Wearying
Upstate New York
2018
"Okay, FRIDAY." Happy heaves out a sigh, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and trying to contain his impatience. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, here, but I'm gonna need you to step it down a few notches for me."
Having such an advanced artificial intelligence is a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because things like turning off the oven, and managing power conservation, and opening doors, and just about anything else he can really imagine, are taken care of without a second thought. Happy is pretty positive that FRIDAY even takes care of paying most of the taxes and bills, a small chore that Pepper and Tony hardly have to worry about anyway. FRIDAY is smart enough not to pay anything outrageous, probably goes to the trouble of comparing every bit of usage in her recordings down to the smallest details before she lets anything go. He's a little jealous, thinking about it. What takes him a few hours when he sits down to do it probably takes only the snap of their fingers, a split second for FRIDAY to knock out.
A curse because it is not nearly as easy to use and adapt to as he expected. Despite his numerous and lengthy stays in the Avengers Facility and years surrounded by all things Stark related, he's not sure he'll ever be used to having his actions and words constantly monitored and tracked. It's not to say he doesn't like FRIDAY, really, he can at least move past those things and he's pretty sure Tony wouldn't make anything too malicious. On purpose. That doesn't make it any less weird. The real curse, though? Knowing that the artificial intelligence is significantly smarter and more aware than he could have planned to be. Happy hardly even understands some of the things the disembodied voice says to him, if he's being honest. Usually Tony is around to translate and dumb it down for him, but now? He's a little lost.
"After running multiple tests and deploying the Scouts -"
Happy does a double-take, leaning back in his seat and looking up at the ceiling where the lightly accented voice comes from. "Scouts?"
"Small groups of nanobots outfitted with various forms of equipment. Primary usages are small scale repairs, surveillance, reconnaissance, and observation of potential base locations or quote future sites for -"
"I get it, alright, little privacy invading robots. Perfect, who knew Tony wouldn't get the memo on it being a bad time for that." Happy is pretty sure the U.S government - or any other governments, for that matter - would not approve of this or appreciate the unsupervised artificial intelligence deciding to send the tiny bots out on their own under normal circumstances, much less following the events of the past couple years. Desperate times, though... "Nevermind, keep going."
There's a pause, as if FRIDAY is making sure he's finally done interrupting. He’s pretty sure she even sighs at him. "It appears as though human life was not the only thing targeted. Local flora and fauna have vanished and the levels of carbon dioxide and oxygen in the air have fluctuated. Most of the Scouts have gone as far as their range allows along the East Coast, returning similar reports. Units deployed overseas have yet to return to communication hubs."
If he's being honest, Happy isn't totally sure why she's relaying this information to him. He gets the gist of what this means, of the basic effect this could have on everything, but... He's no Tony Stark or Erik Selvig or Bruce Banner or Jane Foster. He could probably barely pass a college level chemistry test at this point in his life. Which is not to say he’s an idiot, but he certainly knows his limits in terms of being useful in some sort of space age apocalypse.
"Doctor Selvig and Doctor Banner have already been notified of these findings as well." The lightly accented voice cuts in again, as if reading his mind. "Doctor Foster and Ms. Lewis have been unreachable since before the Incident." Maybe she really is reading his mind. Happy is a little horrified. "You're saying all of this aloud, Mr. Hogan, no need to worry. Mr. Stark has not yet found a way to make me capable of simply reading everyone's thoughts to avoid the inconvenience of actually speaking."
That's... a relief. A little embarrassing, but at least the only witness to his total loss of brain-to-mouth filter is an artificial intelligence who probably gets nothing out of gossip. "I need to get some sleep."
"Sleep deprivation can cause high blood pressure, potentially leading to a heart attack, heart failure, or stroke. You should rest."
Happy chokes on a laugh and rubs at his eyes tiredly. "Tony really went all out giving you his sense of humor, didn't he."
"Would you expect anything less? Everyone likes to be entertained."
"It's sick." Happy waves a finger mock-chidingly as he rises from his seat in one of the empty offices left on floor 4B. "You're both sick."
"I'll be sure to formally record and store this in the records for future reference, sir."
There's a moment where he almost laughs, a split second where everything feels normal. And then he's reminded that this isn't normal, and that it's never going to be normal again. If it were normal, Tony would arrive back in a few nights from some business trip or Avengers business, greeted by him and Pepper at the door before their long awaited homecoming got interrupted by FRIDAY projecting some insulting clip of him on the wall to crack everyone up and lead Tony into some prattle about being offended and - and -
And that isn't what's going to happen in a few days, or nights, or weeks, or months. If anyone were coming back they would have come weeks ago. Happy has resigned himself to that, because he has to. Because that's the way life is, sometimes. Things happen and people leave and never come back and the world changes and life goes on.
"Thanks, FRIDAY."
Wakanda
2018
Some would say that the weeks following the snap - or, as some people are referring to it, the Incident - dragged by. Rocket complains each day that the minutes and hours seem to be stretching beyond reason, a sentiment that Shuri seems to share more with each passing day. The on-again-off-again radio silence around the globe probably doesn’t help this. Only scheduled, prerecorded broadcasts have been airing since the aforementioned event. Occasionally something new will break through, or there will be a shift in the dialogue. Manifests of the dead - or missing - pop up online, highlighted by reports of shifting crime rates and chaos as the world tries to find some form of structure with all the missing political heads. But as the dust settles, most of it is the same.
For Bruce, the time feels like it’s flying.
He’s been keeping careful track of the time for years, always sure to have a clock in each room and a watch on his wrist and a calendar in his lab. It’s been like this most of his life really. Since he got roped into bodily babysitting Big Mean and Green, to be more accurate. Even being able to kind of track what the Hulk is doing, it’s become a necessity since then, needing to know the exact time and date so that he can try to fill in the blanks when he loses the spotlight for minutes or hours or days or years. That last one is sort of new, and sort of a problem. Not one he has had a lot of time to dwell on now but a problem nonetheless. In any case, if he isn’t keeping track of the time he’ll never have any way of knowing how long he’s been the Hulk. Or the Hulk has been him. There’s no good way to word that, he thinks, when they’re both trapped the way they are.
All of that said, he’s learned to manage his time very well over the years. There’s no telling when something will happen, if something will happen, to push him out of his own head. What time he does have he uses wisely. Efficiently. He has to. So it’s admittedly a little disheartening when every time he looks at the clock the hours have passed with no new news and little progress. Or they’ve lapsed into the next day and there’s nothing to show for it. Bruce wishes the time would slow down for him, like it has everyone else.
There are a lot of things he’s wished for over the years, wishes for now. He used to wish he could disconnect himself from the Hulk. Used to wish he could drop off of the grid and use a new name and make another life for himself. Have a family, friends, a cat or a bird. Now he wishes the friends he did have weren’t scattered by the winds or taken away by some cosmic disaster. He wishes Tony were here, to distract him and provide insight and disprove all of the assumptions that he’s gone too. He kind of wishes, somewhere in the darker corners of his mind that he tries to avoid visiting nowadays, that the snap had taken him out instead of one of the others.
Not that wishing has ever gotten him anywhere. It didn’t change anything when he was a child. Didn’t change anything back when he could taste cool metal in his mouth and practically feel the gunpowder tickling his nose. Didn’t change anything a decade ago. Bruce knows it won’t change anything now either.
“Doctor Banner?” Across the room, the shrunken mass of gold and blue shifts to get his attention, flickers red in the corner of his eyesight. Hearing the disembodied voice of Vision while looking down at the grey and lifeless body he once had is a little disorienting. He has to force himself not to think about the fact that the other man - being? - is kind of technically dead. “You’ve been staring at the same page of notes for over ten minutes. Keeping eyes on the remains of my vessel is not going to make it sit up on the table. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just...” Just letting himself get distracted from what he should be doing. Overthinking things he can’t do much about. The doctor heaves a sigh. “Doing nothing.”
“Perhaps a break would be good, assist in getting the gears turning.”
Bruce rubs the back of his neck and gives a tired smile. “I think I’ll pass.”
“I think he’s right.”
The light voice takes him totally by surprise. Whipping his head to the doorway, the brunette finds himself faced with the current... ruler of Wakanda? He’s pretty sure that’s what she’s doing now. The look on her face says she’s been there a while but he can’t recall even hearing the door open. She’s wearing a mix of gold and greys today, a loose top and shorts. She looks like she’s sweating, too. Working out some kinks in her new gear maybe? He knows she’s been experimenting with some Black Panther technology recently. Maybe she intends to take up the mantle, now that he brother is gone. Maybe she already has and they just don’t know it yet. It would be fitting.
“You know.” Shuri is approaching him now, one finger tapping in the Kimoyo Beads situated on her wrist. They do a scan of the body laid out in the table, and whatever results they give don’t show on her expression. “My father used to tell me that in times of great tragedy locking yourself away could only do you more trouble than good.”
Averting his gaze back down to his notes, Bruce hums noncommittally. The young girl doesn’t budge, though. She steps closer, toward the top of the table where Vision’s head is. Her fingertips dance across the crater left in his forehead, an action she’s taken to each time she comes to inspect the damage and try to work. It’s a nice gesture, Bruce thinks. Gentle and almost reverent. She would have liked him, had she gotten more of a chance to know him before his untimely demise.
He isn’t really sure what to say in response. Bruce has never been the kind of man to keep a lot of company. People are distracting and unpredictable and stressful. Even after spending years getting his issues under control, he doesn’t exactly find himself searching for companions.
Finally, after too long of a pause, Bruce decides on: “He sounds like he was very wise.”
“But you don’t agree.” Shuri shoots back quickly, giving him a look that is far beyond her years. “My mother says grief is handled in many different ways. She would be out here telling him to shove off and leave people be, if he were here.”
Bruce chokes on a little bit of a laugh. It probably shouldn’t be funny. He tries to cover it unsuccessfully with a cough, but judging by the look of amusement on Shuri’s face she’s already caught it. He tries to look apologetic, hiding behind his hastily scrawled notes. There’s a moment, a couple seconds, where he wonders if it’s inappropriate to be talking so lightheartedly over what is essentially a dead body.
“I’ve never been much of a people person.” Bruce admits, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “I don’t mind to be alone.”
Shuri nods, as if she understands the sentiment. He’s not really sure she does but he appreciates it nonetheless. “Do you prefer it?”
“What?”
“Being alone.” She clarifies lightly, and Bruce frowns. “Just because you don’t mind being alone doesn’t mean you prefer it.”
“It depends. Some people are better company than others.”
“That’s not a real answer.” Shuri rolls her eyes at him but before he can respond she’s turning her back to him, heading for the door. “Come on, Kermit.”
Bruce wants to say something a little snarky in response, before the words make his mind drift to Tony and they die on his tongue anyway. “Where are we going?”
“Outside.” She looks back at him teasingly as they head toward the exit. “You know, sunshine. Clouds. Grass. Trees. Not to mention fresh, unfiltered air.”
“That sounds terrible.” Trying to keep himself as monotone as possible, the green eyed man shrugs his jacket on and neatly folds his notes to slide them into the inner pocket. “Is that what young people are into nowadays?”
Just ahead of him, already moving past the intricate inclining walkway and to the slot where the wall folds away to reveal a slotted door, Shuri lets out a laugh. The pale white light of the lab makes her umber skin glow, highlights the tired lines under her eyes and the tight line of her shoulders. It makes her look older she is, though that's probably to be expected under the circumstances.
The past month and a week has been full of unfortunate events, it's been hard on everyone. Beyond that, from what Bruce has heard at least, the past five years have taken their toll as well. Not just on the Avengers, but on all of their newfound allies. And potential allies. And strange newcomers in the form of talking animals.
Five years is a lot to miss, Bruce is realizing.
"It is, in fact, what most people are into." Slowing down, Shuri falls into step beside him as they start down the corridor. "You're more out of touch than the hundred year old men." She fumbles a step, turns to go down the next hall, and corrects herself. "Man."
The ache in her voice is undeniable. Bruce reaches up to pat her shoulder, reconsiders, and shoves his hands into his pockets instead. He has a feeling she wouldn't appreciate the pity, even if they are in the same boat. "Steve has had the advantage of everyone updating his list since he came out of the ice. Some of us are being forced to learn on our own, you know. He gets a cheat sheet."
"He was frozen for seventy years." She points out, wagging a finger at him. "A cheat sheet evens you out."
Their conversation is interrupted when the door ahead of them opens, the sun reaching out to temporarily render them blind and halt their progress. The warmth that follows it is surprisingly pleasant, heating up Bruce's cheeks and hands. A gust of wind ruffles his hair and pushes Shuri's clothes around playfully.
Blinking a few times to allow his eyes to adjust, the doctor raises a hand to cast a shadow over his face. Down the stairs stationed in the grass with an impressively sized hunk of metal is Rocket. The raccoon is flipping some levers and cursing, one small paw slamming into the side impatiently. Steve is standing off to the side, pinching the bridge of his nose as he attempts to reason with the creature. And a little ways from there is Thor, Okoye, and M'Baku doing... well, he isn't really sure what. Sparring, maybe? That seems like a safe bet, judging by the thousand watt grin the Asgardian is sporting and the sweat beading on the Wakandans’ skins.
"Colonel Rhodes has been delayed in joining us." In his moments of distraction the princess - ruler? Bruce isn't sure which to stick with - has already descended the steps and is eying a vibranium rod stuck into the ground.
This news isn't really surprising. Rhodey was supposed to return about a week and a half ago, with more news regarding the status of the U.S. government. This is the second time he's pushed his arrival back. President Ellis was not lucky enough to survive the snap, nor was the Vice President. Their cabinet and families are left picking up the pieces, struggling to find something to say to the country and fumbling in their attempts to find a solution to the state of disarray the world has been left in. Bruce doesn't really have high expectations for any of them.
"Fuckin' finally! The tech you all have down here is practically ancient, you know, I've seen better pieces of equipment in the Kyln." Rocket is gesturing animatedly at the long range communications device he's been building. "There are better receivers in pubs on Xandar."
"That loses most of its significance when you take into consideration that I don't know what either of those are." Steve rubs the back of his neck, making a face.
Deciding to lend his support, Bruce steps up to the plate. "To be fair, none of us do."
"I do." Leaning into sight, the resident god raises his brows at them. "You just need to travel more."
"No, no." Bruce shoots him what he hopes is a stern look. "I've had enough interplanetary traveling for the next decade."
The raccoon practically sneers at him from a few feet away. "Uncultured and boring." He tips his head to look at Thor, more sarcasm than bite for once. "These are really the Avengers you were gabbing about?"
"Alright, okay, we get it. You don’t like us." Steve raises a hand in defeat, ever the mediator, before giving the large contraption in front of him a suspicious look. "Aren't there more important topics on the table?"
"Right." Rocket grins, or Bruce is pretty sure he's grinning but it is seriously hard to tell the difference from his usual condescending teeth baring, and pats the machine in front of him. "Like my golden finger for interstellar technology."
"I don't think that's the right term, golden finger.”
"Look, Mr. Patriotic. You can figure out the terms when you build somethin' capable of reachin’ across the galaxy, picking up radio signals, lasers signals, has built in translators - which, by the way, insane that you Terrans haven't got them imbedded in you like the rest of us - catches private transmissions, satellite signals, has a built in booster." He pauses, gestures around again. "And, best of all, remote controlled self-destruct. It's nothing like faster than light neutrinophones but you name it, this baby can do it."
Bruce considers all of that, for a moment, expression twisting as he circles the machine. On the end opposite of where he started is a display no larger than one of his hands. The language on there in foreign to him, long strings of symbols with the occasional space or number thrown in. He does recognize coordinates in the upper left, though they certainly aren’t on Earth. The bottom is lined with dark red buttons, each marked with a number. He doesn’t touch it, he knows better than to invade Rocket’s creative space.
Thor, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care. He comes up beside the green eyed man and leans down, one large hard stretched to hit the first button. The machine whirs and shifts, rising up out of itself. It looks sort of like a spire. Bruce recognizes some of the equipment put into it from Shuri’s lab, Wakandan technology mixed and matched with whatever else was one hand to make a long range communications device. Not missing a beat, Rocket pushes by the doctor to swipe across the screen and huff.
When the metal stops moving and the gears stop turning there’s a light spray of static in their ears. Thor frowns down at the raccoon, looking thoroughly disappointed. “It’s stopped.”
“Or moved.” Shuri puts in. “That seems just as likely. Have you heard anything since this morning?”
“No. Rabbit has been diligently manning the stations since then.” Thor does the honors of pressing the second button and causing the metal to shift again. This time Rocket smacks his hand away and snaps his teeth at him, the blonde laughs in response. “Spare a few moments for repairs and modifications."
Raising one brow, Okoye takes this as her chance to step in. "What kind of repairs?"
"I overloaded one part." Rocket snips back at them, already hunching over the screen again. "All it did was cause a small fire, it's not like I took out the whole west wing." Looking around, Bruce can see almost everyone wearing a grimace that matches his own. No one says anything, though. Probably for fear of dealing with another rage fueled outburst from the smaller creature and suffering through an extended monologue about how they could at least be grateful to have him around. "You cause a couple - okay, a few - small explosions and suddenly no one trusts you to fix your own shit. You know what - whatever, okay, fuck all of you. The point here is that I found Quill."
There's a very long moment of silence. Thor seems to at least know who that is, but the unimpressed look on his face doesn't really say a lot. No one else shows any sign of recognizing the name. Or maybe it's a title? Bruce honestly has no clue. Not even a hint of a clue. Whoever or whatever Quill is, though, the news seems to be the highlight of the raccoon's day. Or week. Or month, probably. His eyes are lit up, staring at the machine on the ground as if it is his saving grace. It's kind of understandable, but the thought doesn't stub out the curious spark in his brain.
Eventually, Steve is the one to take the bait. "We should all be grateful for any help we can get, but would you mind telling us who, exactly, that is."
"What?" Rocket looks absolutely offended for a few seconds, before the expression fades into exasperation. "Right. You're all clueless, I keep forgetting. Don’t even know about the people out there savin’ your asses."
Before that can spur a new kind of argument, the god among them speaks up. "Starlord. One of the Guardians of the Galaxy. He is the puniest among them. Rabbit here is the captain of their ship."
"You're the captain?" The words slip out before Bruce can stop them, paired with a snort.
"Of course I am." He puffs out his chest, looking far more amused than expected. As if there's some inside joke no one else is in on. "And I know my crew. He's the only person I know with taste this bad. His personal collection is garbage."
There's a quiet click! from the machine, the speaker near the top crackling as it tries to make a connection. It screeches in protest for a moment and the the abhorrent noise is replaced by something familiar. Music. Bruce is, for a moment, mesmerized. Cherry Bomb bursts through the speaker, a surprisingly upbeat tune for the moment. Bruce can't remember the last time he heard it. When did this song even first come out? The seventies? It shoves nostalgia through his veins and causes a laugh to bubble up in his throat and spill past his lips. It's all a little absurd.
"The Runaways?" Bruce puts a hand over his face and tries to stop the laughter. Steve, Thor, and Shuri look equal parts amused and confused, likely not even knowing the song. The other two Wakandans seem uninterested in the entire exchange. "You guard the whole galaxy and you're still listening to the Runaways."
"No." Rocket fumbles his words for a moment and raises his nose indignantly. It's the first time he hasn't had something to say, a witty comeback kept on his tongue. The moment is satisfying while it lasts. "Quill does, because he hates all of us and wants to watch our eardrums bust. I know this is him. The signature matches the Benetar."
"The Benetar?" This time Steve is the one rubbing at his mouth to hide a laugh. "I recognize that one."
Bruce, not for the first time during this conversation, begins to wonder if Rocket really was the captain. The argument isn't worth the never ending trouble it would bring, so he doesn't voice this thought. "I'm sensing a theme, here."
"That's not -" Rocket taps his digits on the screen of his contraption, claws catching the light with each movement. "Okay, laugh it up all you want. But they're closer than before."
"How can you tell?" Steve furrows his brow at them.
Rather unhelpfully, he responds. "I'm bouncing off of stations and spaceports."
"Our fur coated companion is like Mnemosyne." Thor points upward, as if he could somehow possibly be showing them what Rocket has connected to. "His knowledge on your cosmos and planets has been invaluable."
Shuri nods more to herself than them, raising her wrist to allow her Kimoyo Beads to scan the machinery, likely wirelessly transferring any information she wants or needs to herself. Distantly, Bruce reminds himself to ask her about how those work later. "We can't send anything out, but being able to receive any incoming transmissions could be useful."
The raccoon snorts, tail flicking. "Finally. A little appreciation and all it took was the end of the world."
"I thought Mnemosyne was a Greek goddess of memory." Okoye interjects, suddenly looking interested. "Daughter of Uranus and Gaia; mother of the nine Muses."
"Many of your Midgardian myths are rooted in truth." The blonde turns to face her, one hand rubbing at his newly shortened hair. "Mnemosyne was a Valkyrie, a master strategist. They say her memory was so great that she could recreate battles in moments."
She nods, hums. "She must have been an asset. How do you suppose the lore got mixed up?"
The Asgardian gets caught up in the retelling of some story regarding legends passing down to them and no one being able distinguish one from another. Bruce tunes them out in favor of stepping closer to the small mammal to look at the screens he's flicking through. He doesn't look particularly pleased by whatever it is he's seeing. He shakes his head and mumbles something to himself, nose wrinkling up. A few steps away Steve is squinting at them before his curiosity gets the best of him and he's peering over the doctor's shoulder to see what the fuss is about.
"They're near Kariteth." Rocket says, as if that means anything to either of them. "That doesn't make sense."
"Why?" Shuri looks up from her wrist finally, brows rising.
"It's a spaceport, closest to Klyntar." A pause, and he adds: "Andromeda Galaxy. You should at least know what that is. It's closer than Titan but way off course."
"Is there anything they could need from there?" Steve frowns as Rocket retreats from the machine to pace. "Anything of value?"
"No." And then he hesitates, looking at nothing for a minute before repeating himself. "No. Fuel, maybe, but they would have gone the extra clicks to hit Xandar."
He's leaving something out. It's obvious by the pacing, the irritated swishing of his tail. Bruce sighs. "Why wouldn't they go to... Kariteth?"
"K-air-e-teth." Rocket corrects him carefully. "Klyntar is practically at war and the spaceport itself is full of lowlifes. That's sayin' a lot coming from me. I met Quill in a cell."
The look on Steve's face at that is hilarious. His lips twist and his brows tip downward, clearly trying to put a positive spin on the words in his head and trying not to make assumptions. Eventually he seems to give up on that, shaking his head and scratching at his beard as they all think this over. He mutters to himself, something about different runs of life and walking in their shoes and then we got into plenty of trouble, too. The few minutes of silence give him the chance to reflect on the state of things, of the weird out-of-his-own-skin sort of feeling that's been lingering since he blasted back to reality on Sakaar.
Tapping a foot on the ground, Shuri screws her eyes at the sky. "How long is the trip, from there?"
"A couple months, if they don't run into trouble. Maybe more if they've damaged the ship."
It sounds like a lifetime. Bruce's chest aches for these people he doesn't know. "So we wait."
"And prepare." Steve cuts in, crossing his arms. "We don't know what kind of news they could bring with them."
"Yes." Thor agrees, his smile traded in for a more stern expression. "Their trip from Titan to here could have afforded them a run in with Thanos."
"More importantly, they could bring us something not so...." Rocket grumbles, tipping his head toward the contraption still putting off music. "Outdated."
Steve tips his head back and laughs, and Bruce can't help but return it with the one bubbling up in his throat. He feels, for just a moment, like everything hasn't gotten so twisted.