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Video;
[ The video begins with a dark-haired man centered in the middle of the frame. He’s got dark eyes, a precisely cut goatee, and hair that’s a little too styled to be naturally that neat. There isn’t a lot to see beyond his chin, he’s sitting too close to the camera, but what can be seen looks vaguely like a shirt of shiny red metal.
His brow knits almost immediately after the feed starts recording, his expression edging toward disbelief as his lips twist into a mild frown. ]
Look. I get it. In a time of crisis, rationing’s necessary to keep resources moving in the right direction. Perfectly understandable. You guys needed to save your turtle. What responsible citizen wouldn’t do their part for that noble cause?
[ There’s a slight hint f sarcasm creeping into his voice, as though he’s heard the whole turtle spiel already and not only hasn’t been impressed, but also doesn’t really buy it either. Not even after having spent half a day scouring the network for information about what’s really going on here before making this video. ]
But really? Twenty bucks?
[ The low, indistinct murmur of another voice can be heard, though what it’s saying and who it belongs to is anyone’s guess. Whatever it says, it’s enough to make the man roll his eyes. ]
Juulan. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. The point — [ Whether he’s talking to the camera or the unidentified voice is unclear. ] — is that it isn’t enough for a day, let alone the entire bogus adventure.
[ It isn’t so much the way he looks at the camera – his eyes have never left it – but the change of his tone, less querulous and more curious, that indicates that he’s talking to whoever’s on the other end of the console. ]
So really. Turtle propaganda aside. What’s a guy gotta do to get some decent money around here? Sell his organs? Hit the street corners? Scrub barnacles off the bottom of the turtle? What?
His brow knits almost immediately after the feed starts recording, his expression edging toward disbelief as his lips twist into a mild frown. ]
Look. I get it. In a time of crisis, rationing’s necessary to keep resources moving in the right direction. Perfectly understandable. You guys needed to save your turtle. What responsible citizen wouldn’t do their part for that noble cause?
[ There’s a slight hint f sarcasm creeping into his voice, as though he’s heard the whole turtle spiel already and not only hasn’t been impressed, but also doesn’t really buy it either. Not even after having spent half a day scouring the network for information about what’s really going on here before making this video. ]
But really? Twenty bucks?
[ The low, indistinct murmur of another voice can be heard, though what it’s saying and who it belongs to is anyone’s guess. Whatever it says, it’s enough to make the man roll his eyes. ]
Juulan. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. The point — [ Whether he’s talking to the camera or the unidentified voice is unclear. ] — is that it isn’t enough for a day, let alone the entire bogus adventure.
[ It isn’t so much the way he looks at the camera – his eyes have never left it – but the change of his tone, less querulous and more curious, that indicates that he’s talking to whoever’s on the other end of the console. ]
So really. Turtle propaganda aside. What’s a guy gotta do to get some decent money around here? Sell his organs? Hit the street corners? Scrub barnacles off the bottom of the turtle? What?
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Behind you. [The table behind him has a toolbox on it, much less beat up than the laptop because Bruce had gotten it here. It's a fairly elaborate one, not large but packed with drawers and just as organized as the rest of the lab-- not obsessively, but perfunctorily.] Just don't lose my files. [It's almost a mild joke, the likelihood of Tony losing anyone's files is so small.
He goes back to poking at the suit, making mental notes as he goes.] Metaphysical as in accessing other planes of existence.
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I can upgrade your operating system while I’m in here. Streamline it. Free up more processing power.
[ As distracted as he sounds, he is conscientious about saving Bruce’s files before powering down the laptop and getting to work on it. The task’s an easy one. It doesn’t require even half of his attention, and while he works, he glances up periodically to look at Bruce as he speaks. ]
Like the Tesseract? Uh, Odin’s magical cosmic cube. It’s a portal to other dimensions. I have all of Selvig’s notes. He’s the one who figured out how to work the thing. I could have done it, obviously, but Fury knew I wouldn’t be okay with using it to make weapons. And I wasn’t. We don’t get along. Me and Fury. Or the rest of SHIELD. I don’t know if you knew that. Yeah, but anyway, if you want help with that, I— [ have plenty of experience with interdimensional transportation into the depths of space. ] —I can help you out with that.
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He isn't, however, totally under its sway, as he proves by glancing up in visible, if reluctant, interest at those words. Bruce steps away from the Iron Man, taking his glasses off again and signifying his temporary cessation in examining it, though he holds them loosely in his hand. As interested as he is, there's more pressing things at hand, and Bruce doesn't let himself be distracted.]
Dr. Foster mentioned Selvig, but I don't know any of that. Well, I can guess you don't get along with SHIELD. [Tony Stark and a secret government organization trying to control his actions? Bruce knows how well that'd gone over with Congress, and that was far from secret.] I was planning on asking you to help, so, [a slight half-shrug, taking another step over to lean against the bench and watch Tony work.]
The Tesseract was with the, uh, alien invasion? If you're mentioning Odin... [Bruce's understanding of the situation is hazy, but he knows it involves alien gods-- Thor and Loki, one good and one very, very likely to piss him off-- and he might be terrible with mythology but he's not so terrible that he can't recognize Odin by name.]
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It’s strange to hear him say that he guesses Tony doesn’t get along with SHIELD, when he’d been right there beside him, helping him gum up the works of Fury’s weapons of mass destruction machine. He doesn’t have time to focus on it too long, before his skin’s prickling at the mention of the invasion and nervous, uncomfortable energy starts flooding into his system.
Deep breath. In and out. It was like, a hundred years ago. You’re fine. But he’s not fine and he knows it, and all this talk of other hims and clones isn’t helping to keep him stable. In truth, it’s freaking him the fuck out. ]
Yep. That’s the one. Loki’s little alien attractor. [ Even though he’s the one who brought it up, he has to skirt around the subject. ] You—Uh, sorry, if there’s some kind of politically correct way to talk about this, timelines and other dimensions and all, I don’t know it. You don’t get along with SHIELD either. I’m not sure you ever did, since they were peripherally involved in the whole—Anyway, finding out they were trying to make even bigger, more destructive bombs with alien tech? I don’t think that really helped. Fury’s kind of an overbearing dick, I don’t think anyone likes him.
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He notices a strange quirk of a reaction for half a second, but before he can identify it it's gone, and Tony's launching into another explanatory ramble. Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, but listens, storing the information away neatly in his mind.] I've met Loki, [he contributes, tone even.] He was here for a while. We didn't get along either.
[It has the ring of a vast understatement to it.]
I'll have to get the full story sometime, but right now we need to, go over everything. With the timelines and the... doubles. You're still hung up about it, aren't you? [That's Bruce's version of being comforting and saying that he's open to working it out if he wants. But he can tell from that evasion and awkwardness around talking about it that Tony's seemingly innocent question earlier about whether he knows he's not the same guy is at all over.]
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[ How about they don’t go over the whole story? How about they just let it go and move on? That would be great. It’s probably not going to happen that way, but Tony can pretend otherwise.
Fortunately, Bruce lets that topic go. Unfortunately, he starts picking at the other thing that’s causing Tony quite a bit of emotional upset. The corner of his mouth twitches, but he heads off the wince before it can fully form. [
Hung up has an… awkward connotation. Sounds like a personal problem. [ Repairing an outdated laptop suddenly requires the entirety of Tony’s attention. He looks down at it as he works, escaping the possibility of eye contact. ] You got some of them here? Other guys who call themselves Bruce Banner?
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It's on the tip of his tongue to say It isn't a personal problem? but he decides that's probably too pointed, not the tone he wants to set. He just folds his arms and leans back and watches him sidelong, giving him space.]
No. I haven't met any. [From the way he says it, it's clear he doesn't think that's a hardship.] But I've had a lot of people recognize me. Apparently I'm on a lot of other worlds, and I'm... [He corrects himself,] Not me is popular. I'm not as much.
[Not that Bruce wants to be popular. He doesn't. But the Hulk overtaking him in terms of being recognizable leaves a sour taste in his mouth.]
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As far as he’s concerned, it’s better if they just keep talking about Bruce. There’s less of chance they’ll stumble onto something Tony doesn’t want to discuss.
He’s not overly empathic at the best of times, but he can relate all too well with not being popular. With someone else being more popular. Steve Rogers. Now this real Tony Stark. ]
You’re popular with me. Does that count? [ He looks up from the laptop again, looking over at Bruce with eyebrows rising. ] I can be your fanclub. Carry around those big foam number one fingers. Unless you’d prefer a cheerleader? I’m told my legs look really sexy in a skirt.
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Will you focus for a minute? We need to go over this. I'm saying that a lot of people are going to recognize you. Not because you're famous. Because they know you, personally. Have you met the other... you, yet?
[Might as well stop pulling his punches and get right down to it.]
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[ There's a note of something dark in his voice as he says it. Not in reference to the other Stark, but a slight stress on the word talk that suggests that what they talked about wasn't overly optimistic. It's only there for an instant, before he shrugs and everything's back to casual normalcy. ]
And for the record, they don't know me. They know a guy named Tony Stark who looks an awful lot like me. There's a difference.
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True, [he says mildly.] The things they know about me can be pretty... off. [Namely all the positive things about the Hulk are still throwing him through a loop.]
But some of them know me me. Like you. Just because we haven't met yet back home doesn't change that. [It's a quiet challenge to his logic, without dragging the elephant in the room into the open.]
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Technically, that means that I don't know you. Experiences change people. Make us who we are.
[ Is that too close to talking about New York? Or the clones? Maybe. ]
What's your point? You want to do primary school introductions? Stand up, say your name and hobbies? Tony Stark. Engineering. I want to be a rock star when I grow up. Your turn.
[ He nods in Bruce's direction, flashing him a smile. What he doesn't say is that, had anyone asked six year old Tony Stark what he wanted to be when he grew up, he would have said the same thing. ]
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He ignores this further attempt at diversion, unruffled.] So you're saying you do this for just anyone, [he says pointedly.] Show up immediately when you arrive and fix their ailing laptop and let them look at the armor. Since you don't really know me.
[Bruce, obviously, isn't taking this at all personally. If that is the answer then it won't bother him, but truth is, he knows it isn't. He knows Tony is far more private and guarded a person than most people, and certainly the public in general, gives him credit for. And just in case that's too subtle for him, he tacks on,] Because that's not really how I'm approaching it.
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[ That’s an answer he can give freely and honestly. It’s such a rare occurrence when he actually likes someone that it’s almost painfully obvious to everyone anything. And it isn’t like he tries to hide it or make excuses for it.
Continuing blithely on, he holds up the laptop, now sans duct tape and holding itself together, almost as good as new. ]
And your computer needed an intervention. I would be a cruel, capricious god of technology if I didn’t save it from itself. Which, by the way, really could use an overhaul as far as the processor’s concerned. I’ll make you a new motherboard tonight, then bring it over in the morning and install it.
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Thank you, but, uh, you really don't have to, [he responds, equal parts gratitude and protest.] And what I'm getting at is that I think I do know you. Well enough to let you modify my most important personal possession when you feel like it, anyway.
[Bruce shakes his head, thinking maybe he should just give this up and let Tony stew in whatever convoluted problems he's made up for himself now, if this doesn't make his point.
He remembers when he'd tried to tell him that he appreciated having him around at his birthday, and it'd gotten him practically choking on his drink at an ill timed moment. Bruce isn't expecting this to go much better. But he still says,] It's just nice to have you here.
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A normal person would just let it go. Would thank him for the compliment, smile, nod, and change the subject. A somewhat abnormal person might ignore it completely. And that's what Tony knows he should do. He's heard it before. If you don't have anything nice to say... But it rises like bile in the back of his throat and although he manages to keep his voice matter-of-fact and almost deceptively light, he finds that he can't resist saying something. ]
Why? [ He has never shied away from the contempt that he has for himself and he doesn't do it now. He just sets the laptop back on the bench and casually puts the tools back where he found them as he speaks. ] You have one already. You had two. Either way you look at it, I'm still superfluous.
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He knows instinctively that's not what Tony wants to hear. Instead, he unfolds his arms, straightening up and opening his posture toward him as he stands and watches him put the tools away.]
You know me, [he says simply. Taking on a wry, self-mocking tenor, he goes on,] You know me, and apparently that's enough to be friends. That doesn't really happen very often.
[There's not a trace of self-pity; it's a plain fact. A statement on how rarely Bruce gets to be honest with anyone in his life, which is almost never before coming here, and since then not that often either.]
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That’s probably because most people don’t know you. If they did, it wouldn’t be such a rarity. There’d be a line around the block. You'd have your very own fanclub.
[ Actually, now that he thinks about it… ]
You actually do have a fanclub. I saw an interview with someone from it. They have tattoos, t-shirts, little action figures. Well, technically they’re kind of big action figures. You know, for the accuracy and all. You’re really popular now.
[ To a guy who has had this kind of celebrity status for years, it doesn’t seem like anything that would be difficult to cope with. He turns to face him, leaning a hip against the bench. ]
You’re the most dependable person I know, Bruce. That’s more than enough reason to be friends with you.
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The idea that he's dependable can only be met with laughable disbelief, given how little control he has over just about any facet of his life. But the thing that takes him from vaguely frustrated disagreement and edging toward incensed is learning that he has a fanclub.]
I have a what? [spills out of him before he can censor it. Bruce immediately has to take a breath, raise a hand to his face and hide it for a moment. When it lowers, he's distinctly unhappy.] You don't mean I have a fanclub. You mean he does. That's not me, [he asserts, almost daring him to disagree.]
Aside from how no one should be-- be encouraging what he does, I don't want to be popular. Or for anyone to know me. [He'd intended to say that more diplomatically, but now he doesn't bother.]
You're some, I don't know, some weird exception. Not the other universe versions of you, just you. I'm not going to argue over what exact set of memories you have. [That's so immaterial, comparatively. And just like everyone else who's tried to tell him about what he's like on other worlds has found out, it provokes Bruce into abandoning all sense of delicacy and just saying straight out what his point is. Nothing about hearing all the myriad and varied ways his life is even worse in other places inspires his sense of tact.]
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But there’s more to it than his shaken sense of self. It’s the way Bruce talks about himself. About the Hulk. And maybe it’s pointless to argue over it if they’re not even who they believe themselves to be, but the memories are strong. Too strong to resist the instinctive urge to quash the negativity as soon as he hears it. ]
Way I remember it, he saved my life. So maybe I’m a little biased on the whole encouragement angle.
[ And then he’s too close to it and everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours overwhelms him. It’s with bitter sarcasm that he adds; ]
But hey, what do I know, right? Just a man-shaped meat-suit with some other guy’s memories uploaded into my head. That’s how cloning works, isn’t it?
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So he did somewhat want an argument, because he can handle it, and he's not afraid of Tony or of the consequences. He's relatively certain that, however he feels about the Hulk, Tony won't provoke him into changing, and this isn't so personal a topic that Bruce thinks he'd lose control just from discussing it.
Although it is, still, pretty personal. To him, too. He'd known if not explicitly, then at least had managed to piece together, that the Hulk had saved Tony's life-- hearing it out loud is a nice confirmation. But the cloning upsets him, and he gets why this isn't easy to accept.]
That's how cloning works. And I have some theories about how it works here. But the original's not there, [Bruce says bluntly, standing in front of him and forcing him to meet his eyes directly. He uses what is major, significant information almost as a weapon, throwing it out.] We're clones, but the original isn't back there, living our lives. It's just us. Here.
[The previous Tony Stark is probably a dead clone body resting somewhere beneath the turtle shell, wherever their cloning facilities are now. With the tanks screwed in like light bulbs, as Costigan had said. Part of him is still mourning for him, because although he does think that this is more or less the same person in front of him now, this Tony is right-- he's not exactly the same. And there's probably a corpse somewhere that used to be his friend, and it makes Bruce more combative on this subject than he would be otherwise.]
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All twenty-four hours of it.
An impotent sense of helpless frustration rises so quickly inside him that it nearly chokes him. He feels like he’s suffocating on it. On the world and the implications, on the false memories and his crumbling sense of self. He’s not real. None of it’s real. Every terrible memory, every moment of pain and disappointment he thinks he’s suffered, it’s all been a lie. He’s a lie. He’s not superfluous. He’s not a real person. He’s nothing. Nobody.
He can’t breathe. There’s something in his chest clawing to get free and he can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Bruce as the horror of what he’s hearing sinks in. Finally, he can’t stand it anymore and he breaks away, pushes past him and heads for the suit.
He doesn’t get there. He stops halfway there and stares at it, almost doesn’t recognize it. ]
So they’re dead. [ It’s flat and toneless and he doesn’t turn around. ] Everyone’s dead and we’re just someone’s idea of a sick joke.
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[He takes two quick steps around Tony to see his face again, hand automatically reaching out to take hold of his upper arm, bracing.]
Look at me. Whatever this is, it isn't a joke. And we can find answers. [If anyone can find answers, it's the two of them. Bruce searches his eyes, trying to impart the resolution on him that he feels. Giving him something to do is, he thinks, the best answer to the listless panic that is so easy to fall under given the magnitude of the situation.]
I've already found some. Clues. You can help me.
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Help you how? I’m just a…
[ He doesn’t even have a word for it. Tony Stark is an unparalleled genius, that much he remembers. But him? Who is he? He’s looking at Bruce – at the guy who his fake memories say is Bruce – but he’s not really talking to him. The quiet, under his breath mumble is mostly for himself. ]
…A John Doe who’s haunted by a ghost.
[ Maybe he needs an exorcist. The thought makes him laugh, a bitter bark of sound that fades quickly. He’s silent for a moment, just a pause, then he continues in a regular tone, though it stays deadened and hollow. ]
Clues about what?
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You think I don't ask myself what I am on a, a daily basis? [There's an echo of that bitter humor in there, too, understanding even as his hand tightens on his arm.] Are you going to help me or not?
[He's not going to play this game where he lists out his positive traits for him. Tony should be well aware of how much he can accomplish when he sets his mind to it, of how incredible his capabilities are. Bruce isn't here to prop up his ego. Tony already knows that, and he doesn't have much patience for using identity issues as a stalling tactic. Bruce is in the same mess as he is, the same boat, and has moreover been even deeper into questioning who and what he is for the past decade.
He demands a firmer answer than that, a commitment, before he'll let this go.]
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