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Although a transformation into the Hulk should essentially rebuild her body back to the way it was, actually transforming is still a physically and psychologically exhausting event. Not only does she not feel ready for dealing with that, but she's also going to need somewhere secluded, because she's not all that sure the Hulk is going to be willing to take directions on what it's okay to destroy and what isn't.

Unfortunately, that doesn't leave her with a whole lot of options if she wants to be mobile in the meantime. Tony takes one look at the wheelchair and informs her he's going to design something much better and stalks off, muttering about how he can streamline the design and make it easier to control and maybe throw in a smart interface for the hell of it. Which leaves her to stare at it, wondering if maybe she made the wrong choice, deciding to wait. She's still staring at it, feeling ridiculously resentful of it, when Steve comes back. "Hey."

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He gave her an easy smile in spite of it.

"I know the feeling. I remember one winter, I slipped, broke my leg... always was a little fragile, back then. I didn't have a chair, since they were too expensive, but I remember my best friend cartin' me everywhere using this wagon of his, and when it was too snowy for that wagon, I was on an old garbage can lid since we didn't have a sled."

Edited 2014-06-11 23:07 (UTC)

Bryce knows, intellectually, that this was before the serum changed his body, but that doesn't stop her mind from coming up with a mental image of Steve-as-he-is-know being carted around on a garbage can lid.

She ducks her head and tries to hold back a stupid, surprised giggle at the idea.

He's pleased, because if he made her smile, then he said the right thing.

"I promise I wasn't half as amused about it."

"I can imagine."

Then she swallows and takes in a deep breath. "This won't be for long."

He nodded.

"Do you want me to stay right here, or--"

Everything, everything was to her comfort right now. He wanted to be there, wanted to stand right beside her, but he didn't want her to panic or be afraid for him. He trusted her, in both forms, but he knew she didn't trust herself.

Her hand tightens around his quickly, holding onto him. "Stay. Please."

"As long as you want me," he said firmly, giving her fingers a soft squeeze.

Okay. She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, some of the tension draining out. "Sorry I'm not... much company right now."

He gave her the tiniest little nudge against her hands.

"You don't have to apologize."

She bites her lip before trying to smile. "I know. I just - " She feels like such a mess right now.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and finally a very soft kiss to her lips.

"You just need to let yourself be. You don't have to apologize for needing a little extra care right now. You're there for me when I need it too."

She might not notice it, because he'd learned early how to hide his hurts, keep his pain buttoned up, deal with it because it was such a constant in his life that it didn't need attention. But every moment when he was still for a second too long, when he turned and wrapped his arms around her to remind himself that he was here and she was here and it wasn't all going to disappear into a shuddering icy slumber...

She made his life better in a million ways he was pretty sure she couldn't see, and he suddenly wished to God he wasn't so damn good at hiding it so she could.

Maybe she doesn't have to apologize for it, but that doesn't mean she can't hate it. And she does, hates it completely, hates being in a position where she's weak and can't even walk on her own. Hates knowing what got her to this point.

She smiles, faintly. "You're usually not so dramatic about it."

He shrugged.

"I grew up being a mess of health problems. It's not... it's not really something I think of as a 'good thing', necessarily."

She squeezes his hand again, not quite sure what to say, if only because about the only thing that pops into her head is I was hurt a lot of the time when I was a kid, too.

And god, isn't that something she didn't want to think about right now.

Things that he's never going to press on either. But he's not entirely uhaware of them.

"So what's next?"

"I don't know."

There are things she could be doing right now, like digging through the information Ross had on her to see if there was anything that could be salvaged from this nightmare or returning to some of the projects she'd had going before, but neither of those exactly appeal right now. "It looks like my schedule's pretty open right now, so..."

"Well, I could always take you to the movies," he says absently, as if they were just sitting around on a Saturday night, "or we could look into getting the kitchen remodeled..."

There's a warm little smile there, an offer to her. If she needs to be away from all this, not think about it, bury herself in the other parts of them, he'll be right there with her.

She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms, looking a little bit amused. "Why? What do you think the kitchen's missing?"

"It could use an island," he says thoughtfully, like he'd been thinking about it for a little while.

"I'm sure Tony would be happy to find someone to put that in."

Because they have the best landlord.

"So we're going to have to pick out one we like," because they did have the best landlord. But Tony and Steve had very different ideas of style.

Bryce smiles at him crookedly - but she can't keep this up, light banter about remodeling and kitchens. It just feels... empty in a way that's hard to breathe around, and she drops her head into her hands and fights back the urge to apologize again.

It doesn't work very well.

"Sorry," she says, quietly. "I just... sorry."

He shook his head firmly and put his hand gently against the back of her head.

"Don't apologize. I just... I don't know what to do. And I'd do anything. None of this is your fault. None."

"I know," she says, even though a part of her wants to just hold onto the blame for this, because it's easier in some ways if she can tell herself she deserved whatever happened to her. It served her well enough for a long time, providing you discounted the crippling depression.

God, she's fucked up.

"Just don't leave. Please."

He shook his head firmly.

"Never."

He gave her a frail smile.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bryce."

Okay. She breathes in, out. In again. And raises her head to look at him properly. "Should probably figure out how to use this thing without running anyone over."

"Pretty sure the wheels aren't big enough," he said with a calm little smile, "though my feet are pretty tough, just in case."

"I wouldn't count on that lasting forever. Apparently Tony's reinventing the wheel about now."

Unless he's putting repulsors on a wheelchair. That would be overkill, but since when did Tony care about overdoing things?

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...thanks, notification for getting lost. Thank YOU for not killing me for just getting back.

psht, it happens.

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