Chapter 3
Tony hated being right.
At least, he hated being right when it meant his friend and teammates were endangered. It was the transformation, not the lab work, that affected Bruce. Unfortunately, they had to find that out in the middle of a fight when the big green rampage machine suddenly dropped and shrank.
Luckily, the fight was more or less winding down. Tony didn't like to think about what might have happened if they'd lost their best fighter and put Bruce in the middle of a war zone. He didn't like to think of the guilt that would have consumed Bruce, either.
Captain America knelt beside his fallen teammate and covered him with his shield, protecting him from dangerous blasts. “Stark! Take him back!”
“On it,” he confirmed from his suit, swooped down and, with barely a pause, picked Bruce up.
Three hours later, Steve and Tony gathered in the med center, eyes dancing around all the machines and computers keeping their friend alive and monitoring him. Tony could comprehend them, but they meant nothing to Steve except that his friend was sick.
And, strangely enough, Tony wasn't looking at the gadgets. He hadn't moved his gaze from his friend's bed. He wore his tinted glasses and kept a fist in front of his mouth but he couldn’t hide his concern. Or his tenderness. Steve wanted to clasp his shoulder or pat his back and tell him everything would be OK, that Banner would pull through, but that would mean letting Tony know that he was broadcasting his feelings, and then he would put up all his walls and defenses.
Instead, Steve let the words of Tony’s specially-picked, ultra-discreet doctor wash over him. The specifics and technicalities were beyond Steve’s grasp. Despite all the medical jargon, the bottom line was clear: "His health and strength will continue to plummet with each transformation. Another transformation might kill him."
All the tension left Tony’s shoulders. His hand dropped from his mouth and he finally, finally looked away from his lab partner.
"Then he won't transform anymore," Tony announced, as if it were the simplest decision in the world. And it was. Of course it was. Maybe not as simple to Clint or Natasha or Thor...maybe not even to Bruce. But to Tony and Steve, the choice was clear. They'd keep their teammate and leave the Hulk.
Tony put an arm around the doctor and took her aside to discuss something, and then Tony shook her hand and sent her on her way.
It's what Bruce wanted before they swept him away: a life without the other guy. It was unclear if that's what he still wanted, with a team to protect. If he’d be content to sit on the sidelines and tinker or if he’d flee again.
And it was unclear whether he could keep the other guy at bay for an entire lifetime. Steve believed in Banner. At first, Steve was wary and he’d let it show, had gotten off on the wrong foot, but now he knew that no other Avenger--no other person--had the self-restraint that Banner had. His diminutive frame held all the emotional and mental strength that the Hulk physically had.
There was, of course, the other issue...the “I-put-a-bullet-in-my-head” issue. It wasn’t hard to imagine Banner getting so low, even though Steve didn’t want to picture it. He can’t possibly still want to kill himself, Steve thought. But he finally had a way out if he did.
Before he realized what he was doing, Steve approached the bed and squeezed Banner’s hand. It was the standard, clinical squeeze of a comrade-in-arms, reminding himself that his teammate was still alive. All of them were. They handled the blip admirably, barely breaking pace, and gotten Banner to safety.
“He’s going to be fine,” Tony said, a puzzled look on his face. “All he has to do is not transform and he’s already an expert on that.”
Steve looked at Tony blankly. He couldn’t tell if Tony was in denial, deluding himself, or merely forgotten his friend’s confession. Either way, Steve decided not to bring up the fact that Bruce might want to kill himself. He couldn’t form the words. The mere insinuation... He didn’t know how Tony would react.
“Look, I know some of that stuff went over your head, but it’s a good prognosis.”
Steve swallowed and looked away.
“What, you’re upset about losing our heavy hitter? ‘Cuz I assure you one Bruce is worth ten Hulks, and if anyone else has a problem--”
“No.” Steve glared at Tony. The thought had barely crossed his mind. “I think you’re making it seem easier than it is. The no-transforming thing.”
“Bruce had a lock on it before we got to him.”
Steve sighed. If Tony didn’t think Bruce’s mental state was an issue, then maybe it wasn’t. Tony knew him best of anyone.
Tony took Bruce's knight and rook the same way he did everything else: with a flourish. "Looks like your mind isn't as sharp as it used to be."
It was a low blow. Three days later and poor Banner was still laid up in a hospital bed, looking mousey and sick, propped up on pillows, with nothing to tinker with to pass the time. Instead of working on machines, machines worked on him. They still hadn't told Bruce what was wrong. Nor had they told the team. Steve and Tony figured it would be best to wait to tell Bruce first, then the others, and he'd only woken up a day ago.
But Tony wasn't going to treat him like an invalid. Teasing him was a reminder of the normal life he'd soon return to.
"Checkmate," Bruce said.
"Wh--what--" Tony stared at the board, retracing his steps, trying to find a way out. He could accept being in check, but checkmate? How did he let that happen?
"Rematch?" Bruce said, hands hovering above the board, waiting for Tony's begrudging permission to reset the board.
But they’d played several rounds (no, Bruce had not won all of them), and Bruce had been awake for far longer than Tony anticipated. What Tony planned: a couple of rounds, then tuck the little guy back into bed (figuratively). What Tony got, instead, was insistent banter and scientific discussions over rounds and rounds of chess--which would have been fine if Tony didn’t think Bruce was stubbornly forcing himself to stay awake. And he’d enabled it because it was nice to have Bruce back after a nerve-wracking three days of unconsciousness.
"You look peaked," Tony said, quickly putting the pieces away.
"Peaked? Who the hell says peaked?" Bruce indignantly clutched the chess board.
"It's how you look," Tony said, grabbing the pillow Bruce was propped up on and gently maneuvering him down.
"Don't be a sore loser!" Bruce grabbed at the pillow, but Tony held it out of reach.
"Am I interrupting something?" Steve asked from the doorway. Bruce snatched the pillow back and positioned it underneath himself.
"No," Bruce said at the same time Tony said "He's going back to bed."
"Look at how tired he looks. Tell him to get some rest. Command him."
"I've been sleeping for three days! Captain, can I play with someone who can lose with grace?"
Steve smiled. The lab partners were unbearably cute together in a way they weren't with anyone else. They were coupley, even though they weren't dating...Well, actually no one was certain they weren't.
"'fraid I wouldn't be a fun opponent no matter how much grace I had. You'd beat me in three moves." Steve walked in and grinned at Tony. Tony had done a pretty good job at hiding his mother hen tendencies under the guise of sore losing, but Steve could tell. He was surprised Bruce couldn't. Then again, they all had the tendency to forget how stubborn Bruce could be, how stubborn he needed to be to keep the other guy at bay. So if someone was forcing him to bed--over a chess game or otherwise--he would certainly fight back.
"How about a movie?" Steve offered. He named a few over Tony's disgruntled protests. Once Steve and Bruce finally decided, Steve sat at the edge of Bruce's bed. "Mind if I scoot in?"
Bruce shrugged, shifting over, and Steve put his legs up. Even though they weren’t touching, it was strangely intimate. Clint would probably joke that they were just two bros snuggling and watching a movie. Well, three, with Tony in a chair by Bruce's bedside.
"You trying to poach my lab partner?" Tony asked.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Steve responded easily. For a genius, Tony could be an idiot most of the time. Steve didn't even know what movie they decided on. He knew that his body radiated warmth, and that Bruce's head was dipping, and by the end of the opening credits Bruce was asleep. Bruce shifted on his side--careful to avoid touching Steve, even when he was unconscious--and curled up in the smallest possible ball. Steve didn’t know if it was a long-developed habit, or something from the illness.
Tony would know, Steve thought with a mischievous smirk to himself.
“You manipulative devil.” Tony sounded almost impressed. Steve shot him a grin.
“More flies with honey.”
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” Tony muttered. And maybe there was a hint of...jealousy, something, in his voice. The knowledge that he could be the one next to Bruce if he’d thought of it first. And Steve doubted Bruce would be so careful not to touch him. Only Tony was allowed to touch Bruce regularly, and Tony would probably keep a protective arm around his lab partner, far from snuggling but closer than Steve would ever get. Again: if he’d thought of it.
Steve took one last look at Bruce to make sure he was sleeping soundly before planting his feet back on the ground.
“Well, I’m gonna head out.” He resisted adding a smug My work here is done.
“Woah, hey, don’t let a movie go to waste. You got a lot of pop culture to catch up on."
Steve sat back down. He was astonished Tony asked him to stay--he was leaving to give them privacy, after all. Tony asking meant something. For the life of him, Steve couldn’t figure out what. But Tony wouldn’t ask lightly.
Besides--Steve would never say it out loud-- he was comfortable. There was something soothing about ensuring his friend got a good sleep. There was even something soothing about Tony’s company. “You up for a game of chess?” Steve offered.
“I thought you’re not a fun match.”
Steve shrugged. “I figure you and I would be more evenly matched than me and Doctor Banner.”
Tony chucked a pawn at Steve's head.