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Avengers - Flora Minutiae
Title: Flora Minutiae
Genre: Gen, Team, Friendship, ScienceBros
Rating: PG
Length: ~3,600 words
Synopsis: His life inevitably came down to two things: growth and green.
Author's Notes: I wanted to try something from Bruce's perspective, to try to get into his mind a little. This was the result.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
Bruce was accustomed to being in the Medical wing of the SHIELD facilities while in a visitor capacity only. He would check in on his teammates, maybe sit a watch or three if they had to stay overnight or, unfortunately more often than not, be held for extended observation. Sure, the medics would give him a quick once over after a mission, but usually just tossed him an energy bar and some water and told him to wash up and get some rest, the Other Guy having taken the brunt of the action and leaving him with hardly a scrape.
This is why it came as quite a surprise to wake up surrounded by scratchy sheets and an annoying beep and the prick of needles against his skin.
He had a brief moment of panic and the beeping increased in frequency to correspond with his heart rate, but then Natasha and Clint were there hushing him and soothing him and removing any potential source of agitation, be it the needles or the noise. Soon enough, he found himself breathing deeply and remembering his meditation exercises and the roar at the back of his mind diminished enough for him to ask, with nary a growl to his tone, "What happened?"
He hurt, which was new and annoying. His head ached and his shoulder throbbed and his back twinged in an unpleasant manner when he shifted ever so slightly against the extremely flat pillow he lay upon.
Natasha handed him his glasses, which did nothing to help with the headache but did help with the focus of the room, and replied, "A building collapsed."
He raised an eyebrow as surely there was more to the story than that. He remembered the mission and he remembered changing into his alter ego and then he only remembered bits and pieces as was the norm. "And... He...?" he prompted, hoping for more.
"Post-transformation," Clint replied. He did an odd little half-shrug thing and amended it to, "Post-transformation of transformation."
Bruce took a moment to make sense of that and reasoned Clint meant the building collapse, and therefore the injuries, had occurred after he had returned to his usual, less than indestructible form. Given that it took longer than usual for him to make sense of such a simple sentence, he guessed, "Concussion?"
"Well, those tend to happen when you're hit in the head with a brick or three," Clint reasoned.
Natasha gave him her quirky nod of agreement, but added, "You ceased to be the Hulk and were returning to the meeting point when the building succumbed to the damage. You were knocked unconscious before you had the chance to transform again, and sustained additional injuries from the continuing debris."
He idly wondered if transforming again would take care of any lingering injuries, but knew better than to suggest it in a confined space with those who he trusted enough to call friends. They were a rare thing since the whole experiment gone wrong, and he knew he would do everything in his power to protect them, even if it meant dealing with a few aches and pains for longer than he was truly comfortable with.
Which reminded him, "Where are the others? Tony and Steve and Thor? Did they make it out alright?" He remembered flashes of them only, from a dizzying height and far away and he suspected they were remnants of The Other Guy more than anything he had seen while himself.
"They're fine," Natasha assured him, though it didn't explain their absence. The team had fallen into a routine whenever one of them was injured, and the lack of that routine was worrisome, if for only the reason it usually bode less than well for someone or something else.
"They are busy ransacking the Med Lab to destroy the samples some idiot took from you without your permission while you were out," Clint explained. He smiled, and it was more than a little dangerous. "Given that both Fury and Hill pretty much gave them permission, I do believe they are having some fun."
"They should be back within the hour," Natasha told him lightly, as though not referring to a huge invasion of privacy or the destruction of evidence there of.
He nodded as that was well and good and he was truly and utterly tired and there was no way he was making their usual early escape anytime soon. He closed his eyes and felt himself start to drift off again, only vaguely concerned when he heard Clint's whispered voice ask, "Should we tell him about the florists?"
The florists, as he later discovered, were two partners who ran a shop near the center of the current epicenter of destruction. Despite the broken windows and minor flattening of shrubbery, they credited both the Hulk and Bruce for saving them and wished to gift him with something appropriate in compensation. His team had eschewed cut flowers with their eventual wilting stems and falling petals, and suggested something a little more capable of growth instead, possibly as an inside joke as to his transforming ways, he wasn't quite certain.
Regardless, when he was able to stay awake long enough to escape to the Tower with the others, he found a miniature landscape awaiting him in his room, not much wider than a foot across and equally as long. He examined it closely, with its tiny rock formation and minuscule benches, a non-functional waterwheel to one side with a river of moss where a stream would be.
"It's a shrunken version of a park they are proposing to replace that old warehouse that collapsed on you," Tony explained, poking at the wheel to show that yes, it really did spin. "They say it wouldn't be possible without you and your heroics, never mind the rest of us I guess, so they wanted you to have at least this much as yours." His voice was dry and monotonous in the way that usually meant he was planning something.
"It's," he started, not quite sure what word he was looking for.
"Really fricken adorable," Clint finished for him. He slapped Tony's hand away from the wheel only to poke at it himself. "Think of it this way, Doc, you finally get to see a part of the world like the Other Guy does." He grinned broad and wide and Bruce really had no retort for that so he simply went back to staring at the precious little gift and wondering how much of the larger version Tony himself was to finance.
Of course, as anything with Tony Stark went, one was simply not enough.
Bruce had healed and was back out in the field for missions soon enough, and spent his spare time between his lab and his rooms. He carefully watered the little landscape after possibly verifying exactly how much and when and what type of light source it would need. He found the process relaxing and possibly therapeutic, culturing life when his other half tended towards destruction.
He came to his lab roughly three weeks after the warehouse incident to find another little landscape atop his primary desk. This one was designed to look like the patio area Tony had set up for his employees right there on the same property. There was a tiny set of tables and chairs, and the bench even had the same chunk missing from the back as the one outside, which had suffered the damage after an attack had left a gaping hole in the side of the building and destroyed a couple of the trees. Stark had wanted to replace it at the time, needing everything to be perfect, but several employees had a sentimental side and requested he leave it as-is as a reminder of the life that was less than perfect outside their private garden.
He understood that Tony had meant well, but a lab full of chemicals and fumes and the occasional bout of radiation was no place to keep a living thing. He half-wondered if that was a hidden message within the gift, but eventually reasoned Tony had not gone that deep and had likely gone with the pretty, knowing it would be something Bruce would appreciate.
Unfortunately, trying to keep the thing alive within the confines of the lab was proving to be quite frustrating and so, in an effort to maintain lab stability and not destroy millions of dollars in equipment because another leaf withered and died, Bruce moved the entire display to his private living area. Another few weeks coaxed it back to life, and it now rested atop a small carved table in his living room, across from its counterpart which sat on an end table in the same room.
Tony pouted, but seemed to understand, though Bruce silently questioned if a heartier version would soon appear to replace the first. Instead, he found a sample jar turned terrarium instead, neatly sealed from any outside contaminates and nearly self-sustaining with its CO2 and hydration cycle. He smirked at that, as well as the tiny little lab table inside, replete with test tubes and beakers.
Luckily, Tony was distracted by a project for SHIELD soon enough, and a mission thereafter, and so Bruce figured that would be the end of that.
At least he did until the very next mission went horribly wrong.
It was AIM because of course it was. No one could get close enough to the source of the chaos, which appeared to be a sort of metal contraption that emitted a bright light and a lot of noise and managed to fling debris and people far and painfully wide. Clint's arrows couldn't get close as they were tossed aside by the force, and both Steve's shield and Natasha's body made indents in a building instead of the machine. Thor was trying his best and Tony was still flying in from a meeting in Malibu, which left a handful of determined SHIELD agents, and him.
He tossed his shirt aside as he actually liked that one, and let himself transform, concentrating on the need to get past everything and take the machine down in hopes that the thoughts translated to intent within his counterpart.
He had a vague memory of blinding white and then a great deal of pain and then had no memory at all for another four days.
He awoke in Medical again, but this time it took far longer to remain conscious for more than a minute or two at a time. Part of this was due to his injuries, and part due to the massive amounts of morphine he was given in an attempt to alleviate the worst of the pain. He was shaky and frail and they took him to a padded empty room in hopes that he could transform again and maybe the indestructible Hulk would lend him a bit of healing, but it was not to be.
For two days, he was incapable of transforming. He still felt the roar, the anger, the rage within his mind, but his body would not comply. It simply laid there, strapped to the gurney, fading in and out of consciousness and never quite letting him focus enough to even figure out what was going on. He briefly wondered if whatever had been done to him had cured him, had tossed the beast from his body and granted him sole ownership, but the footage shown proved otherwise. He would start to change, grow ever so slightly and tint the slightest of greens, only to collapse back on himself and pass out for another six or seven hours at the minimum.
Finally, nearing midnight on the third day, he succeeded. When he reawakened as himself, panting and sweating and wearing the remnants of what was once hospital scrubs, the crumpled remains of the wheeled bed beside him, he felt like he may just finally be on the road to recovery.
He wasn't healed, not completely. He was, however, far healthier than he had been the night before. The burns and the cuts were fading, the aches in his very bones lessening to something closer to standard post-transformation versus post-near-death experience. And, after warily watching one too many doctors with that curious gleam in their eyes made him ask to go home, his team fought for that very right, even as not a one wanted to leave his side.
They explained what had happened while he waited for transportation away from SHIELD and it's dangerously curious medics. How the Other Guy forced his way through to the machine but was enveloped in the light it emitted even as he tried to crush it with his bare hands. Tried being the operative word as, for once, the Hulk was not enough to complete the task. He did the worst of the damage, but it seemed to cost Him, and He collapsed back into human form before the machine was well and truly demolished, a task completed by one very angry Thor and an Iron Man that had gone supersonic to get there in time.
He listened and nodded and tried to reason it all out, and then fell asleep and didn't even remember the ride back to the Tower, let alone how he was returned to his rooms. He had the passing embarrassing thought that it might have involved Thor and/or Steve and his feet never touching the floor, but he rather did not wish to dwell on that any longer than he had to.
He awoke in his own bed, the smell of Natasha's favorite tea mingling with the smoke of one of his many assorted incenses. He pushed back the covers and Clint was at his side in an instant, steadying him on his feet until he could manage the trip to the bathroom on his own. When he eventually made it out to his private living room, freshly scrubbed and wrapped in a clean pair of pajamas, he found Natasha sipping from a delicate cup, one arm in a sling, feet tucked up in the cushions of one of his overstuffed chairs. His own cup sat across from her, wafting its fragrant steam and waiting for his presence. It was welcome and comforting and he offered her his thanks.
There were other things that he found as well, not exactly unwelcome, but not exactly comforting as he simply didn't know what to do with or about them. He opened his mouth to ask about them, but was stopped with Natasha's half-shrug and single word explanation of, "Stark."
"He went a little overboard, don't you think?" he asked.
Clint appeared, a coffee in one hand and a plate of pastries in the other. He set the plate down between them and countered the question with one of his own. "When doesn't he? The man can never go simple."
Bruce contemplated that even as he contemplated one of the tiny almond treats before him. Natasha nudged one closer and admitted, "We were concerned about you; you are so rarely injured and... Steve may have pointed him in the direction of something he thought you'd like to distract him from doing something more grandiose and less welcome."
He set down the teacup, but not the last of the bite in his hand, and pushed himself up and out of the chair and onto his feet. He shuffled-stumbled over to the other side of the room to more closely examine the gifts. Along the window sill was a veritable garden of tiny plants, their bases interlocked and interconnected to form a landscape of sorts, stretching from one wall to the other, painted ceramics dotting the surface.
He squinted at one little hovel, a flicker of memory making him ask, "Is this Hobbiton?" He couldn't quite keep the disbelief from his tone.
"With a few extra additions," Clint agreed from his side.
He pointed to one such addition before he could ask for clarification, and Bruce couldn't help the burst of laughter that bubbled forth. There, just before the iconic rounded door, stood a blocky green figure that was most definitely a Lego version of the Hulk. Tucked up beside one of the miniature banzai trees was a matching Hawkeye figure with bow and, now that he knew to look for them, he found ones for the rest of the team as well. They were clashing and anachronistic and an eyesore and perfect. He did, however, raise his eyebrows at the tiny martini glass in Iron Man's little plastic hand.
"How in the world am I supposed to keep this thing alive?" he finally managed. Not that he wasn't thankful, but he was admittedly confused, both about the gift and the meaning behind it.
"Stark wired a hydration system into JARVIS's controls," Natasha answered for him. She stood at his side now, another pastry in her hand. The words made perfect sense, if he remembered Tony was a billionaire with no set of boundaries.
He took the sweet somewhat numbly as Clint added, "It should need minimal maintenance from you; just some poking, prodding, and the occasional pruning, at least in theory."
Natasha squeezed his shoulder, gentle and comforting, a contrast against her next words. "If you ever scare us like that again, I may well kill you myself," she whispered. She countered that with a soft kiss to his cheek, breath scented with tea and almonds and friendship.
"And if you're worried about Hulking out and destroying all of this, don't be," Clint chimed in, somehow knowing exactly what his next protest would be. "Apparently the Big Guy finds gardening just as therapeutic as you do. He might not be able to get his honking fingers to pluck the tiny leaves, but he's totally helped fix Central Park at least five times now and Tony's thinking of putting some bigger plants into the Hulk Room in case he feels left out."
Bruce thought on that for a moment as he stalled and chewed his pastry. The Other Guy had proven to be careful with things in the past, if he cared about them of if someone he cared about found them important. The mad smashing was just when everything was out of control and he was well and truly pissed, and even then he had been leaving the more "innocent" items alone and going after only that which was needed to finish the mission. And the nice, padded "Hulk Room" that he had awoken in far too many times could use a bit more color. He just hoped someone other than Tony chose the foliage to make sure everything was still deemed legal, by SHIELD as well as national standards.
He sighed and figured he wouldn't win this particular battle. Instead, resisting the urge to rub his eyes and regretting not having his glasses to fiddle with to keep his mind occupied, he asked, "Why flowers?"
"Not flowers, plants," Clint corrected. He pushed a little wagon along a path, a makeshift Director Fury at the helm.
"Life instead of death, growth instead of destruction," Natasha explained. She linked her good arm through his and rested her head on his non-aching shoulder to watch a wayward keg from the back of the cart bounce out and nearly take out a plastic Captain America.
"Therapy?" he guessed.
"Of a sort," she agreed. "With the added benefit of not actually having to talk to someone who will spill your secrets in a moment of panic."
"Fury's got to stop scaring the shrinks," Clint frowned. He flicked his fingers at the Lego version of the Director to accentuate his point. It went toppling down and rolled to join Iron Man at the tavern. He looked up with eyebrows raised and asked, "What do you think, Doc?"
And Bruce knew that, should he ask, the entire set up would be removed. No one would question it and there would be nothing more than a brief pout from Tony in retribution, followed by him trying to think up something else that may or may not make sense and may or may not be remembered if he got distracted by something shinier and better. He thought of the work that went in to the current set up, the plotting and planning and watering system and tiny figures that were all purchased and set up as a distraction to the others in hopes that they would serve as a distraction to him as well. He also thought of Natasha's explanation, of the growth and the peace that would come from it. Most of all, he thought of the underlying message of caring and how he simply could not bring himself to destroy something his team had worked so hard to create.
He moved the plastic Hulk to join the others at the bar, resolutely not paying attention to the fact his hand barely shook at the action. When he looked up to find them both watching, both waiting for a response they had probably discerned already, he said, "I think I might need some help taking care of this whole thing - how are you at gardening?"
Clint smiled, bright and true, and offered, "Let's find out."
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Gen, Team, Friendship, ScienceBros
Rating: PG
Length: ~3,600 words
Synopsis: His life inevitably came down to two things: growth and green.
Author's Notes: I wanted to try something from Bruce's perspective, to try to get into his mind a little. This was the result.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
Bruce was accustomed to being in the Medical wing of the SHIELD facilities while in a visitor capacity only. He would check in on his teammates, maybe sit a watch or three if they had to stay overnight or, unfortunately more often than not, be held for extended observation. Sure, the medics would give him a quick once over after a mission, but usually just tossed him an energy bar and some water and told him to wash up and get some rest, the Other Guy having taken the brunt of the action and leaving him with hardly a scrape.
This is why it came as quite a surprise to wake up surrounded by scratchy sheets and an annoying beep and the prick of needles against his skin.
He had a brief moment of panic and the beeping increased in frequency to correspond with his heart rate, but then Natasha and Clint were there hushing him and soothing him and removing any potential source of agitation, be it the needles or the noise. Soon enough, he found himself breathing deeply and remembering his meditation exercises and the roar at the back of his mind diminished enough for him to ask, with nary a growl to his tone, "What happened?"
He hurt, which was new and annoying. His head ached and his shoulder throbbed and his back twinged in an unpleasant manner when he shifted ever so slightly against the extremely flat pillow he lay upon.
Natasha handed him his glasses, which did nothing to help with the headache but did help with the focus of the room, and replied, "A building collapsed."
He raised an eyebrow as surely there was more to the story than that. He remembered the mission and he remembered changing into his alter ego and then he only remembered bits and pieces as was the norm. "And... He...?" he prompted, hoping for more.
"Post-transformation," Clint replied. He did an odd little half-shrug thing and amended it to, "Post-transformation of transformation."
Bruce took a moment to make sense of that and reasoned Clint meant the building collapse, and therefore the injuries, had occurred after he had returned to his usual, less than indestructible form. Given that it took longer than usual for him to make sense of such a simple sentence, he guessed, "Concussion?"
"Well, those tend to happen when you're hit in the head with a brick or three," Clint reasoned.
Natasha gave him her quirky nod of agreement, but added, "You ceased to be the Hulk and were returning to the meeting point when the building succumbed to the damage. You were knocked unconscious before you had the chance to transform again, and sustained additional injuries from the continuing debris."
He idly wondered if transforming again would take care of any lingering injuries, but knew better than to suggest it in a confined space with those who he trusted enough to call friends. They were a rare thing since the whole experiment gone wrong, and he knew he would do everything in his power to protect them, even if it meant dealing with a few aches and pains for longer than he was truly comfortable with.
Which reminded him, "Where are the others? Tony and Steve and Thor? Did they make it out alright?" He remembered flashes of them only, from a dizzying height and far away and he suspected they were remnants of The Other Guy more than anything he had seen while himself.
"They're fine," Natasha assured him, though it didn't explain their absence. The team had fallen into a routine whenever one of them was injured, and the lack of that routine was worrisome, if for only the reason it usually bode less than well for someone or something else.
"They are busy ransacking the Med Lab to destroy the samples some idiot took from you without your permission while you were out," Clint explained. He smiled, and it was more than a little dangerous. "Given that both Fury and Hill pretty much gave them permission, I do believe they are having some fun."
"They should be back within the hour," Natasha told him lightly, as though not referring to a huge invasion of privacy or the destruction of evidence there of.
He nodded as that was well and good and he was truly and utterly tired and there was no way he was making their usual early escape anytime soon. He closed his eyes and felt himself start to drift off again, only vaguely concerned when he heard Clint's whispered voice ask, "Should we tell him about the florists?"
The florists, as he later discovered, were two partners who ran a shop near the center of the current epicenter of destruction. Despite the broken windows and minor flattening of shrubbery, they credited both the Hulk and Bruce for saving them and wished to gift him with something appropriate in compensation. His team had eschewed cut flowers with their eventual wilting stems and falling petals, and suggested something a little more capable of growth instead, possibly as an inside joke as to his transforming ways, he wasn't quite certain.
Regardless, when he was able to stay awake long enough to escape to the Tower with the others, he found a miniature landscape awaiting him in his room, not much wider than a foot across and equally as long. He examined it closely, with its tiny rock formation and minuscule benches, a non-functional waterwheel to one side with a river of moss where a stream would be.
"It's a shrunken version of a park they are proposing to replace that old warehouse that collapsed on you," Tony explained, poking at the wheel to show that yes, it really did spin. "They say it wouldn't be possible without you and your heroics, never mind the rest of us I guess, so they wanted you to have at least this much as yours." His voice was dry and monotonous in the way that usually meant he was planning something.
"It's," he started, not quite sure what word he was looking for.
"Really fricken adorable," Clint finished for him. He slapped Tony's hand away from the wheel only to poke at it himself. "Think of it this way, Doc, you finally get to see a part of the world like the Other Guy does." He grinned broad and wide and Bruce really had no retort for that so he simply went back to staring at the precious little gift and wondering how much of the larger version Tony himself was to finance.
Of course, as anything with Tony Stark went, one was simply not enough.
Bruce had healed and was back out in the field for missions soon enough, and spent his spare time between his lab and his rooms. He carefully watered the little landscape after possibly verifying exactly how much and when and what type of light source it would need. He found the process relaxing and possibly therapeutic, culturing life when his other half tended towards destruction.
He came to his lab roughly three weeks after the warehouse incident to find another little landscape atop his primary desk. This one was designed to look like the patio area Tony had set up for his employees right there on the same property. There was a tiny set of tables and chairs, and the bench even had the same chunk missing from the back as the one outside, which had suffered the damage after an attack had left a gaping hole in the side of the building and destroyed a couple of the trees. Stark had wanted to replace it at the time, needing everything to be perfect, but several employees had a sentimental side and requested he leave it as-is as a reminder of the life that was less than perfect outside their private garden.
He understood that Tony had meant well, but a lab full of chemicals and fumes and the occasional bout of radiation was no place to keep a living thing. He half-wondered if that was a hidden message within the gift, but eventually reasoned Tony had not gone that deep and had likely gone with the pretty, knowing it would be something Bruce would appreciate.
Unfortunately, trying to keep the thing alive within the confines of the lab was proving to be quite frustrating and so, in an effort to maintain lab stability and not destroy millions of dollars in equipment because another leaf withered and died, Bruce moved the entire display to his private living area. Another few weeks coaxed it back to life, and it now rested atop a small carved table in his living room, across from its counterpart which sat on an end table in the same room.
Tony pouted, but seemed to understand, though Bruce silently questioned if a heartier version would soon appear to replace the first. Instead, he found a sample jar turned terrarium instead, neatly sealed from any outside contaminates and nearly self-sustaining with its CO2 and hydration cycle. He smirked at that, as well as the tiny little lab table inside, replete with test tubes and beakers.
Luckily, Tony was distracted by a project for SHIELD soon enough, and a mission thereafter, and so Bruce figured that would be the end of that.
At least he did until the very next mission went horribly wrong.
It was AIM because of course it was. No one could get close enough to the source of the chaos, which appeared to be a sort of metal contraption that emitted a bright light and a lot of noise and managed to fling debris and people far and painfully wide. Clint's arrows couldn't get close as they were tossed aside by the force, and both Steve's shield and Natasha's body made indents in a building instead of the machine. Thor was trying his best and Tony was still flying in from a meeting in Malibu, which left a handful of determined SHIELD agents, and him.
He tossed his shirt aside as he actually liked that one, and let himself transform, concentrating on the need to get past everything and take the machine down in hopes that the thoughts translated to intent within his counterpart.
He had a vague memory of blinding white and then a great deal of pain and then had no memory at all for another four days.
He awoke in Medical again, but this time it took far longer to remain conscious for more than a minute or two at a time. Part of this was due to his injuries, and part due to the massive amounts of morphine he was given in an attempt to alleviate the worst of the pain. He was shaky and frail and they took him to a padded empty room in hopes that he could transform again and maybe the indestructible Hulk would lend him a bit of healing, but it was not to be.
For two days, he was incapable of transforming. He still felt the roar, the anger, the rage within his mind, but his body would not comply. It simply laid there, strapped to the gurney, fading in and out of consciousness and never quite letting him focus enough to even figure out what was going on. He briefly wondered if whatever had been done to him had cured him, had tossed the beast from his body and granted him sole ownership, but the footage shown proved otherwise. He would start to change, grow ever so slightly and tint the slightest of greens, only to collapse back on himself and pass out for another six or seven hours at the minimum.
Finally, nearing midnight on the third day, he succeeded. When he reawakened as himself, panting and sweating and wearing the remnants of what was once hospital scrubs, the crumpled remains of the wheeled bed beside him, he felt like he may just finally be on the road to recovery.
He wasn't healed, not completely. He was, however, far healthier than he had been the night before. The burns and the cuts were fading, the aches in his very bones lessening to something closer to standard post-transformation versus post-near-death experience. And, after warily watching one too many doctors with that curious gleam in their eyes made him ask to go home, his team fought for that very right, even as not a one wanted to leave his side.
They explained what had happened while he waited for transportation away from SHIELD and it's dangerously curious medics. How the Other Guy forced his way through to the machine but was enveloped in the light it emitted even as he tried to crush it with his bare hands. Tried being the operative word as, for once, the Hulk was not enough to complete the task. He did the worst of the damage, but it seemed to cost Him, and He collapsed back into human form before the machine was well and truly demolished, a task completed by one very angry Thor and an Iron Man that had gone supersonic to get there in time.
He listened and nodded and tried to reason it all out, and then fell asleep and didn't even remember the ride back to the Tower, let alone how he was returned to his rooms. He had the passing embarrassing thought that it might have involved Thor and/or Steve and his feet never touching the floor, but he rather did not wish to dwell on that any longer than he had to.
He awoke in his own bed, the smell of Natasha's favorite tea mingling with the smoke of one of his many assorted incenses. He pushed back the covers and Clint was at his side in an instant, steadying him on his feet until he could manage the trip to the bathroom on his own. When he eventually made it out to his private living room, freshly scrubbed and wrapped in a clean pair of pajamas, he found Natasha sipping from a delicate cup, one arm in a sling, feet tucked up in the cushions of one of his overstuffed chairs. His own cup sat across from her, wafting its fragrant steam and waiting for his presence. It was welcome and comforting and he offered her his thanks.
There were other things that he found as well, not exactly unwelcome, but not exactly comforting as he simply didn't know what to do with or about them. He opened his mouth to ask about them, but was stopped with Natasha's half-shrug and single word explanation of, "Stark."
"He went a little overboard, don't you think?" he asked.
Clint appeared, a coffee in one hand and a plate of pastries in the other. He set the plate down between them and countered the question with one of his own. "When doesn't he? The man can never go simple."
Bruce contemplated that even as he contemplated one of the tiny almond treats before him. Natasha nudged one closer and admitted, "We were concerned about you; you are so rarely injured and... Steve may have pointed him in the direction of something he thought you'd like to distract him from doing something more grandiose and less welcome."
He set down the teacup, but not the last of the bite in his hand, and pushed himself up and out of the chair and onto his feet. He shuffled-stumbled over to the other side of the room to more closely examine the gifts. Along the window sill was a veritable garden of tiny plants, their bases interlocked and interconnected to form a landscape of sorts, stretching from one wall to the other, painted ceramics dotting the surface.
He squinted at one little hovel, a flicker of memory making him ask, "Is this Hobbiton?" He couldn't quite keep the disbelief from his tone.
"With a few extra additions," Clint agreed from his side.
He pointed to one such addition before he could ask for clarification, and Bruce couldn't help the burst of laughter that bubbled forth. There, just before the iconic rounded door, stood a blocky green figure that was most definitely a Lego version of the Hulk. Tucked up beside one of the miniature banzai trees was a matching Hawkeye figure with bow and, now that he knew to look for them, he found ones for the rest of the team as well. They were clashing and anachronistic and an eyesore and perfect. He did, however, raise his eyebrows at the tiny martini glass in Iron Man's little plastic hand.
"How in the world am I supposed to keep this thing alive?" he finally managed. Not that he wasn't thankful, but he was admittedly confused, both about the gift and the meaning behind it.
"Stark wired a hydration system into JARVIS's controls," Natasha answered for him. She stood at his side now, another pastry in her hand. The words made perfect sense, if he remembered Tony was a billionaire with no set of boundaries.
He took the sweet somewhat numbly as Clint added, "It should need minimal maintenance from you; just some poking, prodding, and the occasional pruning, at least in theory."
Natasha squeezed his shoulder, gentle and comforting, a contrast against her next words. "If you ever scare us like that again, I may well kill you myself," she whispered. She countered that with a soft kiss to his cheek, breath scented with tea and almonds and friendship.
"And if you're worried about Hulking out and destroying all of this, don't be," Clint chimed in, somehow knowing exactly what his next protest would be. "Apparently the Big Guy finds gardening just as therapeutic as you do. He might not be able to get his honking fingers to pluck the tiny leaves, but he's totally helped fix Central Park at least five times now and Tony's thinking of putting some bigger plants into the Hulk Room in case he feels left out."
Bruce thought on that for a moment as he stalled and chewed his pastry. The Other Guy had proven to be careful with things in the past, if he cared about them of if someone he cared about found them important. The mad smashing was just when everything was out of control and he was well and truly pissed, and even then he had been leaving the more "innocent" items alone and going after only that which was needed to finish the mission. And the nice, padded "Hulk Room" that he had awoken in far too many times could use a bit more color. He just hoped someone other than Tony chose the foliage to make sure everything was still deemed legal, by SHIELD as well as national standards.
He sighed and figured he wouldn't win this particular battle. Instead, resisting the urge to rub his eyes and regretting not having his glasses to fiddle with to keep his mind occupied, he asked, "Why flowers?"
"Not flowers, plants," Clint corrected. He pushed a little wagon along a path, a makeshift Director Fury at the helm.
"Life instead of death, growth instead of destruction," Natasha explained. She linked her good arm through his and rested her head on his non-aching shoulder to watch a wayward keg from the back of the cart bounce out and nearly take out a plastic Captain America.
"Therapy?" he guessed.
"Of a sort," she agreed. "With the added benefit of not actually having to talk to someone who will spill your secrets in a moment of panic."
"Fury's got to stop scaring the shrinks," Clint frowned. He flicked his fingers at the Lego version of the Director to accentuate his point. It went toppling down and rolled to join Iron Man at the tavern. He looked up with eyebrows raised and asked, "What do you think, Doc?"
And Bruce knew that, should he ask, the entire set up would be removed. No one would question it and there would be nothing more than a brief pout from Tony in retribution, followed by him trying to think up something else that may or may not make sense and may or may not be remembered if he got distracted by something shinier and better. He thought of the work that went in to the current set up, the plotting and planning and watering system and tiny figures that were all purchased and set up as a distraction to the others in hopes that they would serve as a distraction to him as well. He also thought of Natasha's explanation, of the growth and the peace that would come from it. Most of all, he thought of the underlying message of caring and how he simply could not bring himself to destroy something his team had worked so hard to create.
He moved the plastic Hulk to join the others at the bar, resolutely not paying attention to the fact his hand barely shook at the action. When he looked up to find them both watching, both waiting for a response they had probably discerned already, he said, "I think I might need some help taking care of this whole thing - how are you at gardening?"
Clint smiled, bright and true, and offered, "Let's find out."
End.
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