I Thought You Were Different

Banner

Bruce's hands nervously twitched and his intertwined fingers moved relentlessly, fighting the urge to remove and replace his glasses again as he had done at least ten times already. He had been staring out the window for several minutes with no sound other than the quiet rhythm of his breathing, now calm again after the last round of questions asked had him feeling particularly emotional.

"Bruce, what are you thinking right now?"

"The same things that I've been thinking for three months now. That hasn't changed."

"Can you tell me?"

"Why do I need to tell you again?" he groaned, finally relenting and removing his glasses to rub his eyes in frustration and an almost debilitating exhaustion. "I've told you this a million times and nothing ever changes. I've barely slept, because every time I do, I have that same damn nightmare over and over. Only now, instead of them playing out the way the accident really happened, I can't even get the other guy to listen to me and I'm left as the inept Doctor Banner who has to sit by and watch Tony die. Do you know what it feels like to wake up and think that you let your closest friend die every single time that your eyes open, even though you know full well that he's fine in reality? I can't keep going like this."

"It sounds to me like changes are happening, even if you don't recognize them. Your dreams are changing to reflect how you're feeling."

"But I know how I'm feeling!" he snapped. "I am completely in touch with how I feel. I have to be all of the time in order to... to keep control. But I can't sleep, I can barely eat, and I haven't done any real work in weeks. What if the next thing that I lose is my control? What then?"

"Bruce, you know that this is a process. Progress takes time and patience."

"Well, doc, we had better figure this out fast," he sighed, moving to the door to leave the therapist's office. "Because I'm running out of both."

~~~

"Hey, kiddo, I think this organ you gave me is possessed or something."

"Excuse me?" you choked slightly on your cereal, grabbing a napkin to wipe away the milk that you had spit all over the table. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Hear me out," he continued, holding his hand out to keep you quiet to make his point. He sat in the chair across from you, nodding a silent welcome to Steve as he entered the room behind you. "Okay, so all of the sudden, I love chocolate now. And I mean LOVE it. Can't get enough. Scotch tastes funny-"

"You're not supposed to drink, Tony," Steve barked an interruption as he poured his coffee with a long yawn and a hand rubbing his cheek and up into his already messy hair.

"Okay, right, I know. It was just a sip. Anyway, all of my pizza topping choices have suddenly changed, and I feel like I don't have enough spring colors in my wardrobe. And pleeease," he groaned as he turned to face the Captain, "don't get me started on how good Steve's ass is looking in those jeans today."

"Jesus, Tony, you're being ridiculous."

"Wait, it doesn't look good today?" Steve chuckled, leaning down to kiss your head he passed you to take his seat. "That hurts, babe."

"You're being ridiculous too." You leaned in close to Steve's ear to whisper, "it always looks good, don't worry." Once Steve looked satisfied in your response, you reluctantly turned back to your original problem. "Sorry, Tony, but that's not how it works."

"No, but listen," he began. "Did you ever see that one movie where someone got an eye transplant but then they started seeing the things that the guy before had done? It's like that." He looked at you full of anticipation of your response, appearing completely satisfied with his explanation.