Work Text:
NO.
Bruce Banner brings his fork to his mouth. He doesn’t like the texture of lettuce, or the taste of salad dressing, but it’s supposed to be healthy, right? Even if he’s kind of invincible, he shouldn’t just be eating junk, a healthy diet is important.
He puts the fork in his mouth, chews the lettuce, tries to focus on his computer screen more than the disgusting food he’s forcing himself to eat.
NO, BANNER.
It’s just salad.
Is this masochistic? Does this count as a form of self-harm? He really doesn’t need to be careful about his diet, does he? It probably counts as a form of self-harm. God, alright, what was he working on again? (NO HARM.) Right, right, helping Tony with his newest suit design. Bruce takes another bite of his salad. Maybe he’s just doing this out of spite.
NO SALAD.
I’m trying to work.
NO SALAD.
He’s getting a headache. Tony is going to need to adjust the power output to the lasers if he’s going to want to fly in this thing- he’ll short out the circuits if he tries both at the same time. Bruce makes a note about this. Maybe they can make adjustments to accommodate the idea when it’s actually being built, but it’s not looking good on paper. He takes another bite of salad. Eugh, tomatoes. He spits it out, but the action isn’t his. At least it’s not all over his computer monitor this time.
“Really?”
BAD.
He sighs. No salad, huh? Alright.
What will you let me eat?
He’s supplied with the image of an apple. Honestly, he’s surprised. Hulk doesn’t usually accept anything healthy, preferring bland flavours and soft textures to anything else (Bruce can’t say he doesn’t agree.)
Thank you.
BANNER HEALTHY.
He tosses his salad, wonders to the tiny refrigerator he keeps in his lab. Do they have any apples? It really isn’t good form to store your samples in the same fridge as your food. He searches the little fridge top to bottom, but comes up empty handed. There’s a half eaten slice of pizza, several test tubes containing samples of his friend’s DNA- he makes a mental note to get back to that when he has a second- a jar of peach jam, and four eggs. Maybe Tony has apples.
He grabs his phone, scrolls through his contacts, and taps Tony’s number. The phone rings three times before… Jarvis picks up.
“Hello, Mr. Banner,” the AI greets cordially. Bruce groans inwardly. Hulk makes a noise of complaint in his head. “Mr. Stark is currently indisposed. Is there anything I could help you with, or do you require his attention?”
“Is there any apples upstairs?” That’s not the correct grammar, is it? Damn. He’s been practicing that.
“I don’t believe we have any apples on site, at the moment. Should I put in an order?”
“Yeah, uh… Half dozen, please.”
“Of course, sir. Is there anything else?”
“No, thank you, Jarvis.”
“Of course.”
Bruce hangs up the phone, rests his head in his hands for a moment. Leaving his lab sounds like a chore he isn’t prepared for. Leaving the compound sounds even less welcoming. His other bleeds smugness in the back of his head. Bruce narrows his eyes.
“You knew there were no apples,” he says out loud to an empty room. Hulk says nothing, but the smug feeling intensifies. Asshole. He tries to turn his attention back to the computer screen, but he can’t focus, and he finds it incredibly frustrating. He turns off the screen. Hulk wordlessly suggests that they smash it. Bruce gets up and walks away instead.