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The room exuded tranquility, the light from outside shining through the slightly opened blinds, illuminating the space with dancing slits of light. The smell of laundry detergent and old books wafted through the air, tinging the beat-up old bedroom furniture with its scent. It was homey, a reflection of exactly the kind of place in which we had found ourselves. The Barton’s residence was a place we didn’t know existed until today, but it provided a well needed safe-haven. Somewhere peace could be found after Wanda’s attack.
In that moment, however, as my world came crashing down, there was no peace to be found.
Bruce stood in the corner, his hands writhing in anxiousness. His gaze focused on the floor, pupils burning into the carpet as if attempting to find solace within its soft bristles; the same solace he normally found within me. His hands were still shaking, the shock and guilt riddling him fear and sending his mind spiraling into an abyss of self-hatred.
When Bruce is truly frightened it's as if he folds in onto himself. An act of containment and desperation, an effort to keep the beast within at bay, and to keep those around him safe from the destruction forever abiding just under his skin. He locks himself away, imprisoning his vulnerability for the fear his own terror would pry open his senses, leaving nothing but pain and death in its wake.
That was his worst nightmare, and it had become reality just hours beforehand.
“The world just saw the Hulk. The real Hulk, for the first time. You know I have to leave.”
“Bruce-”
“If I stay people will get hurt.”
“How do you know that?”
“How do I not? Where in the world am I not a threat?”
“You’re not a threat, especially not to me.” I took a step closer, only for him to move back further into the corner of the room.
Normally, with enough calming reassurances and gentle gestures Bruce would open up. Allowing himself to fold in onto me instead; allowing me to take him in my arms and whisper words of well-needed kindness until the darkness faded away. He would cling to me as if I were that last bit of light in the darkest of rooms, until our breaths and heartbeats sang out in serene unison. On that fateful day, however, my efforts were futile.
He still refused to look at me, his eyes now staring down at his calloused hands with disdain. The fists that when green he thought could cause nothing but pain and devastation. He hated those hands. The hands that hours earlier had torn through homes, ended lives, and knocked me out cold.
I was attempting to stop Hulk in the midst of his rampage. The big guy had never once failed to calm at the sound of my voice; my soothing words always causing his green hue to fade to Bruce’s tan without fail. The lullaby was full proof, or so I had thought.
It was as if he didn’t even recognize me, that he had forgotten the bond we had forged. Hulk’s brain was so enveloped in fear, that even I posed as a threat. While persisting in my attempts to calm him down, I had gotten too close, a mistake that ended with his fist colliding with my chest, and my body smacked into the side of a nearby brick wall. Thanks to the protective qualities of my new suit, I was spared from any major injuries, but without it the damage could have been fatal.
Bruce’s stance exuded guilt. The kindest of men, utterly convinced he was the most monstrous of us all. I had tried to save him from having to look at them, the bruises that now decorated my chest in shades of purple and blue. I covered them using a hoodie borrowed from Laura, in the hopes that its thick fabric would shield them from his sight. As Bruce glanced over to me, however, he was able to see the violet splotches peeking out from behind my collar. They glared at him, taunting him with their existence; reminding him of where he came from and who he believed he had become.
His head snapped back, his gaze locked onto his feet as complete anguish peered through his expression. “Go look in the mirror, and see if you still believe that.”
I knew this was utterly destroying him. The thoughts of broken promises and the repetition of history tearing him apart bit by bit. Visions of people fleeing in terror, homes smashed to pieces, my bloodied body lying unconscious, entangled with that of his father's beatings and his mother bleeding out on the pavement all together forming a sort of horrific supercut procured from the very worst of his nightmares.
At the very core of Bruce Banner's soul was compassion. The kind of kindness that can only be born from torturous suffering. A kindness that the world has failed to reciprocate time and time again.
Bruce just doesn’t wanna hurt anybody
None of this was his fault, but he couldn’t see that. The raw guilt blurring the stark lines separating him and Hulk, not allowing him to see the reality of his innocence. In his mind he hurt people that day, innocent people he was supposed to protect. He thought he had hurt me, the woman he was supposed to love and keep safe from harm.
He had hurt me just as his father had his mother.
He had hurt the innocent, just as a monster would.
I noticed his eyes well up with tears, as he used every bit of control he had to keep them from falling.
“Bruce you didn’t hurt me, you didn’t hurt anybody. You never would.”
He wanted to believe me. With every fiber of his being he wanted to be good. Which he was, but in his mind the word monster flashed in big red letters, taunting him from behind his closed eyelids.
“Bruce please don’t go, we’ll figure this out.”
“C-Catherine please.”
“It wasn’t your fault! It wasn’t Hulk’s either. It was that witchy bitch she got in your head she-”
“I can't stand here and watch you get torn apart!”
As those words left his lips, Bruce’s walls began to break down. Hot tears now pooled in his eyes, his trembling quickened as if to match the racing of his heart. I wanted to help him; to give him the love he didn’t believe he deserved, the love he thought would leave me screaming in agony.
“He’s in my head Catherine, and he’s angry.” He whispered. He wants control. I have to keep people safe, I have to keep you safe. I-I’m sorry, but you have to understand.”
“You’re not some sort of monster Bruce.”
“Catherine, please. I have to go figure this out. Just give me time. Please understand. Please…”
And, as I gazed upon the man I loved more than anything, his demeanor so desperate, so afraid, I came to the most heart-wrenching of realizations.
I had to let him go.
For years Bruce and I had walked this tightrope; a line bordering between forever and never again. We never dared to teeter too far to one side for the fear we would lose what we had. We’d spent countless nights huddled under bed sheets, praying to God the floor wouldn’t fall through. That the wars raging outside our windows and inside our minds wouldn’t tear us apart. There was a reason we never promised forever. Our vows lasted one night at a time, the lives we both live and have lived not allowing us for anymore. Forever wasn’t in the cards, but between us there was enough love to last us that length of time and more.
The tightrope had grown too thin, and that love wasn’t enough to break the fall.
Bruce was my soft place to land, the only sweet thing I had left in contrast to the constant violence. He had wiped every tear, cleaned every wound, and had shown me a kind of trustworthy affection that I didn’t even know existed. I wanted with every fiber of my being to protect him, to keep him safe from the fear he knew all too well, even if that meant losing him. If him being here truly terrified him that much, if staying meant he would never be able to receive the rest he deserved, then I had to let him go. No matter how badly I wanted to hold on.
“Bruce-” I whispered, using the gentlest voice I had, the one that never failed to make him melt.
“I-I’m sorry I-”
I took him in my arms and held him as he quietly sobbed into the nape of my neck. He was devastated; he was terrified. His hands shook as they grasped onto my shirt, afraid to physically touch my flesh, for the fear that they may cause it to bleed.
“It's okay sweetheart, it’s okay.”
I held him close, my arms securing our bodies together, as one hand carded its fingers through his hair. I wished that I could take away his pain, that his tears were nothing more than the dripping remnants of the emotions my touch had melted away, but that wasn’t the case. He was in pain, so much so his hands wouldn’t even dare to touch me.
I pulled away, only slightly, his hands remaining clung to my shirt, as I reached up to cup his face in my palm. I used my thumbs to wipe away the tears, before brushing my fingertips into his sideburns.
At the sight of his face, cheeks still wet, eyes stained red, I felt a sob form in my throat. That was the face that woke me up from my nightmares, the eyes that had looked at me with so much adoration, the lips that kissed every bruise.
I was going to miss that face.
I slowly reached down to take his hands into my own, the unhurried nature of my actions meant to provide him with a chance of resistance. Instead, he stared wide-eyed as I interlocked my fingers with his own. His gaze held within it a plethora of emotion, as I brought his hands up to my lips, granting his knuckles with a kiss. A reminder that I adored his hands, the ones that stitched up my wounds, and held me as I slept; a reminder of the good those hands could do.
“Bruce,”
His eyes focused back onto my face.
“I understand. We’re gonna find somewhere you can go. Somewhere where we can remain in contact where I know you’re safe. I don’t want you to be alone. Okay?”
“Thank you.” He whispered, as his arms wrapped me in an embrace.
His hands held me with the gentle tenderness that never failed to make me melt into his touch. At the feeling of his arms wrapped around my injured frame, I came to the realization that this may be one of the last times I endure this sensation. The feeling of peace that washed over me whenever Bruce walked in the room, his lavender scent lulling me to sleep, the way his lips pressed against my forehead in greeting. All of those things were going to disappear.
He was really leaving.
At this point the sob that had formed itself in my throat was threatening to be released. I tried to hold back the tears, as if to save Bruce from feeling any more additional guilt, but I knew my efforts had failed when I felt his thumb wipe away the wetness from my cheeks.
“I’m so sorry Catherine, I wish things were different, you-you deserve better.” Bruce said, his words laced with shame. He wanted to stay, to build the life we could never afford to give ourselves, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of fear, the thought that his presence in my life would do nothing but hurt me.
“So do you. I responded, my words spoken as if they were gospel itself.
“Bruce you’re not a monster, what happened out there today wasn’t your fault. You just need to take some time to come to that realization yourself.”
He nodded, a sense of hope lighting a tiny flame within his soul. One that lit up the darkness, even just a tad. A sliver of belief within him saying that maybe I was right.
“I wish I could come with you, but with SHIELD I’d only be putting you in more danger.”
“I know Catherine. It’s okay. I have to do this on my own.”
“I love you angel.”
“I love you too, Bruce.”
As our declarations of love commenced, we found ourselves intertwined in the other’s embrace once more. Even if our tightrope had ripped under the strain, even if our floor had fallen through, that love was still there. It was felt from the bottoms of our feet, to the tips of our fingers, pure adoration and affection. That love would always remain, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell to see him go.
So as the bitter tears of goodbye came streaming down our faces once more, I folded in onto him.
And he folded onto me too.