The Trial of Bruce Banner

Tantrums

"Jennifer Susan Walters?!"

The lawyer flings her pen, retracting herself in the folding chair in the basement of a house that isn't hers. She throws her glasses.

"Betty Ross! You CAN be loud! Not Nat loud, but loud still. You both have a mean version of loud. Natasha's was always, 'don't break the ceiling, Jen.' 'Don't expand the bathroom walls, Jen'."

"JEN!" Betty appears on the staircase, reaching to tear the red wig from her head while the baby screams upstairs.

Jennifer inhales, her eyebrows lifted from the binders spread over the table, "What now?"

"Five days,' Betty softens her pitch and waves the wig forward mid-gesture, 'you said five days."

Sammy seems to calm over his mother's voice.

"Yes," Jen starts.

She's cut off when Betty's son starts to cry again.

Jen cringes...
When Rebecca Junior was so quiet, it was hard to grow accustomed to a child with normal tantrums.

Betty waits out the screaming and visibly grips the handrail.

Jennifer crosses her arms and then tugs at her face, "I can't. I can't-!-It's not my cousin who belongs behind bars; it's whoever decided it's cool to let kids scream! Is this that Gentle Parenting trend?!?"

"You did NOT-!"

"I didn't mean it!" Her eyes widen.

"I'm trying!" Betty holds her head and groans.

A crash causes Jen's fists to slam on the table, "-What the hell is he doing to my sister-in-law's dishes?!"

"He misses his father. YOU won't let him go home."

"Beckster can't come home either. Did you think about that?!"

Betty's hands fall to her sides as she continues down the stairs, "You've dragged a whole second family into it."

"I didn't realize staying in a gorgeous home with your son was oppression. You could've said 'no.'"

"The press JUST came by this morning! You would be screwed without my red wig!" The biologist points to the door, shoulders slumping forward.

"Exactly!" Jen scoffs, laughing coldly, "They're monitoring you. Would you rather they go after Natasha? Tracking her to god-knows-where doing who-knows-what-. I can't let them get to the girls. I promised Bruce I'd do my part in protecting them."

"No! Jen,' Betty inhales, 'Leonard called."

Walters leans forward, "What did Bruce say? At Therapy?"

"Nothing,' Betty shakes her head in disappointment, 'Leonard said he couldn't tell me anything other than Bruce seemed drugged."

"HA! I told you! He's slurring! Bruce doesn't slur."

Betty nods, "Leonard is worried about him. He didn't say so, but I know that tone in his voice."

"Dammit. This is an inside job."

"I had to tell Leonard the truth."

"What?!"

"I had to explain-."

"Don't you care at all?!"

Betty closes her eyes and begins a breathing technique. Jennifer has seen her cousin attempt multiple times, "SHH! I'm not stupid. I only told him that the Vegas conference did, in fact, end two days ago. He knew that much. I said I needed more time with local universities."

Walters sits back and hugs herself tighter.

She looks down at the binder. Grateful for Sam's eventual silence, she gnaws at her inner cheeks and punches her bicep with an open palm.

Betty lands beside her, pulling out a chair, "I'm trying. I'm playing my part. And I do care."

"I know," she nods.

"I care about Rebecca,' Betty grins softly, 'I know what she means to you. I know you love her. But I can't be Natasha forever. Sammy can't be Beckster forever, either. Not when he's allergic to avocados."

"Hey,' Jen sniffles, 'I appreciate you playing that part. At least the peels are left in the trash for raccoons who are snooping."

"This might be as bad as when we were on the run from my dad,' Betty confesses sadly, 'even your trash is calculated."

"I learned a bit from Natasha these last few years,"

Jen lifts an eyebrow and reaches for her glasses, blocked by Betty reaching for her hand, "Jen, I need to hear your plan. I need to know what's next."

Walters cringing as her curls flow with her, "I am trying to appeal. I have a one-in-a-million shot at this. I at least need to draw out the guard or inmate targeting Bruce. Maybe move prisons but I just..."

"If anyone can pull it off, it's you. You've always had your nose in your books, and it paid off, Jen. You're a brilliant lawyer." Betty shrugs, removing her hands from Jen and onto her belly.

She snickers, "Tell Natasha. I'm pretty sure all of Russia hates me."

"She doesn't hate you. She might hate Bruce, though. At least for a little while, and I wouldn't blame her,' Betty rolls her eyes, 'Love causes him to make dumb decisions. His past won't let him drop his guard long enough to realize we can handle ourselves."

"I told him that. Many times. He thinks some power is at work here. Clearly, at the very least, someone is after him...which was his plan; draw the attention. Dumbass."

Betty lifts an eyebrow, "What's Declin's story?"

"I doubt a bitter lawyer would want to use Beckster for something notorious."

"You never know."

Jennifer lifts a pen. She clicks it and bites the tip next, "If you need to go home, if this is too much, I understand."

"If I were home, I'd be glued to the television and nauseously watching from a distance,' Betty rolls her eyes and reaches for a free binder, scanning the pages, 'I'm too angry to quit now."

She frowns, "Same here."

"I can stay a bit longer," Betty looks around the basement, breathing, "This is a nice house. We should control our rage."

"There's a rage room, actually."

"Where?" Betty looks desperate, drained from the situation, parenting, and pregnancy.

"There," Jen points to the large corner room in the basement drops her pen, "Yelena and I would always crash here, and, crash things here-. Bruce made that for the hulk but I think I use it more. I recommend throwing tantrums exclusively in the radiation-proof room as opposed to anywhere outside of it. Natasha-."

Another thud from the floor above causes the women to glance toward each other.

Jen's face turns pale, "As I was saying, Natasha will kill us both if she returns to this place and something, ANYTHING, is broken that shouldn't be."

"Samuel?" Betty calls sweetly first, nodding.

"Sammy boy?!" Jen yells more aggressively, ignorant of her phone ringing.

They race to the stairs toward the problematic child.