Chapter 1
For some reason, the first thing the work crew did when they showed up at the condo that morning was to set up the TV. Tony didn’t understand why they’d bother doing that; it wasn’t as if those guys were going to be kicking back and watching the game or whatever. Besides, whatever was on the TV wasn’t going to provide anywhere near enough of a distraction to keep Tony out of their hair, if that was the reasoning. Not only was Tony not adequately distracted, he also didn’t have anyone to distract. He hated to admit it, but he missed Pepper. She had this annoying habit of being a responsible adult (though someone had to, he supposed) which in this case meant running their little Mom and Pop.
So it was up to Tony to oversee the move into their new condo. Before she left, Pepper had patted him on the shoulder and promised she’d make it worth his while if he agreed to this one thing. Whatever, easy enough, right? Though he had come to deeply regret agreeing (getting suckered into) Pepper’s plan five hours in to it, mostly because he didn’t have any of his toys to play with. Setting up the workshop should have been the first priority. Who even needed bedrooms and bathrooms and whatever else when he could be building shit?
After boredom got the better of him, he got up to pace. He tried flagging down the foreman to get his attention, but apparently the guy had been warned off about him ahead of time, because he was pretty adept at making it plain that he was there to work, not to entertain bored billionaires.
On the coffee table in front of him sat a stack of books: boring art books and puzzle books—word searches and crosswords; that sort of thing. He rifled through the stack and settled on the Sudoku, but lost interest half way through the first puzzle. Tony absently twirled the pencil in his hand and eyed the rest of the then sitting innocently in the nearby pencil holder. He plucked one from the cup because they were just crying out to be used as drumsticks. Armed with two Stark Industries branded pencils, he settled on an old rock and roll fantasy pretending he was somebody a little less Tony Stark and bit more Neil Peart.
Alas, his short-lived stint amongst rock’s royalty flamed out the moment some flickering image on the TV caught his attention. Tony set aside his pencils and turned up the volume.
On the large screen in front of him amateur video played, and in it, there was a Hulk.
“No one tells me anything,” he mumbled, as he pulled his phone from his pocket.
In the last half hour, he’d apparently missed several dozen phone calls and about as many text messages. Some had been from Romanoff, but most of them were from Rogers.
He tried Steve first. “Pick up pick up pick up.” Then he tried Romanoff. When that didn’t work, he tried the ‘New Avengers’ facility proper. (In or out, Stark, can’t have it both ways. He really wanted it both ways.)
On screen, the blurry outline of a Quinjet swooped over the Big Guy. A figure dropped to the ground just as the cargo bay door opened. Romanoff, Tony presumed. He’d seen this movie before; she and Banner had this down to a science.
There wasn’t a shred of recognition in the Big Guys eyes. No lullaby this time. Romanoff paused, probably gauging the situation, and then turned to run as the creature reared up, swatted at her, and gave chase. The Quin swooped down and scooped her up. Any later and they would have been Quinjet Helper.
The creature roared in frustration just as the video started to break up. “Pause,” he said. When nothing happened, he cursed, and then fumbled for the remote. “Don’t make that face, it’ll freeze that way,” Tony said to the rage beast stuck mid-snarl on his TV screen.
Tony didn’t know who or what that thing was, where it came from, or why. What he did know, if he knew anything, was this: the creature rampaging through downtown Nowheresville today was not the Hulk the world knew and loved (or despised, as the case may be.)
The cable news outlets predictably threw a shit-storm.
After having to listen to more than thirty seconds of well-coiffed talking heads stoke fear and speculation about one Bruce Banner, Tony wanted to throw things at his TV. Instead, he switched it off and sent the work crew home. (Pepper could yell at him about it later.) Then he set to work.
First order of business was getting his workshop up and running. He switched on the lights, then he brought up a holographic map of the world, which splashed across every corner of the workshop’s floor. The entire world sparkled with dozens of glittering, stars, each one representing a piece of Stark tech. With a quick tap, he disabled any and all stealth devices. He might be more than happy to loan out his stuff, but didn’t trust that one-eyed bastard, not for half a second. More flickering dots materialized, though he waved away anything that fell outside of his search criteria. After all was said and done, one single speck remained glittering and gleaming over his head, pointing the way like guiding star. .
“You,” Tony said to the solitary speck, "I have a good feeling about you.” This had to be Bruce's Quinjet. Well, its transponder, anyway. He knew it could represent nothing more than a debris field, but he held out hope and reached out to the lonely speck dancing above his head. He plucked it out of the air and held in his palm like a wish. He smiled widely at it and said, "Let's go say hello."
*
Several hours later, Tony was coasting over endless ocean at a casual Mach two, singing "My Girl," because he liked to be as obnoxious as possible.
Mister Stark,” Friday said.
“Come on, you know you love it.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “But that isn’t…"
“It’s okay to lie to my face,” he said. “I’ll forgive you, but just this once.”
“Mister Stark,” she said again. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk, because annoying people (AI or otherwise) was one of life’s great joys. “We got ourselves incoming,” she said and well, wasn’t that sobering.
“All right,” he said. “All hands on deck.”
The HUD lit up in front of him like Christmas. “Incoming,” of course, was his favorite giant green wrecking machine. This was not going to be a peaceful reunion by any means, but Tony couldn't exactly blame the guy. Nobody liked having their privacy invaded, rage monsters included. One time some hack photog snuck over the seawall in Malibu, snapping pics of him and Pep from under the cover of some nearby brush like the coward he was. The guy scurried off when Tony threatened to repulsor blast him out to sea, which would have been hilarious if the whole thing didn’t piss him off as much as it did.
“I feel like I could have a lot say about those bloodsuckers,” he muttered.
“Sure, boss,” Friday replied, clearly not following.
Tony dodged and weaved like a pro, but, “Impact in three, two…”
“Yes, thank you,” he bit out.
Hulk body-slammed into Tony. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and then he was in freefall.
He refused to panic. (The wide, empty vastness of space opening up and swallowing him whole…)
Friday said something, but Tony was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. Hulk grabbed his leg, and at least the world stopped spinning around him for half a second. That counted as a plus in Tony’s book. Then the big guy threw him.
He spun for a terrifying second or two until he remembered what he was doing. “Right, repulsors,” he said, as he course-corrected. "Bear with me, it’s my first day."
“Hulk containment is up and ready,” Friday reminded him.
“And her name was Veronica,” Tony sang. But that seemed a little extreme to him. “Not this time,” he said. “This is just a big loud dog behind the helpful no trespassing sign.” If the green machine meant to do him actual damage, he would.
And to prove Tony’s point for him, Hulk did just that.
*
Tony opened his eyes. Or, at least he tried to. He couldn’t see a damned thing except for a light so bright it bordered on violence.
“Oh, god,” he muttered. “I died. I’m dead and I died, and I don’t even believe in—"
“Good thing you’re not being dramatic,” someone said over him. Tony was pretty sure it was Bruce. “Here,” the voice said. With the rustling of some fabric and a screech of something metal, a cool gray shadow fell over everything around him. It was beautiful. Sure enough under some sort of make-shift tent stood the man himself. Bruce was barefoot, and swimming in an enormous t-shirt. At least those shorts Tony designed for him were holding up. Tony waggled his fingers as a hello.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” Tony said, “Except for the pain. Thanks for that, by the way. Didn’t expect the Welcoming Committee.”
Bruce gave Tony a hard look. “You shouldn’t have come here, Tony. I didn’t want--”
“There you go assuming everything’s about you.” Tony tried to sit up.
“Uh huh,” Bruce said. He reached out and held Tony’s elbow for support.
“Sure. I needed a vacation. Ow. I think I broke a rib,” Tony said.
“Well, that’s reasonable. You wanted a beach get-away, so you just happened to get away to mine. Nothing’s broken by the way,” Bruce said. Tony lifted his shirt. Large angry red lines crisscrossed his abdomen. It wasn’t great, but he’d certainly had worse. “If you want, I can stitch that up. It’s up to you. But,” he said, “I don’t have pain meds. Or antibiotics. If you’d called before coming over…”
“Forget it,” Tony said. “I’m not going to be offended because you didn’t vacuum the house first, or whatever.”
“Yeah,” Bruce said. “So you’re good.”
Tony shrugged.
“Okay, well, there’s water, and I think there’s still some dried fruit. I’m gonna,” and he was avoiding Tony’s gaze now, “go and--”
"Are you kidding me right now."
"I have... things, Tony. I have things to do and I'm not going to drop everything--”
“You are a terrible host.”
Bruce offered a perfect deadpan. "And you're a terrible guest. An uninvited one I might add. Just because you’re injured--”
“Yup," Tony said. “Wonder how that happened. Funny, I do seem to recall coming under attack just as I got here.”
Bruce closed his eyes. “Uninvited,” he repeated. He shook his head, and made a face. “Tony, I have to-- I’ll be back before sunset.” And with that, he turned around and left.
Well that was just great. “Thanks for stopping by,” Tony muttered.
*
He spent the next several hours exploring Bruce’s little homestead. He located his suit in a heap next to an elaborate water collecting contraption. He found the promised store of fruit. Some it was in fact of the dried variety, but there was also some he couldn’t identify. He found a fire pit. He didn’t find the Quinjet.
He was relieved to find the outhouse.
“Compost,” Bruce told him later. “Humanure.”
“Hu-?”
“Manure.”
“My god, you are such a hippie.”
The suit wasn’t anything close to flight-ready. Prying the face plate open, he said, “Hey, Fri. You awake in there?”
A spray of sparks met his question, and then silence.
He made a face. “Well okay then.”
Tony ate a handful fruit and explored a bit of the island’s mountainous interior. He made sure to return to the camp before sundown.
Bruce didn’t return before sundown though, the lying bastard.
Instead, Hulk sat his giant green ass next to where Tony had fallen asleep. It must have been some time in the small hours of the morning, if the position of the moon was anything to go on, but Tony couldn’t be sure. Time felt tenuous on the island for some reason, less solid. He gazed up at the clear, star spattered sky overhead, and his stomach lurched.
“Eat,” Big guy said. A huge dead fish sat at Tony’s feet. Hulk looked smug.
“I am all set.”
Hulk huffed, then picked up the fish and threw it next to the fire pit. “Eat,” he said again, this time sounding a little more insistent.
“Yeah, yeah. No need to be so pushy,” Tony said. He gathered up some of the twigs and branches piled nearby, and set to building a fire. He fantasized for a moment setting it ablaze with a quick repulsor blast, but alas. “So,” Tony said as he worked. “Not that I’m not overjoyed to see you, Big Green…” He gave Hulk a quick glance. “And I realize my company is completely irresistible--”
“Find,” Hulk said.
The flame caught and Tony backed away. Then he speared the fish for roasting.
“Yeah. I get that you’re not overjoyed about that.”
Hulk cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.
“Look,” Tony said. “I didn’t come out here to spoil your peace and quiet. In fact, I think that ship sailed. I just thought you had the right to know it.”
Hulk blinked at him.
Tony sighed. This was a productive conversation.
“Find,” he said again.
“Still stuck on that, huh.” Tony pulled the fish out of the fire and set it to cool on the fire pit’s stone perimeter. “Some?” Tony gestured at the fish.
Hulk nodded, so Tony tore it in half and threw some his way. Eating bland fish with a friend at something-o’clock in the morning wasn’t so bad. He picked at his meal with his fingers, which ended up messier than expected. Hulk wore a goofy, lopsided grin as he chewed. After they finished eating, he cleaned up as best as he could but he had no idea what to do with the waste. Bruce had a compost heap, but he didn’t know if fire-roasted fish bones were even compostable, and he didn’t have much confident Hulk knew either.
They sat there around the fire under the stars and listened to the roar of the ocean until Tony drifted off to sleep. When he finally woke, he woke up alone.
On his way back from the outhouse, Tony spotted Bruce cleaning out the fire pit.
“This can all go in the compost, you know,” Bruce said.
“Hi to you, too,” Tony said. “And no, I didn’t know that, seeing how you abandoned me last night.”
“Interesting how you assume everything’s about you.”
“Funny.”
“And nobody abandoned you.”
“Oh yeah, the big guy’s a great conversationalist. Taught me how to compost, and everything. Oh wait, no he didn’t.”
“He brought you food,” Bruce offered.
“Yeah, okay,” Tony said. “That was legit. I can’t knock him for that.”
Bruce nodded at him, smiling in that odd way he sometimes does. “How’s the--” He gestured toward Tony’s abdomen.
“Just dandy.” Truth was it stung like a sunnuvabitch.
Bruce pawed through a large pile of plant material; leaves and branches and roots, that sort of thing. It looked like a jumbled mess to Tony, but--
“Ah,” Bruce said to himself. Then, “here, put this under your shirt.” He came over with a huge leaf.
“No thank you?”
He motioned to Tony’s shirt. Tony batted him away. “Get out of here. I don’t want that.”
Bruce shrugged him off and took the stupid leaf to the compost. His obsession with that thing would forever remain a mystery, Tony supposed.
On his way back to the tent, Bruce glanced at the Mark 46, even though he pretended he hadn’t. They had worked on the Hulk containment system together; Bruce knew as well as Tony did that he could have replacement parts here faster than you could say “smash.” The fact that Bruce hadn’t called him out on it was... interesting. Tony guessed it was only a matter of time before that shoe dropped, though.
Bruce walked right past Tony, and sharply jerked his head. “Come on,” he said, not bothering to slow down or otherwise wait for Tony to catch up.
“Oh, I can go with you? I thought you’d rather leave me here on the—"
“You can stay on the beach, if you want. I mean, I don’t care what you do. But,” he turned to look at Tony and scratched the back of his neck. “I thought we could walk.”
*