2014.06.11 - Reunited and it feels so good

PG
It had started somewhat innocuously- a promise of a 'nice dinner out', and a gentle nudge for Henrietta to wear something a bit more dressy than one would normally wear to the restaurants the two of them had been going to when off the ARGUS. 
The short hop down to the Central Park pad had been met by, of all things, an old-fasioned horse-drawn carriage, festooned with ribbons and little lights. 
Bruce grins up at Etta as she debarks from the shuttle, having shown up at the shuttle bay wearing a proper tuxedo and a little boutennier. He offers the woman a gallant hand as she comes down the steps, and then up into the carriage. "May I offer madame a glass of champagne?" Bruce inquires in a faux snooty tone, reaching for a bottle of champagne chilling on ice and two long-stemmed glasses put into a convenient cupholder next to it.
It has been a long three weeks in London, Etta having been recalled to liaise with MI-6 in one of her previous roles with some assistance from her ex-partner. Her recent stability aboard the Argus having spoiled her for living according to the dictates of a singular timezone, the prospect of a 'fancy' date was a delightful treat to the still slightly-bleary psychiatrist. 
Of course it means a quick trip to /get/ a suitable dress, as she has been getting by with just the two frocks in her closet to supplement her body armor and wardrobe of stark black suits and white blouses. She gets off the helicopter, however, in a sleekly strapless knee-length sheath of bright lipstick red silk. Which, naturally, matches her lipstick. Its so unlike her that, ordinarily, she might feel slightly frivolous were she not so utterly distracted by the sight of Doctor Banner in a tuxedo. 
She stares a moment before a small smile of utter delight starts to spread across her mouth just before her feet start to propel her towards him. "Hello Doctor. Don't you look... dashing." She says, reaching out to catch his hand in hers and lean up to offer her lips for slightly-snooty kissing. She may say 'dashing' but to judge from the way her eyes stray this way and that, she might well actually mean 'delicious'.
"You know, I haven't worn a tuxedo in almost five years?" Bruce says, adjusting his bowtie a bit self-consciously. He eyes 'etta's gown- more specifically, the way she wears it. "You look... well. Incredible," he says with a simple, almost shy shrug. 
Settled into the cab, he pours Henrietta a glass of champagne and offers it to her, then takes one of his own and takes a very careful sip. 
"I missed you," he says, twining his fingers with hers. "How was London? I hope you were careful," he tells the woman at his side, watching her face with the rapt attention of a man beholding something he's craved for weeks. "Skype just doesn't cut it," he says with a quirk of his mouth.
In fairness, she did her level best to make as much of Skype as she possibly could. Thank God for that her bump in security clearance allowed her to be reasonably confident that their long distance chats weren't being monitored. Still... 
The flute of champagne clutched delicately in one hand is as-yet untouched, as all her attention is focused on him. Even the completely innocent drag of his fingers against hers holds her rapt for a long moment as she smiles back at him, appreciation for the overt romance of the carriage and all the trimmings lighting her eyes. 
"It was incredibly boring and everything you always hoped that my job description at SHEILD would entail." She purrs in her crisply accented voice as she teases him. "Paperwork, meetings... yet more paperwork. There were even forms. I might have worked for the revenue service for all you could have judged from observing me." 
She laughs softly, twisting in her seat to lean close and lightly brush her lips across his, lingering close for a moment and sighing with blissful contentment before settling back in her seat next to him. "What about you? I'm just assuming that you've cured at least seven diseases and the need for nuclear waste management in my absence? I mean, with so few distractions, there's really no excuse..."
 
"I accidentally froze Agent Katsuko in place with an MRI cannon and I invented a 30 second popcorn setting, but it tends to leave the popcorn, uh, a bit irradiated," Bruce concedes, squeezing Henrietta's hand as the horse clop-clop-clops along at a steady, well-practiced walk. When she kisses him, he returns the gesture, leaning in to press his lips against hers gently. 
"Mostly much of the same. Geehaws and toys for the field agents, researching gamma particles... once in a while getting /really/ bored and getting out my Legos," he admits, tilting his head sideways minutely. He takes a sip of his champagne and leans back against Henrietta's shoulder, resting his chin atop her head and with eyes closed, inhaling deeply of the scent of her hair.
They may be dressed formally, but ensconced in the carriage rolling placidly through the park, propriety is really the last thing on her mind. She slips her feet out of her shoes, curling up closer to him on the carriage bench and letting her head settle into the crook between his chin and shoulder, one arm stretching across him to keep her anchored against the occasional little bounce or jostle. She smells of violet soap and earl grey tea, familiar and quintessentially her.
"You should tack some sort of irradiation-treatment epi-pen type thing onto your to-do list against the inevitable moment that my game of Russian roulette eating things in your quarters goes desperately awry." She just tosses it out there as she wriggles close. "Has Agent Katsuko forgiven you yet?" 
She peeks up at him from beneath her lashes, and with a coy glimmer asks, "Legos hmm? It's good to see that you found other toys to play with in my absence. Did you build Stark Tower in tiny plastic blocks?"
"Not yet, but she didn't seem terribly upset with me," Bruce admits. "And yeah, I did Stark Tower, and Reed's building, then I got really bored and used an Imperial Star Destroyer kit to build the ARGUS. It's hanging in my quarters," he tells Henrietta with an almost abashed expression. 
He reaches up and chucks Henrietta's chin, playing his thumb across her lips almost teasingly. "And I promise you, I won't let anything radioactive in my room. I even cleaned it while you were gone. And it had nothing to do with Director Hill realizing that we were short a pair of fifty-thousand dollar emitters that I was using as end-tables," he says, deadpanning.
"You can let at least one irradiated thing in. Even if he does steal the covers." She allows with a few soft notes of laughter, smiling up at him adoringly as the pad of his thumb scrapes the plump curve of her lower lip. She catches it lightly between her teeth for an instant as she looks up at him, wrapping it in the warm tug of her mouth and the light scrape of her tongue before letting him go once more. 
"I want to see your masterpiece." She says with just a little hint of something husky to her voice, though her humor reasserts itself as she adds, "And I rather suspect AD Hill would consider you cheap at four times the price of the emitters. Though I am a /little/ concerned about what 'cleaning' might involve for you. I had a brief image of something involving flame throwers for sterilization purposes."
"I only steal the covers because someone else in that bed has feet like icicles," Bruce says accusingly, grinning at Henrietta as she nips the pad of his thumb. "Oh, here we are!" 
The carriage comes to a halt and he dismounts, offering a hand to Henrietta. The sign on the restaurant says 'Fork' on it, and there's a simple image of that utensil on the building's facade. It belies the half-dozen Ferraris and three Lotuses parked across the street in the valet parking, or the red-roped line to get into the common seating. With a puff of his chest and Henrietta on his arm, Bruce walks up to the doorman, who gives the pasty-faced doctor a suspicious look, and Henrietta an appreciative eye. "Name?" 
"Banner, Bruce Banner," Bruce says. The doorman checks his list, then nods quickly and steps aside, pulling the velvet rope open for the two of them to enter. 
"Doctor Banner, sorry to keep you and your companion waiting," the big man apologizes. "Please head on inside," he invites, ignoring the objections wafting up from the long line outside the restaurant-presumably people who are on 'standby' reservations.
Henrietta Black eyes the edifice and the cluster of high end cars strewn about outside. She quirks a brow as she slips out of the carriage, slipping her arm through his as she trails up to the front door and observes the interchange between the restaurant's gatekeeper and her date. When they've passed beyond the barrier of the velvet rope she leans in and murmurs with mingled amusement and surprise, "Goodness, have you taken to name-dropping in my absence? If he were any more attentive, I think they'd be bearing us aloft on chairs to our table..." 
The mental image of waiters carrying Bruce to his table thusly makes her giggle briefly, one hand coming up to veil her scarlet mouth. She looks up at him out of the corner of her eyes, letting her hand slip away as she tamps down her mirth enough to stop laughing. "Or you've been spending a lot of time with Tony and have become accustomed to a certain lifestyle in my absence..."
"Yeaaaaah, I kind of called in a favor on this one," Bruce admits out the edge of his mouth, following the waiter to a private dining booth. "Tony's got a table on permanent standby here. I told him he owed me for helping out with the arc reactor last month, then I might have implied I was gonna lose my temper if I couldn't get a reservation," he mutters quickly. 
Bruce moves quickly to beat the waiter to the punch, pulling the seat out for Henrietta, then settles into the seat next to the redhead, resting his hand on hers and smiling warmly. "Would you like some wine, or some more champagne?" he asks, tilting his head to regard his date's features with a contented smile on his face.
More giggling. 'Etta will chalk off the excess of it to the lingering effects of jet lag, though in truth getting to spend time with him in the flesh is a big component of her tendency towards giddiness. She settles gracefully into the offered seat, letting him tuck her in just so and waiting for him to get settled across from her before she says with an arch of a brow and an unrepentant grin, "You know he would have done it eagerly without any prodding. He lives for that sort of thing." 
A little cant of her head to one side and she does concede, "... Though it /is/ more fun to threaten him with consequences. He gets so irate at the idea that he could be subjected to consequences like a mere commoner." Okay she gets it. A little shrug and she says, "How about a bottle of something soft and red? That sounds delicious..."
 
"Well, Tony's sensitive about his toys," Bruce observes sagely, winking once at the redhead. He seems to have found that ideal level of 'calm' that works for him- energetic and focused, as he rarely is outside of a lab, or Henrietta's presence. "So y'know, if I 'accidentally' bent a monkey-wrench in half because I was upset that I couldn't find a nice restaurant to take you to as a 'welcome home'." 
At that moment the waiter shows up, and Bruce smiles at the man. "Hi! Yes, we'll have a bottle of the... um... Jordan Valley cabernet," he says, stumbling only a bit over the wine selection. It's not Bruce's forte, but he makes a game approach at it. "And I think we'll start with an order of the... clams casino?" he says, making it more question than statement. He glances at Henrietta for confirmation, then nods again at the waiter.
....And more giggling. Its just that she can picture this exchange happening /so perfectly/ in her mind, right down to Tony trying to play it off with a 'sure, sure thing buddy...' while not entirely concealing his unease and... hence the giggling. She tilts her head forward, hiding behind a hand and her coppery hair as Bruce sees about the wine. She's recovered enough to nod at his suggestion of starter, sitting back up with a smile lighting her face. 
"God I missed you." She says from her toes. An instant later a sly smile spreads across her face as she says, "Will you miss dear old Agent Tennant? He's been sent back to regular duty I'm afraid, and so he will be unable to join us on our future outings. I am no longer required to bring an escort with me everywhere now that Sidewinder Industries has been properly sorted."
Bruce shakes his head. "He's back on bridge duty," Bruce says. "He's good, but not good enough to keep up with me. I got him in trouble a couple times by shaking him off when he was on 'escort' duty. Maria pointed out that it was a lot easier for you to keep tabs on me, for some reason." 
The appetizers are delivered, along with the wine, which Bruce signs off on with a faintly nervous approval. He reaches down and takes Henrietta's hand in his, smiling warmly at the woman. "How am I doing so far for a 'welcome home' date?" he asks the copper-tressed woman, tilting his head to the side. "I racked my brain for a while. Watched the Notebook. Wasn't much help," he admits.
She's all smiles until the end. "You watched The Notebook?" She asks with a slightly slack expression, blinking at him a few times. "Darling, I am a woman and /I/ haven't watched The Notebook." When the shock wears off, it is, of course, incredibly sweet. She laces her fingers through his and gives them a little squeeze. "I'd say you were doing a smashing job thus far. Horse-drawn carriage, champagne... you. All boxes ticked." 
She plucks up her glass, bringing it to her lips for a sip of the wine. She mmms her approval, just looking at him a moment. "I was a little afraid to leave." She confesses. "With everything that's happened of late... I half thought the East Coast might have vanished into an alternate universe by the time I got done filling papers in London. How's Captain Rogers? Is he... better?"
"Well, I needed research material," Bruce says defensively. "And all the females on the ARGUS agreed it was the 'romance of the decade'," he says, making air quotes. 
"Nothing terribly exciting's happened, to be honest. It's been fairly calm. Cap's been... a bit distant," Bruce admits, a bit of regret on his face. "I don't think he likes working with SHIELD. I think it's a soldier thing. He's a straight-shooting kind of guy, and the cloak-and-dagger stuff just... I don't know that it works for him."
"He had a bit of a rough go of it." 'Etta says, still obviously possessed of a bit of a soft spot for her childhood idol. She idly strokes her fingertips across the backs of his knuckles, swirling the wine about in her glass for a moment before she says, "Time mends all wounds. Even those inflicted by grinning maniacal madmen and a world that's not nearly as straightforward as one might wish." 
She thinks a bit, gazing into her wine. And it would seem to be maybe about Captain America. Or the world. Or the nature of loss and grief over the human condition. Except she says, "I can't believe you watched the Notebook. I can't believe that there IS a copy of The Notebook on the Argus. Director Fury would never approve." 
She looks up at him winsomely, worry cast aside and says, "We should take advantage of the relative peace and quiet, which almost certainly won't last, and find something to do. A project. Any interesting research projects on your wishlist, Doctor Banner? I expect I could wrangle a field duty assignment going with you..."
"Well, we could head over to Europe," Bruce offers with a gamin smile, looking innocently over his wineglass. "See the larger particle collider at CERN. I've got a few buddies from college there, y'know," he says, running his fingers through his mussy hair. "I'm thinking we pop in at CERN and pick up some antimatter for ... I don't know, I could come up with something fun to do with that, and then we spend some time in Paris, rambling around the French countryside... y'know. For science," he says, feigning an innocent expression.
"If this is an example of our selection criteria is going to go for this, then I suggest you find some pressing need to study the Northern Lights." She says with a sly grin and an arched brow. "I've always fancied staying in one of those luxurious glass-roofed igloos they build in Scandinavia, where you lie there draped in furs duvets a thousand miles from the city and gaze up at the lovely solar radiation disbursing across our atmosphere..." 
She looks patently dreamy for a moment before blinking and sitting up a bit straighter. "Good lord. I think between you and all the billionaires running about, I'm slowly being corrupted into a self-indulgent sensualist. I'm not sure how I feel about that but... " She sips at her wine again and winks at him. "I suspect I will have made peace with it by the end of the evening."
"You're definitely losing your edge as a hardcore SHIELD operative," Bruce agrees cheerily, leaning back as the main course arrives. "Next thing you know, you'll need to move out of your barracks so you have room for your shoes, and you'll be jetsetting around the world on a privately requisitioned helicopter, visiting exotic locations on the taxpayer's dime. Isn't that what spies do anyway?" he asks with a furrowed brow. "All that James Bond stuff, you know? Except it'd be like... Jane Bond."
Actually looks mildly disturbed for a moment, her brows furrowing lightly. "I don't know how I feel about that... " She admits, unable to entirely resist the temptation to actually consider the prospect. She looks down at her plate, thoughtfully mulling it over and confessing, "I honestly don't think the prospect of anything like a normal life ever occurred to me until... lately." She adds with a faint trace of a flush tinting her cheeks a deeper pink as she looks up at him. "It always seemed like a thing that other, more normal people did that we were working to protect but... I feel like I've unexpectedly managed to trip over a bit of it." 
She spears a clam with the tines of her fork, wresting it from its shell as she appends, "Admittedly, it's a several thousand feet over the city of New York and it frequently requires body armor and a ready supply of dinosaur snacks, but still.."
"Move in with me?" 
Bruce swallows once, the words sort of falling out onto the table clumsily. "I... I have more room than I really need," he says, fumbling a bit, his eyes shifting away from Henrietta's, betraying his nervousness and a bit of fear that only 'etta might pick up on. "And I missed you. I would walk past your bunk and just look in the window just to see if I was dreaming and you'd come back. I could make room for your clothes and shoes, and there's really even more space, I could knock down the wall on the port side and make more space, it's just storage anyway, and I've got the tub, and..." he says, starting to babble a bit.
Normally she'd be there to help. Teasing him just a little to recall him, smiling to reassure him that things were well. But this time, there is a moment when all she can do is stare at him in abject shock. Her lips part but no words emerge. She blinks her eyes a few times in rapid succession. 
"I..." She starts, only to stutter to a halt and blink again before, slowly, a smile starts to bloom on her painted lips. The shocked look in her eyes is gradually replaced by a soft-focus wonder as she takes in the offer and says in a quiet murmur, "Don't knock down any walls. Director Fury would..." You know what? She has actually found the one instance where she genuinely doesn't give a good god damn about what Director Fury thinks. Its like finding a leprechaun, impossible and astonishing. "I don't need it. The room, I don't need it. I... yes." Her smile deepens a little bit more as she looks across and nods at him, "Okay, yes. I would love to move in with you."
Bruce, who had been holding his breath the entire time that Henrietta had been speaking, exhales in a long burst, then inhales and exhales a few times, clearly looking a bit lightheaded. He takes a looooong sip of his wine, looking skyward, then gives Henrietta a relieved look. 
"I thought you were going to say 'no'," Bruce admits, looking a bit shaky, but extremely gratified. "I, uh... was hoping you'd say 'yes'," he tells her. "I mean, obviously. But I kinda went ahead and had some walls moved and a closet installed, and like I said, I got the various, uh, lasers and stuff out of there," he tells Henrietta. "I think it needs a woman's touch, but it could be... really nice. For us," he says, squeezing her hand tightly. "If you really are ok with sharing that space with me. I don't want to cramp your spymistress style, y'know, with having to seduce enemy spies all over the world," he says with a lopsided grin.
While he's talking about closets and lasers, she's slipping out of her chair and leaning across the narrow table. Her free hands lifts, fingertips lightly tilting his chin up as she bends to press her mouth to his, heedless of the dictates of propriety and the other diners. It's a kiss that starts slowly, deepening just to the point that she's able to very clearly convey every eager, wanton thing that awaits him back at their renovated quarters. 
She pulls back finally and with obvious reluctance before she slips back into her seat. "I feel as if I may have seduced my last enemy agent, Doctor Banner. Its just as well... I've rather lost interest in that aspect of the work." A bright, nearly giddy grin lights her face before she says a bit more seriously, "You really didn't need to do anything you know. I still, at best, have /two/ suitcases worth of belongings. And I rather loved your cabin already. Some of my favorite memories are of your cabin, Doctor Banner..."
Bruce is immediately, and promptly, shut-up by Henrietta's oral admonishment, which he leans into with his eyes shut and an expression of abrupt surprise on his face. It takes him a few moments to collect himself, then he clears his throat and straightens his bow tie. 
"Well... and promise you won't get mad," he hedges, drumming his fingers on the table. "I, uh... kind of opened a line of credit at Bergdorff's," he tells Henrietta. "For you. I know you love your shoes and clothes, and I figure with some more space, there's room for you to do some real shopping. Annnnnd you should probably know that, uh... I mean, I'm not a billionaire, or anything," he says, clearing his throat in an almost embarassed tone, "but I've been putting all of my royalties on my patents into various mutual funds for about a decade now, and if you know anything about compound interest... well, anyway, I mean, if there's anything you want for the cabin, or want to pick up for yourself, or whatever, you can just get it," he tells her. "Shower curtains, or whatever. I'm bad at this," he winces with the admission. "I haven't had a live-in girlfriend since college. Help me?"
/Now/ she laughs, a bright and airy sound that is all delight and not even a little at his expense. She sits up ramrod straight, looking arch as only a member of the British Peerage can as she says coolly, "I shall have you know, Doctor Banner, that I have no interest in you for your money. I have been using you for your body this entire time." 
She dissolves into tittering again, squeezing his fingers and giving her head a little shake of her head. "You /know/ you are the /one/ man in the entire world that could get away with redecorating part of the Argus, yes? The rest of us can't even deviate from the regulation cream colored bedding." 
She just smiles at him, lost for words and happy beyond measure. And little by little she grows more and more serious as she looks at him until finally she says, "Bruce... you know... you /must/ know... how I feel about you.... don't you?"
"Well, Agent Black," Bruce says, adjusting his bowtie with precise motions and straightening in his seat a bit, sliding his plate of devoured entree aside. "I can make an educated guess as to your affections for me, but I well know how thoroughly SHIELD agents are trained in the art of seduction." He winks at Henrietta. "For all I know, this is some elabourate operation Fury put together in order for him to have an agent keeping tabs on me at all times. Don't get me wrong," he clarifies, propping his chin on his hand, elbow on the table. "You can be on me anytime you like."
And, little by little, the bright glint of humor creeps back into her eyes as she looks at him. She gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes and slumps back into her chair, saying in a slightly less posh accent, "Well, that's me caught out then. You're a canny one, Doctor Banner, seeing through our elaborate ruse like this." She grins at him a bit and adds with a less than innocent quirk of a brow, "Its good that you're going to go quietly. I would hate to have to attempt to restrain you in some form or fashion when we got back to our quarters..."
Bruce leans across the table, arms folded, looking intently into Henrietta's eyes with more than a measure of good humor. A bit of fear, but the sort of eager tremulence one feels on the edge of a diving board. His open face is a roadmap for Henrietta to read, no guile or hidden motivations apparent. 
"You said 'our quarters'," he points out softly, a warm affection filling his eyes. "You came to that pretty quickly. You really do care about me, don't you?" he says, soft confusion and wonder warring in his voice, along with that low tremelo of anxiety that only genuine affection can produce.
There's a little bit of something in his face that's catching. Her eyes widen just a little as he leans towards her, pursing her lips together with a little touch of something nervy and elated as she watches him. She swallows once before taking a slightly uneven breath before, in a voice that barely rises above a whisper she says, "I... do rather." 
Ra-ther. She's so terribly British in this moment, clinging to chill propriety till the very last moment. There's the smallest, oddly fragile flicker of a smile that flits across her red lips before she says in a whisper. "I love you Bruce."
Bruce swallows. His reaction is one Henrietta's seen before. Bruce is strongly considering a panicked flight into the crowd, possibly not stopping running until he's either in his quarters or New Delhi. Pupils dilate, and his pulse becomes palpable between her fingertips. 
But the good doctor marshals himself, eyes flickering left and right, and his mouth works soundlessly for a few seconds, fingers gripping Henrietta's as if physically anchoring himself to the spot, despite the rapid tap of his foot against the ground. 
"I..." He coughs and reaches for his wine, hands shaking. The prospect of inviting Henrietta to move in clearly had not put him on edge as much as the three little words she murmured to him. 
"I want... I want to say that back," Bruce says, in a low whisper. "I'd mean them, if I said them. But I know what it means to say that to someone," he says, his tone low and clearly terrified. "And I know I'm ... not exactly mister stability," he says, forcing the words out. "I'm scared that if I say... how I feel, it's going to be dangerous for you. You can always move out if you decide you don't want to be with me, anymore, and I'd understand, but I don't ... want you to get hurt when you realize how much of me really is ... the other guy," he says, in the smallest voice he's ever used around Henrietta.
She snatches his hand up from across the table after he's started to veer directly into the dense thicket of 'too many words', curling her fingers around his and looking down at their comingled fingers instead of back at his face. "Do shut up." She says, still quiet, but not unkindly. She even manages a little smile. 
"I'm sorry, Bruce. I lost my head for a moment, what with... everything." She pauses to smile over 'everything', still sweet as honey and unexpected as a unicorn trotting out of the kitchen. She's quiet a moment before she shakes her head softly again and says, "As I've said more times than I can count... I'm a big girl. I've fought off assassins and aliens and... I can certainly take care of myself. I'm not one little whit afraid. And I know what I want." 
She looks up at long last, fixing him with a level look from beneath her lashes and smiling adoringly at him. "... And that's more closet space, of course. And a bathtub. Oh, and you." She outright grins then, but looks down at their hands and... it fades. 
"You still think that I only feel... as I do... because I don't /really/ know you." It's not a question. It is, however, just a little melancholy sounding.
Bruce is very, very quiet for a moment. "Come with me," he says, quietly, tugging Henrietta's hand. He gestures at a waiter to box things up, leaving a credit card in his wake, and escorts the woman out of the restaurant, holding her hand with a quiet but firm resolution. 
He doesn't take them far, silent the entire way. Out the restaurant, around a corner, to a quiet little park that's abandoned, filled only with moonlight and a few benches. 
Bruce undoes his tie, then shucks out of his jacket and his slacks, setting them carefully aside, not quite looking at Henrietta. Without any self-consciousness, he strips down to a pair of oversized shorts, then takes a few steps away from Henrietta and turns his face skywards, looking at the full moon overhead. 
His eyes close, and the doctor takes a deep breath. His eyes close, and the startling transformation he's legendary for takes places. His voice drops to a low, angry bellow, a growl that reverberates around the garden, and his steps become clumsy as he paces forward on too-large feet, shoulders swelling and darkening in color. It's a gory, asymmetrical process, his body swelling disporportionately here and there, turning a grassy green color, shoulders and chest swelling, legs becoming as thick as tree trunks. 
Bruce is gone. The Hulk turns to face Henrietta, only a dim intelligence looking at the woman from under heavy, thick brows, his knuckles fairly dragging on the ground. 
"Hulk," he growls, lumbering a step towards the woman, towering almost seven feet tall. "Hulk here, now. Bruce sleep. Yes?" The Hulk says, as if asking Henrietta if she understands. He considers the woman, then hunkers down into a low squat, until his head is just on a level with hers, those small eyes focused on her face.
She doesn't say a word, getting up as he does and following in his wake. She keeps his hand though, keeps hold of that tether that she's lacked the last few weeks while she's been away. She knows where it leads, now more than ever, and there's not the faintest chance that she's going to let go of it. Or him. 
Out of the restaurant, into the park, her heels sticking in the turf as he leads her off the path and into the shadows of trees and brush. To talk... or, the other way, to give words a rest entirely and get lost in a tangle of limbs and lips. Though... admittedly she didn't expect clothes to be coming off /quite/ so abruptly, but... oh.
What's happening hits her in a rush, the shape of his nervousness suddenly taking on new meaning. She sucks a breath past her lips as she watches him remove the bits and bobs of his finery piece by piece. "Bruce..." She says, not out of fear for her but out of knowing how he feels about 'The Other Guy'. 
Too late. She watches the change overtake him - wincing, clutching her fingers into fists hard enough to dig furrows into her palms at each pop and snap of bone and sinew taking on new shape. It hurts to watch. It hurts even if you can't /feel/ everything the man you love beyond anything is feeling during it... only she can, of course. So it's worse. 
When his head lowers to her level, he'll see the shimmer of tears welling in her eyes, threating to crest the dam of her lashes and spill down her cheeks as she stands there, trembling ever so slightly with the enormity of it. She nods, not trusting her voice just yet. Nods that she understands. 
Its with some effort that she uncurls her fingers from her palm and, oh so tentatively, as if he were a deer that might easily start and flee, lifts a hand to tentatively brush the pads of her fingers across his green cheek.
"Bruce scared," The Hulk rumbles. He brings a single finger up and touches Henrietta's cheek, the motion awkward and far from gentle, thoughtful though it clearly is. "Hulk not scared. Hulk know," the green monster says, not flinching away from Henrietta's touch. "Hulk... not smart. Bruce smart. But Bruce dumb. 'etta good. Hulk like 'etta," the giant says, knuckling around a bit to adjust his low squat. A stone cracks under the unexpected weight, nearly a half-ton of mass resting under the ball of one foot. 
He seems to be considering something. It takes him a few minutes to find the words, struggling to assemble a sentence the way a person might work to prepare a proper speech. "Hulk always awake. Bruce sleep, but Hulk awake. Hulk know Bruce loves. But..." He shakes his head and growls once, frustrated as the words don't come to him. "Hulk not Bruce. Bruce not Hulk." He smacks his palms together, grabbing his hands and shaking them, expressing internal conflict. 
"Hulk want love 'etta too. 'Etta not know Hulk. Bruce think Hulk not good. Hulk think Bruce weak." The giant shakes his head, standing to his full height and stretching his back, muscles rippling with inhuman proportions. He glowers down at 'etta. 
"Hulk never hurt 'etta. Tell Bruce Hulk say so. Or else-" The Hulk smashes his fist into his palm with a thundercrack of sound. "Hulk get mad if Bruce no listen." He grabs Henrietta around the waist, glowering, and lifts her up to eye level. 
"Understand? Yes? Tell Bruce! 'Etta tell Bruce him stupid!" The Hulk sets Henrietta down on her feet as gently as he is able, then snorts and shakes his head. 
"Stupid, stupid Bruce." 
There's a moment of silence, then the Hulk turns away and slumps onto his butt, legs out in front of him. His eyes lid, then close, his hands in his lap. In a few seconds, his breathing becomes slow and labored, and within a minute he's asleep, and the transformation reverses itself, until Bruce is laying on the ground, near-nude and asleep, eyes fluttering as if in a dream.
The tears finally do come, trickling down her cheeks unnoticed by her as she stares at the green face she's only seen on video before. Her heart thuds frenetically in her chest but... its not fear. Not exactly, or at least not for her really. And it's a dozen, a hundred other things too. She can't entirely deny a fascination to see this part of him he's so studiously and devoutly kept from her, thinking she'd turn and flee and never look at him with anything but scorn and fear again. 
Her fingertips trace the line of his cheek, sweeping up to trail along the ridge of his pronounced brow. The answering prod, however gently intended, rocks her back on her feet for a moment. It helps, in a weird way... helps her focus on /him/ instead of just the absence of Bruce. It's mostly nerves but she even manages a slightly panicked sounding laugh amidst her tears. 
"I know." She whispers. "I can... see you there, in his face. Feel..." 
The words are ripped from her tongue with a gasp as he snatches her up in his grip, hoisting her off the ground as easily as she might a pebble. And for a moment, all her certainty of /knowing/ this and that matters not one little bit. She nods vigorously, eyes wide and tears and breath both very effectively stopped by the sudden tidal wave of adrenaline coursing through her veins. 
When he does set her down, she can't move for a long moment, sure that if she were to try and take a step her legs would give out and dump her face-first onto the grass. She watches as her boyfriend's enormous green alter-ego sulks. And settles. And sleeps. 
And then, just like that... her scientist is back. A little rumpled, but the same guy who sings Journey in his lab at the top of his lungs and watches old musicals in bed with her. A funny, strangled little noise bursts from her lips as she remembers how to use her legs, flinging herself at him and landing on her knees in the grass, wrapping her arms around him protectively and fending off fresh tears by repressing the urge to just let go of the oppressive store of emotions locked up in her chest. "Oh darling... darling..." She coos and murmurs, rasping her cheek against his.
 
"Hubbajawhu?" Bruce jerks in fits and starts, then slowly flutters awake in Henrietta's arms, looking bleary-eyed and confused. He wipes a palm across his face, then struggles to a seated position, keeping one strong hand wrapped around Henrietta's tricep. He looks her over, quickly, to make sure she's in one piece, then around the immediate area. 
"Nothing looks broken," he rasps, still trying to shake off the cobwebs. "I guess that went like I hoped it would." He passes a hand over his face, then looks at Henrietta, confusion and fear on his face. He reaches up timorously and wipes tears from her cheek, concern on his face. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" he asks, breathlessly, worry flooding his features, palpable to even someone not possessed of Henrietta's empathic gifts. "God, I am so sorry, that was such a stupid idea," he moans, putting his face in his palms. "Stupid. I am such a moron. I just wanted you- I wanted to tell you, I lo-... but... you needed to know, really know who I am, but..." He shakes his head, brow furrowed deeply in a grimace. 
"You... it's kind of a package deal," he says, sorrowfully. "You get a two for one discount. You needed- I needed you- to understand who I really am. Who the two of us are," Bruce says, fingers still moving across Henrietta's hands and her face, as if reassuring himself that she's still there. "Do you still... feel that way about me?"
She's still breathing heavily and in ragged little gasps when he has found his tongue again and starts flinging word after word at her, worrying over her and castigating himself and variations on those themes that eventually make her pale brows furrow and her liquid blue eyes grow hot. And in the great tradition of every true romance ever she finally gets 'round to cutting him off and blurting out, 
"You... great, enormous... ASS!" 
This is punctuated with her poking him in his shoulder with a finger. Jab! "Ridiculous... asinine... ass!" Poke! Poke! 
She shakes her head furiously, rearing back to sit on her heels and glare at him. "I'm /fine/. Completely fine. The park is fine. The city is fine. The /world/ is fine, or at least as fine as it was when we sat down to dinner. But you...!"
And then she's falling back atop him again, wrapping her arms fiercely around him and bowing her head towards his so that their brows scrape lightly. "I know, Bruce. Even better, I /knew/ before this. And it doesn't change a thing... I love you. I love... all of you. Every little bit. You steal the covers and talk in your sleep and share a body with someone else... and I love you." 
She cups his cheek in her hand, smoothing fingers across his now slightly pale skin and leaning in to drag her mouth across his with some urgency. "I love you both then.There. I'll take you both. Without a second thought." The words are broken up with further kisses, thoughtless and a little reckless and utterly heartfelt. She curls close to him on the grass, just needing to be as close to him as she possibly can for a moment. 
"He says you have to let him know me too. Also that you're stupid. I'm rather inclined to agree in spots, I'm afraid, Doctor Banner. You're lucky you have your good looks to fall back on."
"Ow. Ow! Ow!" Bruce falls back under that onslaught, covering his head and shoulder. "Stop poking me! Ok! Ok!" 
Bruce grabs Henrietta and holds her tight, then, as a man clings to a lifeline, and closes his eyes, listening to her murmur in his ear and accomodating her desire to hold him tight. He returns the gesture, squeezing her as closely as she holds him. 
"And my musical talents," Bruce agrees, nodding as sagely as he's able. He cups Henrietta's cheek, looking into her eyes. 
"If you'll have me... I won't lie," he murmurs, holding Henrietta's gaze. "I love you too. I have for a very long time. I think I fell in love with you the first time you held my hand and told me you accepted me for who I am. What I am. If you're ok with that, well... I'd be an idiot to let you slip through my fingers." 
There's a long, warm silence, and then Bruce shivers. "I'm mostly naked and very cold, sweetheart," he tells Henrietta. "Do you want to get our leftovers from the restaurant and head back up to my- our, room?" he asks with a warm, whimsical smile.
"Well, we can't have you catching cold." She agrees, leaning in to steal an unhurried but decidedly eager kiss from his mouth, her fingers woven into the unruly hair at the nape of his neck. "After all, we live together. You'd get germs all over my expensive shoes." A giggle... and one more slightly less patient kiss that ends in a purred "mmmmm" and she sits up with a regretful sigh.
"You'd better let me go get the leftovers and your card. And you should get dressed. Everyone already thinks I'm shameless over you. If we go back to meet transport and you're largely naked, people will assume I ravished you in the park. Which... is very tempting actually, so hop to unless you're willing to be further objectified, Doctor Banner." 
Another sigh and she's pushing herself back to her feet. And pausing to look down at him with everything thrumming through her heart writ plainly across her face.
 
"You know, I'm like... ninety-five percent sure that there's a SHIELD satellite in place right now, watching the gamma radiation spike hit the redline," Bruce comments, getting to his feet. He slips into the dress slacks and pulls his shirt on, trying to reassemble his aplomb. "I should know, I set the system up for them. Just in case," he explains. "I'll have a chat with Maria about this later. Give me five minutes to get myself pulled together?" he asks. He smiles and steps forward on bare feet to give Henrietta a warm, lingering kiss, then steps back and goes hunting for his socks and shoes, before finding a convenient bench to sit down on again while he gets dressed, as Henrietta steps off to get their meal. 
The evening hadn't quite gone as planned, certainly, but there's a deeply satisfied look on Bruce's face. He gets dressed with quite motions, bowtie dangling from his hand, and shrugs into his jacket. The mad scientist with a heart of gold looks up at the moon and smiles to himself, the expression filled with honest, heartfelt joy and a serenity long absent from his life. 
"...thanks, big guy," he murmurs, quietly, the words barely audible. His ears- only his ears- pick up a distant, approving growl, before Bruce turns and leaves the park, walking back towards the restaurant, looking a good bit more dishevelled but ten times as happy.
Category:Log