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“This is boring.”
“You promised.”
“That was before I knew it was boring.”
With a sigh, Bruce opened his eyes, promptly narrowing them at Tony. “The only reason I let you come back to New York was because you agreed to this.”
Tony narrowed his eyes right back at Bruce, sitting there in a pair of loose fitting track pants and no shirt, as idiosyncratic a sight as Bruce had ever seen, neatly folded into a Lotus on the yoga mat across from him and scowling like a cranky ten year old boy.
“I drew a conclusion without having all of the data. I do that, in case you haven’t noticed.” Tony groused, then scowled down at his feet instead of scowling at Bruce. “I feel ridiculous.”
“You shouldn’t. Frankly, I’m impressed you could manage a Lotus.” Bruce admitted with a smile, in spite of his annoyance.
Tony had the decency to look mildly chastened by Bruce’s incredulity. Lowering his gaze, he picked at the cuff of his pants petulantly.
“So I dated a few yoga teachers? So what?” he muttered. “I work out.”
Yeah, I noticed. Bruce thought silently to himself, closing his eyes with a smile so he didn’t get caught staring. He tipped his face up into the warmth of the sun shining down on the balcony where they sat, just at the edge of the landing platform Tony used in the Iron Man suit. It had been two weeks since the surgery, and they’d left Malibu just a couple days before, with Tony’s condition still in question. He was healing nicely, heart pumping merrily away and his modified chestplate working without a hitch. He was safe from the shrapnel, safe from another cardiac episode, and the scarring would be minimal.
He was not, however, safe from himself. He wasn’t giving his body time to recover, keeping odd hours, drinking too much coffee, and sacrificing sleep. The end result had Tony still weak and suffering from intermittent bouts of vertigo, and Bruce was still close to hospitalizing Tony against his will. If not for a visit from Pepper not long before their departure, dropping a gentle suggestion that Bruce take advantage of his position as Tony’s research partner, he probably would have.
Bruce still wasn’t sure what she’d meant, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that strange, knowing smile she’d given him, but Bruce found a back door in bargaining with Tony. He’d bitched, complained, and tried to duck out at least twice every day before their scheduled meditation sessions...but he’d agreed: Bruce would clear him medically if he agreed to sit down with Bruce one hour every day, minimum.
“Are you meditating or thinking?”
Bruce blinked into the sun, facing Tony again as he lowered his head, his thoughts staggering abruptly back into the present. “What?”
“It’s hard to tell. You’re the same both ways, you just move more when you’re thinking. Sometimes.” Tony explained, gesturing vaguely at Bruce. “You get that...vibe.”
“What vibe?”
“You know the one.”
“Would I be asking if I did?”
He watched Tony roll his eyes, but there was some deliberate hesitation there that Bruce found strangely intriguing, like somehow this question was his way of sharing some deep, dark secret the rest of the world wasn’t privy to. The silence stretched on, and Bruce found himself growing genuinely curious. There was something there...
Moving off his mat, he scooted closer to Tony, eyes never leaving his face, not stopping until their knees were touching. Tony’s gaze moved to where their legs met, then went back to Bruce’s face. Natasha had pointed out how particular Tony was about physical contact, and Bruce had become more aware of how choosy Tony was about touching others, being touched in return...he always had to be the one to reach out first, but there were exceptions, like Pepper. For some reason Bruce still couldn’t fathom, Tony had made him an exception as well...and he wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with Pepper’s knowing smile or not.
“Tony?” he prompted gently, watching his gaze fall away again, the cuff of those track pants entrancing him as he avoided eye contact.
“When I’m thinking, it’s in...machine parts.” Tony admitted after a second...soft, secret. “It’s mechanical. Wheels and cogs, fuel and...nevermind. It’s stupid.”
“Am I laughing?”
He looked up at that, and though his features were the perfect mask of casual derision and easygoing disdain, something in his gaze cut Bruce to the core. It was eerily like the look he got from Tony in the lab just before Bruce hit him, when he could only see Tony through a haze of green and mindless rage fueled by a fear that Bruce wasn’t comfortable touching on. He looked scared and desperate and annoyed only because he thought he needed to be...he looked like he needed Bruce to listen, but was certain he never would.
“Tony.” He repeated, a quiet exhale of his name, reaching across the space between them for Tony’s hand. He let his fingers settle against his wrist without thinking, seeking out his pulse, making sure his heart was still beating properly, the steady rhythm of life uninhibited by any complications from the new chest plate.
Tony took a deep, shaky breath, and flexed the fingers of his captured hand restlessly.
“When I’m thinking, it’s...it’s noisy. Messy. When you do it...” Tony trailed off, his hand tugging lightly against Bruce’s grip as he reflexively tried to gesture, held still by the steady touch of fingers resting against his pulse.
“It’s...quiet.” Bruce realized. It was strange, but he sort of understood. Working with Tony, sometimes he could almost hear that cacophony in his head, steam spurting and mighty turbines firing...a messy, noisy, dirty machine that could move mountains with a thought and topple civilizations with a mere consideration. That was Tony in a nutshell, a powerful machine that ran a constant threat of destroying itself without somewhere to focus its limitless energy.
Something lit in Tony’s eyes, hearing Bruce say it aloud, and he nodded, the tiny motion of a child’s head bobbing up and down when, shockingly, an adult got it right. It was a moment of understanding that felt so painfully intimate...even more than confessing their nightmares in the dim light of the lab, even more than operating on a man already so broken, it terrified him to reach any further in to try and make things right.
Impulsively, Bruce took the hand he still held and brought Tony’s fingers to Bruce’s wrist.
“Banner, what the--”
“Can you feel my pulse?”
“What?”
“My pulse, can you feel it?”
“I...not really.”
Shifting, Bruce drew Ton’s fingers to his neck, pressing them into his carotid artery. “How about now?”
“No...yes. Yeah, I feel that. Why? What are you doing?”
“Focus on it and close your eyes.”
Tony rolled his eyes instead. “Okay, I’m not going to try and dive into your belly button any more than I’m gonna dive into mine. And I’m not chanting--”
“Just before I settled in Calcutta, I met a guru while I was traveling through India. You’d have liked him.” Bruce explained, cutting Tony off and holding his gaze while he tried to regulate his own breathing. It wasn’t an easy task, but he wanted to see if this would work. “When I told him who I used to be, he was happier than I expected a holy man to be. He said that scientists were wise men, just using the wrong instrument to unlock the mysteries of the universe. He compared the human body to a machine, and the pulse...he taught me a technique where you can synchronize your heartbeat with someone else’s, and it’s challenging for a beginner, but for you? I think it could work.”
Tony squinted at him, and Bruce had to fight not to laugh through a full minute of that silent, exaggerated scrutiny.
“Do I have to breathe weird?”
“No.”
“...no stupid mantras?”
“None.”
“What did he compare the pulse to?”
“I’ll tell you if you cooperate.”
He squinted again, but finally Tony heaved a sigh and shut his eyes. “If you make me look stupid or try to make me go on bedrest again, I’m going to spit on you. Fine, whatever, what do I do?”
“Try not to think. I know it’s hard, but try. Focus on my pulse, try to hear it in your head instead of anything else. Compare it to your own, think about what it’s doing, but don’t talk, and don’t think about anything else except for my heart and yours. Make the heartbeat everything.”
“How do I do that?”
Bruce was feeling that first edge of frustration again, but he quashed it.
“The machine, Tony...the human body is a machine, and the heart is the power source. Try to understand it.”
Tony’s eyes opened, and for a second he just stared at Bruce in a way that made him feel...giddy was the only word. It was blank and innocent and struck, like Tony had never considered doing that before, or thinking of an organic structure in quite that way. He never considered, not really, that his own body could be something worth treating with the same reverence and fascination as he did every other gadget he encountered...
Raising an eyebrow, Tony shut his eyes again, and as Bruce watched, honestly attempted to do as he was told this time.
Bruce wanted nothing more than to watch Tony, keep an eye on him...see if it worked, but he knew better. And he had, after all, had his fill of basically watching Tony sleep already...that, and other things...
“Bruce?...”
Realizing his heart rate was increasing, and pleased that Tony felt it, Bruce shut his eyes and kept hold of Tony’s wrist while his other hand reached for Tony’s, finding the pulse in his wrist.
“I’m fine. Keep going. No talking.”
Bruce let himself sink easily into the steady thump of his own heart and Tony’s, letting it wipe out everything. The worry for Tony, the stress of work, the confusion their relationship brought, the knowing looks and smiles from the rest of the team...or at least Natasha and Pepper...
...that moment when Tony fell asleep, the feel of dry, feverish skin against his mouth...
Refocusing, Bruce tried to regulate his breathing to match Tony’s heartbeat, and fell back easily into meditation. For a long while, nothing existed but two hearts, and after an undetermined amount of time, the simple, blissful shock of finding synchronicity as their pulses fell into a matching rhythm. Bruce rode that high for what seemed like moments before he let himself come up for air, opening his eyes to see Tony still sitting there, eyes not just shut, but fluttering beneath his lids.
At some point, their hands had fallen to their knees, fingers locked. He knew Tony was under, and not asleep, because he was holding onto Bruce for dear life.
“Tony.” Bruce called softly, squeezing his fingers gently. “Wake up...c’mon, come back, Tony...”
When he didn’t respond, carefully, Bruce worked one hand free and reached up to lay a hand against Tony’s neck. The touch seemed to help, and slowly his eyes stilled, then his breathing changed, hitching and growing shallow again.
“That’s it...keep breathing, slow and deep...”
A couple of more breaths, and Tony was opening his eyes again, blinking owlishly with a fuzzy, dazed expression that made Bruce’s chest tight. There was a flash of fear and confusion, but it faded as he focused on Bruce’s face with a deep, shaky sigh.
“That was...” He trailed off, reaching up with his free hand to scrub it briskly over his face. “How long?...”
Bruce glanced up. “JARVIS?”
“It has been exactly one hour, fifteen minutes, and seventeen seconds since your session began.” JARVIS replied evenly, his synthetic voice strangely tinny coming from the speakers on the balcony.
Tony shook his head with another heavy breath. “I haven’t slept that good in years.”
“Meditation can be as good as sleep, if you know what you’re doing.” Bruce laughed, thumb straying absently over the juncture between Tony’s jaw and his earlobe.
Tony smiled, growing suddenly, strangely still.
“You promised to tell me what the guru compared your pulse to.”
Bruce’s smile grew as he shook his head. He wasn’t surprised: clearly they still had some work to do.
“He compared it to the sound of an engine...the source of the soul.” He replied. “He said that’s why children are soothed by a mother’s heartbeat, why lovers sleep with their head on the chest of another. Your heartbeat is your life...he said it’s the most intimate thing you can share with another person.”
The slow smile that spread across Tony’s face at that moment was too quick, too confident, and Bruce found himself strangely afraid for some reason.
“Just checking.” Tony replied with a little nod. Abruptly, he shifted and got to his feet, extending a hand to Bruce...and Bruce was almost disappointed in a way he couldn’t quite name as he ignored Tony’s hand with a pointed look, getting to his feet on his own.
“This is just the first step, you’re not off the hook--”
As he straightened and turned around, Tony kissed him.
For a second, Bruce could only stand there, stunned and slackjawed, a thing Tony took advantage of to deepen the kiss. His hands rested on Bruce’s shoulders, and Bruce’s hands lifted reflexively to curl over Tony’s forearms, intending to yank him away and unable to muster the will to do so. It was hard to try and push...but it was easy to let his hands drift over those arms, solid and lean and sculpted, over his shoulders and neck and up into his hair, to hold him there...to kiss him back...
It was natural to shut his eyes, to tip his head, to taste him...it was as natural as breathing to pull him close, easy as a heartbeat to sink into the sensation...
As his pulse began to race, Bruce broke the kiss and shook his head.
“Tony...I can’t. I...he...”
Tony instantly brought Bruce’s hand to the pulse in his neck, held his fingers there with a firm grip as he held Bruce’s gaze.
“You’re fine.” He assured him with a smile. “Keep going. No talking.”
Bruce was afraid as Tony kissed him again, a deliberate and slow tangle of lips and tongues, a warm slide of hands against his neck and in his hair...natural as breathing, easy as a heartbeat. There was nothing else, he didn’t push...it was a kiss, and even as it made Bruce’s heart race, it also made something deeper in him throb with a dull ache he hadn’t been aware of until that moment.
He marveled, as he let Tony Stark kiss him, as he kissed Tony back, that until he had to fix Tony Stark’s heart, he hadn’t realized how badly his own was broken.