent and there are shadows under his eyes. The effect this has on Tony is transmuted into a long, awkward pause during which the only things that pop into his head are wise-ass and unsuited to the occasion.
Finally, Bruce settles himself in his chair and folds his hands in his lap like a model prisoner.
“How are you?” he asks.
Tony will never think of that as an ordinary pleasantry again.
Bruce waits for his answer with that affable calm that impresses or maddens Tony depending on the day. He’s never quite believed in it--sometimes he catches Bruce’s hands trembling, or a twitch at the corner of his mouth--but he respects the effort that goes into it.
“Good as new,” Tony says. “Except for the parts that are old.”
Bruce does that little squint-and-smile thing and seems to relax a fraction. It’s how he is--always diffident, like a traveller in a foreign country--but it’s the context that makes Tony a little nuts.
“Well, shit,” he says, punching the arm of his chair. “Am I the only one who finds this awkward as hell? This place--it’s like they think you’re a combination of Hannibal Lecter and Godzilla. You. You play with Pepper’s nieces. You get extra packets of hot sauce from that mean checkout lady at the canteen. You--”
“I’m not the one who’s the problem,” Bruce says. “Remember?”
“Nope,” Tony says, indignation seguing into annoyance. “I’d completely forgotten that you can transform into an eight-foot-tall man-beast that destroyed my suit and broke twelve of my bones.”
Well. That certainly hadn’t been the direction Tony had intended to go, but it’s too late now. Bruce winces and Tony can almost see what’s going on inside his head, because Bruce’s self-blame routine is as predictable as the sunrise.
“Sorry,” Tony says gruffly, “I’m just trying to understand. I know we have a difference of opinion on how much of the Hulk is you, but somebody forgot that we’re playing for the same team. I want to know what that was about, and then I want you to make me not worried about it so I can bust you out of this joint.”
“Believe me, Tony, I wish I could. Thinking about what I--what he--did to you, it makes me--” There’s a quaver in Bruce’s voice that makes Tony feel like the worst person in the world, but he can’t pull back, because he realizes now that if he can’t explain it, he and Bruce will never be able to be teammates again. Maybe not even friends.
“You okay?” Bruce asks. He hunches forward, as close as he can get to the barrier between them, studying Tony’s face like the doctor he used to be. “You went kind of pale for a minute. I know you’re just out of the hospital, maybe you shouldn’t--”
“I’m fine,” Tony says, mouth tight. “Thanks. But don’t change the subject.”
“Okay.” Bruce slumps back in his chair and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “So. That’s what all this is about. They’re not going to let me back onto the team until they figure out what made me turn on you. They’ve got their top scientists working on it.”
Tony gives a little bark of editorial laughter. “They’re obviously idiots, so I wouldn’t look for any enlightenment in that direction. I’m talking about you. What do you think happened?”
“No idea. I don’t know anything about his thought processes. If he even has them.”
“That’s not the answer I’m looking for,” Tony says. “Try harder.”
“I’m not one of your engineers.” Bruce is trying hard to keep up the wearily amused act. “You can’t order to me to work over the weekend and have an answer on your desk Monday morning. Doesn’t work that way.”
“If you were one of my engineers, I’d fire you.” Tony’s warming to the argument; it helps that he’s genuinely annoyed. “Actually, I’d throw some stuff off my desk for dramatic effect, and then either threaten to fire you or offer you a big bonus. Something. Because the motivation’s clearly missing.”
“Believe me, the motivation couldn’t be any better. You think I don’t want to give you the answers you’re looking for? You think I don’t go to sleep every night hearing your bones crack, seeing your blood on the snow--” He stops short, slumps a little further down in his chair. “It’s just that there are some problems that can’t be solved.”
“Not even for me?”
Bruce chokes up, and Tony has to look away, because Bruce crying is something that he doesn’t want to see, ever. “I’ve tried for years, ever since it happened. The only thing that’s ever worked is walking away. The Avengers....I thought the risk would be acceptable, the good would outweigh the bad. To use the creature to help humanity was something I--but it was an arrogant mistake on my part. I should have known. It can’t be a force for good, it can’t be a force for anything but itself. Maybe you’ve been right all along. The other guy is me. That’s who I am, a greedy, monstrous--”
“Stop it, just stop it,” Tony spits. “Jesus, is this what you turn into when you’ve got no company but your own thoughts? You’re a scientist, and you’re a good man. We’re all monsters inside our own heads; it’s a bad sign if we’re not. I used to make weapons that killed hundreds of thousands of people and I slept like a baby. When I got back from Afghanistan, I was lucky if I could sleep for 10 minutes at a stretch. A conscience is a hell of a thing, Bruce, and yours is way overdeveloped. But at some point you’ve got to fight your way out of the cave. You’ve got to move past it and start looking for solutions.”
“This is the solution. When I’m in here I’m not hurting anybody. Maybe they’ll figure out a way to use the other guy on a limited basis, without having to interact with the team. It’s not all bad; I’m allowed to work, people visit me, and--”
“You’re not a fucking zoo animal.” Tony’s on his feet now, shouting, and he doesn’t care who hears it. “You’re not supposed to be happy because the nice lady throws you peanuts once in a while. Is the Big Guy happy? You tell me that. Does he enjoy his blocks and his jungle gym? Or does he want to tear into something alive every once in a while?”
There’s a long pause in which Bruce looks as shocked as Tony feels. There’s a pain in his side, like maybe he popped a stitch, and a general reminder from his body that he’s only been upright for a few hours.
Bruce ducks his head, stares at his folded hands. “You should go. You don’t look well. The last thing I want is to make things worse.”
“Yeah, well, things are already pretty fucking bad.” He clears his throat; his ears are ringing from the sound of his own voice. “I’m not asking for much; just give me an idea, a place to get started. You have Internet access, right?” Bruce nods, head still bowed low. “Then you know how to get JARVIS to find me. Any time, day or night.”
He turns and walks out without looking back so that he won’t have to see Bruce getting escorted back through the airlock, or worse, sitting motionless, looking at Tony’s retreating back.
“Before you go, I’d like you to see something,” Dr. Medina says, blocking his way with an iPad and a cup of coffee.
The doc pilots him into another side room and he’s too fried to resist. It’s like half the rooms at HQ--full of visual displays being tended by low-level techs who probably use “I work at SHIELD” to get laid.
“We’re constantly monitoring Dr. Banner’s blood chemistry,” the doctor says, waving at the readouts. “Also his brain activity, cardiac data, and metabolism. We cross-correlate it with environmental conditions, behavior, and diurnal rhythms.”
“Gee, I bet nobody’s thought of doing that before.”
“Never this extensively. We’re using investigative techniques from a wide range of fields, from behavioral psychology to biophysics. Look at these,” she says, pointing to a set of dark green peaks and valleys. “They’re Dr. Banner’s current levels of dopamine, norepinephrine and epinephrine.” Tony realizes with a jolt that he’s looking at real-time data--no doubt coming from the wired-up albatross around Bruce’s waist.
“Am I supposed to be seeing this? Isn’t it a HIPAA violation or something?” Tony’s fresh off three weeks of being fed, bled and serially probed, but his doctors were trying to help him, not “help” him. This total loss of privacy--being kept in a glass cage and having his precious bodily fluids monitored 24/7--is exactly what Natasha had promised Bruce would not happen when they brought him in. It’s also his deepest fear. Tony knows because Bruce told him, along with with a lot of other personal stuff Dr. Medina would probably give her next three years of grant funding to hear. He decides to start hating her again.
“Dr. Banner has submitted voluntarily for testing, but if he hadn’t--”
“I’m sure somebody with a gun would have asked nicely.” Tony jabs a finger at the screen. “Can we move this along? I have an appointment with somebody who isn’t you.”
“Of course. These chemicals are hormones, which--”
“I know what hormones do. I get medical stuff.”
She frowns at him over her glasses. “Which also function as neurotransmitters in the brain. They’re associated with the fight-or-flight response. With fear, anxiety--and anger.”
“And let me guess--Bruce pumps out more of them just before he turns into the Hulk. Wow! You should schedule a press conference immediately.”
“Mr. Stark, I’m trying to show you something important, will you please shut up!” That does, in fact, get Tony to shut up, and the technicians to swivel their eyes toward their boss with surprise and maybe some added respect.
“Sorry, doc. I get sarcastic when I’m exhausted. Please go on.”
“Thank you. I’ll be brief. These are Dr. Banner’s baseline readings--more or less average. Now look at these.” At her gesture, the tech pulls up another set of readings. “Much higher across the board, with an interesting spike in cortisol levels, which are usually associated with physical threat. These results are reproducible, and substantially different than what we see associated with transformation episodes.”
“Huh.” Tony grudgingly admits (if only to himself) that Dr. Medina’s observations don’t seem to be based entirely on crap. “Why did you want me to see this?”
“Because these readings were taken 15 minutes ago, when you were visiting with Dr. Banner.”
“And the other times you’ve seen this?” Tony braces, as if he were about to hear the punchline of an unfunny joke.
“When we’ve shown Dr. Banner video of you.”
“Of Iron Man, you mean?”
“No, Mr. Stark. Of you.” Tony appreciates her sympathetic tone, not to mention the hand under his arm as the room goes a little fuzzy. “I’m sorry, I can see I’ve kept you too long. But I thought this was important for your safety. In case you had any--ideas about removing him from the facility.”
Tony thinks it’s nice of the doc to be concerned about saving his life when he’s been kind of a jerk to her. If he weren’t feeling so dizzy, he might even admit he’d been thinking about ways to bust Bruce out, even up to a few minutes ago.
Not any more. Tony catches his breath, shakes hands with the doctor, and closes the door with relief, leaving the blinking green numbers and Bruce Banner behind.
Part 3 >>