Status: Bruce Banner: You might not like that. Tony Stark: You just might.
The Science of Monsters
This Better be Good, Anthony Stark!
Sunlight doused the room where I found myself. A purple duvet and white sheets surrounded me in a sea of softness and scents like lavender and violets. Stretching beneath the blankets, I realized someone undressed me before they put me into this lavish bed. I groaned and sneered at the thought of Fury handling my body. Romanov, with any luck, must’ve been behind this room change, and my lack of clothes.
“Good morning, Madam. The weather is a cozy 75 degrees with prospects of a perfect, sunny day.” A familiar man’s voice filled the room, but I couldn't quite place it. My heart pounded in my chest while my hands clamped the sheets.
“Um…”
“I have alerted Mr. Stark of your state. The bath is to your left. Shall I start the warm water?”
“Who the hell is talking?” I blurted.
“Manners would be appropriate.” I imagined a British butler rolling his eyes before stifling a laugh. “I am Jarvis. I run the Stark household and industry. Welcome to our Malibu residence.”
“Okay.” I nodded while slowly kicking my legs over the side of the bed. “So I am in the Stark residence,” I mimicked the voice. Water rushed in the room adjacent to the bed. “It’s hot right?” I looked toward the ceiling. Why couldn’t there just be a person.
“Yes, on both accounts. There will be clothes laid out for you, but Mr. Stark asks that you be ready in an hour.”
“Ready?” The water stopped. “I just woke up from…how long have I been asleep?”
“Roughly three and a half days. Apparently, you are not to be left alone just yet and he has a dinner.”
“What about his girlfriend? Can’t she go in my place? You can watch me right.”
“No.”
I gasped at the brash voice. Dinner with Stark? My day just got a hell of a lot worse.
Bruce sat in the cold office, wishing for a place filled with warmth. A place that became home, even if it was for a short while, haunted his memory. Betty read the research silently. Checking over every inch of his work, she realized he didn’t lose his touch. All those years on the run made him more efficient, more detailed, if anything. She noticed his eyes glazing over while he pretended to read. Hissing startled her from her thoughts and the papers in her hand. Bruce didn’t think twice about moving from his seat, checking the monitor, and going to fix one of the many tubes that leaked again.
“What does that go to?” She asked, her black wire rimmed glasses falling down her nose while stealing glances at him. His hair turned slightly gray around his temples, his skin was tanner than she remembered, and he seemed less clumsy, more deliberate.
“The oxygen tank.” Bruce coiled the boring gray insulated duct tape around the same boring colored pipe. He thought suddenly of the girl he rescued. She seemed like a lifetime ago, but he wanted to acknowledge her in this moment. He wanted to remember the way Scarlett made him laugh. “You know,” he stated matter-of-factly while a grin played on his lips, “it connects to the thing that makes the containment room go ‘whoosh’ before you go in to see Patient 715340.” The grin no longer played, but shown outright. It felt good to smile playfully for a moment, until he saw Betty’s face.
“That is the most absurd thing you’ve ever said, and it sounded so childish.” She furrowed her brow and glared at him. If her hands would’ve been free she would’ve placed both on her hips and made him feel like a naughty child.
“I thought it was funny.” He rolled his eyes finished taping the pipe and returned to his seat. “I reduced his doses by ten percent. He’s still getting sick with no signs that the virus is gone.”
“What’s your time limit?” She slid her glasses higher on her nose as she turned back to the paper work.
He flipped through the chart on his desk, “four days ago.”
“That’s got to be progress,” she stated before getting up and heading over to a large screen. It was almost like a television screen except she wasn’t watching a movie. Betty watched a man who grew scales in the last two weeks shed another layer of skin before fighting a round of coughing spells. He scratched his arms with metallic claws until there was blood everywhere.
Bruce sighed. “The medication is making him itch. So I lowered the dose. The itching got worse. Tell me what my next step is?” He ran through his charts again before taking off his lab coat. “I have to clean this up.”
“You shouldn’t go in there right now, Bruce.” Betty partially scolded him. Something inside her feared for his life even though she knew that wasn’t her place anymore. She cringed as Bruce laughed bitterly.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” The frown that crossed his lips made Betty want to apologize for every wrong thing she’d done to him, which in retrospect seemed like a long list leading back to her father. She wouldn’t apologize though. Apologies meant that she was wrong, but she knew better. Betty only wanted to help him, and the only way to do that at the time was going to General Ross.
“You could contract the contagion.” Betty stood leaving the files she reviewed laying on the table. She put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot like a disappointed teacher.
“Yeah, right.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “The radiation inside me would kill any contagion within milliseconds.” He turned away from her without bothering to acknowledge her disappointment and her frustration. “You lost the privilege to care about my wellbeing a long time ago, Betty, when you handed me over for testing. Don’t act like you give a damn now.”
“God no!” Tony hissed. “I don’t want to go to that! Please, Pepper, can I just stay here and isolate the…” He stopped talking as soon as he saw the rage in her eyes. Sparks still illuminated her chocolate eyes even though Extremis was long gone from her system. Almost a month ago, Tony Stark single handedly found a cure for the devastating virus and gave it to all of Killian’s experiments that were still alive. All but one.
“You are going, Tony!” She stated before pulling her hair back into a messy bun. “I’ve already pick our color scheme and everything. You are not going to bury yourself in science because you promised me!”
“But…”
“Tony Stark!”
“Okay.” He gave in and smiled at her. His smile had to be the thing that Pepper loved most about him. Or else she would’ve strangled him in his sleep a long time ago.
“Good. Now, wear the black suit with the burgundy shirt and the dark red tie with the gray pinstripes. That should match my…” She trailed off looking toward the top of the stairs.
“Um, this is what you expect me to wear around here?” Scarlett scowled. “I am not some beauty pageant knock off. Hello, have you met me?”
“Tony… That’s my…” Panic filled Pepper all at once. “Get out of my dress!” She screamed.
“Gladly, lady.” Scarlett unzipped the back of the dress and hung it over the railing. “I’m more comfortable this way, anyway.”
Pepper gasped. Tony fought to hide his laugher. Scarlett glared at them all. “The computer thing said to be ready in an hour for dinner. I ain’t going. Take me back, Stark. I’d rather be sick all day than cooped up in a place like this.” Scarlett growled. “I’m from a town that’s smaller than this house, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to keep me locked…”
“Shut up!” Tony shouted. “I liked you better when you didn’t talk! Jeez!” He stood and touched Pepper on the shoulder. She shrugged him off while glaring. “Jarvis got mixed up, is all. He does that during update times. Your clothes, I’m sure are in Pepper’s room. Right, so just go get your dress, sweetheart, and give her the clothes in your room.”
"Oh my god!" Scarlett gasped! "That's Jarvis? He sounds so much different when..."
“Why is she here, Tony?” Pepper scoffed as she cut the glowing woman with the midnight tangles off.
“She’s a victim of Extremis. I’m dealing with it.”
“No, no you did not just say I’m being dealt with,” Scarlett yelled. “I said I wanted to go home. This is not my home!”
“And that warehouse wasn’t your home either,” Tony snapped. Pepper turned wide eyed toward him.
“I can explain everything,” Tony whispered.
“Oh! This better be good, Anthony Stark!”
“Good morning, Madam. The weather is a cozy 75 degrees with prospects of a perfect, sunny day.” A familiar man’s voice filled the room, but I couldn't quite place it. My heart pounded in my chest while my hands clamped the sheets.
“Um…”
“I have alerted Mr. Stark of your state. The bath is to your left. Shall I start the warm water?”
“Who the hell is talking?” I blurted.
“Manners would be appropriate.” I imagined a British butler rolling his eyes before stifling a laugh. “I am Jarvis. I run the Stark household and industry. Welcome to our Malibu residence.”
“Okay.” I nodded while slowly kicking my legs over the side of the bed. “So I am in the Stark residence,” I mimicked the voice. Water rushed in the room adjacent to the bed. “It’s hot right?” I looked toward the ceiling. Why couldn’t there just be a person.
“Yes, on both accounts. There will be clothes laid out for you, but Mr. Stark asks that you be ready in an hour.”
“Ready?” The water stopped. “I just woke up from…how long have I been asleep?”
“Roughly three and a half days. Apparently, you are not to be left alone just yet and he has a dinner.”
“What about his girlfriend? Can’t she go in my place? You can watch me right.”
“No.”
I gasped at the brash voice. Dinner with Stark? My day just got a hell of a lot worse.
Bruce sat in the cold office, wishing for a place filled with warmth. A place that became home, even if it was for a short while, haunted his memory. Betty read the research silently. Checking over every inch of his work, she realized he didn’t lose his touch. All those years on the run made him more efficient, more detailed, if anything. She noticed his eyes glazing over while he pretended to read. Hissing startled her from her thoughts and the papers in her hand. Bruce didn’t think twice about moving from his seat, checking the monitor, and going to fix one of the many tubes that leaked again.
“What does that go to?” She asked, her black wire rimmed glasses falling down her nose while stealing glances at him. His hair turned slightly gray around his temples, his skin was tanner than she remembered, and he seemed less clumsy, more deliberate.
“The oxygen tank.” Bruce coiled the boring gray insulated duct tape around the same boring colored pipe. He thought suddenly of the girl he rescued. She seemed like a lifetime ago, but he wanted to acknowledge her in this moment. He wanted to remember the way Scarlett made him laugh. “You know,” he stated matter-of-factly while a grin played on his lips, “it connects to the thing that makes the containment room go ‘whoosh’ before you go in to see Patient 715340.” The grin no longer played, but shown outright. It felt good to smile playfully for a moment, until he saw Betty’s face.
“That is the most absurd thing you’ve ever said, and it sounded so childish.” She furrowed her brow and glared at him. If her hands would’ve been free she would’ve placed both on her hips and made him feel like a naughty child.
“I thought it was funny.” He rolled his eyes finished taping the pipe and returned to his seat. “I reduced his doses by ten percent. He’s still getting sick with no signs that the virus is gone.”
“What’s your time limit?” She slid her glasses higher on her nose as she turned back to the paper work.
He flipped through the chart on his desk, “four days ago.”
“That’s got to be progress,” she stated before getting up and heading over to a large screen. It was almost like a television screen except she wasn’t watching a movie. Betty watched a man who grew scales in the last two weeks shed another layer of skin before fighting a round of coughing spells. He scratched his arms with metallic claws until there was blood everywhere.
Bruce sighed. “The medication is making him itch. So I lowered the dose. The itching got worse. Tell me what my next step is?” He ran through his charts again before taking off his lab coat. “I have to clean this up.”
“You shouldn’t go in there right now, Bruce.” Betty partially scolded him. Something inside her feared for his life even though she knew that wasn’t her place anymore. She cringed as Bruce laughed bitterly.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” The frown that crossed his lips made Betty want to apologize for every wrong thing she’d done to him, which in retrospect seemed like a long list leading back to her father. She wouldn’t apologize though. Apologies meant that she was wrong, but she knew better. Betty only wanted to help him, and the only way to do that at the time was going to General Ross.
“You could contract the contagion.” Betty stood leaving the files she reviewed laying on the table. She put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot like a disappointed teacher.
“Yeah, right.” Bruce rolled his eyes. “The radiation inside me would kill any contagion within milliseconds.” He turned away from her without bothering to acknowledge her disappointment and her frustration. “You lost the privilege to care about my wellbeing a long time ago, Betty, when you handed me over for testing. Don’t act like you give a damn now.”
“God no!” Tony hissed. “I don’t want to go to that! Please, Pepper, can I just stay here and isolate the…” He stopped talking as soon as he saw the rage in her eyes. Sparks still illuminated her chocolate eyes even though Extremis was long gone from her system. Almost a month ago, Tony Stark single handedly found a cure for the devastating virus and gave it to all of Killian’s experiments that were still alive. All but one.
“You are going, Tony!” She stated before pulling her hair back into a messy bun. “I’ve already pick our color scheme and everything. You are not going to bury yourself in science because you promised me!”
“But…”
“Tony Stark!”
“Okay.” He gave in and smiled at her. His smile had to be the thing that Pepper loved most about him. Or else she would’ve strangled him in his sleep a long time ago.
“Good. Now, wear the black suit with the burgundy shirt and the dark red tie with the gray pinstripes. That should match my…” She trailed off looking toward the top of the stairs.
“Um, this is what you expect me to wear around here?” Scarlett scowled. “I am not some beauty pageant knock off. Hello, have you met me?”
“Tony… That’s my…” Panic filled Pepper all at once. “Get out of my dress!” She screamed.
“Gladly, lady.” Scarlett unzipped the back of the dress and hung it over the railing. “I’m more comfortable this way, anyway.”
Pepper gasped. Tony fought to hide his laugher. Scarlett glared at them all. “The computer thing said to be ready in an hour for dinner. I ain’t going. Take me back, Stark. I’d rather be sick all day than cooped up in a place like this.” Scarlett growled. “I’m from a town that’s smaller than this house, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to keep me locked…”
“Shut up!” Tony shouted. “I liked you better when you didn’t talk! Jeez!” He stood and touched Pepper on the shoulder. She shrugged him off while glaring. “Jarvis got mixed up, is all. He does that during update times. Your clothes, I’m sure are in Pepper’s room. Right, so just go get your dress, sweetheart, and give her the clothes in your room.”
"Oh my god!" Scarlett gasped! "That's Jarvis? He sounds so much different when..."
“Why is she here, Tony?” Pepper scoffed as she cut the glowing woman with the midnight tangles off.
“She’s a victim of Extremis. I’m dealing with it.”
“No, no you did not just say I’m being dealt with,” Scarlett yelled. “I said I wanted to go home. This is not my home!”
“And that warehouse wasn’t your home either,” Tony snapped. Pepper turned wide eyed toward him.
“I can explain everything,” Tony whispered.
“Oh! This better be good, Anthony Stark!”
♠ ♠ ♠
So I know this chapter is going to be a little confusing because it kind of has three points of view. The first is Scarlett's, the second is Bruce's, and the third is Tony's. After this I'll try to limit the sections to just Scarlett and Bruce's pov's. But here you go.
