Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes | Every Thirty Days | Chapter Four
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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Bruce
Drifting upwards, hanging suspended somewhere between awareness and oblivion.
Oblivion won, and the sounds and smells that had lured him towards them faded and died.
Sounds, burbling, rising in cadence and falling again, the wordless voices a lullaby sending him to sleep.
Dreams. Fleeting touches. Brief pain, dazzling light, darkness. A voice from far away saying his name. He reached for that voice, but fell back into nothingness.
* * *
“Bruce. Open up your damned eyes.”
He didn't want to follow that command. He didn't want to face what his subconscious had recognized from the faint, deep thrumming sound that surrounded him.
He was on the helicarrier. There was no good reason for that to happen, ever. He didn't know what had landed him here in this floating flying prison. His memories weren't to be trusted, not at all. If he thought he remembered Clint kissing him, almost feeling again the insistent touch of demanding lips on his own, then nothing he seemed to remember could possibly be true.
Murmuring, “You don't get to tell me what to do, Clint,” he gave a sigh and felt himself start to fall back to sleep. It was better to retreat into unconsciousness than open his eyes to the truth that once again he was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s captive.
Clint wasn't even here. Bruce was just hallucinating again. He frowned, wondering why that thought had crossed his mind. Well, it didn't matter. Nothing did, really.
He drifted, sleep beckoning, when he felt an ice-cold cloth on his face.
Startled, his eyes opened involuntarily. He blinked several times and stared up at the hallucination standing there. Okay, that wash cloth his hallucination was holding had felt really cold, so evidently he was having tactile hallucinations now. Swell. The hallucination tapped Bruce on his nose, and Bruce realized his eyelids had closed to half-mast.
What he saw when he gazed back up at his hallucination was blond hair sticking up in every direction. Blue, blue eyes. Like a winter's day clear blue, chilling him a little, because Clint looked angry.
Okay. So maybe this Clint wasn't a hallucination. Clint didn't usually look angry at him. His expressions tended toward cranky or amused and teasing. Clint loved to tease people. He seemed to get an extra kick out of pestering Bruce. Even if he was worried about something, Clint wouldn't really show it. He'd just get snarkier, throwing insults like crazy at the villains.
But this Clint, hallucination or the real deal, was about as far from looking amused as Bruce was from ever being allowed to go back to Culver University and rejoin the faculty.
“I don't get to tell you what to do? That's what you just said? Oh, you've lost the right to make your own decisions for a while, Doctor Banner. Because you make terrible ones, you know that? Deciding to die, thinking that would be just dandy? Not okay. Not okay at all. So expect me to be sticking to you like glue, and when it's not me, it'll be Jan, or Steve, or Thor, or Tony. T'Challa's in Wakanda, and Vision's doing his own thing for now, or they'd be on the roster, too.”
So. This Clint was definitely a hallucination. The Avengers didn't care enough about Bruce Banner to spend that much time with him. Proof that he'd dreamed this Clint up. He had to stop this, starting right now.
“I'm not going to talk to you. It'll only encourage my delusional thinking. So, goodbye, Clint Hallucination. Thanks for the kisses, but I should try to deal with reality.”
Clint H. crossed his arms over his chest. “And what reality is that, Bruce? I'm not a hallucination.”
Bruce decided to list what he was fairly sure was real. He'd be talking to himself, though, and not to the hallucination that looked so tired all of a sudden.
“My reality. I'm on the helicarrier. I don't know why. The last thing I remember is being in the mansion and Hulk making me stay out. I was looking at Clint.”
He snuck a look at his hallucination, and looked away fast when Clint H. nodded at him.
Bruce raised his head up a little and looked around. “This is a cell, although S.H.I.E.L.D.'s brought in medical equipment. They must be experimenting on me again. My head hurts. I'm thirsty. I see the gamma dampeners, so Hulk can't come out and rescue us. Being a prisoner is my reality.”
He pulled against the medical restraints around his wrists, flexed against his ankle bindings. “I'm in restraints, and I'm hallucinating. My hallucinations are visual, tactile, and aural. I do know they aren't real.”
Clint H. grabbed a cup with a straw in it and held it to Bruce's mouth. Bruce didn't drink. It was bad to give into the hallucinations.
“Drink it, Bruce; it's just water. I swear I'm real. I'm really here, and you aren't hallucinating. And I'll be taking you home as soon as you're cleared by Doctor Strange. Oh, and he's sending Doc Samson to see you.”
Bruce shook his head and kept his lips tightly closed. Clint H. heaved a great sigh. A wave of anger hit Bruce, because damn it, Clint H. shouldn't be trying to guilt Bruce into drinking.
Bruce snapped at him, “Wish fulfillment, that's what you are. You're not real! Go away! Stop making me think about things I can't have.”
He felt tears well up and spill over, beginning their slow journey downward and he couldn't even wipe his face clear of them, not with his hands tied. “Go away,” he whispered.
Clint H. put down the water and grabbed his wrist. “Fuck it. I'm letting you out of these restraints. I knew it was a bad idea, but until the doc talked to you about killing yourself, S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted them left on so you wouldn't try anything stupid. Bruce, honey, I'm real. You're not out of your head about this. You're at the helicarrier because you were really sick. You almost died, because you're a moron. And me and rest of the team are all morons, too. You're not a prisoner.”
He quickly freed both of Bruce's wrists and Bruce sat up in bed and scrubbed at his face.
Bruce said quietly, “Clint has never called me Bruce, and he has never, ever, called me honey.”
Clint H. said, “Maybe I just started.”
Bruce studiously stared at the glass of water.
“I like you, Clint H. But you're a figment of my brain, maybe from being drugged.”
“You're not drugged!”
“Or I've finally gotten so low that I'm making up people to care about me.”
Clint H. threw his hands up in the air. “You know you drive me crazy, right? You do have people who care about you.”
“Or maybe I've been sick. But why would S.H.I.E.L.D. agree to give me medical care? I'm betting they'd be just as happy if I did die.”
“Lissen up, Banner. You are not allowed to die.” Clint H. had grabbed his shoulders. These tactile hallucinations were really strong.
“I'm a prisoner, and I'm out of my head.”
He reached for the water glass and drained it, set it back down, touched his hand where an IV was still dripping liquid into his body. “I'm tired. Please let me go back to sleep, Clint H.”
“You said I was wish fulfillment. What are you wishing for?” Clint H. sat down on the edge of the bed and he picked up Bruce's hand.
Bruce sighed. “I shouldn't tell you.”
“You can tell me. C'mon, tell me?”
“You're not real.”
“Says you, pal. But let's go with your logic. If I'm not real, then it doesn't matter if you tell me what you've been wishing for, does it?”
Bruce felt confused. He rubbed his forehead with his free hand.
“I, I guess not.” He was circling the drain, he knew it.
“Okay, just nod your head if I get it right. Do you want to go camping with me?” asked Clint H.
Bruce nodded.
“Fishing?”
Bruce nodded, then added, “And you aren't a pain in the ass about it. No grumbling. Bring a book or video games along.”
Clint H. laughed. “What about afterwards? Want to come share my sleeping bag?”
“See, that proves you aren't real. Because Clint Barton doesn't want that with me.”
“Yes, I do.”
Bruce felt sadness filling him up, and he just wanted to not feel anything, because sadness? It hurt. “I know better. And I know better than to let myself want something. I can't want Clint to like me. Or want him to go to bed with me. So will you leave me alone now?”
“I'm staying right here.”
He looked Clint H. in the eyes and said haltingly, “Please?”
Clint H. sighed. “Why don't you ask Hulk about all of this, maybe you'd believe him that when I do this, I'm really doing it.” He kissed him on the forehead, and then briefly brushed his lips across Bruce's own dry ones.
Bruce looked past Clint H. and stared at the gray walls of his prison cell. “You know that if I lower the wall Hulk will feel what I feel. When they start hurting me, I don't want him to be hurt, too.”
Clint H. ran a hand through short blond hair, ruffling it even further. “Okay. I give. Go back to sleep, and maybe this will make more sense to you when you wake back up.”
Bruce tried to get comfortable but the restraints on his legs kept him from being able to turn on his side. Clint H. undid them, then pulled the white cotton blanket up to Bruce's shoulders. He started to rub Bruce's back, and Bruce gave in. He didn't want Clint H. to stop, and he kept imagining that he was touching him because he cared about Bruce. Nobody had soothed him like that since he'd been with Betty.
Just like when he was very little, when his mother used to do it, and hum old Beatles songs, he fell asleep to someone's hand making comforting circles on his back.
* * *
Bruce felt better the next time he woke up. Surprised, he saw that the medical staff had taken off his restraints while he was asleep. He disconnected all the monitors and catheter and pulled out the IV from the back of his hand. He'd probably pay for doing that, but he felt rebellious. There was a meal on the hospital table, and he ate the cold soup and crackers, juice and applesauce.
So much for his pardon. He was sure that he hadn't done anything to warrant being incarcerated again, but that had never stopped S.H.I.E.L.D. or Ross from grabbing him in the past.
He was being monitored; he could see the cameras in the room. He was used to them, so he ignored the fact that someone was watching his every move. Whenever he'd been imprisoned, he hardly ever had interactions with people, except for the heartless bastards who experimented on him. When he'd been in the mountain prison he'd mostly been left in solitary confinement, except for when the General had wanted to have some fun with him. After the first time, when Bruce had fought back, even biting one guard, he'd been gassed into unconsciousness whenever Ross wanted him experimented on for whatever he was doing. Afterwards, Bruce would wake up to find himself strapped to a lab table.
At least he'd kept Hulk from being tortured.
Bruce slowly got out of his hospital bed and found the bathroom. After relieving himself he decided to use the shower and get clean. There were cameras in here, too, but he'd long ago given up being modest. If he was very lucky, he'd still have shredded and filthy pants on after he transformed from the Hulk back to Banner, but it hadn't been uncommon for him to wake up naked. Tony had done Hulk and him a favor and had pants made that stretched and shrunk as needed. He thought maybe Tony had done some kind of science swap with Reed Richards for the fabric.
Bruce stripped off the scrubs he was wearing and turned on the hot water, then stepped in, a little grateful that there was soap and shampoo provided for him. He debated shaving, and then decided it was too much trouble.
He wasn't hallucinating, at least. Well, he didn't think he was. He remembered that he'd decided to let Hulk stay out and keep their body. It certainly made more sense. Hulk was needed. He wasn't. But here he was, anyway, and he felt strange about that. And it was just plain sad that he had hallucinated seeing Clint and Jan. Especially Clint. He hoped Clint would never find out that Bruce had dreamed him up, that he'd imagined Clint kissing him.
He resolved that if Hulk wouldn't let him miss his day out anymore, then he'd just stay quietly in the mansion or maybe the garden, keep out of everybody's way.
He was good at hiding.
He wouldn't ask Clint or anybody else to take him to the woods anymore or his cabin.
If he couldn't help the Avengers, at least he could stop taking up their time.
* * *
After dressing in clean scrubs that had been left for him on a shelf, he grabbed the blanket, wrapped himself up in it, and sat down against a wall, where he could watch the door.
He must have dozed off because when he heard his name called, it woke him up. He looked up at a man with green hair and shoulders to rival Thor's, who was crouched down in front of him. Leonard.
Bruce struggled to his feet, Leonard holding onto his arm to help steady him.
“Bruce, come and sit on the bed. That floor is cold.” Leonard kept his hand out ready to assist him, and Bruce stumbled back to the bed and eased himself down on it.
He hadn't seen Leonard for a while. Hulk had told him that Leonard had been brainwashed into helping Red Skull attack the Avengers.
“I heard about Red Skull. How are you doing, Leonard?” He re-wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, and gave Leonard an assessing look.
Leonard smiled at him. “I'm fine now. It was very disturbing to come back to myself to find that I'd been doing things to hurt other people, but I've had a chance to come to terms with it. Therapy for the therapist. It helped, and I've come to offer the same thing to you.”
Bruce said hesitantly, “Therapy?”
Leonard said, “Bruce, has Doctor Strange talked to you yet?
“I don't know him.”
“He treated you here, you--”
“What was wrong with me?”
“Bruce, I don't know all the medical details, but you were in a coma.”
“A coma?”
“Yes. Doctor Strange contacted me and explained that he's been treating you for the coma you were in, and he was recommending psychiatric care as a followup.”
“Because I was in a coma.” He glanced up at the cameras. “Did they get too rough with me, give me a head injury? Or did they put something in my brain again?” He felt the back of his head, where they'd put the last implant. He couldn't feel anything wrong.
Leonard shook his head. “Nobody's hurt you. Do you know where you are?”
“The helicarrier. Um... I don't remember S.H.I.E.L.D. arresting me again.”
“You aren't under arrest, Bruce. But since you were sent to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility for medical care, they aren't taking any chances that Hulk would take exception to being here and destroy the helicarrier. That's why you're in a secure gamma dampener cell.”
“How long was I in a coma?”
“Four or five days.”
“Why?”
Giving him a contemplative look, Leonard said gently, “You gave up, Bruce. You wanted the Hulk to take over permanently. Do you remember that?
Bruce closed his eyes and sorted through what he remembered. Or what he thought he remembered.
“I think so.”
“You think so?
“It's all a mishmash of dreams.”
“Anything else seem confusing to you?”
Bruce looked at Leonard, debating, then decided that being in a coma gave a guy a certain amount of leeway. “Hallucinations, too. But I haven't had any today.”
Leonard said, “I was coming to the helicarrier on S.H.I.E.L.D. business and thought I'd check on you, say hello, and discuss if you want therapy and if you would feel comfortable with me as your psychiatrist. I did treat you when you were in the Cube as a prisoner, after all. It would be understandable if you preferred someone else for therapy.”
“Um, I don't know. I'd like to know more about why I was in a coma.”
“Doctor Strange said that the struggle between you and Hulk sent you into it. Do you remember the struggle?”
“Yes. At the mansion.”
“Doctor Strange tried some unusual techniques and pulled you out of it. I've worked with him before and he's unorthodox, but what he does is legitimate, if not well understood. He had another emergency come up, but he said he would be checking back on you soon.”
“Since I'm not a prisoner, can I leave?”
“It's not up to me, but let me check your vitals. You look pale.” Leonard located a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff and a thermometer. He stuck the thermometer in Bruce's mouth, and took his pulse and blood pressure.
Leonard's fingers on his pulse point just brought home to Bruce how long it had been since he'd had any positive human touch. Hallucinations didn't count. But, that was the way it was, and he had accepted that he'd be alone a long time ago.
Leonard unwrapped the cuff, took the thermometer out of Bruce's mouth and glanced at it. “Well, your blood pressure is a little low, and your pulse seemed a little jumpy, but you're not running a fever. Bruce, people are concerned about you.”
Bruce doubted that. Still, the Avengers must have called an ambulance after he collapsed. He remembered feeling weaker and weaker after each time he'd tried to turn back into Hulk.
Leonard waited till it was clear Bruce didn't have a comment, then he added, “I'm concerned about you. Why did you refuse to return at all to this body?” he waved his hand at Bruce.
Bruce just shrugged his shoulders. “Hulk is needed; I'm not.”
“Why aren't you needed?”
“Hulk is the Avenger.”
“And you're not?”
“No.”
“Okay. Are you having any thoughts about hurting yourself?”
Bruce hesitated, “No.”
Leonard said gently, “No, but...?”
“I think I was ready to die. It just happened that way. But those dreams I had, they made me feel differently. I can promise you this, Leonard. I'm not feeling like killing or hurting myself now.”
“From what Doctor Strange said, you're lucky to be alive. You were headed for a probably fatal heart attack, and he had to shock you to get your heart to work correctly again.”
Bruce put his hand on his chest. “Really? Any damage?” He wasn't much concerned. Whenever he did get out of here, changing to Hulk would take care of any lingering problems.
“He said that you're fine. Bruce, would you answer some questions for me, honestly answer them?”
“Umm. Okay.” Bruce was a lousy liar, anyway. Might as well tell him what truths he could afford to give away.
Leonard nodded, “But first I want to make it clear that you have a choice here. If you decide not to talk to me, it won't impact you being able to leave. You've already stated that you don't feel like hurting yourself, and you've always been very honest in the past with me.”
Bruce shrugged again. Leonard meant well, and Bruce considered him to be as much of a friend as anybody he'd met since going on the run. At least when Bruce had been a captive and Leonard had done tests on him, he'd been careful not to hurt him.
“Go ahead.”
It was a depression screening, Bruce realized after the first question. Still he answered honestly, as Leonard had requested. Isolating himself, depressed mood, loss of joy in things he formerly enjoyed doing, feeling low energy, having had thoughts of wishing he could stay asleep and not wake up, he admitted to doing and feeling all of it.
“Bruce, who is in your life right now that you can talk to about things that are bothering you? Somebody you could call at three in the morning and they'd come to help you with whatever trouble you're in?”
“Ah, Jan, I guess. She's got a good heart for everybody. But I wouldn't bother her. Cap would come, because he's Cap. They both did come to help free me the last time I was in custody with S.H.I.E.L.D.”
Bruce started to cross his arms around himself, the nightmarish, vague memories he had of that time waiting to engulf him, but with an effort he laid his hands in his lap and banished those thoughts. Leonard didn't need to see him having difficulty talking about this stuff. He'd said he'd okay Bruce's release and Bruce didn't want him to change his mind.
He made himself make good eye contact. Shrinks liked that, he'd found. He said, “Really any of the Avengers would help me if I was in serious trouble. They got me a pardon from the president, you know. They came looking for Hulk when he went off into the Arctic, to make sure he was okay. They're all good people.”
“So you would call any of the Avengers to help you out of a jam?”
Bruce looked down at his hands. He wished that he could skip seeing the team for a while. If enough time went by maybe they'd forget about him again and he wouldn't have to see the looks they'd give him.
Leonard had been gazing at him with kindness. This was his job. He was kind to all of his patients. Bruce looked at him again.
“You said to be honest so... no. I wouldn't bother them about me. I was on my own for a long time before Hulk joined the team, and I can handle my own problems.”
Leonard lifted an eyebrow.
Bruce shrugged. “Well, I wouldn't turn down a jail break from them, if Ross ever gets out of custody and gets his hands on me again. I don't think that pardon means anything to him, he'll just try to manufacture evidence against me, I suspect.”
Leonard blew out a long stream of breath and then smiled wryly at him. “Bruce, I'm going to say this in the most unprofessional way possible. Your support system sucks. Part of that is you not wanting to accept help, and a great deal of it is from your teammates not building stronger friendships with you.”
“They're not my teammates. They're Hulk's.”
“And that statement pinpoints one of the main problems. You don't feel like you belong with the Avengers, do you?”
“No, not anymore. I used to think I was one of them, but I had my eyes opened about that. Leonard, it's okay. I've accepted that I'm not on the team. They'll tell me if I can help with something scientific, and I'm happy to do that. Thanks for talking with me, and I appreciate the offer to do therapy with you. Let me think about it for a while, okay?”
“Alright. And Bruce? If you need to talk to somebody at three in the morning, you can call me. Either as your therapist, or if we don't go that route, then as your friend. Okay?”
Bruce nodded, and Leonard patted him on the shoulder and addressed the security camera.
I'm ready to leave.” He walked to the door and Bruce watched as it opened and Leonard stepped out. He glimpsed a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a tranquilizer gun before the door shut and locked again.
He hoped Doctor Strange would come soon and release him. He didn't think S.H.I.E.L.D. would let him go against medical advice.
* * *
Cocooned in the blanket, Bruce went back to his spot against the wall so he could keep the door in his line of sight. He tried to do a little meditation but gave it quickly up. He was too much on edge to relax enough to reach Delta brainwaves.
He considered Leonard's offer to be his therapist. By any measure, he had enough baggage from his childhood to keep him in therapy for a good long time. But really, he'd dealt with all that. He just hadn't realized that depression had crept up on him. Now that he was aware of that problem, he'd try to not let himself sink further into that hole. He'd contact Leonard later and tell him that for now he was holding off on therapy.
Since Bruce was giving up his cabin and trips to lakes and woods, he considered other quiet, solitary things he could do on his day off. He didn't think he'd be allowed to leave by himself to go out into the city, not even to Central Park, which was easily in walking distance from the mansion.
He bet that there was a library in the mansion, although he'd never looked for it. He could curl up with real books and lose himself for hours. Tony would give Hulk a Starkpad if Hulk asked for one, and he could borrow it for his day out. He could read online books and scientific journals. Watch movies or TV shows on it, too. He'd missed a lot of movies during his running days. He could catch up.
He could do yoga, meditate. Take a nap. Hulk liked to swim in the pool. Maybe if nobody else was using it he could do some laps, float around.
He could think about his research. Maybe sketch out experiments and work equations. He didn't want to bother Tony about using his lab space, unless there was a problem he could help with again, so he'd keep things theoretical. Maybe he could send his work to some old colleagues who might be interested in his ideas.
He needed to make some money now that he had to be out again. He wouldn't feel right anymore about using the funds Tony had set up for each of the Avengers, a stipend to let them buy things they needed. Hulk could use it still since he was a member of the team. Bruce would pay Tony back for past rent and groceries. He'd set up something quiet with JARVIS. Tony, he knew, wouldn't care and wouldn't accept it if he knew about it, but Bruce didn't want to be a moocher. He could do tutoring on-line and sign up at some of those sites where you got paid to write articles explaining concepts to those without a science background. Things like how electrical circuits or transformers worked or how to build a Geiger counter or troubleshoot a mass spectrometer.
He sighed. That kind of work wouldn't be any sort of a challenge. He had never much cared about TV or movies. He wasn't that good of a swimmer, either, and he always got cold fast when he was in the water. Just lying around in the sun bored him, although he knew from Hulk's stories that Jan and Clint loved imitating lizards and basking in the heat.
Well. More time to think about research then.
Drawing his knees up to his chin, he clasped his hands around his legs. Clint might be surprised to know that once upon a time, Bruce had been fairly impatient when he was waiting for something to happen. He'd fidget, skitter around, jump up from a work station to grab more coffee. Now he only drank decaf. Funny how waiting for hours, hiding in small spaces, barely breathing until some huge tank had at last rolled away had finally taught him patience.
He waited until drowsiness overtook him, his eyes closing despite trying to stay awake. The bed was too far away, so he curled up on the floor and let sleep take him down.
* * *
Bruce came awake to the sound of voices in the room. He kept his eyes shut, hoping to learn more about who was in the room with him before getting to his feet.
“Assistant Director, he's fine. Doctor Samson took his vitals. He's been sitting there on the floor and he just got sleepy.”
“Do you take me for an idiot? He almost died four days ago, and Doctor Strange told us that he wouldn't be fully recovered from the coma for days. You should have got him a chair if he wanted to sit by the wall. I am not going to have the Avengers on my tail because you let him stay on the floor and he had a relapse. Get him on the bed, and check him over before Barton wakes up and sees his boy like this.”
Bruce opened his eyes and sat up slowly before he could be manhandled. “Um, I heard that. I'm okay.” Barton's boy?
The two men who were practically looming over him stopped and looked back at the fit-looking black-haired woman who was glaring at them.
“Do I need to repeat myself? Pick him up and get him back on the bed.”
Before Bruce could get to his feet, he was hauled up and carried between the two men to the bed and placed on it, legs dangling over the side.
The two men hustled to get his vitals. From the looks on their faces, it was with some relief that they told the woman that his readings were within normal limits. She motioned for them to leave the room and crossed her arms over her chest, looking him over.
Bruce watched her warily. “Are you Assistant Director Maria Hill?”
She nodded, and he swallowed before saying, “Um, thank you for letting me have medical treatment. I'd like to leave now, please.”
She shook her head. “You're not going anywhere- ”
Bruce fisted his hands. It was what he expected from S.H.I.E.L.D., after all.
She looked pointedly at his hands and he let them flatten out against his thighs.
“You're not going anywhere until Doctor Strange releases you. He'll be here in an hour or two. And, I'm adding my own condition. Lose the beard.”
Bruce wondered if he'd heard her correctly. “Um, excuse me?”
“Shave it off, Doctor Banner.”
“Why?”
She just stared hard at him until he raised his hands. “I really don't think it's any of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s business, but... okay.”
Maybe they wanted to take his picture for future identification purposes. That must be it.
“Why did you return to the States, Doctor Banner? You'd dropped off everybody's radar when you disappeared in South America.”
“I found out S.H.I.E.L.D. was experimenting on people who'd been exposed to gamma radiation. I thought maybe there was something I could do to help those poor souls.”
“Why you?” Hill asked.
“Why not me? I know something about gamma radiation.”
“That's like saying Michelangelo knew something about painting.”
“Um...” He didn't know how to respond to that.
Hill pointed at him. “I want you registered with S.H.I.E.L.D., Doctor Banner. We know your identity, of course, but I want to make it official that you're under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s supervision. I want all of the Avengers and every other superhero out there, whether they're like Tony Stark and have announced their identity, or those who are keeping it a secret, like Spiderman, to stop being vigilantes and be regulated.”
“You'd have to ask Hulk, not me. I'm not the superhero.”
“Don't get cute with me. You're one person.”
He shook his head. “Not really. At the very least, we'd want to discuss it with each other.”
She rolled her eyes. “So take thirty seconds and ask your alter ego about it.”
“Not here. If I lower the wall between us, Hulk will experience what I'm experiencing. Once the wall is down it's not very easy to put it back up. And while your people haven't hurt me so far, I won't risk Hulk being tortured along with me, if things go the way they usually do when I'm in a S.H.I.E.L.D. cell.”
“You're exaggerating. I don't appreciate it.”
“The other times were all filmed; I could see the cameras. If you've seen it and think that it wasn't torture, then we have very different meanings for that term.”
He shivered and wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself, feeling cold all of a sudden, remembering scalpels and blood, pieces of his flesh removed to chart how fast his body would mend. Torture sessions disguised as interrogations. Keeping him awake to disorient him, to see if Hulk would speak through his lips.
He wasn't sure how long he was lost to his memories, but the door opening up caught his attention. Jan came in, carrying a tray, a bag over one shoulder.
He glanced at Maria Hill to see if she noticed Jan or not. He was half afraid she was a hallucination, too, like Clint H. had been, but Jan smiled at Maria, who said, “Wasp,” in a friendly tone of voice. Jan had a knack of charming most people. Even some of the villains she had put in prison had thought she was cute.
Jan placed the tray on the bed table and dropped the bag on the bed next to him.
Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. Holding him by his shoulders, she looked him in the eyes. “Bruce, you're looking so much better now. You really scared us, you know that? Don't you dare ever do anything like that again, Bruce Banner!”
“I'm sorry. I didn't intend to worry anybody.” He said it awkwardly, not sure what to do in response to such overt concern about him.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I'm okay.”
“It took you a while to come out of the coma. Do you remember waking up and looking at us and then falling asleep again?”
“Noooo...”
“Doctor Strange said you probably wouldn't remember much, and what you did remember would be hazy. He also said you had to start taking better care of yourself. I was watching you on the security monitors and you looked cold, so I found you a sweatshirt. And I brought you some supper.”
Hill interrupted them. “Doctor Banner, Director Fury or I are the only ones authorized to release you, and one of us will be back to do that if Doctor Strange signs your discharge papers. Wasp, good to see you again. I take it that Barton is still sleeping off the sedative?”
“Clint was up for most of the time Bruce was sick, so he's got a lot of sleep to catch up on. Maria, thank you for coming down. I didn't want Bruce to sleep on the floor, but the guys watching him wouldn't do anything.”
Hill walked to the door, waved at the security camera. Bruce heard the sound of the lock disengaging, but before she opened it she pointed at him.
“I'll watch those films, Doctor. And you have that discussion with the Hulk.”
* * *
Janet fussed over him for a while. He did as she asked, ate the ham sandwich and coleslaw she'd brought him, swapped the blanket he was wrapped up in for the black sweatshirt with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s logo emblazoned on the back.
She chattered about Doctor Strange, the neurologist and, apparently, some sort of mystic. Cap had tracked down Spiderman in a back alley, and the webslinger had relayed a message to Doctor Strange asking him if he could see Bruce. Tony had talked Fury into letting Doctor Strange come to the helicarrier to treat Bruce after S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doctors had thrown up their hands over his case.
From how Jan talked about Doctor Strange, she trusted the man. She said that Hawkeye approved of him, too. Jan tended to see the best in people, but Hawkeye was a lot more cynical. Apparently, though, Clint accepted that the mystical approach had worked. Well, Bruce himself had seen some strange things during his travels. He'd seen shamans at work. He was a scientist, but that didn't mean he couldn't accept that there were forces at work in the world that were poorly understood.
He didn't even begin to understand how the Hulk existed, although he had mapped out the sequence to call him forth, both voluntarily and when his body reacted to fear or pain or anger and Hulk took over for them. So there was room in his belief system for both hard science and mysticism. Even magic. Look at what Loki and Amora had been able to do. Arthur Clarke's third law came to mind: any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Maybe someday someone like Tony or Reed Richards would pin down the scientific basis for magic.
Jan had said that Doctor Strange had chanted weird things and had held out an amulet he wore around his neck. It seemed to let him understand what was happening in Bruce's mind.
He'd dreamed Jan and Clint had found him in a cave and... well. Probably he had somehow known they were in the room with him and just that fact, that they'd cared enough to stay, had bolstered him. He was extremely grateful to both of them.
He excused himself to shave, and looked hard at his image in the mirror when he'd finished. Being clean-shaven made him look more like the man he'd been before the accident- a professor, a man with a research job, not a hobo on the street. He'd stopped caring much about looking neat a long time ago. When he was on the run he counted himself lucky if he could stay even halfway clean. Shaving every day and getting his hair trimmed were luxuries he didn't often get to indulge in, and then it had started to seem pointless to even bother much with things like that.
He touched his hair, the unruly mop with uneven lengths caused by hacking at it himself with a knife now and then. He had maybe a day, a day and a half, to be out before it was Hulk's turn to take over. Maybe he'd try to get a haircut.
Then he remembered that he wasn't going to take up any of the team's time anymore, and no doubt one of them would insist on going with him to the barber shop. He'd wait, find a pair of scissors after he returned to the mansion, and give it his best shot at cutting his own hair again.
When he stepped back into the cell, Jan was talking to a tall black-haired man who was dressed outlandishly, his entire costume shouting out that he was either another superhero or was in show biz.
Jan smiled at him. “Bruce, this is Doctor Strange. He saved your life. I'm going to go and wake up Clint, get things ready for us to leave while the doctor checks you over.”
She stepped close to Bruce and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She grinned up at him, looking a lot like the pixie she resembled when she was teeny-tiny. “I don't like kissing stubble. Thanks for shaving.”
She smiled at Doctor Strange, too. “Stephen, it was so good to meet you and thank you again for everything you've done.” She walked over and hugged him, a quick, friendly gesture that told Bruce that Jan had added this man to her circle of friends.
She left then and Doctor Strange asked Bruce to sit down on the bed. He shone a light in Bruce's eyes, had him follow it with his eyes as it was moved in various directions.
He tapped Bruce's knees with a reflex hammer. “Doctor Banner, I'm aware of the decision you made to let Hulk have all the time out in the world. You almost died as a result of the struggle between the two halves of yourself. I was present, in your mind, at the crisis. With my help, Wasp and Hawkeye linked with you also. Without their aid, you, your thoughts and memories would have expired. You would not have been able to regain this body.”
He held out his palms. “Put your hands up against mine. Push both of them hard against my hands.”
Bruce complied, and Doctor Strange had him repeat the procedure using one hand at a time.
“I could not see past your death. However, I think that instead of Hulk keeping his body, he would have died also.”
Bruce drew in a sharp breath. “No.”
“Yes. I don't think that consequence occurred to you, did it?” He took Bruce's arm, manipulated it, and then did the other one. Meanwhile, Bruce sat there, shocked that he had almost killed Hulk.
Doctor Strange felt his other joints and moved his head into different positions. He said, “Shrug your shoulders for me.”
Bruce felt like all his muscles had turned to water. Doctor Strange frowned. “Bruce? Are you okay? Any pain, headache, nausea?”
“Did I hurt him? Is he okay? I... okay, I can let down the walls, but then if S.H.I.E.L.D. turns on me, then he'll be where he'll feel what I feel.”
Doctor Strange patted him on the arm. “I'm going to check on him, too. I don't think you're in danger here, but you don't have to talk to Hulk right now. You do, however, have to have a serious talk about this arrangement between you two. You can't continue to only be present for one day of the month. It's weakened you. You, young man, need to take better care of yourself.”
Bruce looked at him, a little thrown by the “young man” comment. He hadn't felt young for a long time.
“I'm sending you home with followup care instructions. Eat right and sleep when you're in this body, exercise, and spend time with other people. I think you'd benefit from therapy, Doctor Banner. I suspect you're suffering from PTSD.”
He patted him again on the arm. “I want you to concentrate now so I can finish the exam. Shrug your shoulders for me.”
Bruce did as he was told, answered all the questions, walked across the floor, closed his eyes while standing and Doctor Strange gently pushed him so he swayed on his feet. He ended up back on the bed and he had to stick his tongue out and then smile.
Smiling actually took some effort. Doctor Strange could tell, he knew.
“I'm ah, rusty at this. Sorry.”
Doctor Strange smiled back at him. “Maybe I should prescribe that you watch some comedies. Laughing and smiling is good for your body, Doctor Banner.”
Doctor Strange pulled on a chain around his neck, and an amulet under his shirt came free. He held it in one hand and touched Bruce on his shoulder.
“I'm going to check on Hulk. I want you to close your eyes now and do not open them unless I tell you to. I'm going to touch your chest and your forehead, after I do an incantation.”
Bruce obediently closed his eyes. Doctor Strange said in a commanding tone, I summon forth the all-seeing Eye of Agamotto! Now let my amulet open!"
Then he rucked up Bruce's sweatshirt and scrub top and placed his hand directly over Bruce's heart. Bruce felt his skin turn hot where they were touching. When a firm palm was placed on his forehead, he heard himself sigh loudly.
He must have fallen asleep, because he didn't remember anything else until he was shaken awake. He realized he was under a blanket on the hospital bed. He blinked up at a new face, a green-eyed bald man with arms like tree trunks. He was holding a stethoscope.
“I need to take your vitals, Doctor Banner. I'm Doctor Thomas Wilson. Doctor Strange needed to leave and he said to let you sleep until you woke up naturally or it was time to leave. It's time to leave if your vitals are good.”
Bruce sat up immediately and laid his arm on his thigh, palm up, so his blood pressure could be read.
When Doctor Wilson was done, he nodded at the security camera. Then he looked back down at Bruce. “We're going to take some precautions when you leave this room, Doctor Banner. Please cooperate with us, and we'll all get what we want. You get to go home, we get to keep the helicarrier in one piece.”
There was that old S.H.I.E.L.D. attitude he was so familiar with. Bruce sighed and stretched his arms over his head. “I'd tell you that none of your precautions are necessary, but it would just be a waste of my time.”
The door opened and Maria Hill came in, along with Janet and Clint. Bruce waited to see if Doctor Wilson would acknowledge either one of the Avengers or if Maria Hill would say something to them. They might be hallucinations again. He'd rather not be caught talking to thin air and have it be decided that he needed to stay here.
Distracted, he didn't notice Doctor Wilson's furtive hand movement until the prick of a needle had already done its damage.
Immediately he started feeling dizzy, listing to one side. Hands caught him and eased him down, his legs were lifted up on the bed.
He was going under, and in another few moments he knew he'd be totally unconscious.
Clint was there at his side, looking angry. “Bruce, I'm sorry. Maria didn't tell us you had to be sedated to leave this room. Look, Jan and I will be with you the whole time we're flying back to the mansion.”
He closed his eyes. He didn't know if that was really Clint or if it was Clint Hallucination, so he'd play it safe, like he was already asleep. It would be true before they wheeled him out of here.
Maria Hill said, very close to him, “Bring in the gamma dampener transport. Secure his hands in the cuffs. Barton, how do you like Tom Sawyer now? He's got more freckles than I realized.”
“How do I like him? I'd like him to be able to leave without this bullshit. I'd like it if S.H.I.E.L.D. stopped treating him like a criminal. Even if he did transform into Hulk, Hulk wouldn't tear anything up unless he was attacked. These precautions aren't necessary, Maria.”
So, Clint was really Clint if Assistant Director Hill was talking to him. Clint defending Hulk seemed normal. Clint stating that S.H.I.E.L.D. should stop treating Bruce as a bad guy seemed surreal.
He felt his arm lifted and something bulky fastened around his wrist, then the other one was secured.
Clint and Maria Hill were still arguing but he couldn't make out anything more than an occasional word and their heated tones.
He tried to open his eyes when he was lifted onto a firm surface, but his eyelids didn't get with the program.
He felt his arm being squeezed lightly. Jan's voice cut through the fog in his head for a moment. “Bruce, I'm sorry. I'm going to have words with Fury over this. We all are. But you're safe. Clint and I will take care of you. Go to sleep, sweetie.”
He recognized the snick of the transport cover being locked down. It was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s standard method of transporting one of the gamma monsters they'd made or caught. He'd been in them more times than he liked to remember.
He tried one more time to open his eyes, to look at Clint and Jan.
He couldn't, and he stopped fighting the sedative and let himself drop into sleep.
* * *
Chapter Five
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Bruce
Drifting upwards, hanging suspended somewhere between awareness and oblivion.
Oblivion won, and the sounds and smells that had lured him towards them faded and died.
Sounds, burbling, rising in cadence and falling again, the wordless voices a lullaby sending him to sleep.
Dreams. Fleeting touches. Brief pain, dazzling light, darkness. A voice from far away saying his name. He reached for that voice, but fell back into nothingness.
* * *
“Bruce. Open up your damned eyes.”
He didn't want to follow that command. He didn't want to face what his subconscious had recognized from the faint, deep thrumming sound that surrounded him.
He was on the helicarrier. There was no good reason for that to happen, ever. He didn't know what had landed him here in this floating flying prison. His memories weren't to be trusted, not at all. If he thought he remembered Clint kissing him, almost feeling again the insistent touch of demanding lips on his own, then nothing he seemed to remember could possibly be true.
Murmuring, “You don't get to tell me what to do, Clint,” he gave a sigh and felt himself start to fall back to sleep. It was better to retreat into unconsciousness than open his eyes to the truth that once again he was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s captive.
Clint wasn't even here. Bruce was just hallucinating again. He frowned, wondering why that thought had crossed his mind. Well, it didn't matter. Nothing did, really.
He drifted, sleep beckoning, when he felt an ice-cold cloth on his face.
Startled, his eyes opened involuntarily. He blinked several times and stared up at the hallucination standing there. Okay, that wash cloth his hallucination was holding had felt really cold, so evidently he was having tactile hallucinations now. Swell. The hallucination tapped Bruce on his nose, and Bruce realized his eyelids had closed to half-mast.
What he saw when he gazed back up at his hallucination was blond hair sticking up in every direction. Blue, blue eyes. Like a winter's day clear blue, chilling him a little, because Clint looked angry.
Okay. So maybe this Clint wasn't a hallucination. Clint didn't usually look angry at him. His expressions tended toward cranky or amused and teasing. Clint loved to tease people. He seemed to get an extra kick out of pestering Bruce. Even if he was worried about something, Clint wouldn't really show it. He'd just get snarkier, throwing insults like crazy at the villains.
But this Clint, hallucination or the real deal, was about as far from looking amused as Bruce was from ever being allowed to go back to Culver University and rejoin the faculty.
“I don't get to tell you what to do? That's what you just said? Oh, you've lost the right to make your own decisions for a while, Doctor Banner. Because you make terrible ones, you know that? Deciding to die, thinking that would be just dandy? Not okay. Not okay at all. So expect me to be sticking to you like glue, and when it's not me, it'll be Jan, or Steve, or Thor, or Tony. T'Challa's in Wakanda, and Vision's doing his own thing for now, or they'd be on the roster, too.”
So. This Clint was definitely a hallucination. The Avengers didn't care enough about Bruce Banner to spend that much time with him. Proof that he'd dreamed this Clint up. He had to stop this, starting right now.
“I'm not going to talk to you. It'll only encourage my delusional thinking. So, goodbye, Clint Hallucination. Thanks for the kisses, but I should try to deal with reality.”
Clint H. crossed his arms over his chest. “And what reality is that, Bruce? I'm not a hallucination.”
Bruce decided to list what he was fairly sure was real. He'd be talking to himself, though, and not to the hallucination that looked so tired all of a sudden.
“My reality. I'm on the helicarrier. I don't know why. The last thing I remember is being in the mansion and Hulk making me stay out. I was looking at Clint.”
He snuck a look at his hallucination, and looked away fast when Clint H. nodded at him.
Bruce raised his head up a little and looked around. “This is a cell, although S.H.I.E.L.D.'s brought in medical equipment. They must be experimenting on me again. My head hurts. I'm thirsty. I see the gamma dampeners, so Hulk can't come out and rescue us. Being a prisoner is my reality.”
He pulled against the medical restraints around his wrists, flexed against his ankle bindings. “I'm in restraints, and I'm hallucinating. My hallucinations are visual, tactile, and aural. I do know they aren't real.”
Clint H. grabbed a cup with a straw in it and held it to Bruce's mouth. Bruce didn't drink. It was bad to give into the hallucinations.
“Drink it, Bruce; it's just water. I swear I'm real. I'm really here, and you aren't hallucinating. And I'll be taking you home as soon as you're cleared by Doctor Strange. Oh, and he's sending Doc Samson to see you.”
Bruce shook his head and kept his lips tightly closed. Clint H. heaved a great sigh. A wave of anger hit Bruce, because damn it, Clint H. shouldn't be trying to guilt Bruce into drinking.
Bruce snapped at him, “Wish fulfillment, that's what you are. You're not real! Go away! Stop making me think about things I can't have.”
He felt tears well up and spill over, beginning their slow journey downward and he couldn't even wipe his face clear of them, not with his hands tied. “Go away,” he whispered.
Clint H. put down the water and grabbed his wrist. “Fuck it. I'm letting you out of these restraints. I knew it was a bad idea, but until the doc talked to you about killing yourself, S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted them left on so you wouldn't try anything stupid. Bruce, honey, I'm real. You're not out of your head about this. You're at the helicarrier because you were really sick. You almost died, because you're a moron. And me and rest of the team are all morons, too. You're not a prisoner.”
He quickly freed both of Bruce's wrists and Bruce sat up in bed and scrubbed at his face.
Bruce said quietly, “Clint has never called me Bruce, and he has never, ever, called me honey.”
Clint H. said, “Maybe I just started.”
Bruce studiously stared at the glass of water.
“I like you, Clint H. But you're a figment of my brain, maybe from being drugged.”
“You're not drugged!”
“Or I've finally gotten so low that I'm making up people to care about me.”
Clint H. threw his hands up in the air. “You know you drive me crazy, right? You do have people who care about you.”
“Or maybe I've been sick. But why would S.H.I.E.L.D. agree to give me medical care? I'm betting they'd be just as happy if I did die.”
“Lissen up, Banner. You are not allowed to die.” Clint H. had grabbed his shoulders. These tactile hallucinations were really strong.
“I'm a prisoner, and I'm out of my head.”
He reached for the water glass and drained it, set it back down, touched his hand where an IV was still dripping liquid into his body. “I'm tired. Please let me go back to sleep, Clint H.”
“You said I was wish fulfillment. What are you wishing for?” Clint H. sat down on the edge of the bed and he picked up Bruce's hand.
Bruce sighed. “I shouldn't tell you.”
“You can tell me. C'mon, tell me?”
“You're not real.”
“Says you, pal. But let's go with your logic. If I'm not real, then it doesn't matter if you tell me what you've been wishing for, does it?”
Bruce felt confused. He rubbed his forehead with his free hand.
“I, I guess not.” He was circling the drain, he knew it.
“Okay, just nod your head if I get it right. Do you want to go camping with me?” asked Clint H.
Bruce nodded.
“Fishing?”
Bruce nodded, then added, “And you aren't a pain in the ass about it. No grumbling. Bring a book or video games along.”
Clint H. laughed. “What about afterwards? Want to come share my sleeping bag?”
“See, that proves you aren't real. Because Clint Barton doesn't want that with me.”
“Yes, I do.”
Bruce felt sadness filling him up, and he just wanted to not feel anything, because sadness? It hurt. “I know better. And I know better than to let myself want something. I can't want Clint to like me. Or want him to go to bed with me. So will you leave me alone now?”
“I'm staying right here.”
He looked Clint H. in the eyes and said haltingly, “Please?”
Clint H. sighed. “Why don't you ask Hulk about all of this, maybe you'd believe him that when I do this, I'm really doing it.” He kissed him on the forehead, and then briefly brushed his lips across Bruce's own dry ones.
Bruce looked past Clint H. and stared at the gray walls of his prison cell. “You know that if I lower the wall Hulk will feel what I feel. When they start hurting me, I don't want him to be hurt, too.”
Clint H. ran a hand through short blond hair, ruffling it even further. “Okay. I give. Go back to sleep, and maybe this will make more sense to you when you wake back up.”
Bruce tried to get comfortable but the restraints on his legs kept him from being able to turn on his side. Clint H. undid them, then pulled the white cotton blanket up to Bruce's shoulders. He started to rub Bruce's back, and Bruce gave in. He didn't want Clint H. to stop, and he kept imagining that he was touching him because he cared about Bruce. Nobody had soothed him like that since he'd been with Betty.
Just like when he was very little, when his mother used to do it, and hum old Beatles songs, he fell asleep to someone's hand making comforting circles on his back.
* * *
Bruce felt better the next time he woke up. Surprised, he saw that the medical staff had taken off his restraints while he was asleep. He disconnected all the monitors and catheter and pulled out the IV from the back of his hand. He'd probably pay for doing that, but he felt rebellious. There was a meal on the hospital table, and he ate the cold soup and crackers, juice and applesauce.
So much for his pardon. He was sure that he hadn't done anything to warrant being incarcerated again, but that had never stopped S.H.I.E.L.D. or Ross from grabbing him in the past.
He was being monitored; he could see the cameras in the room. He was used to them, so he ignored the fact that someone was watching his every move. Whenever he'd been imprisoned, he hardly ever had interactions with people, except for the heartless bastards who experimented on him. When he'd been in the mountain prison he'd mostly been left in solitary confinement, except for when the General had wanted to have some fun with him. After the first time, when Bruce had fought back, even biting one guard, he'd been gassed into unconsciousness whenever Ross wanted him experimented on for whatever he was doing. Afterwards, Bruce would wake up to find himself strapped to a lab table.
At least he'd kept Hulk from being tortured.
Bruce slowly got out of his hospital bed and found the bathroom. After relieving himself he decided to use the shower and get clean. There were cameras in here, too, but he'd long ago given up being modest. If he was very lucky, he'd still have shredded and filthy pants on after he transformed from the Hulk back to Banner, but it hadn't been uncommon for him to wake up naked. Tony had done Hulk and him a favor and had pants made that stretched and shrunk as needed. He thought maybe Tony had done some kind of science swap with Reed Richards for the fabric.
Bruce stripped off the scrubs he was wearing and turned on the hot water, then stepped in, a little grateful that there was soap and shampoo provided for him. He debated shaving, and then decided it was too much trouble.
He wasn't hallucinating, at least. Well, he didn't think he was. He remembered that he'd decided to let Hulk stay out and keep their body. It certainly made more sense. Hulk was needed. He wasn't. But here he was, anyway, and he felt strange about that. And it was just plain sad that he had hallucinated seeing Clint and Jan. Especially Clint. He hoped Clint would never find out that Bruce had dreamed him up, that he'd imagined Clint kissing him.
He resolved that if Hulk wouldn't let him miss his day out anymore, then he'd just stay quietly in the mansion or maybe the garden, keep out of everybody's way.
He was good at hiding.
He wouldn't ask Clint or anybody else to take him to the woods anymore or his cabin.
If he couldn't help the Avengers, at least he could stop taking up their time.
* * *
After dressing in clean scrubs that had been left for him on a shelf, he grabbed the blanket, wrapped himself up in it, and sat down against a wall, where he could watch the door.
He must have dozed off because when he heard his name called, it woke him up. He looked up at a man with green hair and shoulders to rival Thor's, who was crouched down in front of him. Leonard.
Bruce struggled to his feet, Leonard holding onto his arm to help steady him.
“Bruce, come and sit on the bed. That floor is cold.” Leonard kept his hand out ready to assist him, and Bruce stumbled back to the bed and eased himself down on it.
He hadn't seen Leonard for a while. Hulk had told him that Leonard had been brainwashed into helping Red Skull attack the Avengers.
“I heard about Red Skull. How are you doing, Leonard?” He re-wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, and gave Leonard an assessing look.
Leonard smiled at him. “I'm fine now. It was very disturbing to come back to myself to find that I'd been doing things to hurt other people, but I've had a chance to come to terms with it. Therapy for the therapist. It helped, and I've come to offer the same thing to you.”
Bruce said hesitantly, “Therapy?”
Leonard said, “Bruce, has Doctor Strange talked to you yet?
“I don't know him.”
“He treated you here, you--”
“What was wrong with me?”
“Bruce, I don't know all the medical details, but you were in a coma.”
“A coma?”
“Yes. Doctor Strange contacted me and explained that he's been treating you for the coma you were in, and he was recommending psychiatric care as a followup.”
“Because I was in a coma.” He glanced up at the cameras. “Did they get too rough with me, give me a head injury? Or did they put something in my brain again?” He felt the back of his head, where they'd put the last implant. He couldn't feel anything wrong.
Leonard shook his head. “Nobody's hurt you. Do you know where you are?”
“The helicarrier. Um... I don't remember S.H.I.E.L.D. arresting me again.”
“You aren't under arrest, Bruce. But since you were sent to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility for medical care, they aren't taking any chances that Hulk would take exception to being here and destroy the helicarrier. That's why you're in a secure gamma dampener cell.”
“How long was I in a coma?”
“Four or five days.”
“Why?”
Giving him a contemplative look, Leonard said gently, “You gave up, Bruce. You wanted the Hulk to take over permanently. Do you remember that?
Bruce closed his eyes and sorted through what he remembered. Or what he thought he remembered.
“I think so.”
“You think so?
“It's all a mishmash of dreams.”
“Anything else seem confusing to you?”
Bruce looked at Leonard, debating, then decided that being in a coma gave a guy a certain amount of leeway. “Hallucinations, too. But I haven't had any today.”
Leonard said, “I was coming to the helicarrier on S.H.I.E.L.D. business and thought I'd check on you, say hello, and discuss if you want therapy and if you would feel comfortable with me as your psychiatrist. I did treat you when you were in the Cube as a prisoner, after all. It would be understandable if you preferred someone else for therapy.”
“Um, I don't know. I'd like to know more about why I was in a coma.”
“Doctor Strange said that the struggle between you and Hulk sent you into it. Do you remember the struggle?”
“Yes. At the mansion.”
“Doctor Strange tried some unusual techniques and pulled you out of it. I've worked with him before and he's unorthodox, but what he does is legitimate, if not well understood. He had another emergency come up, but he said he would be checking back on you soon.”
“Since I'm not a prisoner, can I leave?”
“It's not up to me, but let me check your vitals. You look pale.” Leonard located a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff and a thermometer. He stuck the thermometer in Bruce's mouth, and took his pulse and blood pressure.
Leonard's fingers on his pulse point just brought home to Bruce how long it had been since he'd had any positive human touch. Hallucinations didn't count. But, that was the way it was, and he had accepted that he'd be alone a long time ago.
Leonard unwrapped the cuff, took the thermometer out of Bruce's mouth and glanced at it. “Well, your blood pressure is a little low, and your pulse seemed a little jumpy, but you're not running a fever. Bruce, people are concerned about you.”
Bruce doubted that. Still, the Avengers must have called an ambulance after he collapsed. He remembered feeling weaker and weaker after each time he'd tried to turn back into Hulk.
Leonard waited till it was clear Bruce didn't have a comment, then he added, “I'm concerned about you. Why did you refuse to return at all to this body?” he waved his hand at Bruce.
Bruce just shrugged his shoulders. “Hulk is needed; I'm not.”
“Why aren't you needed?”
“Hulk is the Avenger.”
“And you're not?”
“No.”
“Okay. Are you having any thoughts about hurting yourself?”
Bruce hesitated, “No.”
Leonard said gently, “No, but...?”
“I think I was ready to die. It just happened that way. But those dreams I had, they made me feel differently. I can promise you this, Leonard. I'm not feeling like killing or hurting myself now.”
“From what Doctor Strange said, you're lucky to be alive. You were headed for a probably fatal heart attack, and he had to shock you to get your heart to work correctly again.”
Bruce put his hand on his chest. “Really? Any damage?” He wasn't much concerned. Whenever he did get out of here, changing to Hulk would take care of any lingering problems.
“He said that you're fine. Bruce, would you answer some questions for me, honestly answer them?”
“Umm. Okay.” Bruce was a lousy liar, anyway. Might as well tell him what truths he could afford to give away.
Leonard nodded, “But first I want to make it clear that you have a choice here. If you decide not to talk to me, it won't impact you being able to leave. You've already stated that you don't feel like hurting yourself, and you've always been very honest in the past with me.”
Bruce shrugged again. Leonard meant well, and Bruce considered him to be as much of a friend as anybody he'd met since going on the run. At least when Bruce had been a captive and Leonard had done tests on him, he'd been careful not to hurt him.
“Go ahead.”
It was a depression screening, Bruce realized after the first question. Still he answered honestly, as Leonard had requested. Isolating himself, depressed mood, loss of joy in things he formerly enjoyed doing, feeling low energy, having had thoughts of wishing he could stay asleep and not wake up, he admitted to doing and feeling all of it.
“Bruce, who is in your life right now that you can talk to about things that are bothering you? Somebody you could call at three in the morning and they'd come to help you with whatever trouble you're in?”
“Ah, Jan, I guess. She's got a good heart for everybody. But I wouldn't bother her. Cap would come, because he's Cap. They both did come to help free me the last time I was in custody with S.H.I.E.L.D.”
Bruce started to cross his arms around himself, the nightmarish, vague memories he had of that time waiting to engulf him, but with an effort he laid his hands in his lap and banished those thoughts. Leonard didn't need to see him having difficulty talking about this stuff. He'd said he'd okay Bruce's release and Bruce didn't want him to change his mind.
He made himself make good eye contact. Shrinks liked that, he'd found. He said, “Really any of the Avengers would help me if I was in serious trouble. They got me a pardon from the president, you know. They came looking for Hulk when he went off into the Arctic, to make sure he was okay. They're all good people.”
“So you would call any of the Avengers to help you out of a jam?”
Bruce looked down at his hands. He wished that he could skip seeing the team for a while. If enough time went by maybe they'd forget about him again and he wouldn't have to see the looks they'd give him.
Leonard had been gazing at him with kindness. This was his job. He was kind to all of his patients. Bruce looked at him again.
“You said to be honest so... no. I wouldn't bother them about me. I was on my own for a long time before Hulk joined the team, and I can handle my own problems.”
Leonard lifted an eyebrow.
Bruce shrugged. “Well, I wouldn't turn down a jail break from them, if Ross ever gets out of custody and gets his hands on me again. I don't think that pardon means anything to him, he'll just try to manufacture evidence against me, I suspect.”
Leonard blew out a long stream of breath and then smiled wryly at him. “Bruce, I'm going to say this in the most unprofessional way possible. Your support system sucks. Part of that is you not wanting to accept help, and a great deal of it is from your teammates not building stronger friendships with you.”
“They're not my teammates. They're Hulk's.”
“And that statement pinpoints one of the main problems. You don't feel like you belong with the Avengers, do you?”
“No, not anymore. I used to think I was one of them, but I had my eyes opened about that. Leonard, it's okay. I've accepted that I'm not on the team. They'll tell me if I can help with something scientific, and I'm happy to do that. Thanks for talking with me, and I appreciate the offer to do therapy with you. Let me think about it for a while, okay?”
“Alright. And Bruce? If you need to talk to somebody at three in the morning, you can call me. Either as your therapist, or if we don't go that route, then as your friend. Okay?”
Bruce nodded, and Leonard patted him on the shoulder and addressed the security camera.
I'm ready to leave.” He walked to the door and Bruce watched as it opened and Leonard stepped out. He glimpsed a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with a tranquilizer gun before the door shut and locked again.
He hoped Doctor Strange would come soon and release him. He didn't think S.H.I.E.L.D. would let him go against medical advice.
* * *
Cocooned in the blanket, Bruce went back to his spot against the wall so he could keep the door in his line of sight. He tried to do a little meditation but gave it quickly up. He was too much on edge to relax enough to reach Delta brainwaves.
He considered Leonard's offer to be his therapist. By any measure, he had enough baggage from his childhood to keep him in therapy for a good long time. But really, he'd dealt with all that. He just hadn't realized that depression had crept up on him. Now that he was aware of that problem, he'd try to not let himself sink further into that hole. He'd contact Leonard later and tell him that for now he was holding off on therapy.
Since Bruce was giving up his cabin and trips to lakes and woods, he considered other quiet, solitary things he could do on his day off. He didn't think he'd be allowed to leave by himself to go out into the city, not even to Central Park, which was easily in walking distance from the mansion.
He bet that there was a library in the mansion, although he'd never looked for it. He could curl up with real books and lose himself for hours. Tony would give Hulk a Starkpad if Hulk asked for one, and he could borrow it for his day out. He could read online books and scientific journals. Watch movies or TV shows on it, too. He'd missed a lot of movies during his running days. He could catch up.
He could do yoga, meditate. Take a nap. Hulk liked to swim in the pool. Maybe if nobody else was using it he could do some laps, float around.
He could think about his research. Maybe sketch out experiments and work equations. He didn't want to bother Tony about using his lab space, unless there was a problem he could help with again, so he'd keep things theoretical. Maybe he could send his work to some old colleagues who might be interested in his ideas.
He needed to make some money now that he had to be out again. He wouldn't feel right anymore about using the funds Tony had set up for each of the Avengers, a stipend to let them buy things they needed. Hulk could use it still since he was a member of the team. Bruce would pay Tony back for past rent and groceries. He'd set up something quiet with JARVIS. Tony, he knew, wouldn't care and wouldn't accept it if he knew about it, but Bruce didn't want to be a moocher. He could do tutoring on-line and sign up at some of those sites where you got paid to write articles explaining concepts to those without a science background. Things like how electrical circuits or transformers worked or how to build a Geiger counter or troubleshoot a mass spectrometer.
He sighed. That kind of work wouldn't be any sort of a challenge. He had never much cared about TV or movies. He wasn't that good of a swimmer, either, and he always got cold fast when he was in the water. Just lying around in the sun bored him, although he knew from Hulk's stories that Jan and Clint loved imitating lizards and basking in the heat.
Well. More time to think about research then.
Drawing his knees up to his chin, he clasped his hands around his legs. Clint might be surprised to know that once upon a time, Bruce had been fairly impatient when he was waiting for something to happen. He'd fidget, skitter around, jump up from a work station to grab more coffee. Now he only drank decaf. Funny how waiting for hours, hiding in small spaces, barely breathing until some huge tank had at last rolled away had finally taught him patience.
He waited until drowsiness overtook him, his eyes closing despite trying to stay awake. The bed was too far away, so he curled up on the floor and let sleep take him down.
* * *
Bruce came awake to the sound of voices in the room. He kept his eyes shut, hoping to learn more about who was in the room with him before getting to his feet.
“Assistant Director, he's fine. Doctor Samson took his vitals. He's been sitting there on the floor and he just got sleepy.”
“Do you take me for an idiot? He almost died four days ago, and Doctor Strange told us that he wouldn't be fully recovered from the coma for days. You should have got him a chair if he wanted to sit by the wall. I am not going to have the Avengers on my tail because you let him stay on the floor and he had a relapse. Get him on the bed, and check him over before Barton wakes up and sees his boy like this.”
Bruce opened his eyes and sat up slowly before he could be manhandled. “Um, I heard that. I'm okay.” Barton's boy?
The two men who were practically looming over him stopped and looked back at the fit-looking black-haired woman who was glaring at them.
“Do I need to repeat myself? Pick him up and get him back on the bed.”
Before Bruce could get to his feet, he was hauled up and carried between the two men to the bed and placed on it, legs dangling over the side.
The two men hustled to get his vitals. From the looks on their faces, it was with some relief that they told the woman that his readings were within normal limits. She motioned for them to leave the room and crossed her arms over her chest, looking him over.
Bruce watched her warily. “Are you Assistant Director Maria Hill?”
She nodded, and he swallowed before saying, “Um, thank you for letting me have medical treatment. I'd like to leave now, please.”
She shook her head. “You're not going anywhere- ”
Bruce fisted his hands. It was what he expected from S.H.I.E.L.D., after all.
She looked pointedly at his hands and he let them flatten out against his thighs.
“You're not going anywhere until Doctor Strange releases you. He'll be here in an hour or two. And, I'm adding my own condition. Lose the beard.”
Bruce wondered if he'd heard her correctly. “Um, excuse me?”
“Shave it off, Doctor Banner.”
“Why?”
She just stared hard at him until he raised his hands. “I really don't think it's any of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s business, but... okay.”
Maybe they wanted to take his picture for future identification purposes. That must be it.
“Why did you return to the States, Doctor Banner? You'd dropped off everybody's radar when you disappeared in South America.”
“I found out S.H.I.E.L.D. was experimenting on people who'd been exposed to gamma radiation. I thought maybe there was something I could do to help those poor souls.”
“Why you?” Hill asked.
“Why not me? I know something about gamma radiation.”
“That's like saying Michelangelo knew something about painting.”
“Um...” He didn't know how to respond to that.
Hill pointed at him. “I want you registered with S.H.I.E.L.D., Doctor Banner. We know your identity, of course, but I want to make it official that you're under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s supervision. I want all of the Avengers and every other superhero out there, whether they're like Tony Stark and have announced their identity, or those who are keeping it a secret, like Spiderman, to stop being vigilantes and be regulated.”
“You'd have to ask Hulk, not me. I'm not the superhero.”
“Don't get cute with me. You're one person.”
He shook his head. “Not really. At the very least, we'd want to discuss it with each other.”
She rolled her eyes. “So take thirty seconds and ask your alter ego about it.”
“Not here. If I lower the wall between us, Hulk will experience what I'm experiencing. Once the wall is down it's not very easy to put it back up. And while your people haven't hurt me so far, I won't risk Hulk being tortured along with me, if things go the way they usually do when I'm in a S.H.I.E.L.D. cell.”
“You're exaggerating. I don't appreciate it.”
“The other times were all filmed; I could see the cameras. If you've seen it and think that it wasn't torture, then we have very different meanings for that term.”
He shivered and wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself, feeling cold all of a sudden, remembering scalpels and blood, pieces of his flesh removed to chart how fast his body would mend. Torture sessions disguised as interrogations. Keeping him awake to disorient him, to see if Hulk would speak through his lips.
He wasn't sure how long he was lost to his memories, but the door opening up caught his attention. Jan came in, carrying a tray, a bag over one shoulder.
He glanced at Maria Hill to see if she noticed Jan or not. He was half afraid she was a hallucination, too, like Clint H. had been, but Jan smiled at Maria, who said, “Wasp,” in a friendly tone of voice. Jan had a knack of charming most people. Even some of the villains she had put in prison had thought she was cute.
Jan placed the tray on the bed table and dropped the bag on the bed next to him.
Then she threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. Holding him by his shoulders, she looked him in the eyes. “Bruce, you're looking so much better now. You really scared us, you know that? Don't you dare ever do anything like that again, Bruce Banner!”
“I'm sorry. I didn't intend to worry anybody.” He said it awkwardly, not sure what to do in response to such overt concern about him.
“Are you feeling better?”
“I'm okay.”
“It took you a while to come out of the coma. Do you remember waking up and looking at us and then falling asleep again?”
“Noooo...”
“Doctor Strange said you probably wouldn't remember much, and what you did remember would be hazy. He also said you had to start taking better care of yourself. I was watching you on the security monitors and you looked cold, so I found you a sweatshirt. And I brought you some supper.”
Hill interrupted them. “Doctor Banner, Director Fury or I are the only ones authorized to release you, and one of us will be back to do that if Doctor Strange signs your discharge papers. Wasp, good to see you again. I take it that Barton is still sleeping off the sedative?”
“Clint was up for most of the time Bruce was sick, so he's got a lot of sleep to catch up on. Maria, thank you for coming down. I didn't want Bruce to sleep on the floor, but the guys watching him wouldn't do anything.”
Hill walked to the door, waved at the security camera. Bruce heard the sound of the lock disengaging, but before she opened it she pointed at him.
“I'll watch those films, Doctor. And you have that discussion with the Hulk.”
* * *
Janet fussed over him for a while. He did as she asked, ate the ham sandwich and coleslaw she'd brought him, swapped the blanket he was wrapped up in for the black sweatshirt with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s logo emblazoned on the back.
She chattered about Doctor Strange, the neurologist and, apparently, some sort of mystic. Cap had tracked down Spiderman in a back alley, and the webslinger had relayed a message to Doctor Strange asking him if he could see Bruce. Tony had talked Fury into letting Doctor Strange come to the helicarrier to treat Bruce after S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doctors had thrown up their hands over his case.
From how Jan talked about Doctor Strange, she trusted the man. She said that Hawkeye approved of him, too. Jan tended to see the best in people, but Hawkeye was a lot more cynical. Apparently, though, Clint accepted that the mystical approach had worked. Well, Bruce himself had seen some strange things during his travels. He'd seen shamans at work. He was a scientist, but that didn't mean he couldn't accept that there were forces at work in the world that were poorly understood.
He didn't even begin to understand how the Hulk existed, although he had mapped out the sequence to call him forth, both voluntarily and when his body reacted to fear or pain or anger and Hulk took over for them. So there was room in his belief system for both hard science and mysticism. Even magic. Look at what Loki and Amora had been able to do. Arthur Clarke's third law came to mind: any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Maybe someday someone like Tony or Reed Richards would pin down the scientific basis for magic.
Jan had said that Doctor Strange had chanted weird things and had held out an amulet he wore around his neck. It seemed to let him understand what was happening in Bruce's mind.
He'd dreamed Jan and Clint had found him in a cave and... well. Probably he had somehow known they were in the room with him and just that fact, that they'd cared enough to stay, had bolstered him. He was extremely grateful to both of them.
He excused himself to shave, and looked hard at his image in the mirror when he'd finished. Being clean-shaven made him look more like the man he'd been before the accident- a professor, a man with a research job, not a hobo on the street. He'd stopped caring much about looking neat a long time ago. When he was on the run he counted himself lucky if he could stay even halfway clean. Shaving every day and getting his hair trimmed were luxuries he didn't often get to indulge in, and then it had started to seem pointless to even bother much with things like that.
He touched his hair, the unruly mop with uneven lengths caused by hacking at it himself with a knife now and then. He had maybe a day, a day and a half, to be out before it was Hulk's turn to take over. Maybe he'd try to get a haircut.
Then he remembered that he wasn't going to take up any of the team's time anymore, and no doubt one of them would insist on going with him to the barber shop. He'd wait, find a pair of scissors after he returned to the mansion, and give it his best shot at cutting his own hair again.
When he stepped back into the cell, Jan was talking to a tall black-haired man who was dressed outlandishly, his entire costume shouting out that he was either another superhero or was in show biz.
Jan smiled at him. “Bruce, this is Doctor Strange. He saved your life. I'm going to go and wake up Clint, get things ready for us to leave while the doctor checks you over.”
She stepped close to Bruce and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She grinned up at him, looking a lot like the pixie she resembled when she was teeny-tiny. “I don't like kissing stubble. Thanks for shaving.”
She smiled at Doctor Strange, too. “Stephen, it was so good to meet you and thank you again for everything you've done.” She walked over and hugged him, a quick, friendly gesture that told Bruce that Jan had added this man to her circle of friends.
She left then and Doctor Strange asked Bruce to sit down on the bed. He shone a light in Bruce's eyes, had him follow it with his eyes as it was moved in various directions.
He tapped Bruce's knees with a reflex hammer. “Doctor Banner, I'm aware of the decision you made to let Hulk have all the time out in the world. You almost died as a result of the struggle between the two halves of yourself. I was present, in your mind, at the crisis. With my help, Wasp and Hawkeye linked with you also. Without their aid, you, your thoughts and memories would have expired. You would not have been able to regain this body.”
He held out his palms. “Put your hands up against mine. Push both of them hard against my hands.”
Bruce complied, and Doctor Strange had him repeat the procedure using one hand at a time.
“I could not see past your death. However, I think that instead of Hulk keeping his body, he would have died also.”
Bruce drew in a sharp breath. “No.”
“Yes. I don't think that consequence occurred to you, did it?” He took Bruce's arm, manipulated it, and then did the other one. Meanwhile, Bruce sat there, shocked that he had almost killed Hulk.
Doctor Strange felt his other joints and moved his head into different positions. He said, “Shrug your shoulders for me.”
Bruce felt like all his muscles had turned to water. Doctor Strange frowned. “Bruce? Are you okay? Any pain, headache, nausea?”
“Did I hurt him? Is he okay? I... okay, I can let down the walls, but then if S.H.I.E.L.D. turns on me, then he'll be where he'll feel what I feel.”
Doctor Strange patted him on the arm. “I'm going to check on him, too. I don't think you're in danger here, but you don't have to talk to Hulk right now. You do, however, have to have a serious talk about this arrangement between you two. You can't continue to only be present for one day of the month. It's weakened you. You, young man, need to take better care of yourself.”
Bruce looked at him, a little thrown by the “young man” comment. He hadn't felt young for a long time.
“I'm sending you home with followup care instructions. Eat right and sleep when you're in this body, exercise, and spend time with other people. I think you'd benefit from therapy, Doctor Banner. I suspect you're suffering from PTSD.”
He patted him again on the arm. “I want you to concentrate now so I can finish the exam. Shrug your shoulders for me.”
Bruce did as he was told, answered all the questions, walked across the floor, closed his eyes while standing and Doctor Strange gently pushed him so he swayed on his feet. He ended up back on the bed and he had to stick his tongue out and then smile.
Smiling actually took some effort. Doctor Strange could tell, he knew.
“I'm ah, rusty at this. Sorry.”
Doctor Strange smiled back at him. “Maybe I should prescribe that you watch some comedies. Laughing and smiling is good for your body, Doctor Banner.”
Doctor Strange pulled on a chain around his neck, and an amulet under his shirt came free. He held it in one hand and touched Bruce on his shoulder.
“I'm going to check on Hulk. I want you to close your eyes now and do not open them unless I tell you to. I'm going to touch your chest and your forehead, after I do an incantation.”
Bruce obediently closed his eyes. Doctor Strange said in a commanding tone, I summon forth the all-seeing Eye of Agamotto! Now let my amulet open!"
Then he rucked up Bruce's sweatshirt and scrub top and placed his hand directly over Bruce's heart. Bruce felt his skin turn hot where they were touching. When a firm palm was placed on his forehead, he heard himself sigh loudly.
He must have fallen asleep, because he didn't remember anything else until he was shaken awake. He realized he was under a blanket on the hospital bed. He blinked up at a new face, a green-eyed bald man with arms like tree trunks. He was holding a stethoscope.
“I need to take your vitals, Doctor Banner. I'm Doctor Thomas Wilson. Doctor Strange needed to leave and he said to let you sleep until you woke up naturally or it was time to leave. It's time to leave if your vitals are good.”
Bruce sat up immediately and laid his arm on his thigh, palm up, so his blood pressure could be read.
When Doctor Wilson was done, he nodded at the security camera. Then he looked back down at Bruce. “We're going to take some precautions when you leave this room, Doctor Banner. Please cooperate with us, and we'll all get what we want. You get to go home, we get to keep the helicarrier in one piece.”
There was that old S.H.I.E.L.D. attitude he was so familiar with. Bruce sighed and stretched his arms over his head. “I'd tell you that none of your precautions are necessary, but it would just be a waste of my time.”
The door opened and Maria Hill came in, along with Janet and Clint. Bruce waited to see if Doctor Wilson would acknowledge either one of the Avengers or if Maria Hill would say something to them. They might be hallucinations again. He'd rather not be caught talking to thin air and have it be decided that he needed to stay here.
Distracted, he didn't notice Doctor Wilson's furtive hand movement until the prick of a needle had already done its damage.
Immediately he started feeling dizzy, listing to one side. Hands caught him and eased him down, his legs were lifted up on the bed.
He was going under, and in another few moments he knew he'd be totally unconscious.
Clint was there at his side, looking angry. “Bruce, I'm sorry. Maria didn't tell us you had to be sedated to leave this room. Look, Jan and I will be with you the whole time we're flying back to the mansion.”
He closed his eyes. He didn't know if that was really Clint or if it was Clint Hallucination, so he'd play it safe, like he was already asleep. It would be true before they wheeled him out of here.
Maria Hill said, very close to him, “Bring in the gamma dampener transport. Secure his hands in the cuffs. Barton, how do you like Tom Sawyer now? He's got more freckles than I realized.”
“How do I like him? I'd like him to be able to leave without this bullshit. I'd like it if S.H.I.E.L.D. stopped treating him like a criminal. Even if he did transform into Hulk, Hulk wouldn't tear anything up unless he was attacked. These precautions aren't necessary, Maria.”
So, Clint was really Clint if Assistant Director Hill was talking to him. Clint defending Hulk seemed normal. Clint stating that S.H.I.E.L.D. should stop treating Bruce as a bad guy seemed surreal.
He felt his arm lifted and something bulky fastened around his wrist, then the other one was secured.
Clint and Maria Hill were still arguing but he couldn't make out anything more than an occasional word and their heated tones.
He tried to open his eyes when he was lifted onto a firm surface, but his eyelids didn't get with the program.
He felt his arm being squeezed lightly. Jan's voice cut through the fog in his head for a moment. “Bruce, I'm sorry. I'm going to have words with Fury over this. We all are. But you're safe. Clint and I will take care of you. Go to sleep, sweetie.”
He recognized the snick of the transport cover being locked down. It was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s standard method of transporting one of the gamma monsters they'd made or caught. He'd been in them more times than he liked to remember.
He tried one more time to open his eyes, to look at Clint and Jan.
He couldn't, and he stopped fighting the sedative and let himself drop into sleep.
* * *
Chapter Five