The Things We Carry With Us

The ringing of a phone wakes him. Bruce vaguely recalls dreaming about hearing the phone ringing, so maybe it had been going on for a while, and he just hadn’t heard it.

He rolls out of bed and fumbles for the receiver. “’lo?”

“Bruce?”

He recognizes Tony’s voice immediately, and there’s something wrong. Bruce has known Tony for years now, and Tony almost sounds like he’s crying, or like he’s close. “What happened?” he asks immediately.

Tony sniffs. “It was Mom and Dad. There was a car accident.”

“How bad?” Bruce asks.

“They didn’t make it,” Tony admits, his voice cracking. “God, Bruce.”

Bruce feels as though the world has tilted, like everything has changed, because while he hadn’t known Howard Stark well, he’d been casually acquainted. More importantly, his best friend’s parents had just died. “I can be there in a few hours.”

“Would you?” Tony asks, and his voice breaks again.

“Of course,” Bruce promises. “No problem.”

He has recitations, and other duties as a TA, but this one time he’ll use the Stark name to get a break. Bruce is done with classes, and he’s basically got his research and dissertation to do before he has his Ph.D.

“You can stay here,” Tony adds. “It would be good to have you close.”

“I’ll be there,” Bruce promises. “When is the funeral?”

“Three days,” Tony replies. “Obadiah’s helping me with the arrangements.”

Bruce does a quick calculation in his head. “If I drive down, can I get parking?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony says readily. “Whatever you want. I can send the plane for you if you like.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bruce says immediately. “I should probably call Aunt Elaine at least. Are you okay with that?”

Tony lets out a watery chuckle. “I’m okay. If she wants to come—hell, if your whole family wants to come—I’ll make sure we pick up the bill. You’re family.”

Bruce smiles. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Hang in there, Tony.”

They haven’t seen much of each other since Europe. Tony has been busy learning the ins and outs of Stark Industries, and Bruce has been occupied with his doctoral program and other duties.

Plus, Bruce had needed some distance. There are still moments when their time in Europe feels like a dream, and others when he reaches for Tony in the night. They still talk on the phone, and they’ve been starting to use electronic means to communicate, but it’s not the same as it was.

Bruce is smart enough to know that it never will be—just like he knows Tony’s life is going to be completely upended. Bruce had lost both of his parents in one fell swoop, after all, although he hadn’t been the heir apparent to a vast fortune.

He calls his aunt next. “I saw on the news,” she says. “Have you talked to Tony yet?”

“Yeah, he sounds pretty wrecked,” Bruce replies. “I’m heading down there now. I thought you might want to know.”

“I’ll fly in,” his aunt promises. “Jen’s last final is on Thursday, so we can be there Thursday night. I don’t think Morris will be able to get away, though.”

Bruce rubs his eyes. “That’s okay, Aunt Elaine. I know Tony will appreciate you being here.”

“How are you, honey?” she asks.

Bruce swallows hard. “Better than Tony right now.”

“We’ll be there in a couple of days,” she promises. “Drive safe. Call me when you get there.”

“I will,” Bruce says. He throws some clothes in a bag and grabs the only suit he owns, looping one of the few ties he has over the hanger. It doesn’t take him long to pack, and he’s on the road in his battered Dodge truck, which is a gas-guzzler, but useful when he wants to move something.

Bruce arrives a couple of hours after the sun comes up, his truck chugging up the paved drive of the Starks’ Long Island mansion. He feels completely out of place, but he’s used to feeling that way around Tony by now.

The front door swings open before Bruce can knock, and he’s surprised to see Tony there, red-eyed and pale.

Bruce drops his bag and hauls Tony into a tight embrace.

Tony clings to him, shoving his face against the side of Bruce’s neck, and Bruce just holds him tightly until Tony pulls back. “I’m glad you came.”

“Of course I did,” Bruce says immediately. “Always.”

“Come in,” Tony says. “It’s just me right now. Obie had a few things to do in the city.”

“Just Tony” doesn’t mean he’s alone in the house, of course. A uniformed maid comes and takes Bruce’s bag, and he sees a few other household staff, including a man in a suit, and a few other maids.

“Do you want a drink?” Tony asks.

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Tony replies. “Do you mind if I have one?”

Bruce minds a little, but he’s not about to say anything, not when Tony’s just lost both his parents. Tony has to cope somehow, and Bruce isn’t going to judge. “Go for it. I’ll hold your hair back when you puke.”

“Fuck you,” Tony says with the faintest hint of a smile.

Bruce shrugs. “I think I’m going to need a better offer.”

Tony actually laughs at that, which is what Bruce had been going for. “Come on, man. It’s the best I’ve got right now.”

“I know,” Bruce says quietly.

Tony swallows. “That’s why I called you.”

“When is the funeral?” Bruce asks.

“Saturday,” Tony says. “Obadiah thought we’d need that much time to let everybody get here.”

Bruce can’t help but compare that to his mom’s funeral, where there had been very few people present. His mom hadn’t had any family, and her whole life had been Bruce and her husband. He’s pretty sure the Starks’ funeral will attract a lot of attention and a lot of people.

He wonders how many of them will be there just for Tony. He suspects not many.

Tony pours a drink from a bottle of amber liquid and says, “Come on. I’ll show you Dum-E. I don’t think you’ve met him yet.”

Tony leads Bruce to a garage on the premises, and Bruce lets Tony direct the conversation, wanting to just be there for him. He has some idea of just how impressive Dum-E is to be able to follow even simple verbal instructions. “I’m building something even better,” Tony says, and he sounds little manic, like he’s trying desperately to distract himself. Eventually, they head back into the house, and up to Tony’s room, and Tony brings his glass and a bottle with him.

Tony goes on about the artificial intelligence he’s creating, taking frequent sips of whatever it is he’s drinking.

“Have you slept?” Bruce asks abruptly.

Tony shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Come on,” Bruce cajoles. “Lie down for a little while.”

“I can’t,” Tony chokes out. “I just—”

Bruce plucks the glass out of Tony’s hand and sets it aside, and then pulls him to the bed. “Then keep me company while I sleep, because I’m exhausted.”

Tony hovers near the edge of his bed while Bruce toes off his shoes. “Bruce.”

“Get over here, Stark,” Bruce orders roughly.

Tony climbs in next to him, pressing his forehead to Bruce’s chest. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can do anything,” Bruce replies, believing it. “You can get through this. There isn’t any other option.”

Tony’s shoulders shake, and Bruce presses his forehead to the top of Tony’s head, and he just tries to hold Tony together.

~~~~~

Tony wakes slowly, his eyes gritty and sore. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but he has to admire Bruce’s masterful manipulation. Tony would probably have kept pushing himself until he dropped, but he feels better now.

He’d been woken in the early morning hours by the police, and he’d had to call Obadiah, and then identify his parents’ bodies, so he hasn’t had much sleep over the last couple of days. He’d called Bruce as soon as he could, though, and had been beyond grateful when Bruce had immediately promised to drop everything to come.

And now, he’s in his own bed, but Bruce is there with him, still holding him close.

Tony sighs, wishing once again that things were different, and he could keep Bruce with him, especially now.

He knows better.

Bruce shifts, his grip tightening briefly. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tony murmurs, blinking at the bright sunlight streaming into the room. He cranes his neck and catches sight of the clock—it’s just after 2 pm.

“What do you have to do yet today?” Bruce asks.

Tony doesn’t really want to think about it, but he knows he has to. “Probably meet with Obie, and make sure arrangements are finalized. I don’t know about the rest of it. Obie will head up Stark Industries for now, but—”

“You’re going to have to take the reins,” Bruce says quietly. “I know.”

“I could hire you as my personal assistant,” Tony jokes.

Bruce runs his hand through Tony’s hair. “That’s probably more tempting than it should be.”

Even if he’s joking, it makes Tony feel better that Bruce would even consider it for a moment. “You’d be wasted.”

“Which is the only reason I’m not taking you up on that very tempting offer,” Bruce replies. “Also, you’d probably drive me insane.”

“Probably,” Tony agrees.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door, spoiling the moment, and Tony rolls off the bed, straightening out his clothes. Bruce sits up, doing the same, and they’re once again just two very close friends hanging out.

“Yeah?” Tony calls.

One of the maids, Martha, opens the door a crack. “Mr. Stane would like to see you, sir.”

She’s never called him “sir” before; that’s always been his father. “I’ll be right down,” he replies past the lump in his throat, and she closes the door again. He looks at Bruce. “You want to join me?”

“You want me there?” Bruce asks. “Because I’ll do whatever you want.”

Tony feels curiously reluctant to introduce Bruce to Obadiah. “No, it’s cool. Relax, sleep for a little longer if you want, or do whatever. If it looks like we’re going to be more than an hour or two, I’ll send someone up for you.”

The truth is that Bruce is here for Tony, and Bruce belongs to Tony in a way that no one else does.

Bruce stretches out on the bed. “You know me. Grad students are chronically short on sleep.”

Tony knows he’s not allowed, but he leans in for a kiss anyway. “Thank you, in case I haven’t said it yet.”

“You don’t have to,” Bruce replies after he breaks off the kiss. “I’m here for you.”

Obadiah is in his father’s study, standing in front of the big windows, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You wanted to see me, Obie?” Tony calls.

“Martha told me you had company,” Obadiah replies.

Tony shrugs. “It’s just Bruce. We met at science camp years ago.”

“This the boy you brought on vacation with you when you graduated from MIT?” Obadiah asks.

Tony feels oddly defensive. “He’s my best friend.”

“It’s good to have friends, especially in times like these,” Obadiah replies, turning to face Tony with a strained smile. “I’m glad he’s able to be here for you.”

Tony nods, unsettled. “Me, too.”

“I’ve made the arrangements for the funeral,” Obadiah says. “We’ll have it in Manhattan.”

Tony doesn’t want to think about the funeral, or anything to do with it. He doesn’t want to think about the future at all right now. “That’s good.”

“We’ll need to talk about transitioning the company,” Obadiah says. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re ready to take the reins just yet, my boy. You need time to grieve.”

Tony almost asks if Obadiah doesn’t need time to grieve, but he stops himself. He doesn’t feel ready to take over. Tony shouldn’t have been in this position for years—decades, even.

“Thanks,” he says instead. “For making the arrangements, and everything else.”

“Of course,” Obadiah replies. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Tony shifts. “Is there anything else?”

“Not right now,” Obadiah replies. “We’ll talk more after the funeral.”

Tony swallows, hearing the finality in Obadiah’s voice, and he feels as though the future is closing in around him. He’s shouldered his share of responsibility at the company since his graduation, but this is an entirely different level.

He doesn’t feel like an adult, not really. He doesn’t think he’s ready.

He doesn’t have a choice.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “Um, Bruce’s aunt is coming in for the funeral. I told him I’d pick up the hotel room.”

Obadiah raises his eyebrows. “That’s your decision. Do you need money?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Tony replies.

“Is Bruce going to be staying here?”

“Just until the funeral,” Tony says.

Obadiah nods, another brief smile crossing his face. “It’s your house now, Tony. You can choose who stays here.”

“I guess so,” Tony says, choking out the words. “I’m still pretty tired.”

“Get some rest,” Obadiah advises. “Call if you need anything.”

He goes back upstairs and finds Bruce asleep on his bed, and he sits down in his chair, putting his face in his hands.

“Hey, come here,” Bruce murmurs sleepily. “Unless you want to do something else.”

“You want to take a drive?” Tony asks desperately. “Or go for a walk, or something? I need to get out of here, man.”

Bruce pushes himself up to sit. “Yeah. You mind if I freshen up real quick?”

“Go for it,” Tony says, waving at the door to the en suite bathroom.

He rubs his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, and he has no idea how he’s going to do this—any of it.

Tony hears Bruce emerge, and he doesn’t look up until Bruce’s warm hands cup his face, tipping Tony’s head up.

Bruce’s eyes are warm and sympathetic, and he presses his lips to Tony’s forehead. Tony, in response, leans his forehead against Bruce’s stomach, and feels Bruce run a hand through his hair in a soothing motion.

And Tony lets the tears fall.

~~~~~

Bruce insists on driving, because he’s none too sure of Tony’s state of mind—or his sobriety, since he’d been pretty drunk just a few hours ago—and they tool around the more rural areas of Long Island. There’s a sprinkling of snow on the ground, but the roads are clear, and Bruce drives slowly, with no destination in mind.

Tony falls into a restless sleep, his head resting against the passenger window, and Bruce just keeps driving, wanting to do what he can, knowing all too well how difficult the next couple of days are going to be.

He thinks it might actually be worse for Tony. Bruce had been in shock for a couple of weeks, passing through his mother’s funeral with a dazed numbness that didn’t lift until weeks later, only to give way to an anger so intense that his aunt had sent him to run laps around the block.

Eventually, Bruce had buried that rage deep, channeling it into proving his father wrong, into succeeding, and making a name for himself in his chosen field—proving he’s not the monster Brian Banner had claimed.

And while he wants to be here for Tony now, the circumstances are bringing up old memories, and old emotions he’d long since buried—of the loss of his parents, and the time he and Tony had stolen together.

He thinks it might be easier if he weren’t here now, but he would have sooner cut off his own arm than refuse Tony’s request.

Eventually, Bruce finds himself in the more populated areas of Long Island, and he finds fast food place and parks. Tony starts awake as soon as the truck stops. “Where are we?”

“Not really sure,” Bruce admits. “I’ve just been driving. Are you hungry? My treat.”

Tony rubs his eyes. “Yeah, but let’s go through the drive-through, huh? I don’t really want to risk the press right now.”

They eat cheap burgers and rapidly cooling fries on the way back to Tony’s place, and there’s a part of Bruce that wants to suggest sharing a bed. If he could be sure no one would find out, he might have, but he’s not sure they can risk it.

Tony is—or will be—the head of Stark Industries, a company that makes most of its money through defense contracts. Maybe if Tony had already proven himself, if he’d made a hundred ingenious weapons to inflict maximum damage, he might have been able to do anything he wanted with his personal life.

Right now, though, a relationship with another man is a liability, and Bruce knows there’s a good chance that people will talk.

When they’d been in Europe, they’d always made sure that it looked like both beds had been slept in, that they didn’t spend an entire day in their hotel room, and that they didn’t indulge in public displays of affection.

Tony’s not thinking straight right now, and no wonder, but that means Bruce has to do the thinking for both of them.

“They should have made up the room next to mine,” Tony says as Bruce pulls up in front of the Stark mansion. “Or you could share my bed.”

“If we were alone in the house, or we could be sure we would be alone, I would say yes,” Bruce says quietly. “But there’s a reason we didn’t stay together after Europe, and that hasn’t changed.”

Tony swallows. “I hate this.”

“For the record, so do I,” Bruce agrees quietly. He hates that he has to be the voice of reason, that he can’t give Tony exactly what he wants, for as long as he wants it.

In an ideal world, Bruce could finish up his Ph.D., and they’d find a way to be together. Bruce would do everything in his power to support Tony during this transition, and they’d tell the rest of the world to go fuck itself.

Bruce has known for a long time that they don’t live in an ideal world.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Tony says wearily. “Separate rooms, then.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce offers, and reaches out to put his hand over Tony’s.

Tony turns his hand to interlace their fingers. “So am I.”

They squeeze tightly, and then they release their grip at the same time.

Bruce doesn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning in the very comfortable bed in the guest room just down the hall from Tony, wrestling with the urge to give up and go to Tony’s room. He wants to crawl into bed next to him and say, “Fuck it,” to the rest of the world.

How fucking cold is Bruce being? How selfish? He can tell himself that he’s trying to protect Tony, but isn’t he trying to protect himself just as much?

If people think that Tony is gay, his wealth might shelter him. Stark Industries is still the biggest name in weapons; the military probably wouldn’t pull its contracts even if Tony’s in a relationship with a man. Bruce doesn’t have that protection.

Bruce rolls out of bed and pulls on a t-shirt, padding down the hall to Tony’s room, deciding that he’ll let Tony make the decision.

When he opens the door, Tony appears deeply asleep, the faint light from the waxing moon casting shadows on his face.

He stops, his hand tightening around the doorknob, and then he backs out slowly. He’ll let Tony sleep; tomorrow is soon enough to say something, and to make the offer.

Bruce falls asleep sometime just before dawn, and he sleeps hard for a few hours, waking up shortly before noon. Tony’s room is empty when he checks, and he’s heading to find him when a maid stops him.

“Mr. Banner, you have a phone call,” she says.

Bruce winces. “You can just call me Bruce. Did they say who it was?”

“It’s Elaine Walters, sir,” she replies.

“Um, great.” Bruce looks around. “Is there somewhere I can take it?”

“Right this way.”

She leads him to what looks like a library or an office of some kind, and Bruce picks up the phone and punches the line number that she indicates.

“Hello?”

“Bruce, sweetheart,” his aunt says. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Bruce replies, wondering abruptly how his aunt and uncle would react if he told them he was in love with a guy, and not a girl. “Are you in town already?”

“We’re on a layover in Chicago,” she replies. “Jen arranged to take her last final a little early. We should be at La Guardia in a few hours.”

Bruce swallows. That’s not much time to get things figured out. “It will be great to see you. Do you have reservations?”

“The Crowne Plaza in Manhattan,” his aunt replies. “We thought we’d take a few days and make a weekend of it. You’re welcome to join us.”

Bruce isn’t sure he can refuse, although he’s not sure what Tony’s going to be doing. “I have to head back to school on Sunday,” he replies. “But I’d love to see you guys while I can.”

“Well, feel free to come by tonight,” she says. “If you’re too busy with Tony, I’ll understand.”

“He might want to come with me,” Bruce replies.

“It would be good to see him.” She pauses. “Are you really doing okay?”

Bruce tries to inject some feeling in his voice. “I’m fine, really. I’ll see you soon.”

He’s not sure where Tony is, and he doesn’t see any of the staff around, so he starts to wander, listening for voices. Not finding anybody on that floor, he heads down the stairs.

Loud voices reach him as soon as he’s on the main level, and he heads that direction almost in spite of himself. He recognizes Tony’s voice immediately, but he can’t place the other person’s, although it’s definitely that of a man.

“That’s none of your business!” Tony insists heatedly, his words becoming clearer as Bruce gets closer to the source.

“It is my business,” says the unknown man. “Like it or not, you are the face of Stark Industries.”

“I told you, Bruce is my friend, Obie,” Tony replies, and Bruce realizes that he has to be talking to Obadiah Stane.

Stane’s tone is patient. “Think about what it looks like.”

“Like we’re friends?” Tony suggests, his voice sharp with sarcasm.

“Like you’re together,” Stane replies.

“I’m not gay!” Tony says hotly.

Bruce stops cold. He probably wouldn’t identify as gay either, and he’d been the one to insist that they not be together right now, but it still hurts. It hurts far more than he’d thought it would.

“I’m not saying you are.” Stane still sounds calm and reasonable. “But perception is everything, and the media’s focus is on you right now. It’s going to be on you for a long time to come. Even if they don’t think you’re together, they might think this Banner kid is riding your coattails, taking advantage.”

“We’ve known each other since I was 14!” Tony says angrily. “He’s not like that.”

“Perception—”

“I know about perception!” Tony shouts. “And anybody who doesn’t get that I’d call the only friend who was available to come when my parents died can go fuck themselves!”

Bruce backs away at that point, not wanting to hear any more. He’s heard too much as it is.

He heads upstairs and grabs his duffel, leaving the dress clothes hanging in the closet, figuring that he can come back for them if he needs to.

Right now, Bruce just wants some distance.

He runs into Martha as he’s heading for the front door, and sees surprise cross her face as she spots him, right before her expression turns impassive. “Mr. Banner?”

“Tell Tony that my aunt and cousin are in town, and they’re staying at the Crowne Plaza,” Bruce says. “I’m going to pick them up from the airport, and I don’t know if I’ll be back tonight, but I’ll definitely be here tomorrow.”

Martha nods. “Is everything okay, sir? I could have a car arrange to pick up your aunt—”

“No,” Bruce says quickly. “I’ve got it. I haven’t seen them in months, so I’d like to meet them myself. I just want Tony to know I’m coming back.”

Martha glances down the hall, and he thinks he sees sympathy in her eyes. “I’ll let him know myself.”

“Thanks.” Bruce says sincerely. “Tell him—tell him my aunt wants to see him if he’s got the time.”

Martha nods, and Bruce leaves quickly before he can change his mind.

He feels like a coward, but he tells himself that he’s doing the right thing. This way, his aunt and Jen won’t have to take a taxi, and he’ll get to spend time with them.

Maybe it’s for the best.

Bruce has a map of New York City in his glove compartment that he’d picked up on his way here. He’s good with maps, and he figures out where he needs to go, and then he fights through traffic to get to La Guardia.

He parks in the garage, and figures out what baggage carousel they’ll be at, and then sits on the floor nearby, even though he still has a couple of hours until their plane is due to arrive.

Bruce buries his head in his hands and takes deep breaths, trying to sort through the anger and the hurt and the uncertainty.

It’s not like he blames Tony, because he doesn’t, but he feels all fucked up right now, and he doesn’t know what his next step ought to be.

He stands up when he sees a large number of travelers approaching the baggage claim, straightening his shirt and taking a deep breath, trying to compose himself. He doesn’t want his aunt to think that anything is wrong—well, anything more than the obvious.

His aunt and cousin come into view, both of them wearing jeans and sweatshirts, Jen’s bearing the mascot of her high school, and his aunt’s with the insignia of the Los Angeles sheriff’s department.

“Bruce!” Aunt Elaine calls. “You didn’t have to pick us up. I thought you and Tony would be busy.”

“He had some things to do with Mr. Stane,” Bruce replies. “And I wanted to spend some time with you guys.”

His aunt pulls him into a hug. “Well, it’s good to see you. I hope we’ll get to see Tony at some point.”

“I know he’d like to see you,” Bruce says.

Jen pulls him into a hard, tight hug, too. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce replies.

“Tony?”

“Less fine,” Bruce admits, “but that’s to be expected.”

He helps them collect their bags and leads the way back to his truck. They have to crowd into the cab, especially since the truck is a manual, but Jen gamely sits in the middle and lets Bruce shift around her.

Traffic is a nightmare this time of day, and Bruce holds onto his temper with some difficulty, his hands tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles go white.

“Bruce?” his aunt prompts.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m good.”

She’s walked him through breathing exercises before, back when he’d been a kid and would get so angry he’d forget to breathe.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce can see her concerned expression, and he knows she’s going to want to have a serious talk with him later.

Thankfully, he makes it to the Crowne Plaza without killing anybody or losing his temper, although it’s a near thing. “I’ll let you guys off and park.”

He finds the closest parking garage and winces at the price, although he’ll pay it. It’s either that, or going back to Tony’s house now, and Bruce isn’t ready to do that yet.

He’ll have a night with his family, and be ready to face Tony and even Obadiah Stane tomorrow.

They go out for dinner and Jen updates him on how her senior year is going, and her college plans, and her planned major. Bruce lets her do all the talking, happy to have a distraction. Her concerns are refreshingly simple in comparison to his current dilemma.

Not that Bruce would actually say that out loud. He might be a patronizing asshole in his head, but he knows how to avoid sounding like one.

Jen begs off after dinner, having yawned her way through dessert, and his aunt says, “Why don’t we get a drink?”

They sit at the hotel bar, and his aunt orders a glass of red wine, while Bruce gets a beer. “You’re not worried about me drinking?” Bruce asks after they have their order and find a quiet table in the corner.

His aunt smiles. “You’re so much like your mother, you know that?”

Bruce winces, uncertain of how to respond. He remembers his mother as being kind and selfless, and he doesn’t feel like he’s either of those things.

“I believe that if drinking was going to be a problem for you, you would have ordered a soda,” she continues. “I know you, Bruce, and for that reason, I know there’s something going on that you’re not telling me, and that you’re hurting. You don’t have to tell me what it is, but I wanted you to know.”

Bruce turns his glass. “Something happened when I was in Europe with Tony.”

“Ah. I thought that might be it.”

Bruce looks up, surprised. “You knew?”

She reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. “Sweetheart, I’m not blind. I’ve seen you two together.”

Bruce feels sick, thinking about Stane’s words from earlier. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Not obvious,” she says slowly, taking a sip of wine. “But it’s clear that you both care for each other. Most people will see what they want to see. Do you not want anyone to know?”

“Can you tell me that it wouldn’t make a difference?” Bruce demands, keeping his voice low. “That people wouldn’t care?”

She sighs. “No, I can’t.”

“Stane was talking to Tony this morning about me, and I overheard,” Bruce admits. “Tony doesn’t need this right now. He’s got enough to deal with as it is.”

His aunt’s expression is both wistful and sad. “I wish I could tell you that love is enough, and that as long as you love each other, nothing else matters. But is it just what others will think that’s holding you back?”

Bruce shakes his head. “What we had was—it was like a dream, one so good that you don’t want to wake up, you know? If we went public and things went bad, I really don’t think I could bear it.”

He feels like a coward, saying that out loud, but it’s the truth. Bruce loves Tony so damn much, he would rather end things now and feel the ache of loss, then watch things slowly turn sour.

And Bruce can’t help but think that it would. The odds aren’t in their favor.

His aunt pats his hand. “There’s no getting around regrets, Bruce. Either way, no matter what you decide to do, you’ll have things you wish you’d done differently, or you’ll wonder if you made the right choice.”

Bruce nods, not saying anything. “What do you think Uncle Morris would say if he knew?”

His aunt laughs, although there’s something brittle in the sound. “I don’t think he’d understand, but that has no bearing on my feelings.”

Bruce looks out over the bar, wishing desperately that this could be easier, but there are no easy answers.

“It’s not fair,” his aunt says softly. “I’m so sorry, Bruce.”

And Bruce knows that he’s already made up his mind.

~~~~~

Tony’s still reeling from his conversation with Obadiah when he goes back upstairs to find Bruce. He feels ready to bounce off the walls, ready to go out and drive too fast, to do something stupid and self-destructive that’s going to put him on the front page.

He wants Bruce to stop him. Or join him. Tony isn’t sure which he’d prefer at the moment.

Bruce’s room is empty, his bed neatly made, and Tony frowns. An empty bed isn’t too worrisome, but the absence of Bruce’s duffel at the foot of the bed is. He’s turning away to go find him when Martha rounds the corner. “Master Tony? Mr. Banner left a message for you.”

Tony stiffens. “A message?”

“He was going to meet his aunt and cousin at the airport,” Martha says. “He said to tell you that he might not be back tonight, but he would be here tomorrow.”

Tony swallows. “Did he say where they were staying?”

“The Crowne Plaza,” Martha replies, her face perfectly impassive.

Tony feels as though he’s been set adrift, like the one solid thing he’d had is gone. He can’t believe that Bruce would just leave like that without even saying anything to him. Unless—

“Did anything happen before he left?” Tony asks.

Martha hesitates, which is enough to tell Tony that he’s on the right track.

“Did he hear me arguing with Obadiah?” he demands.

“I’m sure I have no idea what Mr. Banner heard,” Martha replies, in a tone of voice that suggests otherwise. “But it’s possible, sir.”

There is no part of the conversation he’d just had with Obadiah that Tony would want Bruce to overhear.

“Okay,” Tony says. “Thanks, Martha.”

He has no idea what to do, what he should do. He could go to the airport and intercept them, or stake out the lobby of the Crowne Plaza.

Or he could let it go; he could let Bruce go, since that’s what he seems to want.

Tony knows where his dad kept the booze—pretty much in every study, and there are several of them. He heads for the closest one and the bottle of whiskey stashed in a drawer, and then he proceeds to get incredibly drunk.

He stays in his room with the door locked, ignoring the occasional knock from the household staff, although he does respond when Martha threatens to call Obadiah. Then he says, “I’m fine!”

Tony still expects Bruce to turn up. There’s a part of him that keeps on waiting, that thinks Bruce wouldn’t just leave.

And as he’s puking his guts up after drinking a good part of a bottle of whiskey, he realizes that Bruce isn’t coming.

He passes out on the bathroom floor, and when he wakes up, it’s early, and his head is pounding. His mouth tastes like ass, and he has another day to get through before his parents’ funeral.

Tony rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He’s tempted just to stay there, but he clambers onto his feet.

He’s not going to get anywhere by lying down and giving up. Whether Bruce is with him or not, Tony has a life to live. Eventually, he’s going to be in charge of Stark Industries. It’s time he starts acting like it.

And right now, that means finding Bruce. It occurs to him that if Bruce had overheard him and Obadiah—and Tony’s fairly certain that’s the only thing that would have run him off—he might not feel comfortable coming back to the house just yet.

He gets cleaned up, finds some clothing, and drinks a large glass of water. Tony’s stomach isn’t up to breakfast, but he takes a couple of aspirin and calls for a car.

It’s just after the morning rush hour, so it doesn’t take long to get into the city. The driver pulls up in front of the hotel and asks, “Do you want me to stay, Mr. Stark?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll call for a ride, or I’ll catch one with my friend,” Tony replies. “Thanks.”

The clerk at the front desk won’t give Tony the Walters’ room number, not even when Tony offers a bribe.

“Please,” Tony says, tipping his sunglasses up on his head. “They’re here for my parents’ funeral, and I just want to see them before things get crazy.”

“I can call their room, sir, but I can’t give you their room number for security reasons,” the clerk says.

“Tony?”

He turns to see Jen behind him, carrying a paper sack and a cardboard carryout container with three cups of coffee. “Hey,” he says. “You got taller.”

“That’s what happens when you let a few years go by in between visits,” Jen replies, setting the bag and carrying container down on the front desk and then throwing herself at Tony, who holds her tightly.

Jen is the closest he’s ever going to come to having a sister, and he feels the same sort of fondness for her as he imagines he might if they were related.

“I’m so sorry,” Jen murmurs into his ear.

“Thanks,” Tony replies, pulling back. “Have you seen Bruce?”

“He stayed with us last night,” Jen replies. “Mom and I shared a bed, and he took the other one. Just like old times.” She frowns. “Did something happen? Because he was really quiet yesterday, and it seemed weird that he’d be here when he could be with you.”

Tony pastes on a smile. “I was busy with Obadiah, and Bruce hadn’t seen you guys in a while. No big deal.”

Jen frowns. “Well, come on up. Mom’s going to be excited to see you. Sorry I didn’t get you a cup of coffee.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says. “I know where to find some if I need it.”

He carries the coffee for her and realizes that he’s going to need to find some, because it smells heavenly.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” she asks on the elevator ride up.

Tony shrugs. “I guess.”

“I shouldn’t have asked that,” Jen says, wincing. “That was probably insensitive.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tony says immediately. “It’s nice to have someone around who gives a damn.”

“I’m sure there are a lot of people who care, Tony,” Jen says.

Tony shakes his head. “You might be surprised.”

Jen looks troubled by that response, but she doesn’t try to argue with him. She knocks on the door and Bruce opens it, obviously surprised to see Tony. “Hey. You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Tony replies, his tone heavy with sarcasm. “Too bad you missed out on a great night.”

Bruce sighs. “I’m sorry. I was going to head back out this morning.”

Jen slips past them. “I’ll let Mom know you’re here, Tony.”

Bruce pulls Tony inside and takes a cup of coffee from the carrier, handing Tony the cup and taking the carrier. “It looks like you need that more than I do right now. How much of the bottle did you drink?”

“More than enough to have a good time,” Tony replies.

Bruce opens his mouth to reply, but the bathroom door opens and Elaine steps out into the small sitting room.

“Tony, it’s so good to see you,” she says, and Tony knows that she means it. She’s always happy to see him, and she hugs him tightly. “I won’t ask how you’re doing, because you’ve probably heard that enough already.”

Tony tightens his grip. “It’s really good to see you. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” she replies, hanging on another moment longer. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it,” he says.

“Do you have much to do today?” she asks.

Tony shakes his head. “No, not much. I was actually hoping to steal your nephew for the day.”

“Of course,” Elaine replies. “Jen and I were going to do some shopping. I’m sure you’d both be bored to tears.”

“Maybe we can get dinner tonight?” Tony suggests.

She smiles. “I would love to catch up.”

They leave shortly thereafter, taking their coffee and bagels with them, leaving him alone with Bruce.

“So, I’m sorry,” Bruce says quietly. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”

“You overheard my conversation with Obie,” Tony says.

Bruce sits down on the couch. “Yeah, I did.”

“He was out of line,” Tony says, sitting next to him and leaving a few inches between them.

“He’s got your best interests in mind,” Bruce replies.

Tony slumps back. “That doesn’t make him right.”

“I’m sorry I made things harder on you,” Bruce offers.

“Obadiah’s commentary aside, you don’t.” Tony rubs his eyes. “This isn’t going to work, is it?”

Bruce rests his hand on Tony’s leg. “No, I don’t think so. Aunt Elaine guessed.”

“That obvious?”

“She said she just knows us,” Bruce replies. “But if Obadiah suspected something…”

“So, after this, we keep it a secret,” Tony says quietly. “Nobody finds out. We don’t hang out in person. I’ll rig a way for us to keep in touch that no one can trace.”

Bruce puts an arm around Tony’s shoulders. “You want to stay here today? We can watch crappy TV. No one has to know.”

Tony presses his face to the side of Bruce’s neck. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

~~~~~

No one notices Bruce and his family at the funeral the next day among the crowds of mourners, and Bruce leaves the next morning to drive back to MIT.

And no one ever finds out that he and Tony spend the next fifteen years corresponding.