Tony scrambled against the cabinets, prepared to call a suit or Jarvis to help if the Hulk decided to smash him. The beast snarled, looming in closer. Tony's breath came in shudders as the thing leaned down and roared in Tony's face; his eyes widened in the horror of what might happen next. The Hulk grabbed the now panicking mechanic, pulling him in with a massive green arm and turning them both around. But instead of throwing the smaller man around like a rag doll, the thing set him roughly on the counter before it chucked a desk chair across the room. It flipped over a work table and stomped and beat its cumbersome fists on anything available, grunting and growling fircely. Then the being leaned against the counter a few feet away from Tony's perch, breathing heavily, and suddenly began to shrink down. Light beige overtook the poisonous green; human features appeared under the skin of a monster. This incident was exceptionally short, and it appeared to come from next to nothing.

Once down to his regular size, Bruce collapsed. Tony lowered himself to the ground shakily, pulled an emergency blanket out of a first aid drawer - one of the only safety precautions of Jarvis's that Tony actually followed - and wrapped it around Bruce's shoulders. Banner was awake, surprisingly. He attempted to stand up, his eyes dazed, but Tony held him down.

"Did I-" Bruce gasped, looking into Tony's eyes. "Did I hurt you-"

"No, Bruce, look at me. I'm fine." Tony did his best to appear less shaken. He bit his lip. "Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but you – err, he – kind of picked me up and- and put me up there-" He gestured to the countertop. "-before doing all of this."

Bruce looked around the room in bewilderment.

"I- I think he recognized me, Bruce." Tony huffed a laugh of relief.

Bruce's head snapped back to meet Tony's gaze. He gulped."What?"

"I think the Jolly Green Giant recognized me." A small smile played at the playboy's lips.

"That's... that's impossible. I haven't had that since..." he whispered.

"New York," Tony finished.

"Yes, but before that... not since I... not since-" He scrubbed his face with his hands.

Tony blinked. "Betty?"

"I, yeah, I'm sorry." He pulled the blanket in further, clenching the hem tight beneath his fingers.

Tony rubbed the other man's shoulders. "Bruce, it's okay. Everything is okay," he soothed.

Bruce was shaking – hard. He felt sick to his stomach in a moment that should have been more celebratory.

Tony's brow furrowed. "We're okay, right?"

Bruce felt angry again, suddenly. Not Hulk-out angry, just a sort of sad anger that wallowed and clenched in his heart. Did he mean we or he or I? And what was with people asking if he was okay? Did he look fucking okay? It was like Natasha swearing on her own life that he would get out of that incident scot-free without leaving a dent, but that was never true. He always ended up destroying something, and it usually happened to be someone or something he cared about. He had detached himself after Betty, before New York – before Tony – because he had to, not because he wanted to. Bruce expected people like Natasha; maybe they cared, maybe not, but they were always afraid. Always. Always, except for Tony. Even Betty had her issues with it, but she had her own bullshit to deal with, so they were pretty evenly matched. The fact that Tony had been an exception scared Bruce more than the Other Guy did, more than the chance of hurting others did. Getting close to someone again, getting attached – it meant something would inevitably go wrong, and Bruce would either have to pick up the broken pieces or someone else would.

He looked at Tony and those big, brown eyes that reflected everything like a mirror – no, better than a mirror. Too hard to explain. He blinked. Then he realized maybe it was reassuring to hear a yes, even if you knew it was a lie.

"Yeah, we're fine," he croaked.

Tony laced his fingers through Bruce's curls and let his lips fall on the other man's forehead, breathing in his scent. Bruce smelled like warmth, however impossible that may be scientifically. The space between them was like a home Tony never knew and a home Bruce never had.

"He's only had two incidents since New York, Clint. Relax."

"Only," Barton repeated. "I'm gonna go 'head and guess you forgot those are triggers for you." The archer arched an eyebrow.

"That isn't the only thing." Tony rolled his eyes. "And I'm better now. Got the reactor up and running fine, my head's okay... I'm fine." He drummed his fingers against the metal chunk shrouded beneath his dark t-shirt.

"You're fine. You're dating the city's finest monster, and-"

Tony stepped closer, closing the space between them. "Bruce is not a monster," Tony growled, his eyes livid.

"Woah, hold on there." He put a hand on Tony's shoulder; the playboy glared at this gesture. Who did he think he was, Captain Spangly Shorts? "You know that's not what I meant. C'mon, man. Listen to me. Seeing a shrink was and is good for you, but I'm not sure taking Banner back out again is the best idea. You got him to stay in the city; that's enough for now." Clint removed his hand; he'd gotten the feeling Tony might bite it off.

Tony backed up. "He needs to feel good again. To let go once in a while. And if- if he recognizes me, Clint! This is a big deal! At least come inside and celebrate. I've restocked the bar," he offered, trying to seem like his more upbeat, partying self.

"I'll come, but I'm not drinkin'. Seems to me a beer with you means a lifetime of headaches."

They went up an elevator to Tony and Bruce's penthouse at Stark Tower. "Christ, how many fucking floors do you need?" Clint stared at the buttons; Tony could swear he'd asked this more than once, but each time it somehow seemed to Barton like they'd added new floors.

"Well, those ten are labs, those are work rooms, these are personal floors, recreation's over in this area..."

"Alright, alright, gotcha."He waved Tony's explanation away.

When they finally made it to the apartment, Tony immediately went over to the bar to pour himself a glass of scotch. Up to the rim. Clint eyebrows nearly shot to his hairline as he perched on a stool.

"What? I can't drink a glass of scotch in my own house?"

Clint sighed and rolled his eyes – a habit he must've picked up from Natasha. "Tony..."

"Save it, Robin Hood. I'm tired of people giving me shit."

"Tony, no one's-" He stopped to watch his friend down the entirety of the glass in one drawn out gulp. Clint shook his head and slid a hand over his face. "We're all just concerned about what's best for you, alright, Metal Head?"

"Geez, no need to get sentimental," Tony burped. Pleasant.

"Where is Bruce, anyway?"

"I don't know, upstairs, probably. He was pretty beat after last night."

"And you're not?"

Tony ignored that comment. "Jarvis, where's Bruce?"

"He left the premises last night at approximately ten-thirty, sir."

"Really? I thought he'd gone to bed..." Tony's eyes narrowed in thought.

"Tony?"

"Hmm?" He swiveled around, attempting to focus.

"Do you happen to know where he might've gone?"

"I am not currently equipped with that information, sir," Jarvis answered conveniently. Even he sounded worried.

Tony shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I slept on the couch. Uh, Battlestar Galactica marathon." He gestured vaguely with one hand and searched his thoughts almost desperately. Where would Bruce go after an incident like that?