1963-12-23 - Spending the Holidays with someone you love
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bruce betty 


Bruce is seated at a white plastic table upon a white plastic chair. His thin frame is looking even more gaunt than usual and his face is now covered in a beard. His longish hair looks clean, but could be combed nevertheless. After asking for something warmer, someone stuffed him in a red, plaid, flannel shirt.

But despite looking like a hobo-lumberjack, his brown eyes are alert as he looks down at the table at a game board.

There have been no mishaps. No errors. An iv that sits next to him keeps him sedated well enough, and just in case, his heart rate is being monitored by another machine. But he doesn't care about any of that right now, because Betty's here and things are good.

*

"Check."

The single word is spoken with just a bit too much delight as Betty moves her piece into place, risking Bruce's king with impunity. She straightens in her seat and the cheeky grin that has replaced any traces of seriousness is undeniably unmissable. She always looks like that when she thinks she's winning. Whether she actually can win is anyone's guess. Formidable opponents are… well, formidable.

She leans forward in a chair that mirror's Bruce's. Her eyes trail to the walls — tape pins them in place. And whether or not Bruce asked, the pictures have changed over the days he's been in here and Peggy gave the okay. The latest was a stitch more personal; a photo of both of them some years ago. Evidently Betty is nesting in some strange way.

Her hands drop to her lap. "Gauntlet extended… is that how you use that phrase?" her nose wrinkles.

*

Bruce gets a sheepish smile across his face as she grins and gets a bit saucy with him. It always struck him that she was so good with people and so at ease and part of that made him embarrassed about his failing in those qualities, and part of that made him enamored. Bruce should be super frustrated because he is a competitive guy and he is about to lose, but he can't help but smile back at her.

"I think you've got me this time." Bruce has been a fan of all of the changes she's made. It makes him think of her, even hen she's not here, and that provides some semblance of companionship despite all of his solitude. "Thrown? I must confess I don't really know. Whatever it is, the gauntlet has definitely made an appearance."

Bruce sits back, trying to focus. He makes a move, but inside he knows it to be the beginning of the end.

*

A glimmer of mischief reflects in Betty's eyes as she leans forward even more. "Ah-ha!" she lifts a finger. "Thrown then. Gauntlet thrown!" She beams at him and then finally leans back in her seat. "I feel like that sounds right." Not that Betty knows much (or anything?) about throwing gauntlets.

That same playfulness reflects as she considers aloud, "Please don't tell me that you've thrown the game. Keep up the sport. Everyone knows losing to a super genius is better than if they let you win." She follows his move by playing another. "Check," she says again, still pleased with herself.

*

Bruce

*

Bruce Banner is about 5 foot 9 and weighs just over 120 lbs. He looks frail and sickly. His brown hair is moppish and in bad need of a cut. His angular features are often adorned with some form of facial hair through days of neglect and thick glasses.

He wears whatever clothing he can find.

*

Bruce leans back, laughs, and shakes his head. "I wish I could say that I let you put me in this position. Unfortunately, it seems as though you've done it all one your own." He sighs and rubs his beard, his bare wrists showing the bruising of where he pulled against his bonds during…well, whatever it is they did to him in the time between.

*

"That hardly seems plausible," Betty returns cheekily. If at all possible, her eyes brighten at the prospect. Evidently winning has a positive effect on the physician. Her finger steeple in front of her. But as she does so, her eyes trail to his wrists and linger a stitch too long. She breaks her gaze willfully — making a concentrated effort to not look. Playing a game in a prison makes it seem less like what it is. Bruising offers a solid call back to the reality of the situation.

*

"It's okay," Bruce says absently. "What it means is that I almost lost control, and didn't. I don't remember it, but I know if I'd gone green then I'd be out of here right now. Whatever they're doing is working." He tries to give her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Betty. I've not been this happy in a long time."

*

Betty's lips twitch with some unspoken thought never given its due. Her hands clasp together and her expression softens with the reassurance. "I know that you feel safer in here… cater… just…" her eyes train on the game "…better. But I've always believed control is in your reach." There's a long pause as she reaches across the game, "Green or not, those eyes are yours." Her eyebrows draw together.

*

Bruce reaches out to take her hand and smiles at her warmly, even rubbing her hand with his thumb. "To be honest I've been rethinking a lot of this whole Hulk thing. What if all these attempts to cure me, and to keep me from turning into him is a folly? What if the answer is for him to control him. It didn't occur to me until I was able to read the file of the most recent episode upstate."

*

A vague smile edges Betty's lips and she hmmms quietly. "What happened upstate? And … what do you mean, exactly?" The touch, however, does seem to work some semblance of magic, prompting a warmer smile and a nod, "I don't think he wants to hurt anyone. Not really. I mean, he's angry, and obviously capable of some pretty extraordinary… feats. But you're still in there."

*

"Well, what I mean is that it seems he can reason. If you read the report, he stopped what he was doing when he found someone he trusted. He pleaded with her. And then he calmed down," Bruce sighs. "Maybe what the Hulk wants is what everyone wants. To be heard, to be considered, and to be loved."

*

Pause.

*

"That sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

*

Betty squeezes Bruce's hand and shakes her head. "Not at all." Her eyebrows lift and her head cants to the side. Dark eyes flicker with obvious consideration, and she replies, "There's a lot science can explain, but what people basically want, what they need," her lips hitch up on one side, "that seems relatively universal. Why wouldn't he want it?"

*

"I don't know. But when you're out of answers you need to start changing the questions," Bruce reasons. He uses the hand that's not holding hers to move his piece.

*

Betty's teeth play at her bottom lip. She slowly moves her piece, and leans back in her seat, "Checkmate," she offers. Although there's little doubt that she could be wrong about that. She's not paying much attention to the game anymore. "If it helps at all, I'm not afraid of him. I mean," her eyes turn up to the ceiling, "maybe I should be but," her head shakes. "You're you. You would never hurt me on purpose. I don't think he would either."

*

Bruce exhales, knowing he lost, but he puts it on pause as his eyes draw upwards to meet hers. "I don't think he would either. But, on the other hand, that's not something you want to be wrong about." He looks down and exhales again, "You win. I really should not have moved my rook like that."

*

Betty's lips purse. "It begs questions then, doesn't it? Does he reactive way he does because people," who probably won't stay named for long, "aggravate the issue? I mean, you continue to be one of the leading minds of our time. You have plenty to offer anyone, but you were chased for years because of him… because of," her eyebrows knit together tightly, "…some people's desire for him. To recreate him and what he was and weaponize that." Her eyes maintain that eye contact, "If I was always hunted, I'm not sure I'd be very friendly either."

*

"I don't know. And I don't know if he even realizes that, and I'm not sure I ever will. I just know that there needs to be some sort of change in things because the status quo is not sustainable. I'm fairly sure I cannot be killed and cannot be contained." He shrugs, "In truth, SHIELD here has done the best job of containing me so far. It's a credit to them."

*

"You're contained because you want to be," Betty suggests in turn. "You surrendered yourself. Peggy is," her smile grows, "great. She's kind, and she's been a good friend to me ever since I left…" She inhales a sharp breath and her gaze flits to the game board. "As I'm sure you've deduced the General and I had a rather…" her lips purse "…animated…" she cringes "…falling out." Her jaw tightens. "Peggy offered me a place here days later. We'd become acquainted briefly because of my work with the DoD." Betty shrugs, "She's good people. She has a good heart and a keen mind. She strategizes government bodies like a chessboard and negotiates both the politics and security needs in a way I don't think many could…"

*

"I agree. And I trust her. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do. And I think that makes a big difference." Bruce looks at Betty with a tilted head, "Do you want to talk about it? The falling out with your father, I mean."

*

A smirk tugs at Betty's features. "I'm pretty sure everyone I know has Daddy issues. Mine just happen to revolve around his work and severely divergent ethics when it comes to…" her gaze shifts to the ceiling "…everything." Her smile softens, "I suppose some of us can continue in relative naivety." The smile slowly fades. "The last words he spoke to me said as much. He called me a 'spoiled, petulant idealist flower child' who had no capacity or ability to understand the real world." She offers him a one-shouldered shrug, "Things were always strained. In a way not-talking was easier than the forced conversation we engaged in around the holidays and his presumed family suppers."

*

Bruce shakes his head once, "I know you know this but that's not true. What he said, it's not true. And if it was, it would be his fault, given that he is the one who raised you. But I get the feeling that the General is really about putting blame elsewhere." He gives a weak smile, "Thanks for being around, even though it's the holidays."

*

Betty's smile turns lopsided, "Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you?" Her eyes narrow slightly and that playfulness returns to her gaze. "Some silly holiday isn't going to keep me away." The mischief, however, drains from her face, and her tone becomes serious as she gives Bruce's hand another squeeze. "I'd rather be here." There's a long pause and she whispers, "You know that, don't you?" Her eyes stare up at Bruce's once more. "Being away from you… it… my heart ached."

*

"I know. And I've struggled with that. There have been times when I wish you'd have gotten rid of me a long time ago. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't need you. That's not to say that's the only reason I'm happy you're here right now. I think you know how I feel."

*

"Do you need me?" Betty asks warily. "I want to be here. I want to be with you. Bruce…" her eyes blink hard. She swallows equally hard. "I…" her cheeks flush a pale pink. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather be anywhere with." Her lips edge upwards into a bittersweet smile. "I just wish we hadn't lost so much time."

*

"Of course I do," Bruce says as he smiles. He reaches to take her elbow and pull her towards him. "It's not like we're 80. We have plenty of time."

*

Betty is easily drawn towards Bruce, and she chuckles at the last. "Do we? I always feel like life is moving a million miles a minute and I somehow need to catch up."

*

"Well, that's just relativity. We're getting older and older by the minute so, in turn, each minute." Bruce leans in to kiss her. "Seems like it's going quicker and qui…"

"Dr. Banner," interrupts a SHIELD agent who clearly wasn't there outside the cell just a moment ago.

"It's time for the tests."

Bruce sighs a bit and nods, "I'll be there in a moment."

"Dr. Galveston was adamant that you were to come now."

*

As Bruce leans, Betty leans, but the interruption prompts her chin to drop to her chest. Her cheeks flush brightly at the agent's voice. But, despite her instincts and emotions, she forces her gaze upwards to meet Bruce's once more. She leans forward to lightly brush her lips against his cheek. "You should go," she whispers quietly. "I'll be here later. I'll do a little work, check in with some patients…" her grin broadens and then she shrugs. "I'm not going anywhere. Not really."

*

Bruce looks down at her and squeezes her middle with his arm. "I'll be back soon. I love you."

But without waiting for a response, he makes to leave the cell.

*

And with Bruce's words, Betty blinks owlishly several beats. As he begins to tread from the cell, she slides off the chair, and trails after him. If she manages to close the distance, her arms reach around him from behind, but even if she doesn't manage to catch up, four words echo down the hall — professional or not, "I love you too!"

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