do i divide and fall apart?

[greenisnteasy]

Who: Bruce and Ned
When: Day 78
Where: The clinic
What: Ned comes by with pie and receives a lot of Bruce feelings.

Extremis is a touchy subject at home, so Bruce hasn't really touched it. At least... not where Tony can see. He so doesn't want Tony doing it, but Bruce is a different story. Bruce is already basically FUBAR -- unless he can actually fix himself with this formula. It's all theoretical, but he can crunch numbers, run probabilities, and... dream, basically. He can sit in the clinic and run that formula over and over in his thoughts, and he can wonder. Maybe this is what he needs to heal himself. Maybe this is what he needs to be able to let go of the Hulk, get rid of him completely.

He tries to keep all that inside at home, but when he's in his clinic, when no one's around? He can feel himself unravel. That's dangerous, that's always dangerous, but he can't help the excitement, the fear, and the pain of knowing he could be so close, but so far because he doesn't have what it takes to put this formula together and give himself his life back. And maybe Tony too. Maybe if he can figure this out, he and Tony can go back to the way they were, and he'll stop daydreaming about having powers or being immortal or whatever it is, whatever feedback loop in Tony's brain tells him he's not good enough and so he should keep upgrading himself.

The formula is fruitless, though, never going to happen, not here, and it makes him afraid that Tony will never understand either. Tony wants him to embrace the Hulk, and while that's a good idea, it doesn't do anything to stop the rage, the resentment, the pain. The self-hatred. He's been trying to work through it, but all he thinks he's really done is put it aside, stuff it away inside a box like he should be ashamed of it, and he doesn't see a way out of that either.

Frustrated, Bruce gets up from his desk, paces in front of it, then lets out a scream as he shoves all the papers, pens, empty mug, everything off onto the floor. His heart rate's increasing, and even disconnected from an incident, that plus anger fills him with the bitter taste of fear. So he slumps on his desk instead of yelling again, sitting on the edge with his hands gripping the edge tight, until it hurts.

And then he starts to cry.

Comments

[nedofpies]

Ned hasn't seen Bruce in quite some time. He'd heard of his return from Jesse, had been meaning to stop by for some time now. His hesitation had been down to his shyness: twice Bruce was kind to him, but he isn't his friend. Ned knows he won't remember the time the two of them spent together when he was the Hulk; despite everything, the Hulk in some ways seems more approachable to Ned, than Bruce. He'd been relatively simple to understand if, yes, still a bit terrifying. Bruce is a human being, though. Complex. Difficult. Every time he'd thought of coming to say hello, he'd talked himself out of it. Bruce was probably too busy, doing doctor things, having a life of his own.

But finally, Ned manages to work up his courage and comes to the clinic one way, a small tupperware clutched in his hands. The Hulk had liked peaches, and peach is Ned's favourite, so he figured a slice of peach pie couldn't possibly go amiss.

Unfortunately, it seems he's come at a very bad moment. He arrives just in time to see Bruce push everything off his desk in a tantrum; Ned takes half a step back, wonders if he should head home, quickly. But then Bruce deflates, stops throwing things and begins crying. At which point Ned can't just stand there and watch. He comes in quickly, making sure to make enough noise with the door that Bruce will surely hear him. If Bruce wants him to go away, he will, but he can't not offer to help or listen.

"Bruce," he says, "What happened? Is something wrong?"

[greenisnteasy]

Shit. He glances up to see who's there, but he's hopeless to get himself to stop crying, and he knows it. Bottling things up isn't the answer, and if he cuts the tears short now, he'll put himself on an edge that he doesn't need to be on right now. He shakes his head and wipes at his face, turning away from Ned.

"No. I'm fine." It's a kneejerk reaction meant to try to push him away, but he's still crying -- albeit quieter this time -- and the former contents of his desk are all over the floor, so. He gives a watery laugh and turns back to him; what's there to hide? Ned's already seen him at a bad moment, and Bruce should be familiar with people seeing him at his worst, whether he invited them to do it or not.

"Can't you tell?" he says bitterly, and then sniffs and wipes at his face again. That was maybe too unkind, and he shakes his head.

"Just having a moment where it's all too much, and I don't see a way out."

[nedofpies]

When Bruce turns away like that, denies anything is wrong, Ned knows he is lying. It's only too obvious. Still, if Bruce had stayed that way, or asked him to go, he would have. He understands that sometimes it's easier to be alone. Better. Some things are too heavy to carry with anyone there watching you struggle. But before he has a chance to offer to leave him alone or to listen, Bruce is laughing that horrible, humorless laugh that makes Ned's insides twist with concern.

Ned doesn't falter at the bitterness in Bruce's sarcastic query, sets down the tupperware of pie and comes a little closer. He's wringing his hands in front of him, wondering if he should pat Bruce on the shoulder, or hug him, or any of those myriad ways of offering friendly physical comfort that he's never really gotten a hang of. He errs on the side of caution, keeps a respectful distance between them. Still, he tries to catch Bruce's eye when he's not hanging his head.

"Maybe I can help you spot one," he offers, voice quiet but earnest. He wants to listen, wants to help. He and Bruce might not know each other well, but Ned could never stand the sight of another person in pain. Besides, Bruce had been so kind to him when he'd been injured and vulnerable and a stranger to everyone around him. It's the least he can do.

Ned spots a nearby chair, pulls it close and sits in it, a gesture marking his willingness to stay and work this out. Besides, Ned knows that his presence can, at times, intimidate people, subtly, even unconsciously. He doesn't want to be looming over Bruce when he's already put him at such a disadvantage by barging in on him. "What's all too much?"

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce isn't that used to asking for help, not on specific things, not like this. He'd had his mentor, the one who tried to teach him how to control his anger, but that was different, nonspecific. To talk to Ned would require getting into why he's upset, skirting around Extremis, unloading about how boxed in Tony unintentionally has been making him feel, and how Bruce can't seem to make him understand without alienating him. Is he ready to talk about all of that with someone?

He watches Ned sit, glances down at the pie, and then back to the floor. Ned does know what it's like, having an out-of-control power, one that makes your life worse rather than the other way around. Bruce hasn't met many people who didn't see the Hulk as if they were looking at him through the water, distorting him in some way.

"I don't even know how to start." Extremis would be a good choice, but he has to be careful how he explains it, not that he thinks Ned would be of the kind to use it as a weapon. He might be interested in it as a cure for himself, though, and that's maybe just as dangerous.

"Sometimes people think what happened to me means I have powers or I'm a superhero or have the potential to be one, but mostly I think it's ruined my life and turned me into a shell of the person I could've been. I feel like I did die, and I had to learn to live all over again with the Hulk inside of me." That was a lot of words in a row, and he lifts his head, almost afraid that Ned won't be able to understand it either. He doesn't need pity and he doesn't need to be talked out of those feelings; he just needs to have them.

[nedofpies]

Ned watches Bruce hesitate, debate, settle on his words careful. He stays still as he listens, watching the nervous way Bruce moves his hands, reading his frustration and anguish in the set of his shoulders. Before, Ned had had no idea if what was troubling him was a personal issue, a professional one, or one to do with his own particular curse. Now, though, his suspicion is confirmed. It's something to do with the Hulk, with Bruce's burden.

Since their ill-fated initial encounter, Ned has gotten to know the Hulk better. To like him even. But in the same way that it would see rude speaking to the Hulk about Bruce, he doesn't mention his budding friendship with the Hulk to Bruce. It strikes him as good manners not to. Besides, what Bruce seems to be looking for is not reassurances that the Hulk isn't always so bad, but rather, someone to understand the huge and negative impact that having the Hulk inside him has had on his life.

Ned understands that. The exact circumstances might be different, but his power ruined his life, turned him, in many ways, into a sad, faded parody of the person he could have been without it.

"I can see how you'd feel that," Ned says, looking down at his hands. "I... my ability showed up so early on I can't really imagine what I would be like without it. But I know that, uh. It definitely ruined my life, and if anyone told me differently-" he swallows, shrugs, "I would be upset."

It occurs to Ned to ask, "How long ago... did it happen?"

[greenisnteasy]

"Six years ago." And that isn't very long, not compared to Ned who's been dealing with this his whole life. In a lot of ways, Bruce is still adjusting to having the Hulk around, and there's been a steep learning curve involved in the whole process.

He sighs and tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling. Maybe if he's going to do this, he ought to do it right, start from the beginning.

"I was working on a project that would increase human resistance to radiation. Funded by the military, yeah, but I thought it would have wide-reaching ramifications in the human population in general." He smirks, though it dies quickly. "They were lying to us. We were just a part of a larger, top secret attempt to recreate this, uh, this super soldier serum. Turned a guy into -- well, a super soldier, and ever since the military's been trying to recreate it, for obvious sinister and terrifying reasons."

He rubs his hands together; this is the part he's especially not proud of.

"When they were going to cut my funding, I got so..." He presses his lips together, then meets Ned's eyes. "Angry. I was so sure of what we were doing, so sure we were so close to being done, if they would just believe in us a little longer... And I tested our research on myself. It was only supposed to be a survivable amount of gamma radiation, but the equipment malfunctioned; I should've died, but instead it... changed me."

Leaning his hands on the desk again, he shrugs.

"The military sure is interested in me now. I've gathered they've come up with something comparable to what I put together because I, or the Hulk kind of smashed Harlem trying to fight him."

[nedofpies]

Ned listens with diligent attention, nodding during the pauses. There are fantastical elements - serums that turn soldiers into super soldiers - but Ned accepts them immediately and without skepticism. For one thing, he cannot imagine what possible gain Bruce could get from lying to him about that. For another thing, it's less far-fetched than some of the stories he's heard here, and makes sense, given the Hulk himself.

Bruce's nervous hand movements give away the fact that talking about all of this is hardly easy for him. Ned isn't surprised it's a painful topic, but he understands a little more completely when Bruce fills in the picture for him. It was his own choice to test the research on himself. Even if he hadn't known the consequences at the time, he was the one responsible for putting himself in the painful situation he's in, now. For creating the Hulk and this all the damage the Hulk had ever caused (even if, knowing the Hulk a little, Ned knows it was damage caused without malicious intent and for a reason).

All of it reminds him, even more strongly, of his own situation, though the particulars widely vary. Bruce hadn't known what he was doing at the time, but he still feels culpable for the results. Hindsight is 20/20 and ignorance the kind of excuse that does little to sooth the sick, acidic scorch of guilt. So he doesn't say anything like it wasn't really your fault because it seems to him that even if Bruce understood that, intellectually, no amount of other people repeating it was going to make it feel true to him.

When Bruce says the military is interested in him, Ned twists his hands together tightly in his lap. Just that casual allusion is enough for him to understand the implications, enough to kick up the dust of anxiety in him. There's plenty he can imagine to fill in the gap. Hiding. Pursuit. Isolation. Seas of tedium and loneliness punctuated by chaos and terror.

"They were able to create another Hulk or someo-" he stumbles, reorients his language, "something like him in another person? Without you?" Whether he means without Bruce as a scientist or without Bruce as a lab rat is difficult to say. Perhaps both, at once.

"So it would be pointless to stay in hiding," he says slowly. Bruce hadn't told him he'd hidden, of course. Ned just assumes he had, extrapolates based on his own experiences. "Did you... did he win the fight?"

[greenisnteasy]

"They created something like him, yeah. Then he got ahold of some of my blood, and that did the rest. I think he already had some mutations starting, but not on the Hulk scale yet."

The suggestion that he not stay in hiding produces a strong wave of resistance that's familiar by now; logically, he knows he doesn't have to anymore, that SHIELD will cover him from Ross and Blonsky, that the Hulk is a hero now and not an enemy so much... but realistically speaking? When has a government agency ever pulled through for him? And if the Hulk's on the nice list, his name is written with pencil, and it's someone's job to sit by a green phone somewhere waiting to erase his name.

Bruce agreed to stay in the States after the Chitauri attack, despite all his paranoia and his itchy feet, but it's hard for him to say if he would've ever been really happy there, or if he would've prefered the anonymity somewhere else.

"Yeah, he won, and then we went into hiding for a while. It's not just about keeping the military off my tail; it's about keeping the people around me safe. But then they dragged me back." He smiles wryly, but he's not sure about the whole thing, even still. They claimed they wanted his brain, but they probably also had the Hulk in mind, and so Bruce still feels used at the end of the day.

"Different defense organization, SHIELD. They pulled me in to track gamma radiation signatures, and I wound up letting the Hulk out to help save New York again. On the good guy team for real this time."

He lets that settle, for Ned and for himself. He hasn't really talked out his feelings about New York 2: Chitauri Drift with anyone because... the chances of any of them getting it seemed pretty low considering they were all the good guys.

"Even when they pulled me in, they had a cage waiting for if I Hulked out. And they were right to." It still hurts, though almost in a personal way. "Because I Hulked out and nearly destroyed the ship we were traveling on."

[nedofpies]

Ned listens without saying anything for a while. He thinks it's incredibly heroic that Bruce can say thing like 'help save New York again' and not consider himself a hero. But hadn't he just said that people calling him a hero, telling him that this horrible traumatic thing he'd been through is a force for good. It might be occasionally useful to strangers, but it certainly hasn't been good for Bruce. And it's not those faceless unnamed people that Ned is worried about, right now. It's Bruce, looking so tired and so beaten-down. What he doesn't need right now, Ned thinks, is admiration or someone telling him his feelings are invalid.

Maybe there's a reason he's the one Bruce is opening up to, even though Ned doesn't doubt there are people he's closer to in town. Bruce, he remembers vividly, is the one who looked over the body of the man he'd killed. Bruce knows that Ned has a burden of his own. He also knows that Ned has been hurt by the Hulk before and won't underestimate how dangerous he really is. So perhaps it's solidarity that he's craving.

"When I was younger, I would imagine that my skin was poisonous, like a tree frog." Ned holds up one of his hands, turns it over in the air, looking at it as if it weren't even attached to him, "The kind they used to use to make blowdarts. I got accustomed to the idea that my body was a weapon that would go off and hurt innocent people if I didn't do every single thing right, take all the proper precautions."

He sets his hand down again, looks at Bruce. The idea of some group of men in uniform showing him a cage they'd throw him in if they needed to makes him feel angry and sick on Bruce's behalf. Ned doesn't think they were right to do it, especially since the cage apparently did them no good in the end.

"I can't imagine how terrifying it must be, to be you," he says quietly. "No one can avoid slipping up now and then, but when I do at least the... the damage isn't unmanageable."

That would probably sound cold, to an outside observer - calling a single casualty a manageable amount of damage. But compared to the Hulk's destructive and violent potential...

[greenisnteasy]

Yeah, it's hard to feel particularly celebratory about something that's made his life pretty unlivable, or it was for a while; now he's either found peace with it or figured out how to deal. He doesn't feel like he's a hero, though really he's not sure any one of them does. The hero's curse, he guesses. Anyone who tells him he should feel otherwise is wrong, and most of the people who engage in real talk with him on the matter wind up making him feel like a science experiment gone wrong (which he is, so).

He's really glad that he's unloading all of this onto Ned. The tree frog comment keeps that sense of being inhuman from popping up at all.

He could say that at least the destruction he causes, it's not personal. He doesn't touch someone and watch it happen right in front of him; most of the people he's hurt have been strangers, with a few key exceptions, but they lived to talk about it. That's not the most cheerful of things to say, though, so he'll let it go, and with it he can let go some of the pain.

"Damage is damage. We both feel like weapons. Time bombs waiting to go off." They both could be used as weapons, dehumanized by others until all they see is the power and how it could get them what they want.

"Other people don't really get it. I mean, how could they? Most people look at it and see something they could use. That's all they see, what we do, what they would feel like if they could choose to have what we have."

[nedofpies]

"Yes," Ned says, quietly, in confirmation to the time bomb metaphor. It is apt, because he's always felt that sense of inevitability. It isn't really a question of if he'll mess up and hurt someone, but of when. The incident with Laura had proved that. He'd finally reached the end of his countdown. Now the timer had been restarted, at some number he couldn't know, and it was tick tick ticking its way towards another casualty.

What Bruce says about people envying people like them, wanting to choose to be like them, has Ned looking at him sidelong. The bitterness in that sounds too specific not to be caused by a particular person, or persons. Jesse? He and Ned had argued, after all, over his decision to acquire powers. Ned knows that he considers Bruce to be his father-figure. It seems impossible he wouldn't have told him. And from what Ned knows about Bruce, it seems impossible that Jesse's attitude could be anything other than deeply upsetting, even if he didn't choose to show it. Or was there another, additional person, or persons, who had provoked it?

"It's different for you and me," Ned continues in the vein of Bruce's thinking. "Even from... some of the other people here who are different without choosing to be." Erik comes to mind, immediately, but he doesn't say anything. He still isn't sure Erik wants his powers generally known, and he wants to respect that. "I mean, you think about it all the time, right? You have to." They might not be too close, but it fits with what Ned's seen of Bruce so far. The bitterness and anger under the calm. If stress and fear and anger are what can trigger the Hulk appearing (and appearing in a bad enough mood that he won't be able to stop himself from doing damage), Bruce must need to be vigilant. "To keep it under control?"

Once more, Ned finds himself offering an anecdote, evidence that he understands what Bruce is going through. But by this point it's not just that he wants to help the other man feel less alone. He, too, is grateful to have someone who understands, who he can talk to, without fear that he'll say something in ignorance that will make Ned miserable. "People think I'm just neurotic or OCD or uptight, but it's because they don't get it. I've had to be careful, most of my life. Whenever I come in a room I need to think about what I can't touch."

In demonstration, Ned's eyes flick to a leather jacket that's draped over a chair, on the other side of the room. He's been aware of it since he came in. "It's like that with you, isn't it? Just less tangible."

[greenisnteasy]

He follows Ned's gaze, and that is a rough thing to have to think about. Bruce is constantly worried about his inner workings, and that's not always in his control, but Ned's really at a kind of mercy here. Someone could force him, really manipulate him. Autonomy is always at the forefront of Bruce's mind on these things, he supposes because autonomy is what he loses when the Hulk comes out.

Oh, good. Now they get to talk about people criticizing how they behave as a direct result of having to deal with their powers. Because this isn't a sensitive topic for him at all. The bitterness in that thought isn't for Ned; he's actually glad he can unload about this onto someone who'll maybe understand. It's a built-up bitterness for... everyone, ever, who's ever had an opinion about how Bruce should handle himself.

"I've restructured my whole life in an attempt to keep him locked away. And I get people who act like I can't control myself -- and sometimes I can't, so their worry is legitimate, but it doesn't feel great to be treated like an irresponsible time bomb who can't think for himself. Then there are people who act like I should loosen up or take a more lighthearted approach."

He laughs brokenly and shakes his head, then goes for his candy dish. He takes a funsize piece of chocolate and offers the bowl up to Ned.

"They know I'm a threat. Or mistakenly think I'm nothing but a hero. They don't understand how pervasive the problem is for you. It seems frivolous to worry so much. A leather jacket come to life would be a joke to them, but they don't have to deal with that all the time. They don't have to take responsibility for it."

[nedofpies]

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't?" Ned says, with a faint smile. He's familiar with the dilemma, though he's spent much less time around people who know about his power than Bruce has. He takes a piece of chocolate too - not so much because he wants one, but as a gesture. If Bruce wants to offer him something, he isn't going to turn it down.

"It isn't a joke to me. Neither is what you've had to do." He can tell from the way the words are tumbling out of Bruce that he's been keeping them to himself for too long, wonders if talking through some more of it wouldn't be good for him. "What kinds of precautions do you take?" Ned isn't asking because he's frightened of the Hulk, or because he's aiming to criticize. He's genuinely curious. He knows that his own routines and safeguards and things take up a great deal of his time and mental energy. They are a part of himself, and he imagines the same is true of Bruce. He'd like to know about them; it's a part of learning about what kind of person Bruce is. What his life is like.

[greenisnteasy]

He sighs, not even sure how to start answering that question.

"Everything. It's everything. Trying to live healthy to keep my body stable. Trying not to... feel things, for a little while. Then when that didn't work out, finding a balance between feeling things and knowing when to shut it all off." He pinches the bridge of his nose; this isn't really what he wants to complain about. He's had his complaints about living the way he does, but he's mostly used to it now. Now what he does more of is half-defend himself to Tony.

"Mostly I get tired of people telling me how I should manage myself. Everything from 'Don't you think you should leave the room?' to 'Come on, loosen up, it's not that bad.'"

It'll burn a hole in him if he doesn't get it out, and he looks guilty all the way up until he bursts out with it.

"Look -- can I complain about my boyfriend? I love him, and I know he just wants me to not feel like complete shit about myself, but it's too much sometimes and we're -- in a thing, and I can't bottle it up anymore."

[nedofpies]

Ned doesn't get a chance to sympathize with Bruce over the impossibility of shutting off his feelings (goodness knows he's tried, though for reasons not as directly related to his power, and failed spectacularly) before Bruce is blurting out his question. It makes Ned smile - a small, encouraging smile. He hadn't realized Bruce had someone, and the news makes him glad, even if from the sound of it, things may be a little rocky at present.

"Of course," he says, without hesitation, "I think any guy who has a boyfriend ought to have a friend to complain about him to."

He can tell from Bruce's manner that this is what's been bothering him the whole time - maybe even the thing which had brought him to this crisis point in the first place. That refrain in what Bruce is saying, about other people telling him how to live his life, what to feel and how to feel it: there had been a bit too much urgency and specificity in those complaints for them not to have a focus in a particular person or a recent event.

"What'd he do?"