Chapter Text
He'd always hoped he would find his solace. His special confidant to calm him down from a fury of rage, from an impending onslaught of anger, from any tumultuous turns of upset from the happiness he so desperately yearned for. Not that he deserved it, or that he thought it was at all plausible, but sometimes he would sigh while imbibing himself with steeped, bitter coffee and envisage a future of jovial, casual gaiety he didn't have to make an effort to achieve. He wouldn't be as constantly terrified of transforming, never stowing away in his room in fear of destroying all that he loved; he wished for someone to hug, to love, to freely adorn with doting and devotion that he could depend on.
With you, he had effectuated two of those things and unfortunately didn't seek purchase on the other one. It was too risky, and he couldn't lose the one grounding he had from falling apart.
You had entered his life two years prior, a mess of grease and laughter beside Tony: his new, astute mechanic. At first, it was just daily glances, salutations, arm brushes by the java machine-- nothing too divergent from his ordinary life. Within a week, you were talking more, him finding excuses to stop by Tony's workshop more often and you secretly doing the same for his lab. You were the kind, accepting soul he wished of and he was the adorable, stalwart companion that you couldn't stop thinking about. Your talks became longer, more cherished, something that he was always looking forward to. As your friendship progressed, so did the intimacy; he found relief in your succoring hugs, comforting hand on his shoulder, smiles of reassurance that gave him fuel to venture on through the day. All of his grievances were lessened, muted under his feet as long as you were available to soothingly stroke his curls, murmur support, and offer a popular, banal movie along with some blankets to inspirit the both of you. As much as he was praised for his deductive skills and intellect, he never believed the grin upon your face when he would agree just as enthusiastically, nestle under the covers with an endearing smile and wave for you to join him.
Falling in love with you was all too easy. He didn't exactly believe in love at first sight, but it had taken him barely an introduction to know that he would have an attachment to you. Sometimes it was damaging-- he could feel the green seeping into his eyes when you ranted about another man, wanting almost nothing more than to be the one encompassing you in warmth and affection instead of others-- but he always pacified himself. He had to if he wanted to keep you.
There had been moments when he had reached so close to a confession, so near a collapse in his pragmatic judgment, but it never happened. Even when Tony blatantly flirted with you, you wore a particularly ravishing outfit, or you even smirked at him a certain way, he would somehow placate his yen and shake his head with bemusement at his never-ending love for you.
Tonight was an exceptionally heart-wrenching night; he had to endure hours of your glamour, well-dressed in a dark-green ensemble, polished and refined (he might even say he missed the streaks of oil that typically accompanied you). It was only a quaint half-hour into Tony's party-- a 'small' one by his standards, an affair for all Stark employees and associates. Tony wasn't a man of religion, but he definitely wouldn't pass up the splendid opportunity for a Christmas gala. It was an excuse to flaunt his latest invention, most recent Vuitton suit, charming one-liners and guiding hands to his bedroom. Bruce wasn't as fanatical about the ordeal; he only really showed to avoid Tony's teasing and to see you. Mostly the latter, but Tony was no less of an annoyance.
There was something classical playing in the background, clashing with Metallica-- Pepper versus Tony, no doubt-- that was hardly prevailing over the increasingly-less-sober conversations and clinks of half-filled glasses. Bruce had managed to remain a wallflower hitherto you appeared, blushing and stumbling up next to him with one of the most carefree expressions he'd ever seen you show.
"Sassicaia? I didn't know you were such a wine connoisseur." You jested and raised your glass up to his.
"Hardly." Bruce raised his nearly-full one to yours and matched them, leaning back against the wall contentedly. You knew he was never very fond of liquor even before his transformation but now was almost uncomfortable with even the sight. If his emotions were too amplified, he feared the Other Guy would regain control, thus abstinence was the only option he saw fit.
"I simply chose the closest bottle on the counter."
"Mm, can't go wrong with that. Tony has good taste." You closed your eyes and tipped against his shoulder, resting your head from the pulsing noise for a moment. Tinsel and cinnamon ticked your nose, making you giggle.
Bruce frowned and clutched his drink tighter.
The song switched and now it was Ozzy Osbourne, scratchy words so far from comprehension you exhaled and slowly inched towards Bruce, murmuring inaudibly.
"Mr. Crowley, won't you ride my white horse..." His stillness in the sea of arms and laughter was serene and welcoming. You continued closer, dragging your half-lidded eyes and pallid fingers nearer. "Mr. Crowley, it's symbolic of course, approaching a time that is classic..." You looked up at him with a smile, sipping an iota more.
"I hear maidens call." Bruce lowly said, almost a whisper, watching you carefully. He shakily took another gulp of wine; you sighed.
"Classic. So, anyway--"
"I have to say, I'm a bit insulted. Sitting in the corner, not bothering to pay greetings to the host? I feel it," Tony downed the last bit of scotch in his hand, motioning to his Arc Reactor, "Right in here. Big stake. Little crooked, stained, still hurts." Donned in complete elegance-- and a bit of tipsy swaggering-- Tony sauntered over to Bruce and you, visibly inebriated yet still managing his usual, cynical attitude.
"Another breakthrough in your suit technology? Now machinery can experience pain? We must conduct research on this at once, Mr. Stark." You waved away the attendant offering more glasses of scotch-- mostly for Tony's benefit-- and straightened up your posture.
"Tony. Very humorous, (Y/N)." He glanced at the two of you, raising up a finger as if bewildered and tracing it between you. His eyes flitted quickly, rapidly, until brightening in a way that only meant trouble. Tony grinned and slowly pointed his finger upwards, clearly gesturing towards the mistletoe hanging quietly above.
"Oops." He wasn't sorry. Knowing him, he probably purposefully placed it there, betting on Bruce stowing away in this spot and you following him, the little cheat.
"Uh... We..." Bruce was stammering and flushing, already halfway down his glass.
"I expected more from you, Tony. A bit clichéd, really." You stared him down, ignoring any thoughts to do otherwise.
He shrugged nonchalantly and stared at his empty glass; he was nearly childlike.
"Still works."
Bruce shifted next to you and peered into your eyes, attempting to decipher any reaction you may be giving off. Unfortunately, he couldn't find anything and settled to mimic whatever you were doing, which was bending closer. His mouth was dry, and he struggled to swallow.
Tony looked almost uncomfortable.
You looked from him to Bruce, ingraining your mind with each worry line deepened by his scowl, his intense eyebrows grooved inwards, rough stubble drawing nearer. Tonight he was wearing a purple button-up, brown-slash-gray curls brushed almost forgetfully to the side, glasses forgone and lab coat only a wisp of a dream; you couldn't help the extra centimeter that pulled you closer. Another centimeter, and another. All for the mistletoe...
You pulled back.
"Maybe think of something more clever next time, Tony."
The lacking warmth and unhinged expression on Bruce's face almost made you revert-- almost-- but you stood firm and regained your composure.
"Sure, peaches. How about a riddle?" He didn't pause for a response. "What is stunning, fifty miles per hour, and made of gold?"
"Your new Lambo."
Tony considered this, biting his lip.
"No. You in my new Lambo, tomorrow at eight, on our way to Gramercy's."
Between the time you'd blinked, there was a new glass in his hand and his winning smirk. You halted, unsure about his advances; this seemed like a joke, except the look on his face didn't appear very fraudulent. You looked to Bruce, who was teetering and starting to tint green, a manic countenance in his eyes that only softened when you touched his wrist soothingly.
If you could tilt closer, see his mien without the hampering of flashing lights and a headache beginning to form, maybe you could interpret what he was trying to tell
"Did I stun you too much, sweetcheeks? Need a-- Oh my nonexistent God, I am going to fire that woman!" He thundered over the music switch-- now a lady singing a jolly rendition of 'Noel'-- and walked off, briefly pausing to promise you his return. You weren't directly happy about his leave but found relief in the moment of peace that now surrounded you.
Setting your drink on the counter in front of you, you watched Bruce do the same and turned to him, placing your head on his shoulder gently. His hands found the dip of your back.
"Don't go." His voice cracked and he pulled you firmly against him.
"What?"
You weren't sure what he meant; his words were muffled and you may have misheard.
"Don't... Tony--"
"Is my boss and friend, and will stay that way." You hummed against his chest, stroking his lower neck like you always did. His skin was mollifying and tender.
Bruce pulled back, and you could see the green slither away from his irises, transposed with delight. He moved to hold your shoulders and breathe out calmly-- as you'd showed him-- and nuzzle his head on top of yours.
"Good."
"Yeah..." You smiled against his chest, "I would never forget pizza night. Your movie pick this time. Hint: choose Jaws."
"I was actually hoping to see a documentary over the nucleotides that DNA polymerase adds during replication in--"
"Bruce."
"--Fine." He twirled a strand of your hair. "But not Jaws."
"Scared, Bruce? I'll hold you."
He was very fond of that idea, but was it worth sharks? Worth the gore?
...Yes.