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“Alright,” Tony says, looking over the top of the test tube. “All that’s left is to try it out.”
“Right.” Bruce looks at him with apprehension.
“This is gonna be good. Why are you scared?”
“Why am I…?” Bruce shakes his head. “I’m just gonna experiment on myself with some unknown substance. I’m still getting over the trauma of the last time I did something like this.”
“Oh come on. It’s not like it’s radioactive.” Tony rolls his eyes. “You know everything that’s in it. Worst case scenario, there are side effects.”
“Which are legitimate things to be worried about!”
“And you’re in a facility capable of providing state-of-the-art medical care,” Tony says. “Argument invalid.” He tears open the package of a sterile syringe. “We’ll just get your little shot set up…” He draws up some of the clear liquid from the test tube.
“Ok,” Bruce murmurs, steeling himself up.
“Now we just gotta stress you out and convince the other guy to pay us a visit.” Tony balances the syringe on the table and pushes his swivel chair back. “What do you wanna do? Run on the treadmill and eat bagels? Watch some Trump campaign videos?”
Bruce shrugs.
“How are you and Nat doing? Got any sleepover stories?”
“Hey!” Bruce blushes. “That’s… that’s too personal.” The flush in his cheeks shifts to green.
“Bingo.” Tony laughs. “You know she worked for me, for a minute? Does she still have those white button-down shirts?”
“God, Tony.” A muscle pops on Bruce’s neck. “You are not prying into my relationship!”
“You do realize I’m making you mad on purpose, right?” Tony asks. “I don’t actually care.”
Bruce lets out a groan of frustration. He stands up and takes a step back from the table, his chest dropping forward as his back expands, splitting his t-shirt at the seams.
“And there we go,” Tony says, turning to face Bruce’s colossal form. “You’re looking incredible today. Incredibly green.”
The Hulk grunts and lifts his head. He draws back one enormous fist, his eyes flicking between Tony and the spread of chemistry equipment on the table.
“Hey, hey, no smashing the lab,” Tony says. “Hulking out, check. Now we commence the cooling down.” He snatches up the syringe and takes a step toward the Hulk’s knees.
He makes a guttural noise when Tony gets close to him. “Little poke. You know what’s coming,” Tony says. He quickly stabs the needle into the muscle of the Hulk’s thigh, eliciting a pained moan.
“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” Tony says. “Just like an epi-pen. Give it a minute, and you should be back to normal.”
The words are barely out of his mouth when the Hulk wobbles on his feet and begins to stumble backward, already shrinking back down to his human size and shape.
“Whoa.” Tony hurries to catch Bruce before he hits the floor. He grabs him under the arms and pulls him toward the nearest seat. “There. See? That’s what we call success.”
“Hm.” Bruce breathes heavily and wipes sweat from his brow. “I…I guess so.”
“Don’t tell me you’re surprised.” Tony picks up a notepad and pencil. “Ok. We’ve got to document this properly. How are you feeling?”
“Uh…tired?” Bruce presses one hand to his chest.
“I was going for something more along the lines of calm, but that works,” Tony says, scribbling it down. “Now, if we introduced something to make it shelf-stable, we could stock the serum in everybody’s medical kit and have it available every time we go out on a mission—”
“Tony?” Bruce interrupts.
“We could even do pre-filled syringes, that would probably be easiest.” He looks up from his notes. “What?”
“I don’t feel…” Bruce trails off, swallowing convulsively.
Tony takes in his chalky countenance and looks at him with confusion. “Huh?”
Bruce jerks forward and heaves. His bare feet are caught in the torrent of sick as it hits the floor.
“Oh, geez. Ok.” Tony grabs a trash can from the other side of the table and shoves it in front of Bruce. “That’s not the norm.”
“Sorry,” Bruce murmurs between retches. “I…Christ.” The taste of bile is so strong he doesn’t want to swallow.
“If I thought you were doing it on purpose, believe me, I wouldn’t still be here.” Tony offers a disappointed smile, then pats Bruce’s shoulder. “You got the spins, or what?”
Bruce slowly nods. “My head…my stomach. Just…really nauseous.” He barely gets the words out before he throws up again.
“Ok,” Tony sighs. He picks up his notepad again. “I’m marking this as a failed attempt. The formula obviously needs some more work, maybe some research into side effects before we try again.” He watches Bruce try to stifle a sick belch. “Do you want some ginger ale? Or we might have Zofran somewhere…”
“Uh, either would be great,” Bruce breathes before swallowing thickly and running a hand anxiously through his hair. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Hey, no biggie.” Tony looks around for a moment. “I hate to do this, but it’s probably the best thing for now.” He opens the mini fridge in the corner of the lab and pulls out a couple cans of soda. “Hey, FRIDAY? You wanna ask Pepper if she can bring me something from the medicine cabinet? We’ve got, uh, a little situation…”