I'd like to apologize for this being such a long time coming. It has to be said that my drive as a writer is shitty and to be honest I don't know exactly where I'm going with this story. Also been quite busy, but enough with the excuses. Thank you for taking the time to read, favourite, follow and/or review this story so far. I hope you enjoy this, and please do give me your thoughts by way of review if you have the time.

Wide eyes, utterly terrified eyes. That was the first thing brought to his attention. Framed by thick dark lashes and a colour that reminded him of something long past. Betty. The boy's face was cherubic in structure with babyish cheeks and dimples, but the expression made him feel ill, especially given that it was directed him. The view seemed to pan out, and suddenly Bruce recognized the setting, with the waitress barely a foot away; and he could almost feel the hot liquid seep down the front of his top as the cup fell to the floor and shattered. This was nothing like real-life. Time had never previously slowed to this point, usually it went in a flash. But right now he was able to see the entire scene, take in every detail, most prominently the small boy who was sat a few tables over with his mother. The last thought he had before exploding out of his own skin, was that he remembered a time when the prospect of having his very own child was likelihood rather than a dream.

The black empty space receded after an uncertain amount of time; of course he had no idea how long it had been. The passage of time was often warped for him at the best of times. Bruce was himself once more, only to realize the devastation that surrounded him. It had been the coffee shop before; even without the pre-hulk memory, it's evidence lay around him in a sick and twisted jigsaw. Windows, tables and cups shattered into pieces of various sizes. Coffee puddled on the floor mixing with the dark red and suddenly he could hear the screaming, a latent memory perhaps, so pained, so very scared that he pressed his palms to his ears in an attempt to block it out. But the sound was coming from inside his head and the pressure only seemed to amplify it. He cast his eyes around the remains of the room and amongst the chaos of broken furniture and unpleasant puddles was a small body. It drew his attention despite being a relatively unobtrusive and undemanding sight amongst the scene of devastation. Unmoving; much like everything else in the once café. It was the boy, who at a glance could have been sleeping but no. His skin was too pale and not even his chest rose and fell with the smallest of breaths. He didn't want to look but couldn't avert his eyes either, there was some kind of masochistic draw to simply watching this still image. But the horror he felt at this sight was dull, not a shock. After all this is what he had always known would happen. He was not good for people in any sense of the word. The pain was not that of a sudden, unexpected explosion, but more the crush of a heavy load that had rested upon one's for a long time before finally teaming up with gravity and winning. Without experience of both he couldn't really be sure which was worse. But was that really something worth considering?

The guilt was an entirely separate matter. Take the situation as it was and enforce it with the knowledge that it was entirely his fault and suddenly the whole thing was somehow all the more sickening. Bruce could feel it tugging at him, almost as if a physicality, wrapped about him and it felt suffocating, at least at the current time. Bruce tried to pull away from this feeling but instead it tightened about his middle . Like. An. Arm.

An arm. Bruce blinked and found himself in an equally unusual, although far less disturbing situation. He was sure it must be morning by now but the room was still half dark due to the blinds that covered the windows. But to address the warm body well within his personal space, it had to be acknowledged that he was sharing his bed with someone, another guy to be more specific. It felt strangely pleasant, to have the warmth of another person pressed against him and arms wrapped about his middle. It had been a long time since he had slept with someone in this way. Bruce shifted once more, struggling to ascertain what was going on, when everything in his mind was so foggy. The movement seemed to jostle his companion also as he felt hands smooth up and down his back in an attempt at soothing as a mouth that was pressed against the juncture between his neck and shoulder hushed him, the warmth of breath raising goose bumps all over his skin. It brought with it a vague scent of alcohol and brush of stubble, combining with the prominent presence of cologne that all added up to something, someone, very familiar. Tony.

Shit. The occurrences of last night suddenly rushed back to Bruce, hitting him like a brick wall. Fuck. Tony had found him like that. Now he would know just how messed up he was. The way that Bruce survived was by pretending; pretending that he was happy, pretending that he didn't hate himself or feel horrifically alone all the time. If even one person knew the illusion was shattered. That problem would have to be dealt with when it actually arose. Right now Bruce felt nauseous. Whether it be something to do with the vast amount of sedatives he had ingested or the worryingly realistic dream, he couldn't tell but he knew he had to get up now. He slipped carefully out of Tony's arms, the whispered "No," that rolled off his tongue making something twist inside him. Luckily he didn't wake.

Bruce padded calmly into the adjoining bathroom before closing the door quietly behind him and retching into the sink. The acidic taste burnt his throat and he was quick to wash it away with a mouthful of water from the tap. Next point of order: shower. Bruce stripped and tossed the ripped shirt into the bin along with the tattered slacks, stepping into the rush of steaming water. The reasonable heat acted as a relaxant for his tensed muscles and for a good few minutes he did nothing but stand and let the water run over his skin.

After another five minutes Bruce managed to wash his hair and step from the glass cubicle feeling refreshed although still inexplicably tired. He dried off and pulled his boxers back on being careful to avoid looking in the mirror. It never got him anywhere good, and he would have had words with Tony about taking the ceiling to floor monstrosity down if he didn't feel that his motives might be questioned. Bruce had become accustomed to simply letting his gaze pass over the displeasing reflection that stared back at him, to the point where he almost didn't have to think about it anymore.

He returned to the bedroom briefly, rummaging around in a draw to procure a random t-shirt which he pulled hastily over his bare chest. Bruce chanced a look back at Tony who honestly looked adorable: hands fisted in the loose comforter and a small ambiguous smile adorning his face. This sight cheered him for the briefest of moments as he slipped out of the room, his face soon returning to the safety of its blank mask, deciding that some coffee was in order if he was to feel anywhere near normal. Caffeine always helped. Well that was a lie, but coffee had to be one of his best friends.

Having headed to the communal kitchen and sticking on a new pot, Bruce stood and waited for it to brew leaning heavily against the counter. Somewhere within him he was aware that there would have to be explanations at some point, but at the moment he was busy hoping that they could get past this without a mention of last night. Then again he never had been the lucky one.

Tony woke in an unfamiliar room and to an empty bed, for a moment thinking that this was like the start of most of his days before the memories of last night returned to him, with the help of identifying the interior as Bruce's room. Bruce! Where was he? The initial panic brought about by his absence lead to Tony scrambling off the bed and set on a search to find the honourable Doctor. Fortunately it took him less than a minute to stumble upon the sight of him making up some fresh coffee, back to the door. Tony, being the man that he was, couldn't help but admire the view but mentally shook himself before he had the chance to make any crude comments. He still struggled with being appropriate at the best of times.

"Bruce?" He questioned uncertainly, unsure of the type of response he might receive. The initial reaction showed in the way his back muscles tensed under the fitted t-shirt.

"Morning, Tony." As unobservant as he was even Tony could hear the false cheer in his voice. He also didn't fail to notice the fact that he refused to turn and actually look at him.

"Bruce-"

"Would you like any coffee Tony? I was just about to make a fresh pot." He fidgeted to an almost aggravating level, moving about cutlery and cups along with just about everything left out on the surface. And Tony could see the lack of purpose behind the movements. Also, he had a prominent dislike of being ignored. He just wanted to talk.

He began again, hoping to at least start a conversation. "We need to-"

"Or I can make you an espresso?" Never mind that the answer to that question was yes, Bruce's outright avoidance was frustrating. Tony had never been one to hide his annoyance; not well at least.

"Stop!" He all but shouted, pausing to collect himself before lowering his voice to a normal leveland continuing. "Bruce we NEED to talk. Avoiding the issue isn't going to help and would you please just look at me already?"

"Fine!" Bruce whipped around faster than anything, his hands forming into tight fists which was accompanied by the crunch as the mug he had been holding gave up its integral structure and similarly gave up its caffeinated contents all over the floor. The mess was ignored even as chunks and smaller fragments of china fell to the wooden floor. "So you're going to 'help' me are you? You're hardly one to talk. Do tell how the emotionally incompetent alcoholic intends on fixing the pointlessly suicidal depressive? What the fuck are you hoping to achieve? I am not a charity case, least of all to a person who wouldn't acknowledge their own problems if they hit him in the face with a baseball bat."

For a moment afterwards he stopped, breathing heavily while the anger still lingered, green in his eyes. Then suddenly it was gone: Bruce looked strangely small and forlorn all over again. His shoulders hung. "Sorry."

Tony sighed, somewhat deflated "Don't be, you didn't say anything about me that wasn't true." That was the reality of the situation. Of course he knew he had problems but most of the time he deemed it better to simply ignore them in favour of attempting to live a happy life. Not that that worked. In the awkward silence that followed he let his eyes wander, mainly over Bruce. Tony watched the hand by his side clench and unclench before he actually processed just what the vivid red there meant. The mug! "You're bleeding." Concern was evident in his voice despite the relatively minor injury.

Bruce glanced briefly at the hand in question seeming highly unsurprised. "Guess I am." His voice was full of apathy, to the point it made Tony frown. He shouldn't be surprised by attitude, being prone to it himself, but it seemed so very unlike his friend.

"Let me look at it." Tony took an experimental step forward, reaching a hand out hopefully. One could question exactly what it was he was hoping for.

Bruce made no move towards him or away, shrugging in mock disinterest. "No need, I'll heal fine either way." But Tony couldn't just leave this.

"Please Bruce, just for my peace of mind?" He pretty much pleaded and eventually could see the other's will break before guiding him down onto one of the kitchen chairs. "Now just wait right here." Tony tapped Bruce's nose playfully- because he honestly couldn't handle the sombre tone anymore and maybe wanted to put off the confrontation that bit longer- before going to locate the first aid kit.

It was as he had his back turned, rummaging in some random cupboard, when Bruce chose to speak. "I'm not a child you know." There was a quite defiance in his voice, an almost challenge.

But Tony did not rise to it, replying in a subdued fashion. "I know." His voice was soft and careful in application. Of course he knew that Bruce was not a child, and had always perceived him to be more capable than himself. That, however, did not stop this need he felt to care for him, especially in light of recent events.

Locating the first aid kit in the cupboard under the sink Tony retrieved it and turned to move back towards Bruce. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite the other, their knees just about touching, but perpendicular to the table. Setting to work in measured silence, Tony began by removing an antiseptic wipe from the pack and drawing the injured hand onto his lap, palm raised. The skin felt pleasantly warm against his fingertips and a small shudder went through him, unexpected and uncontained. There were a number of cuts that ran across Bruce's hand, uneven and overlapping although they luckily seemed free of any fragments. Tony set to work, gently cleaning the area with his eyes focused on the task in hand. They remained in a not entirely comfortable silence for a few moments before Tony spoke.

"You know, I have no idea what I'd do if I lost you Bruce." Something in his gut twisted painfully at the echoes of yesterday evening but he fought it back as the distress threatened to break in his voice. This situation made things easier, he was glad to have an excuse to avoid eye contact. "And I'm aware that me saying this changes nothing but I just want you to know. I act like what I do is important, more so than anything or anyone else, but I would drop it all to talk to you, to spend time with you." Tony knew what it was to be alone and the idea of Bruce feeling such was almost painful to him. "For what it's worth, I want to help in any way I can."

"I- thanks I guess. I don't mean to seem selfish by my actions. Just sometimes anything seems preferable to talking. But I'll try." Bruce's words were slow and halting, also rather quiet. His willingness to submit surprised him somewhat, after everything.

"Please don't for a second think I blame you. I'm just glad you're ok." Having cleaned the cuts thoroughly, he placed a dressing over Bruce's palm, before beginning to wind surgical tape around it to hold it in place. Tony took care that it was both tight enough to stay secure and yet also not so tight that it restricted movement or blood flow. Once it was fixed to his liking Tony cut the tape and smoothed the end down. "There we go, all fini-" As he spoke, he had brought his head up from being hunched over Bruce's hand and found himself acutely aware of their inadvisable proximity. Tony was right in his face, their heads tilted towards each other; their slightly open mouths almost sharing breaths. And yet neither of them moved away. Tony quickly realized that 1) Bruce's eyes were more pretty than he remembered 2) this was an undeniable 'moment' and the third point dissolved along with his resolve as he felt their lips press together.