Chapter Text
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.