Falling Down Drunk
“Come on, Bruce, you have to come!” Tony whined.
It was Happy's birthday and he was having a party at Lavo nightclub. Tony couldn't wait to go dance and act stupid and get falling-down drunk, but if Bruce wouldn't go with him... well, then what was the point? Sure, he wanted to celebrate with Happy, but he would probably end up with Tony Stark groupie chicks hanging all over him the whole night, when what he really wanted hanging all over him was Bruce.
“Come on, you never just chill out and have a beer with us, Brucey.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Bruce said sarcastically, “that's exactly why you guys are going to a huge, exclusive dance club with a DJ and a bouncer turning away the undesirables – so you can chill out and have a beer. Admit it, you're gonna get shit-faced and dance on the bar and puke your guts out and maybe fuck some hot girl in the bathroom. Oh, and by the way, I'm one of those undesirables they turn away at the door. I mean, they'd let me in if I was with you, but honestly, I'm not the Lavo type.”
“So that's why you don't want to go, because you think the bouncer wouldn't want you there? Fuck that, you're with Iron Man. And you're hotter than anyone in that place, anyway. Can I hug you, by the way? You're just looking so darn cute with your hair like that.”
Bruce, who's hair was still messy from sleep, didn't answer that last question but stepped out of his reach, purposefully smoothing his curls and looking exasperated. “No, that's not it, Tony. That's part of it, but really it's just not my thing. I don't even drink and I don't like to be around it.”
Tony thought he saw him wince a little as he said it, almost imperceptibly. He decided not to keep pressuring him, but to instead just go and have a good time like he would have before he started wanting his little buddy to be always around.
***
“What do you think?” Tony was dressed in a tight camo t-shirt, leather jacket, jeans, and high-top sneakers. He slid on a pair of sunglasses to complete the look. “Fuckin' sexy, right?”
Bruce looked at him, then looked away quickly, dropping his eyes with a bashful smile that was nearly a blush. “Yeah... yeah, you do look... fuckin' sexy, Tony,” he stammered, nodding vigorously at the floor. “You don't really need the sunglasses, though, right? I mean, it's nighttime.”
Tony snorted. “See, that's why I'm the cool one. It's fashion, baby. Fashion before function.”
Bruce chuckled, looking everywhere but at him. “Well, the chicks are gonna love you. I mean, that's what you're after, right?”
“Uuummm, not really.”
His friend let out a little puff of air that was not quite a laugh and pawed at the floor with one foot. Tony reached over, careful to go slow as he'd been instructed at the movie theatre, and took Bruce's chin in his hand, gently forcing his head up to look him in the eye.
“Did you hear what I said, bro? I said, 'Not really.' I know you know me as a player, but there are things that are more important to me now. You are more important to me now. You got that?”
Bruce, looking a little stunned, nodded silently. He went to bed before Tony left.
***
It had been a fantastic night. True, it had taken some effort to keep the ladies at bay, but he had done his best to send them all in Happy's direction – he was the birthday boy after all – and Happy had subsequently left the club with a woman on each arm and looking very... well... happy.
Tony was nicely drunk, too. Just drunk enough that he couldn't figure out how to use his Visa to pay for the cab home. Just drunk enough that he had to yell at J.A.R.V.I.S. to “just open the goddamn door” because his finger wouldn't hit the scanner properly to get his print and unlock it. Just drunk enough that he fell three times on the way up to his floor. And just drunk enough that he took off one shoe and forgot to take off the other until he had walked lopsided through two rooms and a hallway. Okay, he was shit-faced, just like Bruce had said he would be.
And, as luck would have it, because Tony considered it very lucky in that moment and in that happy state to get to lay eyes on his favourite guy in the world, his BFF was awake and sitting on a stool in the kitchen in his pyjamas with a mug of tea in his hands.
“Waitin' up for me?” Tony said, teetering a bit in the doorway.
“Oh, hey Tony.” Bruce hopped off the stool and put his mug in the sink. “No, I just couldn't sleep. Had a nightmare. I'm going back to be now, though, so g'night.”
“Wait!” Tony stumbled into the room, a little more frantically than he meant to. “Don't go t' bed yet,” he slurred. “I missed you, I wanna see you.”
He shook his head. “No, no, it's the middle of the night and you're drunk, so...” He leaned casually against the counter as he spoke, but he looked stressed.
“Whatsa matter?” Tony went and leaned against the counter too. “We haven' seen each other alllll night, don' you wanna talk to me? I didn' fuck anyone, if tha's what you're worried about.”
He leaned over a little too far and his elbow knocked into a heavy vase behind him, which fell to the floor and shattered with an incredible crash. Bruce jumped and squeezed his eyes shut tight, but only for a second. Then he sprang into action, shouting, “Sorry, I'll clean that up!” with an almost crazed eagerness, and ran for a broom.
“Huh? You didn' do it, though. Why are you ssorry?” Tony slurred. “Don' clean it up.” He grabbed the broom from his hand and sent it clattering noisily to the floor. “J.A.R.V.I.S.'ll clean it up. Tha's his job.”
Bruce swallowed hard and took a step backward. “'Kay, I'm gonna go to bed now. You should probably go to bed, too.”
“Uh-uh, I'm hungry.” Tony tried to hoist himself up onto the counter, stepping into an open drawer for leverage and snickering. “There's fuckin' cereal waaaay up there. It's really, really, really far away.”
“Oh, god, Tony, don't climb up there, you're gonna hurt yourself!” Bruce got behind him and tugged gently to pull him down. “Jus-just let me get the cereal,” he stuttered nervously, “you just wait down here.”
He climbed up himself and procured the box of cereal and poured a bowl for Tony with almond milk.
“Holy shit, you are the bessst.” Tony took one bite then abandoned his snack and backed Bruce, who stepped backward each time Tony took a step toward him, against a wall, steadying himself as he wobbled with a hand pushed flat against the wall on either side of his friend. “Have I ever told you how much I fuckin' love you? I love you, bro. Tha's all I could even think about tonight, jus' how fuckin' great that Bruce Banner is.”
“Tony,” he slid down the wall about an inch, his obvious discomfort lost on Tony in his drunken state, “please don't do this. I just want to go to bed.” His voice cracked and he gave a pleading look that Tony misinterpreted, along with his words, as being absolutely meaningless. He tended to lose all insight when he drank this much.
“Here, lemme give you something.” He stumbled to the kitchen island, completely incapable of walking straight, determined to give Bruce something in exchange for getting him the bowl of cereal, which he still hadn't eaten but felt was somehow the nicest thing anyone had ever given him. “I wan' you t' try a dragon fruit.”
“What? Tony, I don't want to try any pointy fruit, it's the middle of the night and I'm exhausted and you're drunk. Can I please just go to bed?” Bruce did appear tired, but at the same time his eyes were very large and watchful, so Tony ignored him again.
“You'll love this!”
He reached for the fruit bowl with a swing of his arm, but managed to knock everything else off the island in the process: several dishes and a few magazines -- Lazy ass J.A.R.V.I.S, Tony thought – and two glass candle holders. It was a very loud accident, with plenty of breaking glass and porcelain and thuds as the magazines hit the floor.
“Whoops,” Tony said, surveying the damage. But when he looked to where Bruce had been standing, he saw that he wasn't there anymore. “Brucey, buddy, where'd you go?”
He circled the island and saw him, on the other side, sitting on the floor against the wall with his knees to his chest and his hands over his head, looking like he was making himself as small as he could manage, like he could make himself so small he would disappear.
“Bruce?”
“Please don't hurt me,” he whimpered, his body tightening into a smaller little ball of pyjamas and messy hair. “I'll be good, I promise. I'm sorry I made you mad.”
Tony felt his heart break even harder than it had in the therapy sessions. He wanted to throw his arms around the little guy, but he knew he had to take it slow, especially now when he thought he was mad, when he thought – Oh, god – that Tony had purposely knocked all that stuff off the counter because he was so furious at him. He knelt down as slowly as he could, which was hard when he was drunk and stumbly, and put out his hand very, very slowly. Bruce sucked in his breath and whimpered loudly.
“I'm not gonna hit you,” Tony whispered, “see? Look at my hand. I'm jus' gonna touch your hair. Jus' to show you I'm not mad. I swear I'm not even a li'l bit mad.”
He waited for Bruce to look at the hand hovering near his face, which he did, fearfully and expectantly, waiting for the blow he still seemed sure was coming, murmuring again that he would be good. Then he touched his hair, his face, his neck, keeping his hand soft.
“I know I scared you, I know,” he soothed, feeling very sober all of a sudden. “Oh, god, Brucey, I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.”