p • r • e • s • s • u • r • e

pansies

"...dropped my earpiece."

"It's got a microphone."

Tony bit his lip.

"Huh. So it does."

He doesn't say anything for a decent amount of time. 

"Tony...did you beat the shit out of yourself with a suit?"

He gulped, if only to whack his heart back into place as it tried to launch itself from his throat. 

"I don't know why I've never said it, but I'm sorry I wasn't able to get to you in time whenever the Other Guy went all Wreck-it-Ralph on the city. That must have been tough to deal with."

"t's fine."

"Mm."

Bruce was trying very hard not to smile. He covered his mouth a little. 

"What?" said Tony. 

"Nothing, just-nothing." he smirked. 

"W-seriously, what. Spill it, broccoli brain."

"It's just-Tony Stark, king of facetious pop culture references, just invoked the main character of an animated children's movie from 2012."

"Gimme a break, I have kids."

There was a pause. 

"Do they know." said Tony. 

"...Yeah."

The engineer grimaced. 

"Why, pray tell?"

"You try dragging a leaky hundred-and-eighty pound bag of wet potatoes down the stairs and into an elevator."

Tony shrugged. "I've been called worse. Do the press-?"

"No, we had a guy from SHIELD come down to the medbay."

"Because SHIELD just so trustworthy."

"Would you rather I just left you??"

Shit. 

Oh, shit. 

Fuuuck. 

Because maybe he did. 

There was something dangerous in the way Bruce was watching him. He felt like a mouse to an eagle, hiding in the brush, knowing he was exposed with nowhere to run.

Gently, Bruce closed his book and swallowed. He'd seen. 

"Tony-" he began, cautious and terrified. 

Tony cracked a grin. 

"I'd totally haunt you. And I'm an asshole. And you, my friend, have a chemistry lab and a temper."

He heaved himself out of bed and Banner stayed right where he was; Tony could tell from his eye movement that he was speedreading through the rest of the chapter.

Snagging a Rage Against the Machine shirt from his closet (no, the irony was not lost on him, and he pointed it out to people every time he wore it. It was, perhaps, the next step in the evolution of dad jokes), Tony stalked off to his en suite bathroom to change.

He tried to remove his shirt, pulling the thing this way and that but his cast got in the way and he was just too damn sore to move properly. He slumped onto the toilet seat for a brief respite, to catch his breath and wait for the dizziness to fade. He stood and tried again, stumbling into the wall. His entire face was covered now. 

There came a knock. 

"You okay in there?"

Tony panted.

"Mhmm."

"You sure?"

He sighed, swallowing his pride. 

"I erm..."

"...need a hand?"

"Yeah."

"I'm coming in."

Tony backed blindly away from where he thought the door was and waited with his hands-well, hand-on his hip, tufts of hair sticking out the short sleeve that hovered over his head like a hat. 

"I can hear you smiling," he muttered. 

"No idea what you're talking about." Bruce took the hem of the shirt and guided his arm through the sleeve. 

"Don't be an asshole."

"I'm not, I get it. Shirts are hard. Lotta holes." 

Tony huffed. 

"I hate you."

It slid over his head and Bruce guided it around the cast and dropped it into the dirty clothes hamper by the sink. He turned around and nearly walked into Tony, who was making a rather strange expression at the mirror, twisting and turning and looking over his shoulder at his back. It wasn't confusion, but there was surprise there. Pride, even. 

Bruce hadn't seen him since the bruises developed. He carried Tony's injures on a paper in his pocket, he hadn't seen them on his skin. 

"Huh." said Tony, plainly. 

There were few words Bruce could think to say and he was unsuccessful in getting his mouth around the few that he did. 

On his stomach was a spot that was dark purple, and Bruce wasn't sure why that was significant. 

Morgan loves pansies.

"Well." 

"Tony, don't ever do something like this. Never, ever again."

He just stared at his feet. What was there to say?

"You can't keep breaking," Bruce whispered, helping him into a clean shirt. 

"I know," murmured Tony. "I know."

Tony splashed his face with water as Bruce's receding footsteps echoed off the walls. He made a feeble attempt to force his hair into some cohesive shape, shoved his feet into slippers and met him at the door.

"You ready?" 

"Yeahp."

He coughed, plastered on a smile and slid past Bruce out the door. He paused at the top of the staircase, hand on the banister and looked up. 

"Thank you," he said, with eyes full of vulnerability and the warmest feeling seemed to illuminate his face. 

And then it was gone, he thundered down the stairs. 

"Hey assholes, I'm back. Let the celebrations commence."

Bruce ran back in and grabbed his book from the foot of the bed. He turned around and he realised-between the doors of Tony's and Pepper's closets was a bit of wall, and on that wall was a hook, and on that hook, behind a layer of plastic and under a little paper that read "We ❤️ Our Customers"  hung an evening gown of dark purple silk. Pansy purple.