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Phil sat beside Bruce's bed, watching him sleep. Bruce always seemed so small when he transformed back into his everyday self, after the boisterous mass of the Hulk. Seeing him in this soft and vulnerable state brought out the protective side of Phil. He made sure that Bruce was never alone once he passed out after a battle. If Phil couldn't keep watch himself, then he posted Steve or another Avenger instead.

Phil kept a close eye on the small screen of his Starkphone. JARVIS tracked Bruce's vital signs while he slept. The silent display informed Phil of any problems, and let him estimate when Bruce came close to waking. The numbers shifted, quickening by increments.

Bruce stirred in the soft nest of blankets. One bare arm crept out. Phil caught his hand, rubbing a thumb over the scatter of small scars. Some of them clearly came from lab accidents: short dashes left by glass chips, craters from caustic splashes. The longer lines across the palm looked different, though, earlier and more faded. One of them bisected the life line. A puckered mark halfway up the forearm suggested a compound fracture.

Defensive wounds, Phil thought, analyzing the pattern automatically. He had read what existed of Bruce's records, but that only covered things that someone had noticed and reported at the time. The brutal murder of Bruce's mother was a matter of record. What had lain hidden, however, left no mark except for the ones under Phil's fingertips. Phil inferred far more about Bruce's past than mere paperwork contained, a dark story hinted in hunched shoulders and downcast eyes, diffident speech and dogged determination to be of use. Phil traced the old, silvery scars with a delicate touch.

Bruce woke, then, and pushed himself up on his elbows. "Why do I remember everyone standing around the Other Guy with towels?" he asked with a quizzical frown.

Phil's eyebrows went up. "That's what you remember from the battle?" he asked. It was certainly a better opening than Bruce's usual Did I hurt anyone? "We fought some bilgesnipe. Hulk needed a bath, so we gave him one."

"I think ... they sprayed something, smelled like mercaptans? I've got that in my head, but no clear memory of fighting. Most of it's just a blur," Bruce said. He sat up and rubbed his head.

"Headache?" Phil asked.

"Oddly enough, no," said Bruce. "Most of the time I wake up feeling like crap, after an incident. This time, I'm just kind of tired and I feel like my head's stuffed with cotton. Hard to think, but it doesn't hurt as much."

"So that's an improvement," Phil observed. "Good. I believe Hulk was trying to be gentle with you. He'll be pleased to know that it worked." Thanks, big guy, we owe you one, Phil thought.

"Hulk isn't gentle," Bruce said instantly. He noticed that Phil was still holding his hand, and tugged it loose. Phil let him go.

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"I have photographic evidence to the contrary, Bruce. You may not have seen the gentle side of Hulk, but the rest of us have," Phil said. "He asked us to share some things with you, since he has trouble doing so himself." Hulk's request made Phil suspect that his emotional intelligence ranked a lot higher than most people gave him credit for, and Bruce's negative descriptions only made matters worse. "Tony and I promised to take care of this for the two of you."

"He asked you?" Bruce said. He gave Phil a dubious look. Something about this clearly bothered him, but Phil couldn't tell what.

"Quite nicely," Phil said. "First we fought the bilgesnipe -- team cooperation is still rising, by the way -- and then Tony rigged a fire hydrant so we could all clean up. Hulk enjoyed his bath tremendously. You may get more of that in the future because we've promised to wash him after any messy fight. These are pictures from Hulk's bathtime." Phil handed Bruce a Starkpad with the images that Tony had carefully loaded onto it.

"Is this ... bubble bath?" Bruce asked, much as Clint had done earlier.

"Lemon-scented liquid soap with strong foaming action and something to break down the noxious oil from the bilgesnipe," Phil said. "I believe Tony attached the chemical formula for your perusal."

"Yeah, there it is," Bruce said, his fingers flicking through the familiar commands. Then he went back to the pictures.

"Why is Natasha riding an inner tube shaped like a duck? That image is just making my brain go TILT and shut down the whole system."

"Natka, actually. Hulk's personality and his tendency to call me 'Uncle Phil' put everyone in a game night kind of mood," Phil said.

"In public? Is that safe?" Bruce asked.

"Interesting that you should say that -- Hulk asked me the same thing. I made sure we had a perimeter and a surveillance blackout, so yes, perfectly safe," Phil said.

"Huh," Bruce said, bemused.

"Anyway, Natka and Clint got into a water fight. Hulk put her on the rubber ducky and skated her out of reach," Phil said. "He has a remarkably delicate touch at times."

"Sure he does," Bruce said darkly. "The Other Guy handles delicacy the way I handle power: badly." Bruce seemed resentful -- almost jealous -- of the suggestion that Hulk might have the potential for any kind of tenderness or discernment. "Don't mix us up. Don't confuse him with me. We are nothing alike, and the sooner you get that through your head, the safer we'll all be."

"It's not confusion, it's observation," Phil said mildly. Bruce wasn't even reading himself accurately, let alone Hulk. One didn't become an expert in gamma radiation without a fine grasp of power. "I see some of the same admirable traits in both of you. You've earned the trust of several very cautious people -- that's not something to take lightly."

"You can't trust him, Phil. I can't trust him," Bruce insisted, growing more agitated. He shifted restlessly in bed. He resisted any suggestion of common ground between himself and Hulk. "I never know when I'm going to wake up and have to clean up some mess he's made, or run for my life because of what he's done."

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"But we do trust him, Bruce," said Phil. He made soothing gestures and Bruce settled down a little. "We have to. We can't go into combat with someone unreliable. We can count on you and Hulk. Tony may have spotted it first, but the rest of us have caught on now. Even Natka is learning to trust Hulk. She let him pick her up. Do you know how many people she's injured for doing that? Steve let Hulk lift him too. I'm afraid you're outvoted on the matter of Hulk being trustworthy."

"Phil, he's a monster," Bruce said with a tired sigh. "He's like ... like Grendel, or Mr. Hyde. This dark, violent thing that bursts out of me and destroys my life at unpredictable intervals. It's a curse. Something of a family curse, even."

There was a shadowy, hidden quality to Hulk and a piercing brightness to Bruce; yet in some ways they were so similar. Sometimes Phil felt that he could trace the dividing line between Bruce and Hulk, sharp as a crack in what had been a single mirror. Other times they blurred together, two colors of paint smeared into murky swirls. It was probably even more confusing for them. Phil struggled to find words that might help clarify the matter.

"Hulk's first conscious awareness after the lab accident was someone trying to kill him. That had to make quite an impression," Phil pointed out. "Consider that you, and Hulk, have a wider base of experience now. That gives him an opportunity to learn new things such as trust, friendship, and teamwork."

"He doesn't even understand trust. The Other Guy doesn't trust anyone," Bruce said.

"He trusts me, and I can prove it," Phil said. He reached over and paged to the picture of himself washing Hulk's hair. "He let me do that. Sat perfectly still while I handled him, from behind, with soap that he knew would sting if it got into his eyes because Tony told us. Hulk let Steve wash his face, too."

"This doesn't make any sense," Bruce said. "He's never trusted anyone before. He lacks the capacity. Tony said it best -- I lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster."

"I think Betty would argue that point," Phil said, "but even if not for that previous example, clearly Hulk trusts us now."

"Why would you even want to do this for him?" Bruce said, bewildered. "He could have hurt people. He's done it before, he'll do it again. That's what happens."

"We did it because he needed it, and because we knew he wouldn't hurt us," Phil said. "We take care of our friends, Bruce. This is important."

"He's not a friend. I get that you want him to be; so did I, at first. He's not a person you can reason with. I ... I even tried a few times, early on, and it always ended in disaster. It's dangerous to think of him that way. So I learned not to do that." Bruce said. "He doesn't understand rules or boundaries. He might seem like a person, a little, but he's really just a monster." Then in a much lower tone he finished, "I'm a monster."

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"I don't believe that about either of you," Phil said. He picked up Bruce's hand, cradling the delicate fingers in his own. "Both you and Hulk have clearly improved since you joined the team. You can do things that you couldn't have done before. You have us to help now."

Phil felt disturbed at the intensity of self-hatred bubbling up out of Bruce, especially after the unexpected sweetness of the recent interaction with Hulk. Then again, sometimes problems only emerged when a person felt secure enough, consciously or subconsciously, to start working through them. In that case this could actually be a good sign. If Bruce felt safe expressing these feelings himself, that reduced the chance of Hulk bursting out at inopportune times to deal with whatever Bruce couldn't handle.

"Still a monster, though," Bruce said, pulling his hand away. Phil winced inwardly. This process of revelation, however useful, was unpleasant for everyone.

"In my line of work, I've encountered a great many monsters, human and otherwise. Neither of you qualify," Phil said. "You've made mistakes, yes, and you've hurt some people -- some by accident, most in self-defense or defense of others. You don't do it for fun. You don't do it for personal gain. You don't try to take over the world, or destroy it, or perpetrate some other insane nonsense."

Bruce gave a ragged laugh. "I don't even know what to do with myself, what would I do with everyone else?"

"Mostly what I see you doing with other people is taking care of them, which is why I don't think you're going to pry Clint away from Hulk. You've taken good care of Clint. Hulk has defended him in battle, and caught him falling off of buildings. Clint is determined to return the favor," Phil said.

Bruce gave him a perplexed look. "That, um, that's not what people do."

Has nobody ever done that for Bruce before? Phil wondered. Has everyone in his life simply taken what they wanted from him and walked away? Phil frowned, trying to recall details from Bruce's file. He knew it was bad, but it may have been more consistent than he realized.

"Clint is new to this kind of teamwork too, so it would help if you could accept his overtures," Phil said. "You may feel awkward about this, but Hulk made it pretty clear that Clint's attention is welcome."

"I just ... can't fit this into my accrued data pattern. It has to be an outlier," Bruce said. He made a flittering, dismissive motion with one hand. "It has to."

"Well, you should continue your observations. I believe data cropping is a sin in the practice of science. You wouldn't want to let Tony catch you doing that. Tony was very pleased that Hulk let him dry his hair, so he's pretty attached to the new improved data set," Phil said. He fondly remembered Tony's ruthless characterization of Justin Hammer as a scrofulous, mealy-mouthed, red-handed, data-cropping hackweasel. "I know this is hard for you, but it's worth the effort."

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"I'll try," Bruce said. He flicked through the pictures again. "Any idea why Clint wrapped himself around Hulk's leg like a sock?"

"Remember our previous discussions of Clint's skin-hunger?" Phil said.

Bruce nodded. "Clint needs more opportunities for healthy touch. He doesn't get enough, which makes him restless and twitchy. We're working on that together. It helps him calm down and relax with people. He's getting better."

"Evidently Clint feels that the same applies to Hulk. Clint became quite distressed when he realized that nobody was touching Hulk outside combat. He intends to make up for that now that he knows," Phil said. He remembered how wired Clint was when the team first formed, almost unable to sleep; the improvement was considerable. Phil hoped that Hulk would gain similar benefits.

"Hulk doesn't like people touching him," Bruce said. "He doesn't even like people."

"Yet the very next thing that Hulk did after Clint hugged his leg was to wrap a hand around his back and ask Clint if he was okay," Phil said. "Hulk does care about us. He may not speak much, but his actions say a great deal. I believe he considers the Avengers as friends, or perhaps even family."

Bruce buried his hands in his hair and tugged, trying to ground himself. "Hulk doesn't comfort people. He threatens people. He's always avoided contact in the past."

That last was troubling, and at least partly true. Phil wondered if it stemmed from a physical hypersensitivity or an emotional response to pervasive hostility. Maybe both, Phil thought, and that could go a long way toward explaining what makes Hulk overreact in some situations. If he feels things at heightened intensity, with skewed intent, no wonder it's so easy to set him off and so hard for him to calm back down.

"That probably contributed to the difficulties you've both experienced," Phil said aloud. "Humans, like other primates, need a certain amount of positive touch or they tend to become violent and irrational. I'm sure you've seen the studies." Phil had; they were profoundly disturbing. Cloth mother and wire mother. Failure to thrive in orphanages. Solitary confinement, not merely a prison sentence but also a form of torture. Phil suppressed a shudder.

"Hulk isn't human, Phil," said Bruce with a roll of his eyes. "Anyone can see that. He is enormous, deformed, and green."

"He's still a primate," Phil said. "You can't argue that one."

"Fine, he's a primate," Bruce said grudgingly. He twisted his hair in his hands. "I still can't trust him with people I care about -- I can't trust him with anyone. It's just not safe. You have to talk Clint out of risking himself like that. I can't stand the thought of him getting hurt."

"If you want to shoo him away, you'll have to do that yourself. Bear in mind that Clint doesn't trust people easily, and you could hurt him worse by pushing him away," Phil said. He gently peeled the clenched fingers out of Bruce's unruly curls and brushed away the loose strands of brown and silver. "You might ask Clint whether he felt comforted or threatened by Hulk's actions," Phil said. "I don't think you're going to convince Clint to quit hugging Hulk, now that he knows Hulk enjoys it -- and needs it."

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"You have no idea how much that worries me," Bruce said, his forehead wrinkling. "All of this just ... makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I don't know what to think, what to feel, what to do. Anything. I can't deal with this, Phil. I really can't." His breath quickened; Phil could hear it without even glancing at the monitor program on his phone.

Kernel error, Phil thought. This is not good. We need to untangle this before Bruce gets so stuck that he really starts to panic. He'd seen this kind of problem before in survivors of abuse or torture. They depended on predicting patterns to avoid hazards, so unexpected events could make them anxious.

"All right, slow down," Phil said. He caught Bruce's hands, exerting gentle pressure as a stabilizing influence. "Take some deep breaths. You're safe here. Nothing is going on that we can't handle. Okay?"

Bruce gave him a weary nod. "... think so," he said, once his breathing slowed. He tugged against Phil's grip, and Phil let go of him.

"Work it through," Phil urged him. "Try looking at the situation from a different angle. What makes this so hard for you?"

"I look at this picture of Clint and Hulk, and the whole scene is like ... gibberish," Bruce said. He waved his hands vaguely in the air. "It makes no sense to me. It doesn't correlate with the rest of my knowledge. It's an aberration hanging in thin air. Disturbing, risky, wrong ...."

"All right, here's another example," Phil said, refusing to rise to the bait. It bothered him that Bruce tended to bottle up his feelings, and then had no idea what to do with them even when he uncorked the bottle. Fighting over it wouldn't help. Phil shifted the display to a different picture. "Look at how close Steve was standing while he cleaned Hulk's fingernails. Hulk could have swatted him clear across the street, or smashed him flat. He didn't. He was careful."

"The Other Guy isn't careful, Phil. He can't be careful, because he doesn't care," Bruce said. "If you had any idea how much he's hurt me -- how often I've begged and pleaded with him to stay inside, not come out and destroy everything in sight--" His voice hitched to a stop, stifled along with the sob threatening to break out.

"So tell me. I'm listening," Phil said. It was no use.

Bruce took a ragged breath, then another slower and deeper. Instead of reaching for a more rational perspective on solving the problem, he pushed his emotions away altogether. Bruce sounded eerily calm when he resumed, "You don't understand the Other Guy. And you don't understand me."

"I'm learning to understand both of you. The more you share of yourselves, the better I get to know you," Phil said. "One thing that's just starting to come clear for me is how much you've hurt each other."

Bruce snorted. "Nothing hurts the Other Guy. Nothing can. I know, I've tried."

Phil silently debated whether to file that under self-harm or what amounted to domestic abuse. Both, I suppose, he decided grimly. They share a body and a past, some but not all memories, one person become two and yet still bound within a single life.

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It worried Phil that Bruce, who showed so much compassion for everyone else, reserved none for himself and seemed to classify Hulk as unfeeling. Phil needed to address that immediately. Of course, Hulk tends to gravitate toward anger. If the anger covers up the pain, Bruce simply might not realize it's under there. Get him to notice it, and his caring nature should respond. Bruce isn't cruel, just clueless, Phil thought. Then again ... maybe Bruce has noticed Hulk's suffering, but suppressed it because he couldn't do anything about it. Phil wasn't sure which possibility was worse. Either would cause a great deal of upset as Bruce's previous coping strategies broke down in response to Hulk's changing behavior.

"You may not have succeeded in injuring or killing Hulk, but you've definitely caused him a great deal of pain," Phil said aloud. "Let's set aside the emotional aspects for now and just consider the physical transformations. The more you fight him, the more it hurts both of you. I heard Black Widow's report about what happened on the Helicarrier. She said it looked like you were tearing each other apart, even though she tried to talk you down."

"Oh, we were," Bruce said. His mouth twisted. "She reeked of fear, just made it that much worse."

"Control is very important to her; the sudden loss scared her," Phil said.

"Well, it's important to me too. You can see why," Bruce said, veering away from the topic of Hulk's feelings. He wrung his hands, left squeezing right, then right squeezing left. "That's exactly what I mean when I say it's not safe for anyone to get close to him. Least of all me, but I'm stuck with him. Hulk smashes everything around him. He's made an utter wreck of my life."

Phil made a pointed survey of the room around them. Bruce's bedroom was decorated in tranquil shades of dusky blue and heather purple. Plush carpet and heavy drapes cushioned any sound. The walnut bedframe held a thick mattress of memory foam topped with a featherbed and jumbo pillows, all swathed in soft flannel sheets. A comforter of fuzzy velour spread over the rest. Tony had done a wonderful job of designing a peaceful refuge to soothe Bruce's jangled nerves. Bruce had accepted it, adding his own personal touches. A mandala hung on one wall, and a pair of Brazilian maracas rested on a shelf. The faint scent of incense hung in the air.

"I'm not seeing anything smashed around here," Phil said to Bruce.

"That's just because the Other Guy hasn't been up here. I passed out somewhere else, and then you brought me back home," Bruce said.

Phil stifled a sigh and explained further. "What I meant is that you have people in your life who do things like that for you," Phil said. "We're people Hulk trusts to take care of you after he shifts back inside and leaves you helpless on the ground. He waited for Tony to lay down blankets before transforming, so as not to drop you on the bare street. Hulk protects you in more ways than just appearing whenever you're in danger, Bruce, and I don't think you realize that. You matter to him, and both of you matter to the rest of us."

Bruce hid his face in his hands. "I really wish you would stop saying things like that. It hurts to hear."

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The more they talked, the more Phil realized another key difference between Hulk and Bruce. Hulk had a fine intrapersonal awareness, always alert to his own feelings and those that spilled over to him from Bruce. Hulk also seemed to have a higher interpersonal intelligence; as soon as he found people who were friendly instead of hostile, he started trying to reach out and attend the relationships between them.

On the other hand, Bruce really didn't have much skill in those areas. He had better verbal expression and a keen interest in conflict resolution, but that's where it stopped. He pushed away his own feelings, using Hulk as an emotional garbage can. Bruce fumbled through interactions even with people he liked. He could scarcely make sense of the relationship dynamics with someone else explaining them for him. It would take more time, and more repetition, to make up for past lacks and bad experiences.

"I'm sorry that you find this distressing rather than reassuring, Bruce, but you need to hear it. You can't make good decisions without good information," Phil said. He reached out to stroke Bruce's shoulder, feeling the quiver of tired muscles under his hand. This time Bruce didn't pull away.

"I don't know what you mean ..." Bruce said wearily.

"You and Hulk have friends in common that neither of you have driven away, because all of us have quirks of our own that both of you accommodate in return," Phil said. "We want to see you make peace with each other. We'll help as much as we can. That's what makes a healthy team work, Bruce -- or a family, for that matter -- the readiness to compensate for each other's strengths and weaknesses." As impressive as Bruce-and-Hulk were now, Phil knew they would become even more formidable once they learned to work together.

"I'll grant you the rest of the Avengers are broken in one way or another, Phil, but you're fine," Bruce said. "You don't need us to protect you or put up with you. You could work with anyone."

"And I choose to work with you," Phil said promptly. "Hulk has blocked people from shooting at me more than once, and he's not the only one who looks out for me. Bruce, don't overestimate me. How 'fine' was I the night you made me hot chocolate, tucked me into bed, and read me a bedtime story?"

"That's different," Bruce said. "You spent a whole day thinking we were all dead!"

"Which completely shattered my composure, because I've lost people in the field under similar circumstances," Phil said. "Just because I'm functional doesn't mean I lack scars. Most of mine simply don't show on the outside." His chest twinged where Loki had stabbed the Life Model Decoy. Phil rubbed a hand over the spot that would have scarred if the weapon had struck his actual body, trying to soothe the faint burn and ache of it.

Bruce covered Phil's hand with his own, gentle fingers tracing the same path of invisible injury. "I guess we all have scars," Bruce admitted.

"You've got enough to beat some spies I know, and comparing scars is a popular game in that crowd," Phil said.

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"Ah, that's nothing," Bruce said. "You don't work in a lab without picking up a few souvenirs." Clearly he took pride in his identity as a scientist; he pointed out some of the more notable examples across the backs of his hands. "Exploding beaker. Liquid oxygen. Bunsen burner. Hydrochloric acid."

"What about these?" Phil asked, feathering a touch along the straight scars on Bruce's palm, and the thicker pucker on his forearm.

Bruce shrugged. "I don't remember," he said. "I've got enough that I can spare a few from the detailed log. I just wish the Other Guy would quit making more scars on the inside of me and the outside of everyone else."

"He doesn't mean to, and he's growing much more careful these days," Phil said. "His combat efficiency was barely adequate in Harlem, better in the Chitauri battle, and quite good now."

"That doesn't erase all the damage he's done in the past," Bruce said. "You can't ask me to ignore that. I won't."

"No, it doesn't erase anything. However, it does demonstrate a changing pattern," Phil said. "I'm not asking you to forget about your previous experiences. They're not necessarily wrong, just outdated. I'm asking you to observe new events with an open mind instead of viewing them through preset assumptions. In my observation, Hulk fights to protect you, himself, or other people. He doesn't fight for sport. He's not malicious."

"He is  malicious. He hates  me. He hates everything," Bruce said.

This man is like a moray eel, Phil thought, half impressed and half exasperated. Once he latches onto something, he just will not let go. He takes stubbornness to a whole new depth. Then again, I suppose that's kept him alive through things that would have killed a lesser man. Denying Bruce's opinion wouldn't help. The situation called for a more tangential approach.

"I can see why you might think that based on earlier interactions," Phil said. "Consider the more recent ones, though." He tapped the Starkpad, which showed an image of Hulk getting his hair washed. "Remember, Hulk asked us to show you these pictures. He wished to share a pleasant experience with you, but was frustrated by his inability to convey the memories directly. So he turned to us for help. Does that seem like an act of hatred to you?" It was clearly an act of love, but Phil didn't think Bruce was anywhere near ready to hear that. Phil hoped that Hulk wouldn't be too distraught when he realized that the pictures had made Bruce more confused than happy.

"I don't know," Bruce said. He gave a pained chuckle. "I don't understand most of what the Other Guy does."

"I get that," Phil said. "You two seem to have a lot of trouble communicating."

"We don't communicate," Bruce said. "He's a monster. He's the boogeyman. He's the beast in the basement banging on the pipes. He can barely talk, and most of that's on the level of Hulk smash. That's all he cares about. It's all he can   care about."

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"He does enjoy smashing," Phil said agreeably. "However, I think Hulk is starting to discover that he likes other things as well. If we can get him to explore that further, you may find it easier to get along with him. You do still want that, right?"

"Yes," Bruce admitted, "but I rarely get what I want, so it doesn't matter."

"We'll work on that too," Phil said. Half the problem was getting Bruce to accept anything once offered. He had so little experience with that, he scarcely knew how to respond. "If you can't trust Hulk yet, then trust me. It's my job to watch what happens with my team, keep people safe, and make sure everyone can do their job. You've seen what I can accomplish. Can you at least give me a chance with this?"

"... okay," Bruce said with a cautious nod. Phil heaved a sigh of relief.

"As for communication, well, it's true that Hulk doesn't express himself easily in words. Perhaps we can find some other mode that would work better for him," Phil said.

Bruce snorted. "What would you suggest? Fingerpainting? Smileys? Sign language?"

"We can experiment with different things," Phil said, silently making a note to look into all of those. He had a hypothesis that Hulk sometimes had a subconscious influence on what Bruce said, and vice versa. Given Hulk's limited use of language, some form of nonverbal communication might prove more effective. "We'll figure out a solution eventually."

"How you can be a spy and retain that much optimism is beyond me," Bruce said.

"I believe in heroes," Phil said with a fond smile. He patted Bruce's hand, but did not try to hold on. "Also, I'm a handler. That calls for a different skill set than other types of espionage. Among the more crucial skills is insight into people -- often talented but damaged ones -- to ascertain who might make a promising asset and how to bring out their best qualities."

"Sure," Bruce said, a little too lightly.

"I can tell you without betraying any confidences that Clint was very much a diamond in the rough when I acquired him," Phil said. "Furthermore, I believe that he used what he learned from me to spot Natasha and convince her to come in from the cold." Phil smiled. "I will admit that I did not expect any such ability from Tony, yet he predicted your return in the battle of New York. Perhaps his business background has given him an eye for personnel."

"I'm nothing to write home about," Bruce said. He looked away.

"That's only because so much about you is classified," Phil said. It always hurt to hear how readily Bruce dismissed his own worth, despite all his accomplishments. The man had little better opinion of himself than of the Hulk. "Those of us who know the real you have a much higher opinion."

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"Yeah, right," Bruce said. "Such a high opinion, you'd rather side with the Other Guy than with me." Bruce sounded oddly threatened by the idea of anyone having positive interactions with the Hulk. He looked down at the picture of Tony drying Hulk's hair, smile brighter than the arc reactor glowing in his bare chest. "I thought Tony was my friend. I thought you all were, really, thought maybe it could be different this time. Shows what I know. You don't believe anything I tell you." He tossed the Starkpad onto the bed.

"What makes you say that?" Phil asked. The abrupt shift in Bruce's regard of the team alarmed him. This was not at all what Phil wanted him to gather from the discussion.

"Because you won't listen to me when I try to warn you that the Other Guy is dangerous!" Bruce wailed.

"I'm listening," Phil assured him. "You've told me about your fears, and I'm grateful that you trust me enough to do that. I can repeat them back to you, so you know I've heard them. It sounds like you've seen how Hulk has hurt people in the past, and you blame yourself for it. So you're worried that he might hurt us now. That's not a baseless concern. I'm not dismissing it out of hand."

"Then take some precautions! I need for you to be safe. I need to know I'm not going to wake up and discover that someone's gotten hurt again because of me," Bruce said. He wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing his own elbows so hard that his knuckles went white. "Why won't you just do this for me?"

"Because I don't think you're considering all the facts -- most importantly, that Hulk hasn't hurt us, and that friendly interaction improves everyone's safety," Phil said. He needed to emphasize that the team cared about both Bruce and Hulk, however long that took to sink in. Phil stroked the backs of Bruce's hands, trying to get him to ease up on the tight grip so he wouldn't leave bruises.

"I don't see it," Bruce said. He loosened his fingers, though. His fingernails left red dents in his pale skin.

"Here, look again. Hulk is making a point of growing closer to people, even Natasha, and you know how awful their relationship was at first," Phil said. He picked up the Starkpad and turned back to the image of Natka riding the rubber ducky. "Just because I don't agree with you on everything doesn't mean I'm refusing to listen, Bruce. Honest arguments are a natural and necessary part of healthy relationships. It's okay for people to disagree."

"For a spy, you've lived an amazingly sheltered life," Bruce said softly.

"Bruce, I know you have a hard time processing disagreement. You're one of the most conflict-avoidant people I've ever met. I understand how important it is for you to stay calm," Phil said.

"I have to be calm," Bruce said. He curled his hands a little, forefingers touching thumbs. "It's the only hope I have."

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"Just humor me here and think about life in the tower," Phil said. "You and Tony argue about science, but you don't start actual fights over it. Clint and Natasha squabble like siblings, and they're comfortable with that. Tony and Steve tease each other. Clint and Tony snark about things. You and Betty have had a few disputes too. Everyone argues with me about mission-related things sometimes."

"So?" Bruce said.

"So, that's natural human interaction, Bruce," said Phil. "It doesn't mean we dislike each other. It doesn't mean we devalue each other's opinions. It just means we see things differently sometimes. That's okay. In fact, it's valuable, because one person may spot a solution that nobody else does. These are skills you can work on developing, if you're not fully comfortable with them yet. Think of this stuff like peer review in a journal, if that helps."

"Maybe a little," Bruce said tentatively. Phil was glad to see him coming toward a more positive direction.

"We're not perfect, nobody is, but we do our best," Phil said. "All I ask is that you listen to our perspectives the way we listen to yours ... and maybe give us credit for having a little more sense than, say, General Ross."

Bruce chuckled a bit at that. "All right, I'll try. That low bar is pretty much lying flat on the ground," he said.

"Yes, it is," Phil agreed. He didn't mention Bruce's father. That bar was sunk in a pretty deep ditch. "So if you watch, you'll see us step over it routinely. We're a good team, Bruce. Try to have a little faith in that."

"I'm a scientist, Phil. Faith is off my charts," Bruce said. "Wandering around in uncharted territory is a good way to get hurt."

Phil recalled that Bruce favored the hard sciences -- biology, chemistry, astronomy -- and some theoretical physics. The soft sciences such as psychology and sociology proved more slippery for him. No wonder he found this so painful and confusing. Hulk wasn't readily quantified with physics and chemistry, and team bonding even less so.

"I know this hurts, Bruce, but I need you give it serious consideration and not just bury it again," Phil said. "You're part of the team." He tapped gently on Bruce's chest. "Two teams, actually, since you've got Hulk to deal with on the inside and the rest of the Avengers on the outside. That takes work. Healthy relationships don't just 'happen.' People have to build them and maintain them."

"Not really my area of expertise," Bruce said. He looked down at his hands, opening and closing them.

"I know," Phil said, "but not all problems come down to guns and gamma rays. Sometimes the messy personal stuff matters too."

Bruce didn't argue this time, just picked idly at the velour comforter. Phil was so strongly reminded of Hulk and the pothole that he had to hide a smile. "Whatever," Bruce said.

"I know that tone of voice," Phil said. "You're getting bored with all this talk about relationship dynamics. Do you feel well enough to get up and work?"

"Not really. I'm not as sore as usual, but this isn't a relaxing conversation, Phil. My head is all in a muddle. I don't think I could concentrate on anything," Bruce said.

"Shall I tell you a story?" Phil offered.

"I'm sure you have better things to do than sit with me," Bruce said. His hand stilled against the comforter. "You can leave me alone. I'll be fine."

Chapter Text

"Well, I disagree," Phil said. "I refuse to abandon you when you don't feel well. You know how Clint and Natasha say I fuss over them too. I take my responsibility for my assets very seriously."

"You do fuss over Clint and Natasha. I'm amazed they let you live to tell the tale," Bruce said. Phil wasn't surprised by that comparison. Like Bruce, Clint and Natasha had mostly negative experiences with human contact. They associated being vulnerable with being hurt, not being taken care of, by the other people in their lives.

"As their handler, I'm entitled to take a few liberties they wouldn't ordinarily allow," Phil said. That had required a great deal of patience and coaxing before it got anywhere at all. They'd made considerable progress, though, and game night helped even more. Phil would get through to Bruce too. The scientist just needed someone to teach him how to be as gentle with himselves as with others.

"Lucky you," Bruce said. He rolled his head in slow motion, then his shoulders, attempting to stretch out a cramp somewhere. Bruce tried so desperately to do the right things, and that took a toll on him. Phil disliked seeing him in pain. Bruce could be so skittish, though. When offering comfort, it was best to ease into it, starting with light peripheral touches and then moving inward. Bruce had stopped trying brush Phil's fingers off his hands and arms, so he might be ready to accept further contact. Bruce shifted in bed, seeking a more comfortable position.

"You're more tense than you're letting on, aren't you," Phil murmured. Bruce was probably more tired, too; the miserable discussion had worn him out. He needed something sweeter to take his mind off it. Phil slipped a hand behind Bruce's neck. "Here, lie back, let me see what I can do."

Phil remembered what Betty had said previously about Bruce's tendency to store tension just above his shoulderblades. It correlated with resistance and with the weight of responsibility. Phil pressed thumb and fingers carefully against the taut muscles. Sure enough, Bruce melted into his touch with a soft whimper of relief. The skin hunger was almost as strong for Bruce as it was for Hulk and for Clint; he was just wary of contact and shy about pursuing his own needs. Once Bruce gave in, though, he tended to surrender himself to the experience. Phil settled him tenderly into the deep pile of feather pillows.

"S'nice," Bruce said, his voice blurring. "Better'n before ... oh, there ..."

"That's good," Phil said. Under his hands the tension gradually uncoiled, muscles starting to relax. "You go right ahead and enjoy yourself." Every time Bruce gave in to the coaxing and let himself be coddled even a little bit, Phil tried to make it as pleasant as possible for him. It would take time to establish new, positive associations. The conditioning worked, though, and Phil would make the time for it. Bruce deserved that consideration, even if he didn't believe it.

Chapter Text

"Hard to stay awake," Bruce said. He blinked, slow and lazy. His eyes took a little longer to reopen each time.

"If you're tired, you can go back to sleep," Phil said. "I'll stay and keep watch to make sure that nothing bad happens. You know you're safe here with me." Hopefully some of that reassurance would seep through to Hulk, letting him know that Phil would take care of both of them.

"Stay," Bruce said. He nodded heavily against the pillows.

Phil took that as an encouraging sign. It was much better than Bruce's usual I don't want to be a bother. Phil kneaded the back of Bruce's neck and was rewarded with a drowsy, wordless murmur. "Now, how about that story?" Phil said.

"Mmmkay," Bruce said. Sometimes, when he was sluggish like this after a transformation, he would let people take care of him without fighting it. The exhaustion left him vulnerable in a way that little else did; he lacked the energy to hold up the barriers that he usually used to keep everyone at bay. It gave Phil a narrow window of opportunity that he would use to best advantage. In time, perhaps Bruce would come to enjoy the care enough to seek it out instead of just tolerating it when someone else offered it to him.

Phil began the story, "Once there lived an old woman with her simple son. He never seemed to do anything right, and so everyone in the village called him Foolish Jack. One time, Foolish Jack worked for a farmer who gave him a coin at the end of the day. Being a very simple fellow, he had no idea what to do with it, and lost it while crossing a bridge. 'Silly boy!' cried his mother. 'You should have put it in your pocket!' "

"The next day, Foolish Jack did chores in a dairy," Phil continued. "He earned a share of the milk, which he put in his pocket just as his mother had instructed. Of course the milk spilled, leaving him with nothing once again. 'Silly boy!' cried his mother. 'You should have carried it in a pail on your head!' "

Bruce fell asleep before Phil got to the part about Foolish Jack trying to carry a donkey home on his shoulders. Phil tucked the comforter carefully around the slumbering man. Then Phil finished the story anyway, so the forlorn princess got to laugh and Foolish Jack got to marry someone with a bit of common sense.

There was something sweet and soft about the way Bruce slept. He relaxed, the way he rarely did while awake, worry-lines smoothing away. His eyelashes made dark crescents against his cheeks. Bruce clutched the pillow with one hand, his feet wound tightly into the blankets. Phil reached out to him again, cupping the side of his face gently, always gently. Bruce curled into Phil's touch without even realizing how much faith and affection it revealed.

It reminded Phil poignantly of bathtime, how Hulk had trusted Phil to wash his hair without getting soap in his eyes. For all Bruce's protestations, something was getting through to Hulk. That gave Phil hope that something could get through to Bruce too. It would be all right, sooner or later. Phil would make sure of that. He cared deeply about both of them. He would do whatever he could to help them find a better balance within their shared life.

"I know Bruce can be a handful, big guy, but he's worth it," Phil said, stroking his fingers through the rumple of dark curls. He didn't know if Hulk could hear him, but he had to try. "Just be patient with him. He'll come around."