It must have been something about the morning, because Bruce had not thought of his friend since he'd last seen him. High above the city of New York, safer than he had ever been, Bruce's mind wandered back to Brazil. Maybe the way the sun filtered across his kitchen made him remember a simpler setting. Or, it could have been his cup of tea, the lap top open on the table in front of him, and his reflection. After all, those were almost all he really had back then. Those, and of course, the dog.

There never really had been a moment to mourn. Everything happened so fast, and so much happened after. Blonsky shot the animal and Bruce ran. There was never time to look back. As far as he knew, the dog had died.

Yes, he had just been a dog, but he had been a friend. He was the only friend Bruce had when there was no one else. His death itself had been an act of friendship; killed while warning Bruce of Blonksy's arrival. Looking back, he felt certain he wouldn't have had time to run if it weren't for the dog's warning.

It was puzzling though, because that dog had to know what Bruce carried inside himself. From seizures to avalanche victims, dogs can sense what's underneath. He must have sensed the massive threat, but he stayed. Why? Why would he stick with him? Bruce had never asked that question while he was in Rio. It never occurred to him, or maybe he was too grateful for the company to let himself ask.

It was dawn when his friend first arrived. Bruce had been sitting out on cinderblock step of his makeshift residence. Inside he had made for himself a subpar cup of tea. Despite it's lack of quality, he welcomed the comfort of such a familiar experience. It held some semblance of normal, of everything he'd had to run from.

His eyes scanned the expanse of Rocinha that stretched out below where he lived. The sprawling favela was just coming awake and he sat listening to the sounds of it. A dog approached Bruce from out of an alley close by. He had a hopeful look as he sniffed the air, trying to determine what the man might have. Bruce's eyes followed him. Though a strange dog, he didn't seem threatening.

"Sorry, boy. It's just tea." He said.

The dog sat down, still watching him. After he remained there for another minute or so, Bruce set his tin cup aside and got to his feet. "Ok, let me see." He disappeared for a moment into his house. Most of his diet those days consisted of fruit and any and all canned foods. He chose the least fruit-like thing he had in his stash and returned outside with a handful of nuts. Sitting down again, Bruce tossed one over to the dog. The animal wasn't picky and snapped it up quickly. Now there was no going back. He looked at the man with extra hope. If Bruce was honest, he knew that the dog's presence was more than welcome. He fed the dog a few more nuts while he finished his tea. Then, he went inside to get ready to go. The dog was still out in the street when he came out to leave for the bottling plant. Bruce couldn't help but smile and then headed off. When he got home that night there was no sign of the dog, but when he stepped outside the next morning there he was.

"Hey, pup." Bruce said, genuinely happy to see him again.

He gave a swish of his tale and sat down expectantly.

"Ok. I'll see what I've got." He went back inside.

This continued for a few more days until the dog would come right up to Bruce each morning and allow him to scratch his ears and feed him by hand. After a couple of weeks Bruce was allowing the dog into his home. Each morning when Bruce would leave for work at the plant, the dog would wander off to scavenge and roam the city. At night upon his return, he would be waiting for him and Bruce would let him inside.

Bruce became very used to having this new friend around. He talked to the dog while he searched for his cure on his lap top, or while he prepared food for the two of them. The dog would watch from across the room while Bruce tried to meditate. There were plenty of times when he was awoken by his own horrible nightmares about the other guy. Each time his dog would always be tucked in close to him, or laying his head across Bruce's arm or torso. He was a real comfort and Bruce was grateful. It often felt that the other guy was very much active of his own accord in his dreams. As if in a none physical way, he did get to have his way and come out to play. He was there in Bruce's subconscious and he was very active.

Pup, as Bruce came to call him, had to have sensed that. Bruce was sure it. How then did it not scare him off? The animal couldn't have been so desperate for food as to have gone against all instincts of self preservation just to have a consistent benefactor. He didn't feed the dog that well. There was an entire city to scavenge and Bruce was certain there were better food opportunities elsewhere.

Gazing absently at the keyboard brightened with sunlight, Bruce remembered the friendliness, the tail swishes, and the loyalty.

Maybe the dog needed a friend as much as he had, and maybe he simply wasn't afraid of the other guy. Did the dog feel safe? Did the dog sense a protector inside Bruce? He had remained with Bruce because he provided food and company. That was a given, but did the other guy provide him with a profound sense of safety in a big mean city? Could that have been it?

Bruce found himself slightly taken aback. Somebody back then had seen the Other Guy as a good thing. That somebody had just been a dog, but that was something. He was grateful to his small friend for valuing all of him.

Bruce returned his finger tips to the keyboard and smiled for the mutt who had asked so little of him, but had given him so much.