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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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Tony can’t deny that it’s strange seeing such a prominent aspect of his life in a different world and knowing that he had nothing to do with its creation. Him personally. Somewhere out there – he tries to ignore the way his mind automatically offers up the mental image of a mouse in a dress singing off-key about a long-lost family – there’s another guy named Tony Stark, who looks like him, possesses some incredibly similar aspects of his life, and has recreated his company in an unfamiliar, impossible to believe world. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel, so he keeps walking, heading inside like he has ever right to be there and isn’t some ghost haunting the bones of a life that was never his.
To utilize the suit’s HUD, he’s had to put the helmet back on, and he’s wearing it when he steps into the lab that he’s told by a bewildered employee belongs to Bruce. He spots him immediately, and the way Bruce smiles at him, like he’s genuinely happy to see him - Not you. No one wants you. - makes his gut clench with something a little too much like guilt for his peace of mind. Thank fuck for the helmet, which lets him school his face into the kind of rakish, devil-may-care negligence he puts on every time he’s in public. ]
In the metal.
[ He taps a finger against his chestplate, like he needs to explain why he substituted metal for flesh in that quip. Then he takes off the helmet, acting for all the world as though he hadn’t just been weird on the video as he looks around. ]
This is your new digs, huh? Very stylish. Gotta be an improvement on Timbuktu or wherever it was. Little too neat and organized, though. Almost seems like you can actually get work done in here.
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You should see yours, [he comments, watching to see how he reacts to equating him to the previous Tony.] What's with the... Aren't you feeling overdressed?
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[ Bruce is right, he doesn't need the suit in here. Tapping a finger against the chestplate alerts JARVIS that he wants out and it opens, letting him step out. In a t-shirt and jeans, he's not overdressed anymore. He fiddles with his ear for a moment, checking that the connection to the suit is still active, then moves away from it and closer to Bruce. ]
Okay, so I'm here. Let's get the party started. What did you want to show me?
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[He has to admit some interest to watching him take the suit off, though. Bruce doesn't get to see this very often, and he's watching more attentively, following the way the joints move, maybe a second too long. Then he's turning back to speak to him.
He lets out a breath.] There's a lot. I thought you'd want to get up to speed on what's going on here. I think I started looking at the turtle's blood samples within hours when I showed up. Figured you'd be the same way.
[Using work to distract from the utter insanity of what was happening? Absolutely.]
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[ Curiosity compels him to check out the setup Bruce has got going on, but he isn't as invasive about getting into his personal space as he could have been. The comment about turtle blood makes him arch an eyebrow and glance at him. ]
You're not doing some kind of turtle breeding program, are you? [ It's a joke. One he lets go of almost immediately. ] The blood test. Because it's sick? Was sick?
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At the moment, there's several computer screens across his own lab bench, and an old, beat up laptop that looks like it's from a decade ago with duct tape holding the join together. There's microscopes and petri dishes, and cobbled together, odd looking advanced tech from the satellite in various configurations. Down on the next table, out of the way, is an array of local flora arranged under grow lamps, with scale piping systems feeding water and automatically filtered nutrients. All in all, there's a lot going on to look at, and Bruce doesn't mind him poking around.
Anything he's working on privately isn't out here.]
Yeah, [he says with a glance back.] Was sick. Getting back to normal slowly. That was a long process. Right now I'm working on ... something more metaphysical. [If he sounds vaguely distasteful, well, that's not hard to figure out.]
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He's in the process of picking it up when he realizes that it's still on, it's not his, and it's probably rude to manhandled another man's computer. Setting it back down, he glances back at Bruce, pointing at it as he says; ]
Can I fix this? It's killing me. Physically killing me. I think I'm going to have a stroke. I can't function with this sitting here like this. It needs emergency treatment or it's going to die.
[ There's something else he should be asking. Something that stuck out when Bruce mentioned it. It's hard to concentrate on it with the laptop languishing in decrepitness in front of him, but he rallies enough to try. ]
Metaphysical how? What do you mean? Seriously, though, I need to fix this. Where's your screwdriver?
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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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