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Chapter Text

It’s raining: that soft, warm rain that moves people off the beach and into Hulk’s Surf Shack to have a drink and a snack while they wait it out.  It rains a lot in Pupukea, actually – about three times as much as it does in Honolulu, thirty-seven miles away.  But the staff at Hulk’s are quick to reassure the tourists that the gentle rain showers are fleeting and the sun will be back out in a short time.  

Bruce likes to tell his customers that short of a hurricane, there’s just no such thing as bad weather in Hawaii.  He loves the rain, and not just because it’s good for business.  He loves the feel of it on his skin, the rich smell of it, the way it smooths the edges of everything as though the world exists in soft focus for a while.  One of his very favorite things to do is to surf in the rain.  In fact, he’s tempted to toss off his shirt and grab one of his boards right now. 

He mostly wears board shorts and swim trunks when he works if the surf report’s promising, so he can take off whenever he sees a good set of waves.  After all, he’s Bruce “the Hulk” Banner, former elite professional surfer.  What’s the point of being the boss and working literally on the former Banzai Beach if he can’t go out whenever the Pipeline’s crankin’? 

Except that, at this moment, he’s deep in conversation with his close friend Natasha Romanoff.

She’s sipping at her usual, a Pitaya Thruster.  They’re a delicious mix of pitaya (dragonfruit), carrot juice, mango, pineapple, banana, coconut, and lime, and Natasha swears there is no smoothie anywhere that compares.  Still, every single time he hears someone order one, Bruce regrets letting Tony Stark talk him into the name.  He’d let Stark convince him that people would recognize that “thruster” is a surfing term, and Bruce fully acknowledges that the mistake was his own.  He and Tony have been friends since they were in their teens, so it’s not like it’s news to Bruce that letting Stark convince you of anything inevitably leads to disaster.  He should’ve known he’d regret the name.

They happen to be talking about that very thing, in fact. 

“Am I really going to have to hear this complaint again?”  Natasha sighs.  “Sex sells, Bruce.  No one cares that the modern style of three-finned shortboard is called a thruster.  In fact, if they did know, they’d find that fact boring and pedantic, like I do.  They’d prefer to think this smoothie is named after sex.”

“Like you do?” Bruce grins, in a hopeless attempt to embarrass Natasha.  Another thing he should know better than to do. 

Without expression, she nods.  “Yes.”

“Why does everything have to be reduced to the lowest common denominator?” Bruce sighs.

He says it under his breath, but Natasha hears him. 

“Don’t be an intellectual snob, Bruce.  Not everyone has a supergenius IQ, like you do.  Normal people like things simple.”

“I like things simple.”

“No, you don’t.  Normal people relax with a steamy novel or a magazine.  You relax with a quantum physics textbook.”

“Quantum physics is interesting.”

“Normal people make paper airplanes.  You designed a supersonic jet capable of near-Earth orbit.”

“I was on an aeronautical engineering kick!”

“Bruce, normal people don’t get on aeronautical engineering kicks.  That’s my point.  I’m not dragging you for being a genius.  I’m just saying, give us mere mortals a break.”

“Whatever.  You want anything to eat?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry.  What’s Clint doing for lunch today?” 

“He just pulled out a kalua pig.”

“Ooh.  Done.  However he serves it, I’ll like it.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Bruce has been standing across the Snack Bar from Natasha.  Now he makes his way toward the kitchen, which is Clint Barton’s domain.  Bruce moves quickly, but his stride is casual, like everything about him.  There is just the slightest limp to his walk, the result of the catastrophic wipeout on this very beach that ended his professional surfing career. 

Natasha sees Bruce approach the kitchen at the center of the Surf Shack and call out to Clint.  All around, the staff is hustling while the rain continues to fall outside.  She grins as she takes another sip of her smoothie, wondering for the millionth time what she and Clint Barton are to each other. 

For just a moment, she lets herself sink back into the memory of the first time she’d watched Clint put together his imu , the traditional sand pit with sea salt, banana leaves and koa wood he uses to cook his kalua pork.  She’d been fascinated with his unique combination of lazy chill, childlike enjoyment of his work, and autocratic exactitude about the way he prepared food.  Natasha had been attracted to Clint from the beginning – anyone would be – but she’d never meant to have feelings for him. 

Hulk’s Surf Shack is a big place.  It has to be, with the amount of business it gets.  It’s separated into two parts: a Snack Bar on the side closest to the water, and a sit-down restaurant on the other.  Owing to the upward slope of the beach, the restaurant side is a few steps up from the Snack Bar, which allows the restaurant customers a clear view of the beach and the waves, right over the heads of the Snack Bar patrons. 

Bruce and Clint brainstormed the concept for the building.  Then Bruce designed it and drew up all the plans, because no one told him he shouldn’t know how.  It wasn’t until afterward that Bruce learned it was unusual to be able to intuitively understand the necessary architecture, electrical and mechanical engineering.  The County of Honolulu did require them to have the plans approved by licensed experts, but the only problem they’d had was convincing the experts that Bruce himself had drafted them.

The building is open-air, for the most part.  It does have outer walls, but they’re movable and they’re almost always retracted, like they are now.  Only one corner of the building has solid walls.  That corner houses the restrooms and offices, as well as utility spaces like the walk-in cooler and freezer.  The large roof overhang keeps rain from getting in, as long as there’s just a nice beach breeze like there is now.  It also provides ample shade when the sun’s out.

The kitchen is located in the center of the building, surrounded by four-foot half-walls.  Some of the shelving in the kitchen rises to the ceiling, but even the shelving is open-wire to preserve the breeze and the view as much as possible.  The openness allows the guests to watch the kitchen staff preparing their meals, and lets the mouthwatering aromas of Clint’s masterpieces waft out on the breeze to tempt beachgoers.  It also gives the staff the ability to glimpse the ocean as they work. 

Because Hulk’s is so open, Natasha hears Clint bark something at a white-clad cook and sees him take a plate from the cook’s hands.  Her grin becomes a smile as she sees Clint exit the kitchen area and come toward her, smiling just as broadly as she is. 

“Twelve-hour slow roasted kalua pulled pork with cabbage over brown rice.  Guava barbecue sauce and takuan,” he announces as he sets the dish before her. 

Natasha takes a moment to just appreciate the perfectly-presented meal.  “Did you make the takuan?”

“Nah.  Got it at the Costco down the street.”

She tries to give him a dirty look, but neither of them is fooled.  They know one another too well.  “You could’ve just said yes.  Fuck you,” she mutters and crunches into one of the yellow half-moons of daikon radish that, not surprisingly, he’s pickled perfectly. 

“Working.  But I could take a break.  My car’s got a back seat.”

Natasha doesn’t even bother to respond, just takes her first forkful of pulled pork and cabbage.  Clint’s face is a careful mask, but she can plainly see him craving her good opinion of his work. 

“Eh,” she grunts with a shrug, and Clint beams happily.  He knows she’s teasing.  This is a dance they’ve done a thousand times, and it never fails to enchant him.  He’s a fucking fool for her and he knows it, no matter how hard they both try to pretend otherwise.

“I missed you,” he comments as she eats.  “You were gone too long this time.  If I thought you’d agree, I really would take you to the back seat of my car.”

“I know, but it couldn’t be helped.  Tough client.”

“Everything worked out okay, though?”

As expected, she slides out of answering and changes the subject.  “I’m good at what I do.  Which, by the way, so are you.  Because seriously, this might be your best kalua pork yet.  There’s something…”

“Cinnamon.”

“No way.”

“Way,” comes Bruce’s voice from behind Clint, and suddenly they’re both standing on the other side of the counter from Natasha.

“How can you be a successful chef when you tell everyone your secret ingredients?” Natasha asks between appreciative bites.  It’s actually a taunt of sorts, and Clint responds as expected.

“Who says I want to be a successful chef?” he replies, his nose crinkling in distaste. 

Although he actually is a classically trained chef, Clint bristles at the title.  He’s living his dream doing exactly what he does.  Clint wants no more fame or fortune than he already has.  He has no pretensions  or ambitions beyond just living this good life, making delicious food for people who enjoy it.  Like Bruce and Natasha, Clint’s been through some things in his life, and his experiences have left their mark.  These days, he focuses on things he values: living in the best place on Earth, spending time with those he loves, and indulging his talent for creating interesting, tasty dishes. 

Between Bruce’s status as a surf legend and Clint’s widely-acclaimed food, Hulk’s Surf Shack is by far the most popular beachside eatery on the North Shore of Oahu.  The food and service in the sit-down restaurant are surprisingly upscale, even though the decor is unfussy and people are welcome in their swimsuits and beach cover-ups.  At night, when the servers cover the tables with crisp, white tablecloths and decorate them with candles and crystal, the customers just naturally dress more formally - although “formal” has a very relaxed meaning in Hawaii.  Most of the women wear colorful dresses or tops, and the men Aloha shirts and slacks.

Bruce grins at Natasha, inclining his head toward Clint.  “He tells everyone everything.  The polar opposite of you.” 

Bruce is semi-serious.  He really has no idea where Natasha’s been for the last month, nor does he know what her job is.  He doesn’t even think Clint knows.  Not really.  Bruce has given up trying to find out, and after all the time they’ve been friends, his curiosity has been banked into a low-level smolder tucked somewhere far in the back of his mind.  It doesn’t matter.  He takes his friends as he finds them, just as he wants them to take him.  They’re trustworthy and good people, and that’s enough for him.

“I tell you lots of things,” Natasha retorts.  “Ooh.  For example, I saw Tony.  He says the Banzai Pro’s starting on the sixteenth.”

“Really?” Bruce’s eyes go wide and his normally placid face becomes animated.  “So early?  That’s great!” 

The three begin to chatter excitedly about the Stark Banzai Pro, the annual surfing competition which is the first of the year in the world-renowned surfing mecca of Oahu’s North Shore.  Like all surfing competitions, it’s scheduled over several days.  It takes three days to complete, but it’s scheduled within a larger time window so that the actual event can occur when the best possible wave conditions present themselves.  To have those conditions occur early in the time period is ideal. 

The Banzai Pro is the first of three events that make up the Stark Pipeline Classic.  Traffic gets hideous in Pupukea during competitions, with the Kamehameha Highway all but gridlocked, but Bruce doesn’t mind.  He can hike down to the beach from his house, which sits on a low cliff above the Surf Shack.  He also loves having the surfing world come to him.  It’s a chance to check out new competitors, see what the established surfers have been working on, and get to hang out with friends from around the world.  

This first event is called the Stark Banzai Pro for two reasons.  First, because what is now Ehukai Beach was once called Banzai Beach, and is home to the world famous surf break called the Banzai Pipeline.  The Pipeline, or just the Pipe, is famous for the size, shape, power, and perfection of its waves.  They can be heartbreakingly beautiful twenty-five to thirty-foot massive barrels that explode onto a craggy, shallow coral reef.  Best of all, the break is very close to shore, which makes Ehukai Beach the perfect place for spectators to catch the action.

The second reason the competition is called the Stark Banzai Pro is, of course, that Stark Industries is its major sponsor.  At any time, the North Shore is saturated with the Stark logo on everything from clothing to surfboards to snorkels to wax.  Tourists love to pick up T-shirts and bumper stickers at the Stark flagship store here in Pupukea, just across the Kamehameha highway from the Surf Shack.  But for Bruce’s friend Tony Stark, the heart of Stark Industries is the surfboards he designs and sells.  Sure, Tony likes to work on his state-of-the-art scuba equipment and other designs.  But Tony’s true love is surfboards, and his are unanimously agreed to be the best.   

With the number of Stark products – all bearing that ubiquitous logo – it’s inescapable on the North Shore at any time.  But with Stark Industries sponsoring the competition, sometimes Bruce thinks Tony might have branded the entire island of Oahu.  He’d hate it if Tony wasn’t such a good friend.  As it is, Bruce gives Tony plenty of grief for all the Stark logos around Ehukai Beach at this time of year. 

“How long have you guys owned Hulk’s now?” Natasha asks.

The question is not as simple as it seems.  Natasha has never forgotten anything in her life.  There’s nothing in her face, or her voice, but Bruce knows immediately that she’s fishing. 

He thinks he knows what’s on her mind, though, because it’s been on his, too. Not that he’s been dwelling on it, exactly, because that’s not who he is.  But it is a milestone of sorts, he supposes.  This will be the tenth competition season since Bruce’s accident. 

“We opened eight years ago next month,” he answers nonchalantly.  He waves at a group of tourists who have finished lunch and are heading out into the last dwindling sprinkles of the rain squall, autographed postcards in hand.  When they get home, they’ll be telling their friends how they met surf legend Bruce Banner.  You know, the one who was at the very peak of his career, the tip-top of the surfing world, when he wiped out and tore up his knee.  They’ll say that he’s forty-five now, with some grey in those trademark unruly dark curls, but he looks great and was just the nicest guy…

Clint shakes his head.  “I cannot believe I’ve put up with being your partner for eight years.  I’m probably on the shortlist for sainthood.”

Bruce grins and shakes his head as he turns to the hostess who has stepped up to ask him a question.

When Bruce turns back around, Clint and Natasha are talking about the observation platforms being constructed in the competition area on the beach.  They’re tall scaffolds rising from the sand that allow the judges, TV cameramen and photographers an unobstructed view of the surfers as they take their runs.  Most of them are topped with colorful canopies bearing the logos of companies that make surf equipment and clothing.  The judges’ platform is two stories tall, topped by a canvas roof with this year’s competition art that, unsurprisingly, prominently features the Stark Industries logo. 

“I love this year’s art,” Clint is saying.  “The colors are great.”

“You know Steve Rogers did it, right?” Natasha tells him.  “The surfer in the picture is Bucky.”

Clint points his finger toward his open mouth and makes a gagging sound. 

“What?” Bruce asks.  “You don’t like Steve and Bucky?”

“Oh, puh-leese,” Clint cries, rolling his eyes theatrically.  “They’re good enough surfers, but the whole triumph-over-adversity, fairy tale romance thing kind of gets on my nerves.  Gimme a conceited Brazilian with an attitude problem or a moody Samoan who makes a big show of praying to the waves or whatever.  I like things messy.”

Bruce laughs.  “So that’s why you like Loki.”

“Exactly,” Clint confirms.  “Gotta get back to work.  The boss is an asshole.”  With a wink at Natasha, he turns to head back to the kitchen.

Natasha takes her time finishing her lunch and Bruce keeps her company.  They chat about the surfers expected to show up for the upcoming competition, but Bruce keeps finding that the conversation has somehow veered toward the subject of his accident.  Finally, he’s had enough.

“It doesn’t seem like a whole year since Prince Nkosi died,” Natasha sighs, and Bruce sets his coffee mug down on the weathered white wood of the counter.

“Natasha, if you want to ask me something, just ask.  Quit dancing around and spit it out.”

Arching a perfectly-shaped eyebrow, Natasha widens her eyes in an infuriating mockery of innocence.  “A guy died at this competition last year, Bruce.  It had an effect on me.  That’s all I’m saying.  I wasn’t talking about you at all.”

“I don’t believe you, but if that’s true, then I apologize.  Nkosi’s death was horrible, I’ll give you that.”

“Ugh.  How would you like to have been on that dive team?”

All Bruce can do is shudder in response.  South African surfer Prince Nkosi, twenty-four and very promising, had wiped out in an early heat of the Stark Banzai Pro last year.  He had not come back up from under the towering wave that engulfed him.  When it finally became apparent that the worst had happened, divers had been dispatched to search for his body and had located him stuck under an overhanging ledge of the coral reef that gives the waves of the Pipe their shape.  He had a serious, but not fatal, head injury and water in his lungs.  The final determination was that Nkosi must have been tumbled by the wave and, disoriented, pushed for the surface without looking up.  He’d hit his head on the reef overhang and been knocked unconscious, unable to save himself.  He wasn’t the first surfer the Pipeline had killed that way.

For a moment, Bruce and Natasha simply look down, reliving the horror of that day.  Then Natasha looks up into Bruce’s face.  “You know, just because you didn’t die, doesn’t mean your accident wasn’t terrible.”

“I knew that was what you were getting at,” Bruce says, giving her as much of a grin as he’s able in the moment, to reassure her that she isn’t out of line.  “I’m fine, Nat.  Yes, I know it’s the ten-year anniversary, but I’m fine.  Everything ends, pro surfing careers earlier than most, and some end a lot worse than mine did.”

He puts his hand over hers where it rests on the counter.  “I’m okay.  Thanks for asking.”

“It would be perfectly understandable if you weren’t.  If you resented all these kids, like Rogers and Barnes, coming in here with their youth and their fans and their sponsorships, mobs of press following them everywhere just in case they drop a good sound bite.”

“I hated all that anyway, Nat.  You know that.  I just wanted to surf.  And yeah.  Maybe the accident meant I couldn’t do it professionally after that, but I was almost thirty-five, anyway.  That’s old for a surfer.”

“So they say.”

Bruce narrows his eyes at her, daring her to say what’s on her mind.  “What?”

“I want you to be happy, Bruce.  That’s all.  I’m just checking in.  I mean, is this what you want?  Are you happy?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Bruce gives a genuine laugh at that.  “It’s way too early in the day to get all existential, and we haven’t even been drinking.  I live in the most beautiful place in the world, where I get to surf the best waves on the planet whenever I want.  I don’t get paid for it anymore, but by now I wouldn’t be, anyway.  So instead, I own my own business where I get paid to hang out at the beach.  If that isn’t happiness, I don’t know what is.” 

Bruce flicks a bar towel playfully at Natasha and takes the plate she’s pushed away now that she’s finished eating.  He’s still laughing softly as he makes his way to the kitchen.

Natasha squints at his back as she watches him go.  Bruce’s last sentence may be more true than he realizes, she thinks.  He fits perfectly into the Hawaiian lifestyle: casual, laid-back, without the buttoned-up, driven ethos of the mainland.  But she wonders.  Is Bruce truly happy?   He’s always so quick to pronounce himself satisfied with everything.  But is he?  Really? 

He’s told her that he stayed in Pupukea after his accident primarily because he had nowhere else to go.  He had no family and no roots anywhere, and while he’d been surfing professionally, he’d spent all the time he could on the North Shore.  There’s no better surfing anywhere, and he had wanted to learn everything he could about the Pipe.  He’d wanted to know it better than anyone else.  So Pupukea had been as close as Bruce had to a home.

He met Clint Barton by chance shortly before his accident, and they’d bonded pretty much instantly.  That meeting changed both their lives.  Clint had always dreamed of owning a surfside restaurant at the Banzai Pipeline, but he couldn’t get a permit.  The North Shore is nowhere near as commercially developed as the areas of the island closer to Honolulu, and no one was willing to allow a business right on Ehukai Beach next to all the oceanfront showplace homes. 

That is, until the person asking for a permit was Bruce Banner.  Everyone knew who Bruce was, and he’d spent so much time on the North Shore that most of the locals had at least seen him around.  They thought of him as theirs, and they were proud of him. So when he became America’s Wounded Sweetheart and needed a job, the city fathers of Pupukea had been more than happy to grant Bruce a permit, and Hulk’s Surf Shack was born.

Unlike Clint, Bruce had never even thought about owning a restaurant, but he had to do something , and he couldn’t think of anything else.   Clint had been saving to start his own restaurant, and Bruce had the insurance payout from his accident, so they pooled what they had and borrowed the rest.  With the nest egg he’d managed to save from his winnings, Bruce bought a house overlooking the beach, and became a restauranteur. 

Which doesn’t add up to Bruce living his dream.  At least, not to Natasha.  He’s content, sure.  But Bruce is always content, and to her, that just doesn’t seem good enough. 

Natasha utterly rejects the idea that a person needs a romantic partner to be happy.  At the same time, she wishes Bruce had someone to love him, and to love.  He has everything to offer, including an abundance of affection for those he cares about.  And he’s certainly good looking.  His trademark unruly hair is almost black, beginning to be sprinkled with grey that really works for him.  His dark brown eyes are what Natasha thinks people call soulful, full of a depth and intensity that bely the otherwise little-boy quality of his handsome face.  His trim, five-foot-eight build is graced with just the right amount of defined muscle developed over a lifetime of surfing.

So Natasha’s friend Bruce Banner is a successful business owner with plenty of friends, good-looking and athletic, living in paradise.  He certainly has the right ingredients.  And yet, at this moment, it occurs to her that it’s entirely possible that Bruce doesn’t know what happiness is. 

*          *          *

The next day, traffic on the Kamehameha highway becomes even more impossible as people begin to arrive in Pupukea for the competition.  The surfers themselves make up only a small fraction of them; there are also spectators, judges, media, and representatives from all the surf gear companies.  Business at Hulk’s begins to approach the full-scale frenzy that accompanies all the surfing competitions held along the North Shore every winter.

Bruce is busy enough with his day job, but there are always the inevitable reporters looking for an interview with Surf Legend™ Bruce Banner and asking his opinions on the current competitors.  This year, a few have tumbled onto the fact that it’s the ten year anniversary of his injury and the resulting demise of his career, and are looking to do a story from that perspective.  Only one makes the mistake of calling it a “Where Are They Now” piece.

Before Bruce can stop the restaurant’s manager, M’Baku, the unfortunate blogger finds himself face-down in the sand outside the Snack Bar.

“Sorry, Boss,” M’Baku shrugs, “but that’s disrespectful.”

“You hire and train all the staff here, brah,” Bruce chides gently, trying to fight a grin.  “Now they’re gonna think that’s appropriate behavior.”

M’Baku gives him a slightly bemused, somewhat disapproving frown.  “It is.”

With that, the giant Wakandan wades back into the crowd of servers, bussers, and guests making up the controlled chaos of the Surf Shack’s morning rush.

Bruce’s attention is suddenly drawn by a loud, booming laugh from behind him.  He turns back toward the long counter fronting the Snack Bar to see a tightly-packed crowd of people who are obviously reporters.  Bruce can spot the press a mile off, but in this case, they’re making it easy by jostling each other to get closer so they can snap photographs and shout questions at the man in the center of the scrum.  The man is head and shoulders taller than any of them.  His gleaming blond head of thick, tousled, shoulder-length hair seems stereotypically California surfer dude, although he’s not actually American.  He’s Australian, from the Gold Coast.

Thor Odinson, the God of Surfing.  Or so the media like to call him. 

Although he recognizes him easily, Bruce doesn’t actually know him.  Thor is only thirty-two, and wasn’t on the elite pro circuit yet when Bruce was competing.  For whatever reason, their paths just haven’t crossed when Thor’s been on the North Shore for competitions.  Sometimes it’s hard for Bruce to remember whether he’s met a pro surfer personally or just knows them from watching competitions.  Not Thor Odinson.  If Bruce had met him before, he wouldn’t be standing here now feeling like he’s just had the barrel of a gnarly drainer collapse on him out of nowhere to spin and whirl him around with no possibility of controlling where it takes him and no sense of direction, including up or down. 

Gorgeous seems like a weak word for Thor, but it’s the only one that comes to Bruce in the moment.  Besides being tall, Thor is ripped.  He doesn’t just have the fit, athletic build of a professional surfer, he has an added element of muscularity that, to Bruce, is breathtakingly beautiful.  Photos and video don’t do justice to the total effect of all that lean muscle and grace.  In person, he is almost mesmerizing.  As if his body weren’t stunning enough, he also has luminous, ice-blue eyes in an extraordinarily handsome face that somehow seems always to look amused, no matter what his expression. 

Bruce can hear every word Thor’s saying – his voice is as big as he is – and Bruce can somehow feel Thor’s accent.  He’s smiling patiently as he answers questions Bruce can’t quite hear, all the while making his way across the beach toward Hulk’s. 

It’s only when Thor looks down at a reporter shouting to be heard over the throng that Bruce realizes his chest is starting to burn and the edges of his vision are going dark.  He feels like there’s a vacuum in his lungs.  He actually has to exhale just a bit to convince his body to inhale, something he realizes he hasn’t done since first catching sight of Thor Odinson. 

Oh, shit.  Oh, holy flyin’ balls of entirely unexpected, really inconvenient shit. 

The whole time it takes Thor and the shifting, elbowing pack of press around him to reach the Surf Shack, Bruce just stands, completely aware that he’s helplessly staring.  Unfortunately, he’s also completely unaware that he’s blocking the walkway between the Snack Bar and the long counter behind it, with its snack displays, smoothie and shave ice machines, and built-in cooler full of cold drinks.  The place is jumping, with customers three-deep along the Snack Bar, and the servers are scurrying past one another in the narrow space holding cups and bowls heaped with frozen treats. 

It’s only a matter of time.

Sure enough, one of the newer servers turns around too quickly with an uncovered smoothie (a mondo-size, because of course it is) and catches sight of Thor and his entourage.  It’s just distracting enough that he misjudges his steps, catches his foot on Bruce’s, and loses his balance.  The bright purple mondo acai and pineapple smoothie flies straight up in the air. 

It lands, upside-down, on Bruce, instantly creating a permanent tie-dye-meets-modern-art stain all over his previously bright white Aloha shirt. 

“Parker, what the hell? ” M’Baku shouts from across the restaurant, and all movement and sound instantly stop.  Even the noise of the waves seems to be muted in this moment as Bruce stands, sodden and dripping, still with his eyes locked on Thor.

Except now, like everyone else within a half-mile radius, Thor is looking directly back at Bruce.  Their eyes meet and Bruce sees Thor blink and miss a beat.  Well, who wouldn’t?  Bruce is wearing an entire purple frozen beverage, of which huge, cold drops are hanging like ornaments from the ends of his hair and sliding from his chin to plop onto his chest.

The moment goes on for what seems to Bruce like five minutes.  Maybe ten.  But then, as instantly as it stopped, the raucous noise and frenzied movement of the busy restaurant resume, the waves return to their previous roar, and the spell is broken.  M’Baku strides powerfully across the restaurant, launching into a furious harangue in rapid-fire Xhosa.  Bruce catches only the words “Peter Parker” and “ impundu esisiyatha .”  While he can’t disagree with calling Parker a stupid asshole, he decides that he should probably ask M’Baku not to shout obscenities across the restaurant in any language. 

When M’Baku reaches Bruce, he steps in front of him so that he blocks his view of Thor, bringing Bruce fully back into the present.  M’Baku takes a quick look at the quantity and hue of the smoothie Bruce is wearing and pronounces, “Hopeless.  Go back to your office and change.”

It’s only then that Bruce realizes he’s shivering a bit and starting to feel sticky.  The hot sting of shame begins somewhere around his hairline and oozes down over him as it dawns on him that Thor Odinson just witnessed that whole mess.  Bruce has to force himself not to run on his way to the safety of his office, where he can cringe in private.

*          *          *

“Well, I thought it was cute,” Clint chuckles.  He’s trying to make it sound like a defense of Bruce, but it’s a taunt and Bruce knows it.

“I will literally bake you in one of your sand ovens,” he growls through gritted teeth.  “That was one of my favorite shirts.”

Which only makes Clint and Natasha laugh louder.  They’re relaxing on the expansive lanai of Bruce’s house, enjoying a mid-day break before Bruce and Clint have to return to the Surf Shack for the dinner rush.  That is, Natasha and Clint are enjoying it.  Bruce, on the other hand, has been spending the entire time getting roasted by his best friends about having a crush on Thor.

“You realize I have never spoken a word to the man.  Not one.  I don’t know how I’m supposed to have a crush—”

“I’m sorry to be the one to diagnose you, Banner, but you’re a fan .  You don’t have to have spoken to him to have a crush.”

“Natasha—”

“And there’s no cure, either,” Clint piles on.  “Besides, you need to just own it, because your little bit of street theater is all over the internet.  The YouTube video is amazing.  It captures the moment when your soul actually leaves your body as you see Thor.”

“All right, that’s it.  You’re fired.  Now get out of my house so I can Google hitmen and have that Parker kid murdered.”

It’s hard to understand Natasha because she can’t stop laughing as she tells him, “Number one, you can’t fire your partner.  You have to dissolve the partnership in court, like a divorce.  And number two, Peter Parker is a sweet boy whose undeserved death won’t stop #EYEFUCKOFTHECENTURY from trending.  They’re calling you two ‘Bandinson.’  I normally hate those name mash-ups, but that one isn’t so bad.”

Bruce groans in pain as he downs half of his beer in one gulp. 

 *      *       *

That night, Thor Odinson comes back to the Surf Shack.  He’s there to have dinner with a number of executives from one of his sponsors.  They’re a surfwear company that is one of Tony Stark’s fiercest competitors, although Tony downplays the threat they present to his market share.  Thor’s radiant in one of their body-hugging shirts that matches the color of his eyes, and Bruce has to drag his eyes off of him.  

Bruce has met a couple of these executives before, so they exchange waves, but thankfully they don’t call him over to their table.  Normally, he would make a point of stopping by just to say hello, but he can’t seem to make himself do it tonight.  Instead, he spends the entire time they’re in the restaurant visiting every other table and then working behind the bar.  

He doesn’t have to ask himself why he’s avoiding Thor.  He’s still mortified over the episode with the smoothie.  Except that Bruce has already endured seemingly endless ribbing about it, and that didn’t bother him.  Why does the idea that Thor saw his humiliation have him cowering behind the bar?  Bruce doesn’t ask himself that question, either.  Because the answer is simmering just beneath his consciousness, and it’s the reason he can’t seem to stop glancing over at Thor.  It’s just his luck that, every time he does, Thor seems to be looking at him, too. 

Bruce cannot get a break.

By the time Thor and his group leave the Surf Shack, Bruce is almost done restocking the bar.  He sighs as he looks into the box of cardboard drink coasters he’s just opened. 

This again. 

Between the bar, Snack Bar, and restaurant, Hulk’s uses a lot of cardboard coasters.  The ones M’Baku designed are bright green, with the Hulk’s Surf Shack logo on one side and a stylized drawing of Bruce surfing on the other.  Not only are they necessary for all the drinks Hulk’s serves, but tourists love to keep them as souvenirs.  The staff is happy to give them clean, unused ones to take home, because it’s great advertising.  Besides, they’re dirt cheap, because the supplier prints them in-house. 

Several weeks ago, M’Baku mentioned that their supplies of coasters were getting low, and ordered more.  He’s been complaining that they haven’t arrived, and for the last few days, the staff has actually had to try to conserve them, because they’re close to running completely out.  Every time someone from the supplier has made a delivery, M’Baku’s been on the delivery guy immediately, asking whether they’ve finally brought the coasters.  There’s always some excuse why they haven’t.  Bruce has called the supplier twice, because they’re about to enter the mad rush that comes with a surfing competition and they need those coasters, dammit. 

Well, the coasters have arrived. 

They’re purple instead of green, and the name of the Surf Shack is spelled “Huk’s.” 

Chapter Text

At six-thirty a.m., Bruce knows the Pipe won’t be too crowded, even during a competition.  For him, early morning surfing is a combination of exercise, physical therapy to keep his knee from getting too stiff, and his form of church.  He still meditates, like he did during his pro surfing days, but being by himself on the waves with the sun just coming up is different.  It’s a connection with things bigger than himself that helps him keep perspective. 

Usually he’s trying to make sense of business problems or something going wrong with his house, but he finds that it helps a little with becoming an unwilling overnight internet meme, too.  That is, until he sees a huge figure with an unruly head of blond hair, bursting with muscles even at this distance, that can only be Thor Odinson.  It’s only just become light enough to surf, so Bruce hasn’t even caught his first wave yet, and already he’s questioning whether he should just paddle in and go to work.

It’s tempting.  He’ll tell any customer or reporter that he surfs now just for the love of the sport, but the fact is that he’s honestly not sure why he does it anymore.  He has to wear a custom knee brace in the water, designed by Tony Stark (which he had refused to wear if Tony dared put his damn logo on it).  There are plenty of ways to exercise and stretch his knee that he could do on land.  If he wants to relax his mind, he can always work on calculus problems and he has a whole room in his house dedicated to meditation.  Surfing is really probably just seventy percent habit for him now.

Although he’s no longer a world-class competitor like he was pre-accident, Bruce Banner is still a better surfer than most people will ever be.  He still charges the waves in the signature style that earned him the nickname “the Hulk.”  But there’s no joy in it.  Not like the soul-stirring rapture that used to get him out of bed at this hour just because he couldn’t wait any longer to get into the waves. 

He turns away from Thor Odinson, instead scanning the horizon for a likely set.  He still doesn’t know whether he’s going to just ride one in and call it a morning, but he figures he might as well enjoy one run, anyway.  He sees it from a long way away.  The ripple of energy under the water is just the right speed, the right height to become a nice wall exactly where he wants it.  Bruce is long, long past the time when he needs to think about timing.  His body just knows when to turn the board and begin paddling. 

In the same way, there’s no thought about how fast he needs to be moving when the swell reaches him.  So when it does, it’s almost as though he’s willed it to show up just when he’s ready for it.  It’s no monster, but it’s a pretty wave with plenty of energy, and when he drops down into the pit of it, he can see the tube’s going to be long-lived and collapse gently. 

He’s right.  It’s dim inside the barrel of the wave, a deep green-blue corridor where the roar of the rushing, falling water echoes strangely.  Bruce can see from its changing shape how long the tube will last, and he wants to stay inside as long as he can.  So he slows his progress a bit by squatting to lower his weight and sticking his left arm into the wall of moving water beside him, prolonging his time in the hollow of the wave.  The oval of light that remains at the other end shifts and narrows, ultimately being overtaken by a fall of white water.  Bruce bursts through the cascade at the last possible second before the tube collapses entirely.  

By the time the wave spits him out, there’s no more thought.  There’s only the pure, sweet rush of dopamine that leaves him smiling broadly as he lets his board settle back down into the soup, the white turbulence left on top of the water by the breaking wave.  He gracefully lowers himself back onto the board as it loses momentum.

Reflexively, Bruce lays down on his belly to paddle back out.  That’s when he sees that Thor is straddling his own board not far away, having just watched Bruce’s ride. 

Thor is smiling ear to ear, and Bruce can hear his hearty congratulatory laugh roll toward him across the water.  “That was magnificent, my friend!  I am honored!  I knew you lived here, but I never thought I might get the chance to see you in action!”

Well, shit.  Now Bruce has to be polite.  He’s also going to have to find a way to keep his eyes from caressing the wide, perfect landscape of Thor’s torso.  They’re both wearing skin-hugging neoprene pants, but where Bruce is wearing a light blue, long-sleeved rash guard shirt (alas, with the Stark logo, because they’re the best and they’re not available without it), Thor’s chest is bare. 

“’Morning,” Bruce calls, trying for the right combination of friendly and busy.  It’s a tone he’s perfected over the years with overly-demanding tourists, but somehow it’s a little shaky this morning.

Thor flips onto his belly and his long, powerful arms have him next to Bruce on the water in no time.  They sit up, straddling their boards, unconsciously maneuvering to maintain easy balance in the waves.

“You’re the Hulk, yeah?” Thor asks, tipping his head toward Bruce and smiling happily.

“Bruce Banner.  Nice to meet you.”  Bruce can’t help noticing Thor’s deep, ice-blue eyes.  Nor can he help reacting to that wide smile that forms laugh lines around his mouth almost deep enough to be called dimples.

“I am Thor Odinson.  Here for the surfing competition.”

“Sure, I know.  Favored to win it all.  Congratulations, you’re having a hell of a career.”

“I meant what I said.  It is an honor to watch you surf.  You are one of my favorites.  A legend.  Do you know, I used to have a poster of you in my bedroom growing up?”

Thor means it as a compliment.  He doesn’t even overshare by mentioning the fantasies he used to have about Bruce while lying in his bed looking at that poster.  But the comment instantly pisses Bruce off. 

Bruce is caught off guard by the intensity of his reaction.  He was annoyed before; now he’s seething with irritation.  What Thor said is certainly nothing he hasn’t heard a thousand times before.  But when Thor says it, Bruce doesn’t hear a compliment.  What he hears is a comment on his age, and a reminder that it’s Thor, not Bruce, who is now on top of the elite world of pro surfing. 

“Yeah.  Thanks.  Well, gonna catch a few before work,” Bruce says, then pointedly turns away from Thor to scan the waves.  Flipping over, he begins paddling toward them, throwing a “Good luck” over his shoulder.

He knows he’s been rude, and he has no idea how Thor will react.  All he knows is, he doesn’t want to spend one more moment in the presence of the God of Surfing.  They may share some waves this morning, but there’s no reason they have to interact.  Ever.

Bruce tells himself he simply doesn’t want to take the chance of being photographed talking to Thor and adding more fuel to the ridiculous internet rumor started the day before.  It’s certainly awkward trying to talk to him, a complete stranger, with the speculation swirling around about them.  But the fact is, his first impression of Thor Odinson isn’t good.  Yeah, he’s disturbingly good-looking, but who the hell does he think he is, treating Bruce like some cute old guy? 

They begin to just surf side by side.  Instinctively and out of long habit, they watch out for one another and trade off priority whenever they find themselves eyeing the same wave.  It’s extremely bad manners (not to mention a penalty in competition) to drop in on another surfer’s wave.  It’s also a good way to get hurt.

Bruce is absolutely, definitely looking at Thor for safety reasons only, but he can’t help but appreciate once again how built Thor is.  He also has no choice but to admire his skill.  Thor’s not out to impress anyone, just warming up and getting a feel for the Pipeline, but he’s still flawless as he carves up, down, and across the faces of double-overhead waves.  He’s ethereally beautiful in his powerful grace. 

It’s not Bruce’s intention to impress Thor back.  It isn’t .  But as he takes wave after wave, Bruce finds himself doing maneuvers (and sequences of maneuvers) he hasn’t done in quite a while.  He knows Thor’s watching, too, because several times he hears Thor’s huge voice boom out “Well done!” and other congratulatory phrases across the water. 

For a while, Bruce doesn’t realize that anything’s different about this morning.  It’s not until he hears Thor’s delighted whoop as Bruce emerges from a barrel and lands a no-grab alley-oop that he realizes he’s laughing. 

Bruce hasn’t had this much fun surfing in a very long time.  Because fuck this cocky kid – this grommet – and his damn poster, talking to him like he’s some kind of relic.  Knee brace or not, the Hulk can still shred.  

After a particularly long ride in the pit of a big wave, Bruce lets himself just fall into the soup rather than try to stay on his board.  When he checks his watch, he realizes why he’s so exhausted.  They’ve been at it for an hour and a half, and he’s late for work. 

Thor is sitting astride his board, doing nothing but openly watching Bruce, when Bruce uses his leash to pull his board to him and decides to just hold on and let the surf carry him in.  He’s annoyed, but not surprised, when Thor paddles over to join him as they emerge onto the beach.  

“I hope you do not mind that I spent so much time watching you,” Thor apologizes.  “I’m sorry if it bothered you.  But your style…  I am so pleased to see that you are still as good as ever.  I have always wished I had a signature style, as you do.  I would know you even from the beach, even if no one had told me it was you.”

Bruce takes a second to squeeze the water out of his dark, sodden curls, then shake them out. 

“Thanks, man,” he replies, and this time he means it.  It’s impossible not to hear the sincerity in Thor’s voice, and there’s no way to misinterpret his words.  Bruce leans over to yank open the Velcro strap that keeps the surfboard leashed to his ankle.  “Guess I don’t have to tell you you looked good out there.  Anyway, gotta get to work.  Good luck tomorrow.”  

Bruce gives a little nod of his head to Thor and starts to walk down the beach toward Hulk’s.  His limp is more pronounced than usual as he realizes, now that he’s on land, that his knee is killing him.  He has some pain meds in his desk somewhere, but he knows he probably won’t bother.  He’ll just suck it up and deal with the catch in his stride.    

He imagines that he can feel Thor watching him as he goes, and kind of wants to look back to check.  Somehow, he manages to restrain himself.

Bruce is right.  Thor is watching him. 

*          *          *

Since the Stark Banzai Pro will begin the following day, Hulk’s is a full-on madhouse.  That alone would be enough of a challenge, but there’s more.  The supplier who seems to specialize in messing up the Surf Shack’s orders has done it again. 

Today’s debacle is a delivery of the wrong bowls for the Hulk-sized shave ice and a complete absence of the napkins they’ve ordered.  Worse, the supplier hasn’t delivered the attractive green aprons M’Baku ordered for the temporary staff he’s hired for the competition.  Instead, they’ve sent hideous, puce-colored nightmares. 

“You gotta fire those bozos, Boss,” M’Baku is growling.  “Plenty of suppliers out there,  and this shit is embarrassing.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to them again,” Bruce assures him.

“Naw, brah.  Talking time was over when they tried to unload those flimsy, piece-of-crap takeout containers on us last week and told you that’s what I ordered.  You may be brilliant, with all your science and math and whatnot, but continuing to do business with those fuckups is just dumb.”

Bruce gives a noncommittal nod and limps on to assist the bartenders with their growing list of orders. 

M’Baku sighs.  He loves Bruce, loves his laid-back personality and low-key chill.  Hell, he shares it.  But there comes a time when just rolling with it stops working, and that’s where he sometimes loses patience with the Boss.  That supplier’s got to go.  But Bruce, the king of “good enough,” won’t pull the trigger until they set the joint on fire or something.  Just like he’s hobbling around on that knee of his, not bothering to take the medicine that’s just sitting in his desk drawer, because the pain’s not enough to kill him yet. 

All day, excited, sun-worshiping customers come from all over the beach to throng the Snack Bar, keeping the servers running to fill their orders.  Bruce loves it when Hulk’s is this busy.  There’s a hum to the place as M’Baku’s staff provides excellent service delivering the gorgeous, delicious food Clint’s team creates. 

Although there’s plenty to keep him occupied, that doesn’t seem to keep his mind from drifting back to the morning, and the way Thor Odinson had looked, muscular torso and arms streaming with water, gleaming in the morning light.  His thoughts focus on the ridiculous taper of his waist, and the tight abs that—  Bruce shakes his head to keep that line of thought from continuing.  He tries to re-focus. 

He knew the second he saw Thor that he was attracted to him.  Very attracted.  But he was not prepared for whatever this is.  He’d expected that, if their paths crossed, they’d share a couple of mutual compliments and move on, like Bruce does with anyone he meets from the small ranks of elite professional surfers.  But this morning, Thor had been more insistent.  He hadn’t just said a casual hello and then gone about his own surfing.  Instead, Thor had positioned himself so that he could watch Bruce, calling out appreciation.  Then he’d approached him again once Bruce returned to shore. 

Bruce really doesn’t know what to make of Thor.  When they first spoke, he had thought that Thor was needling him about his age.  But he thinks now maybe he misread the guy.  He’d certainly seemed sincere enough when they’d spoken the second time.  Bruce wonders what Thor thinks of the ridiculous internet gossip about the two of them. 

Not that it makes any difference when they’ll probably never meet again.

By the time things calm down a bit in the afternoon, Bruce’s knee is bothering him enough that he’s happy to see his friend Brock Rumlow wave at him from one of the umbrella-topped tables out on the sand in front of the Snack Bar.  Bruce grabs himself a cup of tea and heads out into the sunshine. 

They share a hearty hug like the old friends they are.  Brock is a former pro surfer, too.  Being close in age, they came up in the competition circuit together, and were good friends at the time of Bruce’s injury.  Like Bruce, Brock is long retired from surfing.  These days, he’s an on-air commentator and competition judge.

“Hulk, you look great.  Looks like the knee’s givin’ you some trouble, though,” Brock notes as Bruce lets himself fall into the sturdy chair next to his. 

“Ah, today’s just a bad day.  Overdid it out there this morning,” Bruce answers, tossing his head toward the water, where there are now at least a hundred surfers in view up and down the coast.  “Good to see you, Brock.  Been looking forward to you showing up.  I saw you’re judging.”

“Yeah, I’m doing a couple on-air things, but mostly I’ll be in the judges’ tower.”

“Who do you like this year?  Any predictions about who’s gonna win the Infinity Gauntlet?”

“I’ll tell you something.  Everybody’s talking about Thor, but I’m not so sure.  He’ll do well, of course, but win it all?  I dunno.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s thirty-two.  I’m just not sure how much longer he’ll be at the top.”

Bruce frowns, a little surprised.  Thirty-two just seems so young .  “He’s got insane moves.”

“He does, but when’s the last time he had a new one?  That Barnes kid, on the other hand.  Seems like he’s comin’ up with new stuff all the time.  Interviewed him in Java about a month ago.  He’s got a rodeo flip now, gonna be debuting it here.”

“Does he?  Killer!  Never could get that to work for me.  I love seeing him do well after what happened to him.”

“Yeah, no shit.  It still blows my mind what Stark was able to do with that arm.” 

Bucky Barnes grew up in Bolinas, California, a surf rat who spent every waking moment on the water with his best friend, Steve Rogers.  At seventeen, Bucky lost his left arm to a great white shark.  He’d refused to stop surfing, and had tried a heartbreaking number of prosthetic arms to find one with the right movement and balance that would let him regain his former promising skill.

Through sheer determination and with Steve’s unwavering support, Bucky managed to become competitive again.  His good looks and his sympathetic story guaranteed that he had all the sponsors he needed, but whereas Steve’s pro surfing career soared, Bucky had to fight for every win.  That is, until Tony Stark stepped in. 

Tony, a professional surfer himself, was already making a name for himself with the innovative boards he was designing.  But being the restless genius that he is, he’d seen this teenager’s struggle and become intrigued with the challenge.  The first prototype cybernetic arm hadn’t been great, but it was better than any prosthetic Bucky had ever tried, because Tony knew surfing.  He knew what Bucky needed the arm to do. 

The improved arm lit the match, and hard work and natural skill did the rest.  Bucky’s success slowly caught up to Steve’s.  The only person happier about that than Bucky was Steve, and somewhere along the line, the two fell in love.  To the delight of the surfing world (and their sponsors), Bucky and Steve were married two years ago.

Tony’s constantly working on improvements to Bucky’s cybernetic arm.  They’re currently on what Tony calls the Mark VII, and these days, Bucky and Steve are one another’s fiercest competition.  The press eats it up.

“So I take it you’re thinking Barnes will win this year?” Bruce asks, taking a sip of tea to cover any telltale expression that might cause Brock to ask any inconvenient questions about Thor.

“Actually, no.  I think it’ll be Rogers.  Everything’s working for him right now.  You saw him in Teahupoo, right?  Doesn’t seem to be a curl he can’t ride.”

Bruce nods.  He respects Brock’s opinion.  “You ever think those two are a little too good to be true?  I mean, by each other’s side through Steve beating childhood leukemia and Bucky losing his arm?  And then falling in love?”

“You’re a cynic, Banner.  I’ve interviewed them both, spent time with them.  Surfed with them a few times.  They’re legit.”

The conversation’s interrupted by a disturbance when a loud group of people, pushing and shoving, emerges from the side of the Surf Shack.  All that’s visible is their backs as they’re each turned toward the center of the swarm, which tells Bruce and Brock immediately what’s happening.  Neither of them are surprised when, as the mass of people approaches them, Tony Stark pushes his way past the two nearest reporters to escape the melee. 

“Okay, that’s it for now, guys,” he says dismissively.  “I gotta meeting.  But if you go back to the shop, Pepper’s got some surprises waiting for you.” 

Tony casually sits down at the table with his friends while the reporters look at one another, torn.  This could be a great opportunity to get a good interview with three old-school surfers who came up in the ranks together and were the stars, back in the day.  Then again, Banner, Rumlow, and Stark have all been known to freeze out the press when they’re not in the mood, and everybody knows Stark gives out the best swag of any of the surf equipment companies. 

The pack of reporters seems to make a collective decision and retreats in the direction of the highway behind the Surf Shack.  As they do, Tony pulls his phone from his board shorts and pushes a button.  “Yeah, Pep, sorry but I had to send a bunch of press your way.  Told ‘em you’d have some surprises for ‘em.”  There’s a pause before he continues.  “I know, and I’ll make it up to you.  I always do.”

Bruce and Brock smirk as Tony does a little more groveling with his wife before hanging up and turning to them.  “Hey, assholes.  Long time, Rumlow.”

Brock and Tony shake hands warmly and the conversation quickly reverts to shop talk. 

“Rumlow thinks Steve Rogers is gonna win the Infinity Gauntlet this year,” Bruce tells Tony.

“Could be,” Tony shrugs.  “I never count Loki out, though.  That guy’s full of surprises, and he’s due.”

“Definitely a lotta people sayin’ that,” Brock notes.

“And for a reason.  He’s damn good.  That’s why I say he could stage a surprise upset.”

Brock cocks an eyebrow and lets loose a suspicious scoff.  “Let me guess.  You just signed a sponsorship deal with him.”

“This morning,” Tony beams. 

“Whatever,” Brock mutters.  “Back in our day, you had to at least pretend to be a nice guy to get sponsors.”

“The Stark brand is not about ‘nice,’ brah.  We’re about brilliant innovation and state-of-the-art tech that destroys the competition.  He’s perfect.”

“I want to hear you say that on ESPN,” Bruce laughs.  “’I hired Loki to represent Stark Industries because I’m a dick and so is he’.”

“Ooh, I’m gonna suggest that to marketing!” Tony cries happily, and it’s a fifty-fifty shot whether he’s serious.

“I thought you guys were looking at T’Challa?” Brock asks.

“Ugh.  We were, but he turned us down flat.  He’s sticking with his all-Wakandan sponsors thing.  Wakanda’s not even on the damn ocean!   And ever since the meeting, all I hear from Pepper is how fucking charming T’Challa is.”

At that moment, Peter Parker approaches the table with a tray of drinks, no doubt sent by M’Baku.  There are cold beers for Brock and Tony, and a fresh mug of tea for Bruce.  The three thank Peter and then watch as he turns around and faceplants in the sand on the way back inside. 

“Not sure you should be making fun of my hires,” Tony deadpans.

When they’ve all taken a drink, Bruce asks Tony, “So Brock seems to think Thor Odinson’s over.  You agree with that?”

“I didn’t say he was over,” Brock corrects.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, either,” Tony answers, “But he’s getting up there in age.  I’m hearing that, yeah.  Look at his finish at Coolangatta last year.”

“Man, you guys.  He’s thirty-two.  That’s an infant.”

Tony shrugs.  “Not in surfing years.  You know that.  Anyway, you like him to win the Gauntlet this year?”

“I don’t know.  Hadn’t thought about it.  It’s just, I met him this morning.  Surfed next to him for a while.  Didn’t strike me as being anywhere near old.”

Brock and Tony share a look, which Bruce catches.

“The internet says you met him yesterday.”

“I know you’re smarter than to believe something you read on the internet, Brock.  Anyway, I never even exchanged a word with him yesterday.  I’d just seen him when Parker - that smooth and elegant kid you just met – doused me with a smoothie.  All I said was Thor’s not old.  Why is it every time I mention anyone, you guys get that look on your faces?” 

“Who, us?” Tony asks, mimicking innocence so overbroadly that Bruce wants to smack him.  “Anyway, they don’t just call him a god because of his surfing skills.  No shame in admitting you think he’s hot.”

“You two have always had sex on the brain,” Bruce humphs. 

Brock blinks in surprise.  “I never denied it.  Anyway, you’re the one who acts like Snow White.  I’ve seen you date, and I’m pretty sure you must’ve had a relationship in your life, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”

“I’ve had relationships.  Shut up.”

“Name one,” Tony challenges, sitting forward and laying his chin on a hand in anticipation.

“What the—  How old are you?  Is this junior high?”

“If the last person you had sex with is Jaime Allen, I’m gonna cry,” Brock needles Bruce further.  “That was, what, ten years ago?  There’s more to life than particle physics and trigonometry, Einstein.”

“I have sex,” Bruce objects.  “And maybe it’s been a long time between relationships, but I don’t apologize for being particular.”

“Okay, so you have sex, but not relationships,” Tony summarizes, leaning back in his chair again.  He looks over at Brock.  “He’s a ho.”

Brock smiles.  “There are worse things to be.”

“I am not a—” Bruce begins to shout, remembering his surroundings at the last second.  Pointing and scowling at his friends, he hisses quietly, “You both suck.”

“Yeah, but do you?”  Brock asks, and Tony howls with laughter.  “Because I’m just sayin’, I bet Thor’s got an all-day—”

“If you finish that sentence, I will give the press an exclusive on your birthday party in Bells Beach.”

Brock’s voice cuts off in a painful-sounding squeak.  “We swore we’d take that to our graves, Hulk.  You wouldn’t.”

“Well, that all depends on you, doesn’t it?  Got anything else to say about my love life?”

“Or lack thereof?” Tony adds, still chuckling.

At Bruce’s glare, he says, “Oh, stop with the death stare.  We’re just jealous ‘cause we’re old married dudes and you can slip it to some young hottie who’s only in town for a few days if you want.  Lighten up.”

Thankfully, the discussion quickly veers away from that topic and the three spend the rest of the afternoon catching up and enjoying the opportunity to spend time together.  The conversation is heavy on surfing talk, but they also talk quite a bit about their families and professional lives. 

The three of them have always been close, since their days coming up in the world of professional surfing.  The press was full of their antics and their friendship in those days, and their bond has remained.  Bruce and Brock were groomsmen in Tony’s wedding, as Bruce and Tony were in Brock’s.  In fact, their deep friendship is how they’d all known, although no one had planned it, that they’d end up together at Hulk’s today.

Bruce and Tony see one another fairly often because Tony and his wife, Pepper, are based here in Pupukea.  Stark’s flagship store is here, in part due to the fame of the Pipeline and the fact that the highest-level surfing competitions are held here.  Brock, however, is based in California.  Tony spends a good amount of time on the road and has a store near Brock’s home in Manhattan Beach, which means Tony and Brock see each other there sometimes.  But the three of them don’t get a chance to spend time together except when Brock’s on the North Shore for a competition.

It’s nice.  Comfortable.  Their friendship is one of the solid foundations in Bruce’s life, and he knows how lucky all of them are to have this.  Still, he can’t help thinking that each of his best friends has a partner, somebody to whom they come first, always.  It sounds wonderful.

Then again, what it sounds like and what it’s really like are probably two different things.  His friends’ teasing aside, Bruce has had relationships.  Not many, and none that he would call love.  In fact, Bruce Banner isn’t even sure he believes in love.  Fun and good sex?  Sure.  He’s had his share, and they’re great.  But love?  No.  Somehow, that one – if it exists – seems to have passed him by.   

Chapter Text

“It’s a perfect day for surfing here at the world famous Banzai Pipeline, and we’re looking forward to seeing some awesome rides today,” the announcer smiles into the camera, all but preening for his imagined audience. 

Brock wants to roll his eyes, but he’s a professional.  He simply nods and keeps his face impassive.  He knows this guy.  He was never a great surfer, and now he’s a bad commentator.  Brock’s not sure why an important streaming site like SurfPlanet.com hired this loser, but he’ll make it work.

  “We’re coming to you from Ehukai Beach on the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii.  Today is Day One of the Stark Banzai Pro, the first of three competitions that make up the Stark Pipeline Classic.  The surfer with the most points over the three competitions wins the coveted Infinity Gauntlet, perhaps the most sought-after prize in surfing.  I’m Cody Burke, and you all know this guy to my left, Brock Rumlow, who is no stranger to competition here at Pipeline.  Brock, you’ve won your share of events here, including winning the Infinity Gauntlet yourself.”  The fool turns his empty-headed gaze on Brock, who lifts his own microphone with the SurfPlanet.com logo and begins to speak.

“Yeah, that’s right, Cody.  Of course, back then the Pipeline Classic had a different sponsor, since Tony Stark was still competing here, and just getting started in the board business.”

 Airhead Cody nods sagely.  “In fact, this competition has been held here every year since 1978.”

“Right, and it’s become one of the most important competitions of the year.  Lotta great surfers have won that Gauntlet, and it’s an honor to have my name among them.”

“Well, Brock, you’re no longer competing; these days you’ve moved on to judging, and you’ll be one of the five judges for this event.  Tell us what you’ll be looking for out there today.”

“Cody, the judges are looking for the surfers' ability to choose and ride challenging waves, their control of their boards, and executing maneuvers.”

“What kind of maneuvers can we look forward to today?”

“We’re looking for strong turns and cutbacks, carving.  We like to see some showmanship out there: floaters, banking off the lip of the wave, and of course, air maneuvers.  We’re here at Pipeline, though, so we’re definitely looking to see some spectacular tube rides.”

“For those who may not have seen a surf competition before, can you give us the short version of what to expect?”

“Sure, Cody.  All thirty-two competitors who qualified for this competition have been randomly assigned into groups of 4 for the first heat.  Each group of four surfers will enter the competition zone.  They’ll have twenty-five minutes to catch the best waves they can.  Each ride will be scored, with ten points being a perfect score, and only each surfer’s two best waves will be counted.

“The two surfers who get the best results in each heat will move on to the next round.  The field narrows until there are two surfers left, who compete in a final heat.  The surfer who scores highest in that final heat is the winner.”

This is really why Brock has been asked to appear on this particular internet broadcast: to explain the rules.  Now that he’s done that, he hopes this yahoo announcer will let him get off camera quickly.  He’s got things to do.

Meanwhile, down the beach at Hulk’s, Bruce is chuckling to himself.  He knows Brock so well he can hear everything he’s not saying about Cody Burke.  But Bruce is already pretty busy with the early crowd at the Surf Shack.  He’s everywhere.  He carries a pitcher of Bloody Marys to a table of young surf rats from Florida whose IDs he checks very carefully.  He autographs a free “Hulk’s” T-shirt for a middle-aged woman who is now wearing it, because Peter Parker managed to dump a plateful of scrambled eggs on the top she’d been wearing.  He gives a quiet pep talk to a sobbing server who’s been blasted by an incredibly rude customer. 

It’s all part of the job.  Clint runs the kitchen, M’Baku runs the restaurant, and Bruce runs around keeping everything flowing smoothly.  Being a bit of a celebrity, his attention and concern go a long way toward easing difficult situations, and a busy restaurant always needs someone who can function as an extra set of hands wherever needed.  It also keeps Bruce visible, which is important since he’s the face of Hulk’s Surf Shack. 

That’s the part that Bruce finds the hardest.  He can work an eighteen-hour day without a problem, running flat-out the whole time.  But Bruce is an introvert and on the shy side so, for him, it’s the people part of the job that can be exhausting.  He’s much more comfortable huddled up with a wicked trigonometry problem or a treatise on nuclear physics.  Still, he has to put himself forward and interact with people all day long, remaining kind and upbeat regardless of the situation.  After all, many of the customers come to Hulk’s to meet him.

Part of the beauty of the Pipe is how close the break is to shore, which makes for excellent competition viewing, and Hulk’s is close enough to the competition zone that guests can see the competitors.  Nonetheless, it’s hard to identify them even though each wears a lycra jersey in a distinctive color for exactly that purpose.  It’s even harder to see much of what they’re doing.  That’s why there are televisions mounted all over the restaurant, so that guests can see at least one from anywhere.  That way, everyone can keep track of the standings and see the rides in detail, whether they’re working, dining, or just grabbing something from the Snack Bar. 

Once the competition starts, M’Baku switches the televisions to ESPN, because he refuses to have that moron Cody Burke from SurfPlanet.com narrating the action. 

As the day goes on, the cheers of the crowd on the beach in front of the competition zone can be heard clearly, and there’s plenty of cheering inside the Surf Shack, too.  The first heat, which takes up the entire first day, brings few surprises.  All of the contestants who were expected to do well score high enough to advance to the second heat.  Hulk’s stays full all day as the field is narrowed from thirty-two to sixteen surfers, who will compete in their second heats tomorrow.  Among the winners are Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Loki, T’Challa, and a guy from the North Shore named Scott Lang. 

Thor easily outscores his competitors in the final heat of the day, so he will also be competing tomorrow.  Right now, he’s sitting astride his board being interviewed by Sam Wilson from ESPN.  Sam, also in the water straddling a surfboard, is another Infinity Gauntlet winner who is now retired and doing on-air commentary.  He looks to his cameraman, Riley, for the signal to start.  Riley is in the water, too, holding onto the handles of a large floating camera apparatus.  When he nods, Sam turns to Thor.

“You made it look easy out there, man.  How did it feel?”  He holds his waterproof microphone out to Thor, who runs his hands through his wet hair.  

Bruce, standing behind the Snack Bar watching this on a giant screen, comes close to dropping a three-flavor shave ice with a snow cap.  Thor looks… well, godlike.  Dripping wet in the sunshine, smiling happily...

“It felt wonderful!” Thor is exulting.  “I had some truly excellent waves to choose from.  The Pipeline always produces outstanding surf, but today seemed particularly good.”

“Talk to me about that second run,” Sam encourages.  “That was a seriously gnarly wave, and we could see what a bumpy ride it was while you were inside that barrel.  Then it drained on you, and it really looked like you might lose it.  Most guys would have.  But somehow, you managed to hang on.”

“Ah, that.  Yes, that was a bit of a surprise; the wave didn’t behave quite as I expected it to, but it all ended well.”  Thor shrugs and flashes a childlike grin at Sam.

“Dude, c’mon,” Sam laughs.  “Anyone who’s surfed the Pipe knows what it had to take to hold on in that situation.  You’re really not gonna take any credit for that amazing save?”

“I got lucky,” Thor answers.

Down the beach at the Surf Shack, Bruce doesn’t look away from the screen until he hears a young girl’s dismayed shout.  He turns just in time to see Peter Parker bobbling a tray of tuna poki, then dropping it over the edge of the Snack Bar counter into the sand.

It’s not entirely Parker’s fault.  The tile floor behind the Snack Bar can get slippery, and the anti-slip mats are worn out.  Bruce ordered replacements a month ago, but they still haven’t arrived from the damn supplier.  He sighs, thinking that it’s past time for him to call and complain.  Then again, he also notes that, of all the people working behind the Snack Bar, only Parker seems to have managed to slip quite so spectacularly.

*         *          *

Late that evening, after the dinner crowd has pretty well thinned out, Tony and Brock come to Hulk’s.  They insist that Bruce take a break to eat with them, but he argues that he’s too busy.  They just laugh.  Easygoing Bruce won’t prevail against the combined wills of Tony Stark and Brock Rumlow, and all three of them know it. 

Everyone’s tired – it’s been a long day for all of them – but each is pleased with how the first day of the competition has gone. 

Tony is griping while he waits for his bowl of Clint’s perfect saimin to cool.  Saimin is a very common soup dish in Hawaii, but Clint’s dashi broth is particularly excellent and he adds shredded nori to make it special.  “How the hell did you let Rogers and Loki both get put in the very first individual heat?  I mean, talk about blowing your wad early.”

“Because the drawing really is random, you cynical asshat.  You’re the money guy, but you don’t get to tell us how to run the gig.”  Brock makes a face at Tony before taking a bite of Clint’s newest menu item.  It’s a ginger chicken manapua with pastry that somehow holds together in your hands only to melt in your mouth. 

“I can see at least three cell phones aimed at us right now,” Tony mutters quietly.  “So just imagine I’m giving you the finger.”

At that moment, a dull noise that’s been slowly building makes its way to Bruce’s consciousness.  He looks past the kitchen toward the beach and sees a few telltale flashes in the deep dusk.  A swarm of reporters around a surfer is such a familiar sight on this beach during a competition that he almost decides to ignore it.  That is, until one of the flashes briefly illuminates the face of the surfer, and Bruce is instantly on his feet. 

It’s Thor, and his expression strikes a deep chord.  Bruce knows the look, because he’s been there a few times himself: trying to get somewhere and caught by a mob of press who won’t let go.  It’s a shit situation. 

More than anything, the look on Thor’s face reminds Bruce of the day he’d been discharged from the hospital after his accident.  He’d been well enough to go home, but still exhausted, in pain, and deeply shaken.  He was just beginning to realize that his entire world had been tossed into a blender, and completely unprepared for the melee of microphones and cameras that greeted him at the hospital entrance and blocked his way to Clint’s car.  It had been infuriating and borderline terrifying.  

The only thing that saved him was that his relatively new friend Natasha was even more terrifying.  She’d easily shooed the pack of reporters away.

At this moment, Bruce doesn’t even think about it before beginning a slightly uneven stride across the restaurant to rescue Thor.  Fortunately, M’Baku is just a little bit faster.

Stepping in front of him, M’Baku lets Bruce crash into his mountainside of a chest and rebound a bit before catching a hold of his shoulders.  “Don’t, Boss,” he murmurs.  “Don’t give ‘em more ammo.  I got this.”

M’Baku is the only man Bruce knows who’s actually bigger than Thor, and when he wades into the fracas surrounding the God of Surfing, there’s no one who can stop him.  He reaches Thor, who understands immediately that he’s being saved and follows M’Baku out of the crowd and into the relative safety of the Surf Shack. 

Which leaves Bruce standing in the middle of his restaurant, just watching as Clint waves Thor to a small table inside the half-walls of the kitchen area.  Thor sets down what looks like a wine bottle he’s carrying, and there are smiles and handshakes as Clint and M’Baku introduce themselves.  From behind him, Bruce hears Tony hiss his name.  He turns toward the table where Tony and Brock are looking at him with barely-concealed smirks. 

“You better close that mouth and sit back down, Hulk, or ‘#Bandinson’ is gonna be trending for a second day in a row,” Brock tells him.

“What are you talking about?” Bruce demands.  “The guy needed a rescue.  You know how the press is.  No offense, Rumlow.”

“None taken.  I don’t chase people for a living.  That’s for bottom-feeders.  But listen, buddy, if you’d gone wading in there to rescue him, you’d both be in the middle of that pack right now, answering a bunch of highly personal questions.”

“Which you know as well as we do.  What was that about?” Tony asks pointedly.

Bruce sighs.  “He just looked kinda panicked, y’know?  I’ve been there.  We all have.  And he was heading into my place, so… I dunno.  I thought I should lend a hand.”

“Well, M’Baku and Clint have it covered,” Tony points out.  “So good deed done.  Now turn around and quit staring.  Fuck’s sake, Banner, you’re acting like a teenager.  A normal one.  Not like, you know, you as a teenager.”

“Fuck you, Stark.”

Tony laughs delightedly.  “You forget, I knew you then.  Always getting in flame wars with scientists and mathematicians, telling them all the ways their papers were flawed.  The one and only cool thing about you was that you surfed.”

Now it’s Brock’s turn to laugh.  “You have got to be kidding me right now.  You’re really gonna make fun of Banner ?  I mean, yeah, he was an absolute dweeb, but let’s talk about you for a minute.  Skinny, way too smart, weird as fuck…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce snickers.  “We weren’t all Mr. California Beach Bod—”

The first words are barely out of his mouth before Tony is joining him, quoting the title

Brock had won in his home town of Venice Beach as a teen.  As quickly as that, Tony and Bruce have joined ranks and Brock is on the defensive. 

“Shut up, assholes,” he sighs and drains his beer.  

“It’s something to be proud of, Brock,” Bruce tells him with mock seriousness.  “I mean, you are Mr. California Beach Bod 1962, and no one can ever take that away from you.”

Brock struggles to hide a grin as he mutters, “You’re a dickhead.”

“I think it was ’57, actually, Bruce,” Tony corrects.  “That’s what it said on the sash.”

When they’ve wrung the last bit of humor out of once again tormenting Brock over his fitness competition title, the conversation turns back to the handsome, muscular blond sitting in the kitchen laughing loudly at something M’Baku’s just said.

Tony finishes the rum-laden drink he’s been nursing and turns back to Bruce.  “Listen, Hulk, in all seriousness.  All I’m saying is be careful around the press.”

“I’ve talked to the dude one time , Tony.  Once.  And I didn’t even like him.” 

For the rest of their dinner, Bruce resolutely refuses to look toward the kitchen.

The three friends immensely enjoy each other’s company, as always, but eventually they part for the night.  Now Bruce really has no choice but to approach Thor.  After this morning, he has to at least say hello.  

He’s surprised to find that Thor seems perfectly at ease in the kitchen.  He’s slurping up noodles from a bowl of saimin , and the appreciative look on his face does something to Bruce’s insides.

“Hulk Banner!” Thor shouts loudly when he sees him.  “It is good to see you again.”

“Thanks for coming in,” Bruce replies, giving him the standard greeting he gives everyone who comes to Hulk’s.  When he holds out a hand to shake, Thor’s huge paw feels warm and surprisingly soft in his. 

“Clint Barton has been telling me about making kalua pork.  He is going to let me help with the pit oven tomorrow morning.  It is called an imu. ”

Thor’s childishly pleased with himself as he shares this bit of newfound knowledge with Bruce, who looks over to see a particularly self-satisfied smirk on Clint’s face.  Bruce knows without a word that he’s being set up.  He’s not happy, but this is no moment to call Clint out for it.

Instead, he just says, “Oh, yeah.  You’ll enjoy that.  It’s an interesting process.  But… you sure you wanna be getting up that early on a competition day?”

“It will not matter.  I do not sleep well when I travel.  I have never been good with time differences.”

Bruce nods and makes a sympathetic noise as Clint steps over and puts a dish of lomi lomi salmon in front of Thor.  Even though he’s just giving Thor samples of different dishes as he sits in the kitchen of the restaurant, Clint’s still reflexively made sure it’s beautifully presented.

“See what you think.  I put my own spin on it.”  Clint then turns his head to look at Bruce.  “Sit down.  Keep him company while he eats.”

“Well, I need to—”

“No, you don’t,” Clint stops him.  “Dinner rush is long over and M’Baku’s got everything handled.  Besides, I see about five tables of guests just waiting to pounce if Thor tries to leave right now.  Be a good host and cut the guy a break.”

Bruce makes a note to slash the tires on Clint’s car the first chance he gets.  He also sits down at the little table across from Thor.

The second the conversation begins, Bruce is thrown off-balance.  Because the first thing Thor does is take hold of the bottle he’d been carrying earlier and hand it to Bruce.  

“Here.  This is for you.”

Surprised, Bruce looks down at the green bottle with the silver label.  “Asgardian Ale,” he reads.  He looks up questioningly at Thor.

“It is famous in Gold Coast, where I’m from.  Have you heard of it?”

“It’s a sparkling wine, right?”

“Yes!  You know of it!  Then you may know it is something we give one another to say thank you, or to make an apology.”

Bruce, mystified, can only utter, “I don’t, uh…  I’m sorry?”

“No, please, it is I who owe you an apology,” Thor assures him.

Bruce misses a beat, starts to explain what he meant, and then gives up.  Two sentences in, and already he isn’t following this conversation.

“I am staying in a house here with Loki, and I told him of my good fortune, getting to surf with you this morning.  He informed me that you probably wished to be alone and it was very rude to interrupt you.  So I thank you for the pleasure of allowing me to watch you surf, and I apologize if I snaked your waves.  So to speak.”

Once again, the undeniable sincerity in Thor’s expression takes Bruce by surprise and dissolves any irritation he might have felt at this massive, unnaturally beautiful blond whose presence is just so much .  Besides, hearing a guy with such a strangely formal way of speaking use a surfing phrase like “snake your waves” is just downright weird.  Bruce is now even more off-course.

“But that is only part of the reason I came down here to speak with you tonight.”

Bruce blinks stupidly.  “You…  who, me ?” 

“Yes.”  Thor flushes a little then.  “Loki said that it would not be inappropriate.  I hope that he was right.  I didn’t really think about the press—”

“No, of course!  It’s fine.  I’m just sorry you got mobbed.  You didn’t seem like you were in the mood for that.”

Thor smiles happily then, and Bruce forgets to breathe.  “Your friends helped me out.  I saw you ask M’Baku to invite me in, and I appreciate it very much.  Thank you.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t exactly…  He could tell you needed a hand.”

The light in Thor’s eyes dims.  “So you didn’t—”

“Well, I mean, we both had the same idea.  We knew they wouldn’t follow you if you came in here,” Bruce hastens to assure him.  “You handle the press really well, but I know there are some times when you really just want to live your life.  I understand that.”

“Yes, I think that we have had many of the same experiences.”

“Probably.”

“And that is the other reason for the Asgardian Ale.  I can see your lights from the house we are occupying, and I thought that it was late enough that you might not be so busy with your work…  I have been thinking since this morning that you and I might have much in common.  I thought that perhaps, if I apologized for my rudeness, we might possibly become friends.  Is that odd?”

Bruce shakes his head and lies a little.  “No, of course not.  I’m sure you’re right, we’ve probably got a lot in common.”

The truth is, he thinks it is a bit odd.  He almost thinks maybe Loki’s playing a bit of a trick on Thor, telling him he was rude and encouraging him to come down here.  Stopping by another guy’s work to apologize for a trivial thing, and to see if they might become friends?  Bruce wouldn’t do it, that’s for sure.  What guy would?  This Thor is definitely weird, with his theatrical speech and his apparent lack of boundaries.

Weird, but kind of sweet.

Although this strange conversation feels to Bruce like being caught in a riptide, he

thinks he knows a way to get his feet back under him.  There’s an entirely safe subject he can fall back on, which he knows that Thor – like any surfer – can discuss endlessly.  

“You had some great rides today,” Bruce says.  “I thought some of your scores might’ve even been a little low.”

He’s right.  Thor launches into a recap of his heat against a very young surfer from Virginia.  Bruce is amused to hear Thor call him a grommet, and thinks to himself that he’ll never get used to surf terms coming out of that mouth.  Which leads to other thoughts, until he has to avert his eyes from said mouth and focus on something else.  

So he opens the bottle of Asgardian Ale and pours some into bar glasses fresh from the dishwasher.  The Surf Shack is always a little short of glasses these days.  Another thing they’re still waiting for from the damn supplier. 

Despite that rocky start, Bruce and Thor begin a conversation that very quickly absorbs both of them.  It starts with the current competition, but then it broadens to surfing generally, and soon they’re talking about Thor’s childhood in the City of Gold Coast.  Over second glasses of Asgardian Ale, Thor asks Bruce about hobbies and laughs delightedly when he learns about Bruce’s current obsession with quantum mechanics.  After that, they find themselves comparing their experiences rising through the ranks of professional surfers. 

Bruce is surprised by Thor’s reaction when, over the last of the Ale, he mentions his accident.  Rather than the banal expressions of detached sympathy Bruce is used to, Thor seems genuinely moved.  He doesn’t seem nearly as interested in the gory details of the damage to Bruce’s knee as he is in the effect on Bruce’s life.

“I mean, Tony and Brock were great,” Bruce is saying.  “But they were still surfing and they didn’t have the first clue what to say.  You know how it is.  It could be any of us, so when someone gets hurt, it freaks everybody out.”

“Yes.  Since I have been here, I have thought many times about Prince Nkosi.  It is hard to know how to feel.”

“Yeah.  None of us know how to deal with it very well.  But me, I was lucky.”

“How so?”

“I was already friends with Clint and his girlfriend Natasha.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Clint yells from across the kitchen, without even turning around.  He’s finished cleaning his grill and is now seasoning it. 

Bruce sends him the grin and eyeroll that are as automatic as Clint’s response had been, and keeps talking.  “Neither of them cares about surfing.  You know, we get so caught up in the life, we think there’s nothing outside of competitive surfing.  Right now, you probably don’t look past the next competition.  I never did.  So when I had to figure out what the hell else I was supposed to do, I would’ve been lost, except that Clint and Natasha are normal.  Or at least normal in the sense that they’re not surfers,” he smiles.  “So they could see a future without surfing a lot more clearly than I could.”  

“And now you and Clint are partners in the Surf Shack,” Thor notes.

“Yeah.  Like I said, I got lucky.”  Bruce smiles again and notes that Thor is looking at him so closely it’s almost a stare. 

He pulls a hand through his hair, thinking maybe the situation’s gone weird again, and runs his tongue over his teeth to check for anything stuck in them.  When Thor just keeps looking, Bruce slides his palm across his mouth and chin, to make sure there isn’t anything there. 

He’s saved by Clint calling over to them, “Who’s ready for kūlolo ?”

Bruce’s mouth begins to water before the words are even out of Clint’s mouth.

The traditional Hawaiian sweet, made from steamed grated taro mashed with coconut milk and sugar, is so good it’s hard to mess up.  But Clint’s kūlolo is probably the best dessert of any kind Bruce has ever had.  Just thinking about the way he warms it and pairs it with vanilla ice cream makes Bruce groan softly.

He sees Thor notice.

“Yeah, Clint,” Bruce agrees.  “Hit us.  Thor can’t miss that.”

He turns back to Thor.  “Fair warning.  He’s insufferable about this.  It is like paradise in a bowl, but…”

Thor just smiles. 

While Clint’s dishing up dessert, Thor continues the subject they’ve been discussing. 

“You were about my age when you had your accident, yes?”

“Just short of thirty-five.”

“Close, then.  I am almost thirty-three.”  Thor looks down at the table and his voice goes surprisingly quiet, considering it’s Thor.  “May I ask you a question?  It might be rude, I don’t know.  If it is, you should just tell me and I will withdraw it.”

“Go ahead.  Ask.”

“Before you wiped out.  Before your accident.  Did you ever think about how much longer you would keep surfing?”

Bruce hesitates for a beat before answering.  The question is a bit personal.  Perhaps it does border on being rude.  But what surprises Bruce more is his absolute certainty that this question is not remotely casual.  In fact, Bruce suspects that this question has been on Thor’s mind long before tonight.  It may even be part of the reason Thor’s here.

“No,” Bruce answers honestly.  “I didn’t.  That’s part of the reason Clint was able to talk me into creating this place together.  I told you I didn’t have any other plans; I guess I just never let myself think about retiring.”

Thor nods thoughtfully.  “Ah,” he says. 

“Are you… thinking about getting out?”

“Not exactly,” Thor hedges.  “It’s just… I am not so foolish as to think that this life will last forever.”  He moves closer to Bruce and drops his voice so that the others in the kitchen can’t hear.   “I…  at Coolangatta, did you know that I was hurt?”

“What, last year?”  Bruce is just surprised enough that his body doesn’t react to Thor’s closeness and the fact that he smells delicious.

“Yes.  My back.  I had strained some muscles or something; all that medical talk means nothing to me.  I was advised not to mention it publicly, because they said it would make me look weak.  And it made me wonder.  About the future.”

“We all get hurt.  I mean, some of the waves we take?  It’s a wonder surfing isn’t a recognized mental illness.”

“But it is so much fun.” 

They share a nice smile at that comment, uttered with a reverence few non-surfers would ever understand. 

“I still love it,” Thor goes on.  “I feel as if I can do anything I have ever been able to do.  But I have noticed things the last couple of years.  It is taking more of a toll on my body.  I don’t talk about it – certainly not to the press – but I cannot hide it from my coaches.”

“Don’t try.  That’s a good way to get hurt.  They need to know what you’re feeling.”

“I know.  I have no secrets from them.  And, of course, my age is no secret from anyone.  People are beginning to talk about it.  The other surfers, they are very friendly, respectful even, but they call me ‘the Old Man.’”

“I think they mean it as a compliment,” Bruce tells him.

“Yes, I think they do.  But reporters ask me now, ‘How long do you think you can keep doing this?’  They did not ask me that five years ago.  So now I ask it of myself.”  Thor looks up, into Bruces’ eyes.  There’s a hint of fear there, with a sadness that Bruce recognizes, but only for a moment before Thor makes an effort to shake it off.  “Anyway, I am looking forward to finding out what kūlolo is.”

Bruce recognizes that for what it is: a clear signal that Thor wants to change the subject.

When Clint brings their dessert, there’s a moment of hushed expectation as Thor takes his first bite.  Clint all but hangs over the table, peering into Thor’s face. 

“C’mon, man, haven’t you had enough compliments on this stuff?” Bruce asks with not entirely false annoyance.  “Let him eat in peace.”

Clint gives Bruce a dirty look, but he does stand back a bit. 

Thor’s face is a study in careful control of his expression.  He swallows, then takes just a bit too much time to look up at Clint.  With a nod and a half-smile, he says, “Yes.  It is good.  I like it, Clint Barton.”

Clint looks like the lukewarm praise is a sledgehammer to his chest.  It actually seems to him like Thor is only saying he likes the kūlolo to be polite.  He waits for Thor to say more and, when he doesn’t, tries to smile.  With a mumbled, “Good, I’m glad,” Clint backs away from the table, stunned.  He watches Thor take a second bite and give him an awkward thumbs-up.  When it’s clear that’s really all Thor has to say about his dessert, Clint finally turns around and returns to closing down the kitchen.

That’s when Thor winks at Bruce, and Bruce falls in love.

He feels a smile split his face.  “Did you just—”

Thor smiles just as broadly and shoves a huge spoonful of kūlolo into his mouth, rolling his eyes with pleasure.  It’s clear he likes the kūlolo as much as everyone does.  Thor and Bruce both laugh under their breath, sharing conspiratorial looks at one another as they watch Clint try to deal with his disappointment at Thor’s muted response.  Bruce is beyond charmed. 

By the time they’ve finished their kūlolo, Clint and his staff have the kitchen closed down for the night.  The bar will still be open for a few more hours, but this is the time everyone but the bar staff usually goes home.  Clint comes up to the table to say goodnight. 

“All right, I’m out.  Thor, you still coming by in the morning to help out with the imu ?”

“I would not miss it,” Thor smiles.

“Awesome,” Clint replies with a grin, slapping Thor’s broad shoulder.  “Great to meet you.”

Bruce stands.  With the kūlolo and Asgardian Ale gone, there’s really no reason for him or Thor to stay, either.  “Yeah, I guess I should get going, too.”

“Nah,” Clint argues, giving Bruce a meaningful look.  “Stick around.  Don’t let me interrupt your conversation, you were having a good time together.”

Yeah, Bruce is definitely going to slash Clint’s tires.

He looks at Thor, who is looking at him with an unreadable expression on his ridiculously handsome face.  “It’s been great, but if you’re going to have to deal with Clint at five a.m., you’ll need your sleep.”

“Yes, I suppose that you are right,” Thor agrees, then turns to Clint.  “By the way, I was teasing you earlier.  About your kūlolo.  It is truly delicious.”

That gets a full smile from Clint, who shrugs as he turns to leave.  “I know,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks away.

Bruce and Thor find themselves alone in the dim light of the now-closed kitchen.  The Snack Bar has been closed and dark for hours, leaving only the bar area lit.  Bruce sees Thor look around nervously, leaning a bit toward him. 

“I’m sure the press is somewhere else,” Bruce reassures Thor, entirely misunderstanding his sudden agitation.  “They’re probably in town, hoping to catch Scott Lang or Loki misbehaving in a nightclub somewhere.”

Thor stiffens and takes a step backward, away from Bruce.  In the half-light, it’s hard to see his expression.  “Oh.  Yes.  I am sure that I can safely walk back to the house now.  I guess I should leave.”

“Well, it’s been good to get to know you a little.  And thanks for the Asgardian Ale.”

“You are welcome, Banner.”  

Thor hesitates.  It’s obvious he’s going to say something more, but he looks down, and twists his lips nervously for a moment before he speaks.  He moves just a bit closer again.  Bruce notices how near Thor’s standing, somewhat closer than he’s used to, but he doesn’t move away.  He tells himself that this is another of Thor’s oddities, but he doesn’t mind this one at all.

Surprisingly softly, Thor asks, “Do you want to—  I mean, you could walk with me.  Make sure I get to the right house.  It is dark on the beach, and you are at home here.” 

Grinning a little as he furrows his brow, Bruce answers, “Uh, yeah, but I don’t know which house you’re staying in.  So I wouldn’t be any help to you.”

“Oh.  Yes, of course.  You are right.”  Now Thor does back up, his uncharacteristic jumpiness making him almost seem to leap away from Bruce.  “I am sure I can find it.  Well, good night, Banner.  I hope to see you again.”

“’Night, Thor.  And good luck tomorrow.  Not that you need it.”

It’s a strange, halting process as they both stand trying to decide how they’re supposed to behave in this moment.  In the end, they awkwardly fumble into a handshake, and then Thor heads toward the walkway down to the sand.

Bruce watches him go, appreciating the fit of his jeans from under lowered lashes.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, Bruce walks down the beach, surfboard under his arm.  Like most serious surfers, he only uses Stark boards.  This one happens to be an older one, a favorite that Tony designed with him in mind. 

He isn’t sure whether he’s surprised or not when he sees Thor already paddling out toward the break.  Was Bruce, maybe, sort of hoping for this?  Did he look hard, in a way he normally wouldn’t, to see whether he could identify the surfer already in the water?  In any event, his heart skips a few beats and there’s no denying the butterflies in his stomach. 

He surrenders in that moment to the knowledge that he’s developing a definite thing for Thor Odinson.  And after spending so many hours getting to know him the night before, Bruce has to admit that it’s more than physical.  Thor, as it turns out, is not only excellent company.  He’s also thoughtful and well-read, intelligent and interesting.  He has a gentle, almost naïve sense of humor that Bruce finds deeply endearing.  There’s so much to Thor, in fact, that Bruce had lain awake for a long time the night before, just replaying their conversation.

He is not at all sure how to feel about, well… the way he’s feeling.

He wades out into the water and quickly finds himself lying on his board next to Thor, looking out to sea for a promising set. 

“Good morning, Banner,” Thor greets him with a smile.  “I hoped you would be out here this morning.”

“I’m surprised that you are.  Do you surf every morning even when you’re competing?”

“No,” Thor laughs.  “Not usually.  But I told you, I have trouble sleeping.  The time change, you know.  Sometimes it helps to come out for a while.  Usually I can sleep for a few hours afterward before I have to do it for real.”

“Hmmm.  Never would’ve thought of that.”

“Well, desperation makes one do strange things.”

“How was imu building with Clint?”

“Educational!  I enjoyed it very much.  Clint is very funny.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for him,” Bruce mutters.

“Ah!” Thor calls, indicating with his head that he sees a wave he wants.  It’s a big one, and pretty.  Bruce would’ve chosen it himself, but since Thor’s going, Bruce lets the swell carry him ten feet up and drop him down the back side.  He wishes he could see Thor’s run, but the wave is between them for much of it. 

Thor really is stupidly beautiful, Bruce thinks.  He’s wearing a short-sleeved lycra jersey from some past competition, red and covered with sponsors’ patches.  Still, his chiseled muscles are easily discernible  beneath the tight fabric.  His baggy board shorts sit low on his hips and cover much of his legs, but what Bruce can see of his calves is sculpted and perfect.  Not only is his body beautiful, but his form is, too.  He’s lithe and absolutely in control of his every movement, so sure and graceful and strong as he glides over the water that it almost seems that he’s controlling the wave rather than simply riding it where it takes him. 

Bruce has never wanted a man so much in his life.  He finds his mind beginning to manufacture all sorts of filthy scenarios, and he feels his body reacting.

He’s grateful for the distraction when he sees a wave that looks nearly as good as the one Thor chose, and gets into position.  It’s a big one, but it turns out to be mushier than he expected.  He’s not able to do much with it and the tube collapses almost as it forms.  Because of the low energy, he doesn’t have the speed he needs to keep from being pulled down with it, and he wipes out.  It’s not spectacular, as wipeouts go.  In fact, it’s nothing, really.  But he wishes Thor hadn’t seen it after his pretty ride a few moments before.  

That makes Bruce determined to have a better run next time.  As a result, he finds himself studying the waves more closely and concentrating more on his maneuvers than he has in a very long time.  As he’d done the day before, Thor gestures excitedly at him and calls out compliments, only this time, Bruce finds himself doing it back to Thor. 

It would seem strange, if he thought about it, to be encouraging the world’s top surfer as though they’re just two beach rats cutting class because the surf’s up.  But he doesn’t think about it, because that’s exactly what it feels like.  The underlying fear that they’ll be seen by the press and the romance rumors will start up again gives the morning that same sweet quality of stolen moments.  Besides, something about the way Thor keeps looking to him for reactions tells Bruce that he might be showing off for Bruce just as much as Bruce is for him. 

For the second morning in a row, Bruce spends far more time out on the Pipeline than he planned, and feels more joy in surfing than he has in years.  He charges waves relentlessly, sailing across nearly vertical walls of water and using cutbacks and grabs he thought he’d forgotten.  Some of his moves are pretty rusty, but they work more than they don’t, and he feels reborn.  When he finally wipes out for the last time and recognizes that he’s too exhausted to keep going, he straddles his board and turns to watch Thor make a textbook run, complete with a top-turn that throws a beautiful tail of spray and a backside air reverse so perfect Bruce feels his appreciation burst from him in a shout of delighted laughter.  He’s still laughing when Thor lets himself sink down into the soup and paddles over to him. 

Thor’s laughing, too.  “What a morning!” he cries, and holds out a hand for Bruce to grab in a hearty clasp.  Bruce finds himself looking into Thor’s smiling blue eyes.  With tiny droplets of seawater dotting his lashes, Thor’s eyes all but sparkle in the early sunlight, and the pure joy in his smile reflects the warmth Bruce is feeling himself.

The moment lasts a few beats too long.

“We serve breakfast at the Surf Shack,” Bruce blurts, surprising himself.  He’s still drunk on the joy of surfing and now, this close to Thor, his head is going fuzzy with want.  “Are you hungry?” 

“I am,” Thor answers, with another of those looks Bruce can’t decipher.  The waves push their boards so close that their legs brush together.

“You could come with me.  If you want.  I mean, you know, you could come have breakfast at the Surf Shack.  I gotta go in and get started with work,” Bruce sputters.  He slides off his board and begins to walk toward the shore, with Thor following. 

The walk up the beach toward Hulk’s gives Bruce’s emotions a chance to even out a bit, but it’s another halting, awkward moment between them.  Bruce thinks about that as they trudge through the cool sand.  He doesn’t know why he gets so befuddled when he’s around Thor.  He’s been attracted to people before, and although he’s no Casanova, he at least can usually have a normal adult conversation with them.  He decides that maybe this clumsy fumbling thing is just another way Thor is weird.

When they arrive, Clint is already harrying the small army of workers in his kitchen as they wash, chop, and prepare fruits and vegetables.  He gives Bruce and Thor a knowing smile as they cross the restaurant. 

“How was surfing?” he asks.

“Good,” Bruce barks quickly, hoping Clint catches the warning tone he’s trying to convey.  “I offered Thor breakfast.”  

“Cool.  I owe him after this morning.  Big bastard made a 200-pound pig look like it weighed nothin’,” Clint tells Bruce.  “I offered him a job, but he turned me down.”

It’s clear some of the kitchen staff want to talk to Thor, but apparently they’ve been warned, because none of them are doing more than giving him friendly nods and a couple of shakas.  Thor returns the hand salute, fingers curled in with the pinky and thumb extended.  Thor smiles at Clint as he sits down at the table inside the kitchen walls again.

“You don’t have to sit in here,” Bruce tells him.  “Why don’t you sit at one of the tables in the restaurant?”

“Then I couldn’t talk to Clint Barton,” Thor answers simply, entirely missing the point that Bruce is trying to prevent exactly that.

“Yeah, Bruce, then he couldn’t talk to me.”  Clint hasn’t missed the point, and his smirk is infuriating.

“All right,” Bruce shrugs with a nonchalance he absolutely does not feel right now.  “I’m gonna go shower and change.”

“Be quick,” Clint tells him.  “I’ll have your breakfast on the table in ten minutes.”

And, just like that, the trap snaps shut.  Bruce can’t really even blame Clint; he’d set it himself by bringing Thor here.  Although that was never his intention, there’s no way he can now refuse to have breakfast with him.  He only just manages to hold off muttering frustratedly to himself until he’s halfway to his office, out of Thor’s hearing. 

As he sits down across from Thor, freshly showered and wearing his usual uniform of board shorts and Aloha shirt, Bruce sees Thor take in his appearance.  For some reason – or no reason – the look in Thor’s eyes makes Bruce blush.  Once again, Bruce finds himself tongue-tied and off kilter in Thor’s presence, and he’s glad to see Clint head toward them.  He’s holding heaping plates of linguiça sausage, eggs, and white rice that Bruce knows will be mouthwatering.

It’s every bit as tasty as expected, but in the end, neither Bruce nor Thor pay as much attention to the food as they should.  Once they get started, even without the help of alcohol, they find themselves with as much to talk about as they had the night before.  They very quickly get wrapped up in conversation about their morning surfing, and the second heat of the Stark Banzai Pro, which starts in a few hours. 

It’s two-man heats today, and Thor will be surfing against Scott Lang.  Lang has his moments.  He’s won a few competitions and done well in some others, but he isn’t consistent enough to be a major talent.  He’s known more for his exploits on dry land, which usually involve being someplace he shouldn’t, with a bizarre explanation that always turns out to be true.

“He is seven years older than I am,” Thor mentions. 

Bruce understands that he’s making an allusion to the talk they’d had last night about Thor’s relatively advanced age, for a pro surfer. 

“Yeah, I know him pretty well,” he tells Thor.  “He’s actually talking about hanging it up and moving to the mainland.  Has a daughter in New York, and I think he wants to be closer to her.” 

“He is considering retirement?  I had not heard that.  Then perhaps he will not be so sorry to be eliminated today.”  Thor’s smile is playful, although they both know that’s almost certain to be the outcome of their heat.  “Will he be sorry to retire from competition?”

“He says not.  His problem is, he doesn’t have any idea what he wants to do next.  Doesn’t really know who he is if he’s not a surfer.”

Bruce can see that something about that has resonated with Thor.  “Yes,” he says.  “That is a good way to put it.”

*          *          *

Natasha is back on her usual stool at the Snack Bar.  She’s making some sort of craft project with the stupid straws the supplier brought by mistake, which are too long for most drinks and too short for the rest.  M’Baku spent fifteen minutes earlier this morning ranting about them.  He’d cornered Bruce in his office and made him swear that he would deal with the supplier situation.  Bruce sighs, blocks that from his mind to deal with another time, and brings his attention back to the conversation.

Although Natasha isn’t a surfer, she’s learned enough about surfing from Bruce to enjoy and appreciate competitions.  But although they’re watching the second heats, that’s not what they’re talking about.

“So he came here with a bottle of wine, looking for you.”

“Said it was an apology, because Loki told him that he should have left me alone the other morning.”

Natasha looks up at the nearest screen, where a slow-motion replay of Loki’s latest wave is playing.  He’s using every inch of his tall, thin frame to keep on top of the breaking curl of the wave.  It’s nice, but Bruce can see how much effort it takes.  He thinks Loki’s a fool for trying a floater on a wave that big.  He’s almost relieved when Loki does a sweet top-turn and drops down into the pit.  He gets a great tube ride, but only just manages to hold on when the wave collapses.  The surf is massive today.  Several of the surfers are banged up from being slammed into the coral bottom that forms the Pipe.

“Then what happened?” Natasha asks, bringing Bruce back to their conversation. 

Bruce shrugs, deeply uncomfortable with this conversation.  “Clint gave him some food to try, and we drank the wine.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Surfing, I guess.”

With a great effort of will, Natasha manages not to roll her eyes.  Bruce’s towering genius is sometimes almost frightening, but he can also be dumb as a rock.  “Nice conversation?”

“Yeah,” Bruce admits.  “He’s cool.  Weird, but cool.”

“How is he weird?”

“Well, for one thing, who comes to someone’s work to see if they might want to be friends?  That’s weird, right?  Then, he wanted me to walk with him and make sure he got home to the house he’s renting.  Wasn’t sure he’d recognize it in the dark.”

“Hmmm,” Natasha responds, encouraging him to go on as she takes a long drink of the passion fruit-orange-guava drink people in Hawaii just call POG.

Bruce knows her too well to miss the message in her hum.  “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing, exactly.  I’m just not sure you’re reading him right.”

“I can’t read him at all.  I’m telling you.  He’s weird.”

“Is he weird, or is he perhaps into you?  I mean, the guy shows up here with wine.  At night.  Says he wants to get to know you better.” 

“No, but—”

“And afterward, isn’t it possible that he was trying to get you to take a romantic moonlight walk on the beach with him?”  

“I dunno.”

“I dunno,” Natasha mocks.  “Maybe you don’t know how he feels, but I think you’re into him, too.”

Bruce runs a hand through his perpetually messy, curly dark hair with its grey sprinkles.  “Look, I don’t deny that I’m attracted to him.  Of course I am, I mean, look at him.  But c’mon.  That’s not what it was about.”

“You sure?”

Bruce suddenly really wants out of this conversation.  “Anyway, who cares?  Because even if he was interested, I don’t see any upside to getting involved with Thor.  We could have some fun, I guess, but I don’t want to be a notch in the guy’s bedpost.”

Natasha flinches at that.  “Wow.  That was a shitty thing to say.”

Bruce scowls at the white wood of the Snack Bar, but doesn’t reply.  The fact is, he doesn’t really believe what he said, but he knows why he said it.  He’s desperately looking for reasons not to fall for Thor.

“What’s wrong with some fun sex with a nice guy who looks like Thor?” Natasha goes on.  “And there’s no reason to suggest he’s a trophy hunter.  I never heard that about him, and it doesn’t sound like he’s given you any reason to think it.”

“Okay, okay.  It was a lousy thing to say.  But anyway, I’m not interested in a fling.  Not with him.”  It’s the truth.  But Bruce finds himself adding, “We already saw what the press would do with that.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the reason Bruce doesn’t want to date Thor, and he knows it.  Bruce doesn’t want a casual thing with Thor because he already has feelings for him.  Feelings that, despite Natasha’s hopefulness, Thor couldn’t possibly return. 

“Fair enough.  But he brought wine, and all he did was ask you to go for a walk with him.  He didn’t even try to push that when you turned him down.  So maybe Thor wants more than sex.”

“Aw, Natasha, come on.  You’re already reaching, just thinking he might be thinking about me like that.  I don’t even want to talk about him wanting some kind of relationship.  I’m thirteen years older than he is.  He’s the God of Surfing, present tense, and I’m… me .”

“Ah.  So you’ve thought about this.” 

Busted. 

Like the close friend she is, Natasha’s offering Bruce the golden opportunity to talk about his muddled feelings for Thor.  He suspects she can clearly see them even if he doesn’t acknowledge them, but he just… can’t.  He’s private about his feelings anyway, but this thing with Thor…  Something about it makes him feel entirely too vulnerable to share it even with Natasha.  “Stop, okay?  Please?  I’m happy just the way I am.  I don’t need anything else.  My life is good enough.”

Natasha gives him her most skeptical eyebrow lift, which is very skeptical, indeed.  For a moment she doesn’t say anything at all, just lets him feel her disapproval.  Then she speaks.  “’Good enough’?  That’s a hell of a low bar, Bruce.”

*          *          *

As predicted, Thor beats Scott Lang in his second heat.  Scott gets in a couple of nice runs for a respectable score, but Thor is on fire.  In fact, on his final run, even though he already has Scott beat, Thor finds enough speed to launch himself above the lip of the wave and, as the wave falls perfectly below him, pulls out a full arial five-forty before landing, softly and fully in control, in the whitewash.  The crowd at Hulk’s goes berserk, shrieking and clapping, slapping one another on the back and crying out various versions of, “Did you see that?”

It’s the only perfect ten score of the day.  Even T’Challa’s backflip had only earned him a 9.8. 

Thor is predictably humble about it as he’s interviewed by Sam Wilson afterward.  It looks like Sam’s microphone, with its ESPN logo, is actually shaking with excitement as they talk. 

“I didn’t plan it,” Thor explains.  “You cannot really, because you need the right wave.  But I could feel that I had the speed, and the waves have been sinking right there all day, so I just went for it.”

“Really?  You’re gonna do the humble thing again?  I just wanna remind our viewers that a five-forty is a full three hundred and sixty degree rotation in the air, plus another one-eighty.  Which you, my friend, finished with a hell of a solid landing.”

“Well, thank you, Sam.  I was just pleased to have landed it at all.”

“Oh?  You weren’t sure you would?” 

“Well, I mean, it is not easy.  But I have been inspired of late.”

“Is that right?” Sam’s eyebrows raise.  “What’s been inspiring you?”

Even Bruce can see that what Thor answers is not quite the truth.  “Oh, you know, just being here at Pipeline, with all the history and the legends that have surfed here.”

Natasha looks down from the screen at Bruce.  “Do you suppose the legends he’s talking about include Bruce “the Hulk” Banner?”

With a scowl, Bruce snaps, “How the hell should I know?” and moves down the Snack Bar to help Peter Parker clean up the Kona Classic smoothie (black cherry, raspberry, banana, kiwi, and lime) he’s just dumped all over the floor.

Apparently, Thor can make Bruce feel untethered and off-balance even from a TV screen.  Bruce finds that deeply unsettling.

*          *          *

Thor comes to Hulk’s for dinner, but he’s with Loki and a large group of others.  Bruce coordinates the wait staff in putting together several tables to accommodate them and take their orders.  The group is boisterous and getting a great deal of attention from the other diners, of course, and Bruce is busy talking and having his picture taken with the publicists, managers, coaches, and others around the table.  Which means he doesn’t have a chance to do more than nod to Thor, even if he was inclined to try to talk to him. 

Which he isn’t . 

Besides, Loki’s keen green-eyed gaze is on both of them.  He won his heat today, too, so he’ll be surfing in tomorrow’s third heat.  When someone suggests a picture of Bruce and Loki together, Loki smiles wickedly as he whispers to Bruce, “I hear you and Thor are getting close.”

Bruce ruins that picture by whipping his head around to look at Loki with a shocked, “What?” 

Everyone laughs, assuming that well-known trickster Loki has said something amusing, hoping to get exactly that reaction.  Loki laughs along with them.  Then, as he poses with his arm companionably around Bruce’s shoulder, he purrs in his ear, “I don’t get it, either, but he seems to have taken rather a fancy to you.”

Bruce avoids Thor’s gaze as best he can for the rest of the evening.  But Loki seems to catch his eye often, and every time he does, it’s apparent that he’s watching Bruce closely.

*          *          *

Day three of the Stark Banzai Pro is a tough one.  The waves, which were huge the day before, are monstrous today.  T’Challa takes a spill that doesn’t look like much, but he gets pounded against the sea bottom and has to be dragged, unconscious, from the surf by a group of rescuers.  He’s expected to be all right, but he’s in ICU with a severe concussion.

Steve Rogers doesn’t have to be rescued, but he comes out of the water with his lycra jersey in shreds, a huge section of his chest flayed and bleeding from being dragged along the coral by the force of the water.  All of the surfing websites carry stories about the heated discussion between Steve and his husband afterward.  After all, it takes place right on the beach as Steve’s being checked for broken ribs by paramedics, and Bucky’s voice carries across the sand as he encourages Steve to pull out of the competition so he doesn’t get hurt worse.  Debate rages in the comment sections, with half supporting Steve’s position that Bucky’s just overprotective, and half agreeing with Bucky that Steve’s a reckless dumbass.

Loki, too, gets banged up.  After a particularly grisly wipeout that slams the rail of his board into his face, he emerges with blood streaming from his nose and a nasty scrape on his cheek.  Word from the hospital is that his cheekbone is cracked but, surprisingly, his nose isn’t broken.  Either way, he’s out of the competition because Bucky outscored him in their heat. 

Thor hasn’t been injured as badly as others, but he’s bruised and he feels like he wrenched something in his shoulder and back.  His trainers have been massaging and treating him ever since his heat, but he actually feels worse now.  Besides, his scores were terrible.  The only thing that kept him in the competition was the fact that his opponent, a nice kid from Tahiti, wiped out and suffered sprains too severe to continue. 

He doesn’t know what his problem was out there today.  He can’t blame the waves; he’s surfed bigger and gnarlier.  But he couldn’t seem to do anything right.  He’s discouraged and in pain, so he’s thrilled when his coach turns up at the house to announce that the competition is taking the next day off because the waves are expected to be too  dangerous to surf.    

*          *          *

It’s another crazy-busy night at Hulk’s Surf Shack, with everybody drinking a bit more and staying a bit longer, now that those running the competition have announced that they won’t surf tomorrow.  This time, when Brock and Tony come in for dinner, Bruce really is too busy to eat with them.  But again, they don’t take no for an answer.  Since they know what he’s like, they choose a corner table and insist that Bruce sit facing away from the middle of the room, so that he won’t be tempted to jump up every five minutes to help someone.

As it is, their meal is interrupted several times by acquaintances stopping by the table, and people approaching to get autographs from the three of them.

“Loki’s heading back home,” Tony laments once they’re alone again.  “We can’t photograph him looking like that, all bruised and swollen, and he’s out of the competition.  I guess he’ll just have to win the next one.”

“It’s mostly his pride that’s hurt,” Brock grunts.  “But T’Challa’s a different story.  I heard from his coach an hour ago.  He’s in rough shape.”

“Still going to be all right, though?” Bruce asks anxiously.

“They think so.  But he feels like crap and can’t keep anything down.  Doesn’t remember wiping out.”

Bruce nods.  Concussions are familiar territory in surfing, but they’re still frightening.  “We’re lucky nobody broke any major bones today.  Seems like everybody got hurt somehow.”

“Except Barnes,” Tony notes.  “He had a great day.”

Bucky is the points leader in the competition now.  Before his fall, Steve had one good run and one spectacular wave, so he’s in second place.  After his disastrous day, Thor has fallen to a distant third. 

“You still like Rogers to win?” Tony asks Brock. 

“Yeah.  Surf rash is painful, but he’ll be all right.  And after today, I don’t see Thor catching him.”

That begins a long conversation about the various surfers and their performances during the third heat, as well as the injuries most of them have.  It’s a complex and fascinating discussion, and Bruce is fully absorbed in what his friends have to say.  They’ve always liked to debate the scores, and it’s more fun now that they can rib Brock about his judging.  With his back to the restaurant, Bruce can focus on the conversation, and he’s shocked when he realizes that it’s over two hours later and business is starting to slow down.  Since everything is well under control, he lets his friends talk him into having after-dinner drinks and another forty-five minutes goes by in laughter and friendly argument before Tony and Brock say good night and Bruce makes the rounds to see what’s going on around the Surf Shack.

The Snack Bar has been properly closed down and the walls secured around that section.  The kitchen’s still open, but Clint’s staff is down to just those who will help him close when it’s time.  M’Baku has left one of his assistant managers in charge and is off for the night.  Nobody seems to need Bruce’s help at the moment, so he feels a bit at loose ends.  He could go home early if he wanted, but he feels too restless for that.  Besides, there’s always something in a restaurant that needs stocking or cleaning.

It takes a surprising amount of time for him to realize that he’s waiting for Thor.  Not that Thor has said he’d be coming to the Surf Shack tonight; it’s just that he’s been here for the last three nights in a row and Bruce realizes he’s started to look forward to seeing him. 

Which is ridiculous, Bruce tells himself.  Beyond ridiculous.  Even if Thor was in town for more than a few days – which he isn’t – and even if he was perhaps attracted to Bruce – which he isn’t – Bruce just doesn’t need the headache.  He doesn’t want that kind of upheaval in his world.  He doesn’t want the press hounding him like they did when he was surfing professionally, butting into his personal life.  He doesn’t want the distraction from work, and he definitely doesn’t want the monumental load of crap that comes with having feelings for someone. 

In fact, he tells himself, he’s glad Thor didn’t show up tonight.

He manages to convince himself of that for all of one minute.  But then, as he putters around behind the bar, he hears Nat’s voice from this afternoon, dripping with disapproval of his statement that he’s satisfied with his life.  He’d been annoyed at the time, but he knows that’s because she’s right.  Of course he doesn’t need a romantic partner in his life.  But that’s no reason not to welcome the right one in. 

Bruce suddenly sees himself from a new perspective.  He’s been telling himself he’s happy the way he is.  He certainly won’t settle for just anyone.  It isn’t until this moment that he realizes he’s settled for no one instead .  He’s let himself become a hermit of sorts.  It’s been a very long time since he dated anyone, and even longer since he’s been part of what could properly be called a couple.  Why, when romance can be so nice, is he pushing it away when it might be available?  Because it’s inconvenient ? 

And why shouldn’t he spend time with Thor, if Thor’s interested in him?  God knows he’s beautiful, as well as being interesting and fun.  In fact, Bruce can’t remember the last time he felt like this about anyone.  If he doesn’t take this chance, it’ll be worse than settling for less than he deserves in a relationship.  It’ll be giving up and accepting that he deserves nothing. 

He reluctantly decides that he has to do something about it before he loses his nerve or talks himself out of it.  Leaving the restaurant in the capable hands of his staff, Bruce slips out into the warm, fragrant darkness of the Hawaiian night, kicks off his shoes, and starts off down the beach toward the house where Thor is staying.  He has no idea what he’s going to do once he gets there.  Maybe he’ll come up with some reason for dropping by, say he wants to check on how Loki’s doing or something.  It doesn’t occur to Bruce to simply tell the truth – that he wants to see Thor.

As it turns out, however, Bruce doesn’t have to make up any excuses, because as soon as he nears the area of the beach in front of the competition zone, he sees a familiar silhouette.  It’s pretty dark, but no one else has shoulders like that.  Thor is sitting on the sand, chin on his knees, looking out to sea toward the dimly-guessed horizon. 

Bruce doesn’t allow himself to think about it before shuffling through the sand toward him.  If he does, he knows he’ll get himself all twisted up and either make a fool of himself or chicken out entirely.  He steps up next to Thor.

“Hey.”

Thor looks up, startled out of his thoughts, and Bruce is thrilled to see a smile instantly light up his face.  “Banner!”

“Did you want to be alone?  I don’t want to intrude—”

“No, no.  I would welcome your company, actually.  My thoughts are a bit morose tonight, I’m afraid.”

A little awkwardly due to his stiff knee, Bruce sits down next to Thor in the cool sand.  They’re close enough that they can talk quietly, but not touching.  “Morose, huh?  Want to talk about it?”

“I do not think you want to hear about me feeling sorry for myself.”

“I don’t mind, if it’ll help.”

“That is kind.”

“You get hurt out there today?”

“I am a little beat up, but not like others.  Certainly not like T’Challa or Loki.  Anyway, my trainers did what they could and I slept for hours.  Now I am just restless, and upset with myself.  I did not surf well today.”

“I thought you might be a little disappointed with those scores.  They weren’t terrible, though.  Anyway, you’re still in the competition.”

“Only because my opponent was injured.”

“Well.  I know from experience there’s not much I can say that will make you feel better.  I’ve been there, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Thank you.  They do say that misery loves company.” 

For a while, they just sit together, watching the bioluminous plankton in the water softly illuminate the foaming waves.  It’s lovely, and a little hypnotic.  Bruce is surprised to find that the racing, tumbling thoughts from earlier are suddenly quiet.  He doesn’t even particularly feel the need to say much.  It’s comfortable just sitting with Thor feeling the warm breeze and listening to the relaxing rumble of the surf.  For as massive as the waves had been in the daytime, tonight the ocean is unusually calm.

“Banner.”

Bruce turns to see Thor leaning toward him expectantly, a sort of gleam in his eye.

“Do you like stargazing?”

“Sure.  I guess.”  Bruce leans back on his elbows to look up at the sky.

“No.  Not like that.  We’re too close to the lights.  Come on.”  Thor stands quickly and holds out a hand, which Bruce reflexively takes.  Thor pulls him effortlessly up from the sand.  “We’ll need a couple of your boards.”

Fifteen minutes later, Bruce finds himself shirtless and lying on his back on his surfboard, with Thor next to him on another of his boards.  They’re out just beyond the surf break, where there is only a gentle rhythmic swell in the water to rock them as they look up at the heavens.

“I haven’t done this in a long time,” Thor is saying.  “But when I was younger, I used to sneak out of the house to go night surfing.  Sometimes if the waves were no good, I’d do this instead.”

“It’s nice,” Bruce comments, very aware of where Thor’s hand is gripping the rail of his board to keep them together in the subtly rolling water. 

The plankton luminesce in response to disturbance in the water, so the glow is concentrated in the surf between the men and the shore.  Bruce and Thor occasionally create disturbance with their hands, just to make the water light up, but mostly they look upward, at the billions of tiny flickering lights flung across the sky. 

“I learned about the constellations so that I would know what I’m looking at.  Do you know the constellations?”

“Big Dipper,” Bruce answers with a chuckle, pointing.  “That’s it.  That’s the one I can point out.  I love space, though.  In fact, I—”

“What?”

“Well, I’m about to out myself as a complete nerd.”

“Clint has told me about your extraordinary intelligence, and you did mention that you do calculus to relax, so…  Anyway, I just told you I study astronomy.  You can out-nerd that?”

“I read astrophysics textbooks for fun.”

There’s a short silence before Thor grunts softly.  “Ah.  Yes.  You win.”

And then the hand that had been holding on to Bruce’s surfboard grasps his hand, and Bruce feels it in his entire body.  He curls his fingers between Thor’s - not tightly, but just enough so he can feel it.  He’s forty-five years old, but the hormones surging through him feel like they did when he was fifteen.

Bruce is so overwhelmed that he’s glad when Thor points with the hand that isn’t holding his and begins to show Bruce constellations.  He doesn’t have to speak as Thor names stars and even gives their distances from Earth.  Last week, such a display of intelligence and knowledge from Thor would have surprised Bruce.  But Bruce has already learned that there is a great deal to Thor that he’d never expected.  So tonight, it just sends a shiver of desire through him and solidifies a crush that is rapidly becoming a passion.

As the perfect, gorgeous evening goes on, the sea and stars weave a magical spell, helped immensely by the otherworldly gleam of the luminescent waves.  That, and the intimacy of holding hands for the first time, acknowledging their mutual attraction, puts both Bruce and Thor in a confiding frame of mind.

“The constellation Pegasus always reminds me of a friend I had growing up.  Manaia.  He could never pick out the constellations, so whenever we would stargaze, he would call everything Pegasus.  We laughed every time.”

There’s a wistful quality to Thor’s voice as he speaks, head laid back on his board, staring upward.  Bruce squeezes his hand.  “What is it?”

“The story does not end well.  He was an excellent surfer, Manaia.  Far better than I.  Almost the minute he learned to stand, his father had him on a surfboard.  He could do anything.  I used to be in awe of him, the way he would take on waves that I was too afraid to try.”

“What happened to him?”

“As we grew, I saw that he was not really fearless.  He did feel fear when he should.  But he could never acknowledge it.  Whenever someone challenged him to, he would go in, no matter how dangerous the conditions.  Even when others would refuse, and would tell him there was no reason to take such a chance, once someone had suggested that he was afraid, he could not back down.  In the end, he was killed surfing waves that no sane man would attempt.”

“I’m sorry, Thor.  I’ve lost friends, too.  Not close ones like yours, but…  I know it hurts.”

“It is not only Manaia.  I have seen this too much.  When I was twenty, there was a guy called Fabrizio on the circuit.  We met in all the competitions and became friends.  He was someone I admired a great deal, but I saw the same flaw in him.  Fabrizio did not die, though.  He was crushed by a wave and paralyzed.”

“That’s terrible.  Sorry, man.  How’s he doing now?”

“He will not see me now.  He is an angry, bitter man.  From the beginning, he has said that he should have been allowed to drown rather than be rescued to live as he is.”

Bruce gives a sympathetic gasp.  There’s really nothing he can say.    

“Do you know, Banner, I admire you and your friends.  You and Stark and Rumlow, you have all done great things in competition, and I admire that.  But you have done something additional.  Something more difficult, in a way.  You have all found ways to move forward, without losing surfing.  I would like to do that.”

“Then do it.  You could do anything.  Announcing.  Judging.  Designing.  I bet Stark would—”

“I think that I would like to do something different.”

When Thor doesn’t go on, Bruce somehow understands that he’s about to learn something Thor hasn’t told anyone else.  He turns his head so he can look fully at Thor and speaks as gently as he knows how.

“Is there…  You have something in mind?”

“I want to do something that would honor Manaia and Fabrizio,” Thor answers in a voice equally hushed.

“That’s admirable.”

“I grew up with nothing.  I don’t need much money, and more than that is just a burden.  Fame?  I think you and I feel the same way about that.”  Bruce simply nods when Thor turns his head to look over at him. 

“I think that I would like to open a surf school.”

Bruce is careful with his reaction to Thor’s sharing of this confidence, because it’s abundantly clear how much Thor is trusting him.  “You could teach your students about more than maneuvers.  You could teach them how to read waves.  How to judge conditions.”

“Yes!” Thor cries softly.  “Exactly.  And I would try to help people to value themselves enough to walk away from overly dangerous conditions even when others are calling them cowards.”

“There’s a need for that message,” Bruce agrees.  “Look at what happened today, and these are professionals in conditions that weren’t even that crazy.  It could go beyond your school, you know.  I know that you don’t want to be, but the fact is that you are famous.  You could use that fame.  People would listen to you.” 

“Do you think so?”

“Brah, I hate to bring it up, but you’ve seen what’s all over the internet about you and me, and all we did was look at each other.”

“Yes.  We are Bandinson,” Thor laughs.

Bruce snorts scornfully and they share a wry chuckle at the strangeness of the media.  “Yeah. My point is, I know they’d listen to you.”

“People think that surfers are brainless fools who can only do one thing, and perhaps that’s all I am.  But, Banner, I want to do something good in the world.  It’s true that surfing is all I know, but it is also what I love.  I do not want to give it up entirely.  So I thought, perhaps…  Is it a stupid idea?”

“A surf school that emphasizes safety?  Hell, no, it isn’t a stupid idea.”  Bruce sits up on his board.  “It’s a great idea.  And I know that you’d have people lining up to learn from you.  You’d actually have to be a good teacher to make it an ongoing success, but you’d have all the initial interest you could ever want.”

“Thank you,” Thor says with that deep sincerity characteristic of him, sitting up to face Bruce.  “For not laughing at my dream.”

“I wouldn’t laugh at it, Thor, even if it was silly.  But it isn’t.  It’s an excellent idea, and it’s a perfect way to honor your friends.”

Thor’s lips turn up in a pleased smile as he looks at Bruce with unmistakable desire.  Under the star-filled sky, with the luminous waves gently rocking them, he pulls on Bruce’s hand just enough to bring their surfboards together. 

And then he leans in and softly touches his lips to Bruce’s, lifting a hand to tenderly cradle his face.  With their clasped hands, it’s easy enough to hold their boards together even as they sway gently on the tide. 

It’s not unexpected, and he’s been thinking about kissing Thor Odinson since he first met him in person, but Bruce is still shocked.  It takes him a moment to wrap his mind around the fact that the sweet, tender pressure on his mouth is Thor’s lips.  As he does, he feels the doubt in Thor’s kiss, the way he’s holding back and going slowly, and Bruce answers the unspoken question by kissing Thor back with enthusiasm.  He isn’t thinking clearly, but he doesn’t need to be; his body knows exactly what to do.  They float there, mouths softly exploring in silent communication, for long moments before they slowly, reluctantly, separate.

“I hope I am not wrong that you wanted that, as I did,” Thor tells Bruce, looking into his eyes with heartbreakingly sweet hope.

“You weren’t wrong.”

The slight cloud of anxiety in Thor’s eyes lifts and, for a moment, Thor beams at Bruce with a smile so bright it dims all the stars.  Bruce is so overwhelmed with surprise and lust and simple awe that he just gapes at him.  Then, Thor looks toward the beach.  “I think we should—”

“Yeah,” Bruce agrees, trying to shake off the spell.  It’s late and, although it’s dark, they’re in public.  They’re also floating on surfboards, which is not a situation that would allow for anything further to happen between them, anyway.   

They’ve drifted until they’re directly in front of the house Thor’s staying in.  Once they’re back on the beach, Thor wordlessly pulls Bruce by the hand into the impenetrable shadows of some landscaping at the side of the huge deck.  Bruce follows, letting Thor guide him until they’re standing next to the trunk of a tall palm tree before turning to pull him close against that massive chest. 

Thor’s much larger and several inches taller than Bruce, which makes being in his arms the most perfectly safe Bruce has ever felt.  Between that deeply satisfying feeling and the need sizzling beneath his skin, Bruce finds himself lifting his face, eager to recapture Thor’s lips in the darkness.  Thor’s mouth is hot on his, lips parted slightly now. 

But Thor doesn’t push.  He meets Bruce kiss for kiss, breath mingling and a few soft gasps escaping from both of them.  He holds Bruce tightly, but his hands aren’t exploring.  One is splayed across Bruce’s mid-back holding him close, and the other sits on his shoulder for a while.  Soon, Thor slides that hand across Bruce’s shoulder, softly and slowly, coming to rest lightly on the back of Bruce’s neck. 

Bruce knows Thor has to be able to feel him trembling.  He must also be able to feel the goosebumps his touch is creating.  Still, Thor doesn’t press.  He just continues with those molten kisses, deep and firm but not even daring to use his tongue yet, which are beginning to torture Bruce.  So Bruce is forced to take control, leaning back against the trunk of the large palm behind him and pulling Thor with him so that they’re pressed together. 

Thor moans softly and Bruce knows they’re on the same page.  It’s reassuring enough to give him the courage to try a tiny lick at Thor’s upper lip.  That gets Thor to take back some of the initiative, and pretty soon Bruce is glad he’s leaning against the palm tree because what Thor is doing with his tongue is shorting out his nervous system. 

He wants to grind against Thor.  He’s sure, from Thor’s breathing and the sounds he’s making, that he’d find Thor is getting hard, too.  But he doesn’t, because Thor doesn’t.  It feels… respectful, somehow, and Bruce doesn’t want to move too fast, either. 

It’s enough that Thor is holding him, pressing his chest to Bruce’s as they lean against the tree trunk, melting his brain with deep, open-mouthed kisses.  Thor’s fingers are now buried in Bruce’s hair, his massive hand cradling Bruce’s head in a way that is intensely intimate. 

There is only one thought in Bruce’s head aside from his overwhelming awareness of the way Thor feels and tastes, and the way he’s worshiping Bruce’s mouth.  Over and over in his mind, he asks himself, “How could I ever be happy without this?”

It’s a long time before they come up for air. 

When Bruce eventually pulls the sheets over himself in his own bed, his whole brain is still on fire with thoughts of Thor.  That fire rolls like lava through his body, as well, and he slides a hand down his body, remembering exactly where Thor had touched him, to his cock, where he desperately wants Thor to touch him.  It frightens him how quickly and forcefully he comes, and how right Thor’s name feels on his lips as he does.

Chapter Text

The next day dawns cold, rainy, and ugly.  In direct contrast to his joy the previous evening, Bruce awakens crawling with feelings that match the weather.  His head is pounding, as though all the happiness and hope he’d felt the night before have left him with a raging emotional hangover.

What has he done?   If being around Thor had previously made him feel unsure and off-balance, now Bruce feels like he’s eight feet deep in swirling, raging surf, completely out of control and entirely at the mercy of fate. 

In other words, Bruce wakes up terrified of the way he feels. 

Okay, yes. It has turned out that his attraction to Thor – pretty much the perfect man – is mutual.  And yes, Thor’s kisses were, without qualification, the best kisses of Bruce’s life.  

But neither of those are good things.

Because what the hell could he have been thinking?   Thor is way out of Bruce’s league.  It’s not even close.  Bruce stops himself before he starts to imagine the hideous, hurtful things the press and the other surfers would have to say.  Loki had merely been amused.  Others would be appalled.  Words much uglier than “cradle robber” go through Bruce’s head.  But that’s not really the problem. 

The problem is that there is no universe in which anything between them could work.  Thor lives in Australia, for fuck’s sake.  He’s thirteen long years younger than Bruce.  And Bruce knows now what Thor can make him feel.  Which means that he knows in his soul that if he lets himself fall for Thor, he will be destroyed when it inevitably ends.

All Bruce has accomplished by kissing Thor is that now he knows what he’ll be missing.  What he can’t have.  Now, by letting himself get swept up for a night in the dream of life in the arms of a man like Thor, he’s tainted the real world for himself.  Spoiled the life that, until yesterday, he’d been so sure was what he wanted.

He wishes it had never happened.

*          *          *

Bruce swears under his breath when he sees Brock and Tony waving to him from the same table they’d occupied the night before.  He really doesn’t want to join them.  He knows they’ll see that something is off; they’ve known one another too long and too well for it to be otherwise. 

Bruce knows that he overthinks and overanalyzes.  He’s been told that it’s due to his hyperintelligence.  Whatever the reason, he’s aware that the best thing to do is to talk things out rather than brood, let someone in so they can help him see things more clearly.  But not this.  Bruce simply can’t talk about his feelings for Thor.  The whole thing is just too big, too tender, too… much for him to let anyone see, at least right now. 

Tony’s not awake enough yet to notice right away.  He has a Bloody Mary in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other, but he’s only about halfway through each and his eyes are barely open.  Brock, on the other hand, has already run five miles today and is bursting with energy.  He’s used to Tony in the mornings, but Bruce is usually much more animated at breakfast.

“You feelin’ all right, Hulk?  You look like shit.”

“Thank you, Brock,” Bruce responds with his sweetest smile.  “You’re looking like Mr. California Beach Bod yourself.”

Tony snorts and downs the rest of his coffee.  Immediately, Peter Parker shows up at his elbow to refill his mug.  Tony remains silent, but sets the cup down an arm’s length away from himself and leans back as if expecting disaster.  Which is fair.  However, Parker pours smoothly, leaving a healthy margin of safety at the top of the mug, and smiles politely as he backs away from the table.

That’s when M’Baku, carrying a huge platter with no less than seven plates of Clint’s lobster eggs Benedict, passes behind him.  Peter and M’Baku collide, and the entire massive tray of food goes flying.  Chaos ensues for the next five minutes while Tony just winces at the noise and pulls his mug close.

If Bruce thought the disturbance would get him out of answering Brock’s question, he’s disappointed.  Once things are back under control, Brock just asks the same thing again. 

“So back to the subject, Hulk. You have a rough night?  Or maybe a good night?” he grins and winks, in case Bruce has somehow missed his broad innuendo.

All Bruce finds the energy to do is shrug.  He just isn’t up to denying it.  “Had an okay night.  Just… thinking better of it this morning, that’s all.”

“What does that mean?” Brock asks.  “I assume we’re talking about Thor Odinson.”

“Why would you assume that?”

Brock just chuckles and smirks.  “Right.”

A large drink of coffee buys Bruce a moment to frame his response.  “Yeah, we spent some time together last night.  But it’s not going anywhere.  Can’t, really.  For one thing, he lives on the other side of the planet.”

“’S why God invented planes,” Tony mutters into the dregs of his Bloody Mary.  “And FaceTime.”

“Ugh,” Bruce groans.  “No thanks.”

“Really?” Brock asks, seeming genuinely surprised.  “You won’t do the long-distance thing even for a guy like that?  Because I think half the straight men in the world would jump the fence for him, including me.”

Tony lazily raises his hand to indicate that it includes him, too.

Bruce just says, “Nope.”

Shrugging, Brock asks, “Well, you could’ve at least taken the opportunity to get some.  Which clearly you didn’t, because if you had, you’d be in a better mood.”

That gets Brock the dirtiest look of which Bruce is capable.  Which, given his baby face and generally pleasant features, isn’t very dirty.  But it gets the point across.

“Probably best,” Tony says, and his eyes meet Brock’s for a second.

“What does that mean?” Bruce asks, forgetting to try to sound uninterested.

“Nothing,” Brock shrugs.  “I don’t really know anything.  But he had that girlfriend a couple years ago, and I did hear some rumors that he didn’t treat her too well.”

“Not to mention that he’s never been public about any boyfriends,” Tony adds with a significant look. 

At that moment, Peter Parker approaches to remove Tony’s empty Bloody Mary glass.  “Another, sir?” he asks in his impossibly young voice.

“On one condition.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Have somebody else bring it.”

Poor Peter just blinks for a moment, then looks to Bruce, who smiles kindly at him and says, “He’s kidding, Parker.”

Relief washes over Peter’s face and he heads quickly toward the bar.

“He’s not kidding, Parker,” Tony calls after him.       

Fortunately, the topic of conversation changes after that.  M’Baku walks past the table wearing a fresh shirt.  He apparently didn’t have a clean pair of pants in his office, though, because he’s wearing one of the horrible puce aprons to cover the eggs Benedict stains.  He catches Bruce’s eye on his way by and indicates the apron.  Unlike Bruce, M’Baku can give very dirty looks.

“What was that about?” Tony asks, laughing.

“Sore subject,” Bruce answers, and briefly explains the situation with the terrible supplier. 

That launches Tony on a now-fully-awake tirade about his own problems with suppliers, and the subject of Thor is mercifully forgotten.

Except it isn’t.  Not by Bruce.  For the rest of the morning, as he sits in his office working, he finds himself unable to concentrate on his spreadsheets.  His mind keeps replaying steaming hot snippets of the night before.  Every time he catches himself doing that, though, Bruce forces his mind back to the conversation at breakfast. 

He’d been surprised to find that his friends don’t seem too enthusiastic about the idea of him dating Thor.  Bruce has actually heard the rumors about Thor mistreating a girlfriend before, but it’s hard to take them seriously.  The press loves to blow a nothing detail completely out of proportion, and Bruce just can’t square that with the man he’s gotten to know.  But the insinuation that Thor might be in the closet…  That one had come from left field, and it’s made an impact somewhere deep in Bruce’s chest. 

Because as he thinks about it, it occurs to him that all his one-on-one meetings with Thor have, in fact, been a little clandestine.  Whenever Thor has come to the Surf Shack, there’s been nothing at all in his manner that would suggest romantic interest.  Bruce himself had been sure the attraction was all on his side.  Yes, Clint had picked up on something, but he had already been looking for it, and what he was mostly seeing was Bruce’s interest in Thor . 

The only time Thor’s been open about a romantic interest in Bruce was when they were entirely alone.  Even then, Bruce realizes, he’d pulled him behind a damn tree in a thicket of greenery in the dark.  The thought cuts him like a dull machete, deep and wide and ragged.

It’s the last straw for Bruce.  No.  He refuses to keep letting thoughts of Thor Odinson yank his emotions all over the map, especially when he knows anything between them can only end in a bloody fiasco for him. 

Any lingering hope or enthusiasm he might have been holding onto dissolves like the last trace of white in a wave as it dissipates on the sand.  Bruce takes all the good feelings, the warm glow of genuine caring he’d felt for Thor, and stomps on them, shoving them ruthlessly away and replacing them with a thick, cold disgust mostly aimed at himself.  He spends the rest of the day in his office getting very little work done. 

It’s fairly early in the evening when M’Baku knocks on his door.  Seeing the restaurant manager, Bruce prepares himself for a report of more problems with their supplier.  Instead, M’Baku tells him that Thor is in the Surf Shack asking for him. 

He’d expected that, of course, although he’d thought maybe he had a bit more time to decide how to handle it. 

“Thanks, brah.  I’m in the middle of some stuff here, but I’ll come out to say hello to his table when I can.” 

M’Baku skips a beat.  “He’s not with anybody.  I think he came here to see you.”

“Nah,” Bruce waves a dismissive hand, not looking up from his computer screen.  “It’s Clint he’s getting to be friends with.”

“He asked for you .”

“He’s just being polite.  I’ll come say hi in a while.”

Bruce pushes a few keys, typing nonsense into his spreadsheet as he waits for M’Baku to leave.  There’s a definite pause before he does, but eventually M’Baku accepts that Bruce is really not going to come out, and leaves the office.

Bruce feels sick, but he stays where he is.  It’s dumb and immature, weak and cowardly, and undoubtedly cruel.  Bruce knows that.  But he decides that he will deal with Thor by… not dealing with him.  He’ll just stay in his office until he’s sure Thor is gone. 

Time crawls, as Bruce just sits at his desk, miserable and accomplishing nothing.  All he wants is to see Thor smile at him again.  It hurts like hell, this hiding and brooding, but he tells himself he has no choice.  It’s self-preservation.  He’s happy, damn it.  He is not going to let some closeted blond who’s only passing through town ruin that, no matter how fucking otherworldly his kisses are.  Or how his shoulders and chest feel under Bruce’s hands.  Or how much lightning shoots through Bruce when he—

There’s a knock on his door, and Bruce knows instantly that it’s Thor.  Fuck.  He really should have expected this, but he absolutely didn’t.   He starts to yell that he’s busy, but the door is opening before he gets the first word out. 

Thor’s long, tousled hair is messily falling out of the elastic that is supposed to be holding it back.  His piercing blue eyes are troubled and his smile is tentative.  He looks so vulnerable, so absolutely angelic as he cautiously, hesitantly peeks around the door that Bruce wants to cry.

“Are you all right, Banner?”

Of course he wouldn’t be annoyed and berate Bruce for his rudeness.  This is Thor.  Instead, he’s concerned about him.  This is a nightmare.  

“I’m fine.  Yeah.  I’ve just got a lot of work to do.  Did you have dinner?  How was everything?”

“Well, I…” Thor steps into the office and closes the door softly behind him, keeping hold of the knob as if needing the support.  “Clint Barton gave me some things to try, but I was hoping to have dinner with you.”

“Not gonna happen.  Too busy.  But thanks for coming by.  If you want my advice, have the seared ono.  Clint does it with a honey-soy glaze and fresh pineapple salsa—”

“Banner?” Thor interrupts him.  The worry in his eyes is rapidly turning to distress.  “What is wrong?  Have I done something?  I thought that we had a wonderful time together last night, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

“Yeah, no, I know.  That was fun, sure.  But I got a business to run, you know.  We’re busy during competitions, so…” 

Bruce sees his dismissive words score a direct hit.  Instead of letting himself feel the shame of what he’s doing, he tells himself that, once again, Thor’s only talking affectionately to him because no one can hear him.

“Oh.  I…  Yes, of course, I understand.  Can I see you later, then?  Perhaps you might like to look at the stars with me again.” 

“Yeah, sure, Thor.  Maybe we can do that again sometime.  I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

“But I meant—”

“Appreciate you coming to say hello.  Enjoy your night.”

Thor actually flinches, and Bruce is pretty sure the hurt betrayal in his face will be seared into his brain forever.  He hates himself for what he’s doing, but more than that, for the fact that his own expression is entirely bland at this moment.  It works, though; he knows immediately that he has very effectively accomplished his mission of getting Thor out of his office, and his life. 

The satisfactory, “good enough” life that he’s convinced himself is somehow endangered by the man now opening the door to leave.  The man who is everything Bruce has ever wanted.

Thor fumbles through an apology for interrupting his work and hastily backs out of Bruce’s office.  Bruce starts regretting what he’s done the second he hears the click of the latch. 

He could go after Thor.  He doesn’t have to let him hurt.  He doesn’t have to make Thor think Bruce is this cold, this fickle.  He could catch him before he leaves the Surf Shack and tell him he didn’t mean it.  Thor would let him explain – that’s who he has learned Thor is – and he’d probably forgive him.  Bruce could have more of those brain-melting kisses.  All he has to do is jump up from his desk and do it.

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he stays where he is, heart pounding with the knowledge that he’s just purposely hurt a lovely man who doesn’t deserve it.  A man whose only crime is threatening Bruce with happiness. 

Because Bruce realizes as he sits there that his idea of Thor as closeted, maybe even homophobic, is utter self-serving bullshit.  Thor had come to Bruce’s restaurant with a bottle of wine and told everyone within earshot that it was for Bruce.  He’d declared before the entire kitchen that he was there to get to know Bruce better.  What more, exactly, did Bruce want Thor to do? 

Which makes Bruce not only a complete fucking coward, but a bastard, too.

He sits at his desk, wallowing in self-loathing, until he’s sure Thor is gone.  Then he gets up and goes out into the restaurant to greet and gladhand the guests at every table.  He makes sure everyone has everything they could want.  He fills water glasses, runs to the bar and kitchen to get drinks and desserts and extra silverware.  Anything to keep from thinking.  When any further interference with his guests would stop being solicitous and enter the creepy zone, he grabs a tub and starts doing the bussers’ jobs.  He stocks things, he packages to-go orders, he serves drinks and gets in the dishwashers’ way. 

He doesn’t stop moving until there’s simply nothing else to do and he’s locking the doors of the now-dark Surf Shack. 

“Want a ride up to your house?” Clint asks.

“Nah.  I’ll walk.  Climb will do me good.”

Clint stops ahead of Bruce on the crushed shell pathway and turns to face him.  He narrows his eyes and begins, “Look, it’s none of my business, but—”

“You’re right,” Bruce cuts him off.  “It’s none of your business.”

The moment Bruce reaches his house overlooking the North Shore, he throws himself into bed and wills himself to fall quickly to sleep, his thoughts too dark and heavy to deal with at the moment.  

*          *          *

He awakens miserable for the second morning in a row.  The TV on Bruce’s kitchen counter tells him weather is going to be better, and the surf report is excellent, which means the last two heats of the Stark Banzai Pro will happen today.  Bruce is glad for that, at least.  He just wants the damn competition over and for Thor to leave town so he can get back to his life. 

He doesn’t feel like surfing this morning.  He really doubts that Thor will be there; not after last night.  But mostly, he just doesn’t feel like it.  He thinks about making breakfast at home, something he often does, but he realizes he has no fresh fruit and nothing in his cupboards he particularly feels like eating.  Besides, even though the sun’s not fully up yet, the lights in his kitchen seem too bright.  They gleam off the stainless steel and make everything seem too sterile.  Why are the white granite countertops so bare, anyway?  They just reflect the harsh light and make the kitchen look empty, barren. 

In fact, the whole house is annoying him this morning.  The kitchen is open to the living room, and the drone of the television seems to echo through the space in a way he’s never noticed before.  He doesn’t like it.  The walls are painted an off-white and the floor is white tile that is always cool, no matter what the temperature outside.  It’s very Hawaii, but it strikes him as awfully stark and antiseptic this morning.  Why has he never thought to bring some color into this room?  He knows it’s because the white of the space is cool and allows the gorgeous colors of the lush foliage and the deep blue ocean beyond to be the focal point.  Today, though, it just looks… blah.  Boring and empty.

Like his life.  

Bruce huffs disgustedly and slips on his shoes to make his way down the hill to the Surf Shack.  He crosses his small yard, noticing that the landscaping needs some attention as he opens the gate.  He’s built a stairway out of lava rocks that takes him down the cliff to a road that intersects the Kamehameha highway.  The stairs could use some work, too.  The foliage here grows so damn fast!  That irritates Bruce, too, and he’s scowling by the time he reaches the Kam and has to fight the traffic even at this hour to cross the highway.  Fucking tourists, fucking vulture press and bloodsucking corporate assholes hawking their stupid surf gear… 

And here he is, preparing to spend yet another entire day in this fucking all-consuming business he never wanted.  Why had he ever let Clint talk him into something as mundane as owning a restaurant, and as degrading as whoring out his tired status as a has-been surfer whose biggest claim to fame is that he fucked it up?  Ugh.  It’s already feeling humid and the breeze in his hair is just going to make it look even more out of control than it usually does. 

He stands watching as the retractable wall around the Snack Bar whirs softly open.  He’s well aware of the disgustingly whiny tone of his thoughts.  The sky is alive with puffy clouds, mottled pink and orange by the sunrise, and there happens to be a gorgeous set of waves moving across the break right now.  Not to mention that he’s standing in his own restaurant, right on the Banzai Pipeline.  He’s got his hand on the controls of a system of walls that require nothing more than the touch of a button to turn the building from a secure fortress to an open-air paradise, a technical marvel designed for him by Tony Stark himself, just because they’re friends.

He should be happy as hell with his life.  And he had been.  Until fucking Thor Odinson had to come crashing into it with his hair and his abs and that voice that can boom with laughter one moment and quiver with whispered desire the next.  Damn it, this is exactly what Bruce had been afraid of. 

*          *          *

The day off has done everyone good.  Some of the contestants are sporting visible surf rash and bruises, there are a few healing cuts, and SurfPlanet.com does a story about the waterproof bandage Steve Rogers is wearing under his lycra to protect the healing scrapes on his chest.  But the eight surfers still in the competition are ready to go. 

The Pipe is cranking out absolutely perfect tubes.  They’re big, but not vicious like they had been.  The day will begin with two heats of four surfers each, which will reduce the field to four.  Those four will then compete in two-man heats so that the top two surfers will be left to face one another in a final heat to determine the winner of the Stark Banzai Pro. 

The first four randomly-chosen surfers are Steve Rogers, Thor and another Australian, and a guy from South Africa surfing in his first Stark Banzai Classic.  The South African has first priority, and chooses a very pretty wave.  Easy as pie, he catches the flow and grabs a rail, letting the tube form around him.  He’s inside for several seconds before emerging through the wall of white at the end just as the tube collapses.  For good measure, he keeps driving his board, doing a quick carve up and down the face of the wave before kicking off by riding up and over the lip and sinking happily back down into the water.

Thor uses his second priority on the very next wave.  He paddles hard, popping up and letting his board slide down the face just as the white water starts to curl above his head.  As he skims the water perpendicular to the wave, he has an arm out, trailing in the wall of water next to him as the whole section starts to fall, forming the tube around him.   Being the second wave of the set, it’s a bit bigger and gnarlier than the South African’s wave.  Thor easily rides the barrel until it’s too small and spits him out.  There’s still a sizable tail to the wave, though, so Thor carves up to the lip, which launches him into the air, and grabs his inside rail so that he comes down solidly on his board.  It’s a picture-perfect run, and the applause can clearly be heard from the Surf Shack.

Bruce purposely doesn’t watch on any of the screens.  Instead, he focuses intently on spreading the individual packets of potato chips out on the rack so that it’s not so obvious they’ve run out of two different kinds.  He doesn’t even remember what excuse the fucking supplier gave for that one.

The scores for the first two runs come out: an 8.33 for the South African and a 9.53 for Thor.  Almost simultaneously, the other Australian guy takes his wave, but wipes out before he can really do anything. 

That leaves Steve Rogers, who chooses his wave and rides it backdoor (away from the direction the wave’s traveling along the shore).  It’s a drainer, collapsing hard and quickly, but he exits easily and with some wave to spare, so he uses some serious leg power to carve up the face before finally letting himself get dumped into the soup as the wave flattens out.  He earns a respectable 8.93, which Sam Wilson on ESPN immediately complains is too low. 

Both the Australians next catch unimpressive waves, which don’t better their scores.  The South African chooses a nice one and goes backdoor for an excellent tube ride, but the wave isn’t as technically challenging as those the others chose, so it only gets him a 7.54.

The next wave belongs to Steve Rogers.  He chooses a big one, also going backdoor, but the wave never really forms a tube, just collapses on top of him.  He gets a miserable 1.2.  Since the best two scores are kept, he needs another good run.

Bruce doesn’t watch either of the Australians’ next waves.  The first is a lot like Steve’s last run, resulting in a dismal score, but Thor gets an 8.4 for whatever he does.  Bruce doesn’t watch, purposely busying himself elsewhere. 

The heat continues, with several runs that don’t result in much, until Steve Rogers sees the South African reject a wave that he wants.  He paddles hard and catches it high up, taking a long drop into the pit before being covered by the wall of falling white water that forms the front of the tube.  It looks to be another drainer, and the commentators have time to predict that Steve won’t manage to exit the tube before Bruce hears a gasp from several tables.  He turns just in time to see Steve Rogers emerge from the crashing foam, standing tall and pumping his arms joyfully.  It’s enough for a 9.72, and Steve and Thor advance to the semifinals. 

Between heats, Cody Burke interviews Thor on the beach.  Thor’s smiling, happy to be moving on in the competition and full of praise for Steve’s last run.  Bruce doesn’t notice it happening, but his hands slow, and then stop right in the middle of putting together a Hulk-sized shave ice while his eyes focus on the massive screen behind the Snack Bar. 

Burke asks what Thor’s got planned for the semifinals, and Bruce is stunned to hear his own name.  “I will have to bring it, for sure.  Steve is a hell of a competitor, and I fully expect Bucky to win his heat, so I’m going to be against the best there is.  I think I will have to take a page from Hulk Banner’s book, and charge hard after these waves.”

“Yes, Bruce ‘Hulk’ Banner lives here at Pipe.  Have you been talking to him while you’ve been here?”

“I have.  We managed to catch some waves together this week, actually, and I’ve really enjoyed getting to know him.  I very much like his style.”

“So what do you think the Hulk would do in this situation?”

“I think he would try to show these grommets who is boss,” Thor laughs, and Bruce feels his sunny smile as a physical pain.  “But he has a great attitude.  Spending time with him, I’ve really seen that there is more to life than surfing.  Perhaps I will win, perhaps I won’t.  I will give it my best shot, and enjoy the ride, whatever happens.”

The interview ends as the second heat begins, and a cold drip on his wrist alerts Bruce to the fact that he’s standing still while his customer waits patiently for her shave ice.  Blushing in embarrassment, Bruce quickly pours the syrup over it and apologizes as he hands it to her. 

“Is there anything to the rumors about you two?” the customer asks.  “Because I’d like to think those were heart eyes you were just wearing.”

“Oh, no,” Bruce blathers, fumbling for words.  “He’s just a nice guy.”

“Too bad.  You’d be perfect together.  And he sure seems to be into you.”  With that, she takes her snack and moves away.

It’s just a random comment from a nosy stranger who’s never met either of them before and can’t possibly have any idea what she’s talking about.  It shouldn’t affect Bruce the way it does. 

But his heart doesn’t know that. 

He leans out over the Snack Bar to look up the beach, as though he can pick Thor out among the crowd near the competition zone.  After a moment, he feels Peter Parker nudge him a bit so that he can serve the next customer, and Bruce decides to leave him to it.  He’s not in the most focused frame of mind, and the Snack Bar staff is slammed.  He decides to get out of the way. 

The damn supplier still hasn’t brought the new anti-slip mats Bruce ordered.  By now, the mats currently on the floor are all but useless.  Stepping to the side to let a server by, Bruce feels his foot slide out from under him, and he goes down hard onto his bad knee.  A firebolt of pain surges through him, and he just manages not to cry out.  He quickly pulls himself to his feet with an embarrassed laugh and makes his way, sliding his feet along the floor so he doesn’t slip again, to the steps up into the restaurant. 

Every so often in life, a seemingly random, small occurrence changes everything.  For Bruce Banner, that moment is now.

He suddenly sees.  The situation with his supplier isn’t the end of the world.  He can, if he chooses to, live with it and make it work.  But he remembers M’Baku’s advice that there are dozens of restaurant supply businesses on the island.  He has options.  And the reason he hasn’t taken advantage of them before comes down to nothing more than fear of change. 

He is Bruce Banner, called the Hulk because of his consistent habit of charging the waves and wringing the best possible ride out of each one.  And now he’s afraid to even hire a new restaurant supplier.  Or accept love when it’s offered to him.  His life is perfectly fine, but he’s afraid to reach for something better because he’s afraid of losing what he has.  He knows, in that moment, that in accepting “good enough,” he’s robbed himself of awesome.

Maybe he can be forgiven for fearing change, when the biggest change in his life was born of a devastating injury that forced him to become someone he never planned to be.  But, he realizes, he really does like this life.  It really is good.  It might even be better than it would have been if he’d been left to make his own plans. 

So maybe he ought to chuck his lousy supplier and take a chance that that change will be for the better, too.  And maybe he ought to find a way to apologize to Thor, to explain his abominable behavior, and take a chance that he can have the life he’d glimpsed in Thor’s arms.

That’s it , Bruce tells himself, and begins hobbling quickly toward the corner of the building where the offices are.  You’re looking at the set of a lifetime.  Time to charge .  He’s looking for M’Baku, but he doesn’t see him in the restaurant so he guesses he might be in his office. 

He’s right.  M’Baku’s office door is open and he’s walking a server through how to bill an order with a number of substitutions.  It doesn’t take long, especially when M’Baku sees the look on Bruce’s face as he stands in the doorway.  The server soon excuses herself, and M’Baku raises an eyebrow.

“Boss?”

“I owe you an apology.  I’ve let the situation with this lousy supplier go on way too long.  You’ve been more patient than I deserve, and I’m sorry you’ve had to do that.”

“Something happen?”

“Not really.  I just woke up a little, is all.  I’m sorry, M’Baku.  I should never have let it come to this.  You’ve made it work because you’re the best, but you shouldn’t have had to.”

“Apology accepted, Boss.  I appreciate you saying that.  The question is, are you ready to do something about it?”

“Hell, yes.  And I’ve known you a few years now, brah.  If you haven’t already done the research and figured out the best supplier on the island, I’ll eat a box of those useless straws the old one stuck us with.”

“Well, I’d like to see that, but as it turns out, you’re right.”  M’Baku picks a card up from a corner of his desk and hands it to Bruce with a big smile.  “They have an impeccable reputation and they’re ready to take us on anytime you ask.”

“My friend, I’d marry you right now if you swung my way.”

“Uh-huh,” M’Baku grunts.  “But I don’t.  Which is why you should probably pull your head out and fix whatever happened with that walking statue of Adonis who’s so crazy about you.”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, boss.  Thor Odinson is head over heels for you, and you’re just as gone over him.  Now, I don’t know why you froze him out last night, but I do know you’ve been a complete pain in everyone’s ass ever since, and you look like someone stole your puppy.”

Bruce looks sheepishly down as he acknowledges the truth of M’Baku’s words.  “I know.  And I’m gonna try to fix it.”

“Good.  Go find him and apologize.”

“I will.  Tonight.”

M’Baku folds his massive arms across his broad chest and scowls at Bruce.  “Now.”

“I can’t do it now , M’Baku, I’m working.”

“You’re bumbling around getting in everyone’s way while you try to ignore the TV screens.  Don’t make me pick your ass up and carry you over to where he is.”

“He’s in the middle of a competition.”

“Yeah.  He is.  And he’s surrounded by cameras.  Which means you’re gonna look really fucking stupid thrown over my shoulder and then dumped on the sand at his feet.  So I suggest you walk over there on your own.”

“You wouldn’t really do that.”

M’Baku just raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer.  Yeah, Bruce suddenly realizes.  He’d really do that.

The second group of surfers are in the water for their third heat.  As he makes his way to the cluster of structures on the beach in front of the competition zone, Bruce misses the first two surfers’ runs.  He hears the crowd’s reaction and subconsciously registers that they must’ve done well, but he’s focused on trying to find Thor in the chaos on the beach. 

The first person to talk to him is the South African surfer who’s just been eliminated.  Bruce walks by just as he’s finishing an interview with Sam Wilson, and the surfer calls out to him. 

“Hey, man, you’re the Hulk, yeah?”

Bruce tries his “Thank you, but I’m in a hurry” smile and wave, but the guy’s voice has carried and another few competitors and others standing watching the competition notice.  Since the group of surfers in the competition zone are waiting for a good set right now, there’s not much to see out there, and a small knot of admirers begins to form around Bruce.

“Hey, Hulk!  You’re da kine , man!  Can I get a picture?” one Hawaiian kid shouts, and crowds next to him with his phone held out at arms length.  Bruce smiles awkwardly and tries to excuse himself immediately after the kid snaps the photo and lowers his phone. 

Unfortunately for Bruce, nobody is all that interested in this heat, because the other two surfers don’t stand a chance against Bucky Barnes and a guy from Mexico named Hector Derecha.  As a result, a lot of people crowd around Bruce.  He finds himself posing for a ridiculous number of selfies with guys who have already been knocked out of the competition, as well as a seemingly endless series of grommets who might never make it this far. 

All he wants is to talk to Thor.  Now that he’s found the courage to take the chance, he feels like he’s holding his breath until he can apologize so they can begin to try to build something together.  He’s dismayed when Sam Wilson steps up next to him, his cameraman Riley with him, as always.  “So Hulk, you wanna give us a few words?”

“I really—  Hi, Sam.  Good to see you again.  But listen, I didn’t come down to—  I mean, I just needed to, um, talk to someone.”

But then Riley says, “We’re live,” and Bruce is trapped. 

Sam starts talking just as Bruce spots what has to be Thor’s blond head above the rest of a small group standing near the shore.  Bruce thinks the guy next to him is Steve Rogers.  They’re watching the competitors as they float around, waiting for the right wave. 

“What did you two talk about?”

Suddenly Sam’s microphone is in front of Bruce, and he hasn’t heard a word of the question. 

“I—”  Bruce’s mind takes a moment to catch up and he thinks he remembers Sam say something about Thor, which might mean that he’s talking about what Thor had said after his heat.  “What did I say to Thor?”

“Yeah.  He says you taught him there’s more to life than surfing?”

“I think he was talking about, you know, um…”  And then Bruce has an idea of how he can begin to make up for what he’d done to Thor the night before. 

“Well,” he begins, “We talked about some of the guys we’ve known who have gotten hurt.  Surfing’s a dangerous sport, obviously, and he was saying that, uh, he was glad to see the folks in charge of this competition take the day off yesterday.  I don’t know if I said anything particularly profound, but Thor… he has some pretty wise things to say about not taking on danger that you don’t have to.  You know, walking away when it’s just too gnarly out there.”

“Sounds like the two of you hit it off.”

“Yeah, he’s a smart guy.  Great surfer, obviously, and I think he has a good message for everybody who loves this sport.  Sometimes the best maneuver is to take the day off.”  There.  Hopefully, Bruce has just done Thor a bit of a favor, helping him begin to spread the message about safety that’s so important to him.

Sam claps Bruce on the back and says a few words to close out the interview, but Bruce is already trying to find Thor in the crowd again.  He spots him, still with Steve Rogers, but now he’s not watching the competitors.  He’s looking over the heads of the crowd on the beach directly at Bruce.

Bruce takes a step, then two, toward him before Thor lowers his eyes and slowly, purposefully, turns his back on Bruce.

Chapter Text

To no one’s surprise, Bucky Barnes and the Mexican surfer named Hector Derecha move on to the semifinals of the Stark Banzai Pro.  There’s a break to let them rest before the next heat, but Thor remains down by the water, not looking up to where he knows Bruce is.

Bruce stands, stung by Thor’s turning away from him.  He can barely tolerate the idea that he caused the pain in those beautiful blue eyes.  Pain that had made Thor turn away not to reject Bruce, but because he believes Bruce has rejected him.  Bruce has to get to him.  He has to explain, to tell Thor how he really feels, and try to begin to make up for the hurt he’s caused.

But every time he breaks away from one, he is waylaid by another young hopeful surfer, old friend from the circuit, fan, or surf-company flack who wants to sign him to an advertising deal.  It’s the whole reason he doesn’t usually come down here when competitions are going on.  And now it’s keeping him from the one thing he wants more than he’s ever wanted anything. 

Finally, Bruce manages to break away from everyone, only to look up and find that Thor is no longer standing on the shore.  He looks desperately around, scanning the beach for him, and is dismayed when he can’t spot him.  There are so many people and so many temporary structures set up that it’s impossible to tell where he might have gone.  The house he’s staying in is close enough that it’s possible he might even have gone there for a moment.    

Bruce refuses to give up.  He rushes from place to place, being stopped with infuriating frequency by people who recognize him.  He’s just trying to get rid of a surfer who’s already been eliminated from this competition when he hears the speakers from the judge’s pavilion crackle to life. 

The semifinal heat is beginning.  The Pipe has really turned on at the moment, and the organizers want to take advantage of the great waves, so they’re not waiting any longer. 

Steve Rogers and Hector Derecha are assigned to the first heat and make their way into the water.  It’s too late to talk to Thor now.  Bruce will have to wait until the semifinal heat’s over. 

But since he’s right here, the surfer in Bruce can’t resist finding a good vantage point to watch. 

Hector catches the first wave, and it’s fast.  He catches it late, but drops in successfully and gets a second or two in the pit before the wave rolls over him.   It takes a backside rail-grab pump, which is one of the most difficult technical maneuvers in surfing, but he manages to hang on and emerges from the foam still standing.  It wasn’t much to look at from the shore, but Derecha’s 8.83 score reflects the technical feat he’s just achieved. 

Steve next catches one that looks promising, but dumps on him once he gets into the tube and he goes down.   Surprisingly, once he gets back into position, he takes the very next wave, which forms a nice little barrel and he pumps a couple of times to get a good ride, coming out before the tube collapses.  Steve’s ride earns him a 7.03.

It’s not clear what Derecha’s waiting for, because Steve catches the next good wave, too.  He pops up very late, and it’s looking like he’s going to get blasted by the front end of the tube when it forms, but he drops down and manages to bank off of the face and get into the barrel for a few moments.  When he kicks cleanly out of it, it’s clear that his score for this wave will knock out his initial low score.

It takes a few minutes for the competitors to see another good set, which gives Bruce a chance to scan the beach for Thor.  This time, he spots him. 

Thor is standing a couple of yards from the water, with his surfboard stuck in the sand beside him.  He’s not looking toward Bruce but out toward the surfers, arms crossed and powerful legs apart, listening to something one of his coaches is telling him.  Since Rogers and Derecha are currently just waiting for a good set to arrive, there’s nothing to distract Bruce from the beauty of Thor’s silhouette until his attention is caught by a flash of sunlight. 

It’s a reflection from Bucky Barnes’s metal arm.  Bruce turns to look at him.  He’s pumping the arm in triumph at the announcement that Steve’s last wave earned him a 7.97.  It’s a good score, and Bucky’s obviously very happy about it. 

Bruce smiles a little, seeing that.  Bucky’s closely watching the two men out in the competition zone, but his body language clearly shows that he’s not focused on them as his own competitors.  He’s cheering on his best friend, his husband.  Bruce has heard that he and Steve are almost happier for each other’s wins than they are for their own, but he’s always thought that was PR.  Watching Bucky now, Bruce thinks he might have been wrong about that.  

There’s a lull for quite a while as the time grows short in this heat.  Derecha needs to have another good ride if he wants to catch Rogers.  But he fails to catch the next wave he paddles for.  Rogers seems content to wait him out.  If he has another good wave, then Steve will need to have a better one.  But at this point, Steve’s in the lead and seems to be conserving himself for the final heat.  

It turns out to be a good strategy, because Derecha’s last wave is just okay.  He does get into the pit for a short time, but there’s nothing spectacular about the wave itself, and his handling of it doesn’t demonstrate a lot of his skill.  Time runs out on the heat, and the beach gets a little quieter as everyone waits to hear what Derecha’s score will be. The anticipation isn’t as charged as it sometimes is, especially for a final round, because it seems pretty clear that Steve’s won.  When Derecha’s score comes in at 4.27, that expectation is confirmed.   

Bruce watches with everyone else as the surfers come in to shore, and he can’t help the painful twinge of envy as he sees Bucky go bounding into the shallows to throw himself into Steve’s arms.  Bruce notices that Thor looks away from them.  It hurts, because Bruce knows why.  Something about the way the husbands laugh joyfully together, celebrating Steve’s advance to the finals, and wade out of the water holding hands, strikes a deep chord of longing in Bruce.  He imagines that the same is true for Thor, and Thor believes that he’s just lost a chance at that.

Bruce wonders what it would be like to have what Steve and Bucky have together.  From what he can see, it seems to be worth the risk.

Then it’s time for Thor and Bucky to paddle out for their heat.  One of them is about to be knocked out of the competition.  They fasten their tethers to their ankles and pick up their boards, Steve gives Bucky a kiss for luck, and the two competitors walk side by side into the water.  Both Thor and Bucky have long hair, but where Thor’s is blond and somewhat wild, Bucky’s is dark and silky, rippling in the sea breeze.  They smile as they say something to one another, then both dive underneath a big roller to get outside of the break.

Thor has first priority and quickly sees a wave he likes.  He gets up, but he’s too high on the lip of the wave and, rather than slide down the face into the pit, he falls through thin air, landing hard.  He can’t hang on, and gets tossed headfirst from his board.  Bruce knows that score will be terrible. 

Very soon after that, Bucky catches a big one, dropping quickly into the pit to get a long, long ride through a perfect tube.  The crowd gets a glimpse of his perfect stance and his left arm gleaming when the overhead section thins out.  He briefly grabs his rail with his other hand, but stays where he is.  He doesn’t emerge from the tube yet; instead, he sticks that shiny left arm into the wall of the wave and squats to check his speed.  As he moves forward along the face of the wave, the tube thickens up again, giving him a gorgeous double tube ride that has the crowd on the beach screaming. 

Bruce’s eyes automatically turn to Steve Rogers at that moment.  Steve bends backward, howling his joy to the sky at Bucky’s spectacular run.  And there’s another outburst from the crowd as the score comes up: a perfect 10.

Out on the water, Thor paddles over to Bucky with a smile that can be seen from the beach and the two surfers high five one another.  Bruce’s heart clenches with a painful tenderness as he watches.  Once, he might have dismissed the congratulations as mere good sportsmanship, but he knows Thor now.  He knows that Thor is truly that happy for Bucky’s success.

The Pipeline is producing perfect wave after perfect wave right now, so Thor doesn’t have to wait long for his chance to answer.  He sets up to take what is shaping up to be a monster wave, catching it perfectly and floating gracefully down the face as it develops.  He uses his body, including a powerful arm in the water, to position himself just where he wants to be, letting the tube form over him.  After a moment inside, the end of the tube narrows to a waterfall, which Thor slides through to stand tall, briefly looking at the tail of the wave.  Then he drops into a beautiful surfer’s crouch and cuts backward, up the sheer wall of the wave, and rises into the air.  Once airborne, he’s initially upside down.  He grabs both rails and rights himself while rotating a complete five hundred and forty degrees before landing, still in complete control, on his feet behind the wave.  From there, he merely lowers himself back down onto his belly on the board.

Bruce knows, long before the judges announce it, that he’s scored another perfect 10.  He wants to howl like Steve Rogers had done for Bucky’s run, but that’s not really Bruce’s style.  Instead, he simply stands, shaking his head in wonder, with an expression on his face that shows clearly how bewitched he is.

“That your boy?” he hears, close to his ear.

He turns to see Sam Wilson standing there, tilting his head toward the water and grinning.

“I sure hope so,” Bruce answers with absolute sincerity.   

Sam seems to simply accept that, giving a slight nod and turning back to watch the surfers.

Bucky’s next wave is mushy and never forms a surfable tube, so he gets a good-looking ride but the score isn’t much.  Thor then takes another big one, but it drains on him and he goes down in a mountain of white foam.  It’s Bucky’s turn to get dumped next, but he follows it up with a backdoor trip that has him inside a deep barrel for a long time before he gets spit out in a shower of foam, whipping the water from his long hair and grinning hugely.  That one gets him an 8.43.

The heat is more than halfway over now, and Thor needs a good run.  He gets one, choosing yet another monster with a nice, gentle rise that lets him ghost diagonally across its face on his way to its base.  He looks like a statue of a surfer, poised in a way that shows his power, while thin sheets of spray drift across the scene.  He disappears deep inside a perfect barrel for what feels to Bruce like several seconds, before emerging.  He’s relaxed, standing almost upright, and he’s not even done surfing this wave.  He catches some air for a little alley-oop at the end, looking for all the world like he’s just out for a day on the waves, rather than in the semifinals of one of the most prestigious professional surfing competitions on Earth.  The judges reward him with a 9.0. 

Bucky’s next run looks a lot like Thor’s had, except that his wave is just a bit lower and slower, and the tube collapses a bit earlier.  Bucky hangs on through a thorough dousing with whitewater and it’s almost as pretty as Thor’s ride, but with a less challenging wave, he only scores an 8.93.

That leaves Thor with a healthy score of 19 for the heat, and Bucky at 18.93.  If Thor can just hang on, he’ll win.  Bruce is mesmerized by what’s happening, almost drunk on the feelings of awe and pride he feels at Thor’s skill.  He doesn’t even realize he’s moving toward the water until he hears Steve Rogers yell, “Get it, Buck!” and realizes that they’re now standing fairly close together.  Rogers is smiling ear to ear, unable to stand still as he watches the dramatic shootout that could result in him competing against his husband in the finals.  It wouldn’t be the first time, and they’re often quoted as saying that it’s their favorite situation, because they bring out the best in each other.

Thor and Bucky both have their next tubes collapse on them, so those low scores are thrown out and the total remains the same.  Then Bucky drops a bomb.  He catches a good wave at the perfect spot, right under the lip of the wave on his takeoff, which means he’s deep inside the tube when it forms.  He stays inside for what seems like forever before sliding cleanly out of the collapsing end, pumping his shiny metal arm in glee.  Steve’s shout of, “Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!” is loud enough to hurt Bruce’s ears a little, but it’s not over.  Like Thor had, Bucky catches air off of the tail of the wave, and launches himself into a beautiful rodeo flip.  He lands it, and Steve’s inarticulate shriek of joy is only part of the deafening noise from the crowd on the beach.

The 9.58 score Bucky earns is a formidable challenge to Thor.  He’s going to need to earn at least that high a score to win this heat.  Still, his booming voice can be heard congratulating Bucky from the waves.  Bruce shivers a little, hearing that.  Among all his other outstanding qualities, Thor is extremely generous. 

Time ticks away as Thor and Bucky wait for another good set of waves.  Bruce sees the next set at the same time Thor does, and isn’t surprised to see him getting into position.  He wonders why Thor rejects the first wave, but as it travels in, he sees that it is actually kind of funky.  The second wave, however, is epic.  Thor uses all the power in his arms to grab for the speed he’ll need, and catches it.  He drops a long way into it – it’s at least double overhead – and the force of the wave is tremendous, throwing up a boil of foam as it curls over itself.  Thor’s hidden behind the huge wall of water until the barrel’s just about collapsed, and Bruce gasps.  If he’s fallen into it, a wave like that will pulverize even a man as big as Thor, thrashing him around like he’s in a washing machine.   

But he hasn’t fallen.  Thor shoots out the end through a sparkling shower of spray, and Bruce nearly collapses in relief as the beach goes wild.  The crowd’s been treated to an astounding show, and they scream their appreciation.  Now it all comes down to this score.  There isn’t enough time left in the heat to do more, and Thor and Bucky are already side-by-side on their boards, sharing a hug. 

As they paddle in, the judges’ score is announced.  It’s a 9.47.  A great score, and well-deserved.  But not enough to beat Bucky’s 9.58. 

Bruce suddenly becomes aware that he’s standing on the beach directly in front of the competition zone.  He sees Thor notice him.  There’s a moment, just a flicker, where Thor’s face lights up.  His happiness almost instantly dims, though, and Bruce can imagine what he’s thinking.  Bruce smiles broadly at him, trying to send a message, but at the same moment Sam Wilson paddles over to Thor, Riley and his floating camera setup beside him, and Thor looks away before he sees it.  He sits up to give an interview astride his board.

Unlike Thor, however, Bucky doesn’t stop for an interview.  Instead, he keeps going toward the beach.  Steve runs out into the water to embrace him, as Bucky had after Steve’s win, but Steve actually throws himself at Bucky, who drops his board and stumbles a little as he finds himself fully supporting Steve’s weight.  With his husband’s arms and legs wrapped around him, Bucky laughingly trudges the last few steps onto the dry sand. 

Steve and Bucky are immediately surrounded by reporters.  Bruce is left feeling stupid and left out, with no one paying any attention to him and nothing to do but wait to speak to Thor.  But he’s not going anywhere.  He stands a bit away, watching and listening as Bucky, still breathless, begins to answer questions with Steve firmly tucked against his side. 

Every few minutes during the interviews, he takes a moment to turn his head and smile at Steve, who takes the invitation every time and kisses him.  There’s an intimacy and raw love there that, Bruce realizes, he’s never experienced.  He’s never met anyone with whom he could be that in love. 

Until now.

Because it’s just possible that the tall blonde just approaching the beach with his board under his arm is the one he’s been waiting for.  And Bruce wants what Steve and Bucky have with as much fervor as he’s ever wanted to win a surfing competition, or anything else.  He wants it with Thor. 

Thor smiles a little shyly in thanks as people cheer him for his tremendous performance.  As he reaches the sand, the crowd that isn’t surrounding Bucky and Steve begins to coalesce around Thor.  The throng of shoving bodies pushes Bruce with it, and he surrenders to the forces – both physical and emotional – propelling him forward.

Bruce’s eyes lock with Thor’s as he approaches.  He sees the confusion in Thor’s face, and finally, finally gets the chance to ease his discomfort.  Bruce mouths, “I’m sorry” as they stand, momentarily in their own universe together, and Thor breaks into a tentative grin.

“You had a great heat, Thor, congratulations,” Cody Burke begins shouting into his microphone, and into Thor’s face.  Bruce sees Thor flinch a bit at the rude yank back to the present, but turns a friendly face toward the man behind the SurfPlanet.com microphone.

“Thank you, I feel good about it,” he says.  “I am beyond pleased for Bucky, though.  He is a more-than-worthy opponent, and his victory is well-deserved.”

Thor’s gaze is back to Bruce as soon as he finishes answering.

“It’s gotta be tough, though, to get this close and miss it by such a slim margin.  There’s always discussion of the judges’ scoring.  Do you have any thoughts about whether the way they scored you versus the way they scored Bucky—”

“No,” Thor answers firmly.  “And I am truly happy for Steve and Bucky.  Their final heat will be something to behold.”

“Oh, well…  So, let me ask you.  You have several years more competition under your belt than they do.  Do you think that’s a bonus at this point, or…?”

Thor actually laughs at that, and as he answers, he’s not looking at Cody Burke.  He’s looking at Bruce.

“It is both a blessing and a curse, like many things.  They are younger than I, and I’m fully aware of the limited time of a surfer’s career.  In fact, I’ve recently connected with someone whom I respect immensely, and we have talked some on that subject.”

Thor then takes a step toward Bruce, who mirrors the movement so that they’re now only feet apart.  The crowd becomes aware of the unspoken communication happening between them, and shifts so that suddenly, Bruce and Thor are standing together. 

Thor then turns back to Cody Burke.  “Do you know, I actually do feel some jealousy toward Steve and Bucky.”

Burke pulls the microphone toward his own mouth and squeaks a shocked, “Really?”

“Yes, but it is not for their youth and skill, or the years of surfing they have yet ahead of them.  What I envy Steve and Bucky for is their relationship.”  He looks down into Bruce’s deep brown eyes.  “I would like to have what they have.”

Bruce is thinking of nothing but Thor, his words, and the love shining in his eyes.  He has no idea that his own face is glowing with adoration.  When he reaches out his hand, he meets Thor’s larger one, reaching for him at the same time.

“Oh!” Burke blurts, seeing smiles of recognition blooming throughout the crowd surrounding Bruce and Thor.  He tells his audience, “This is, of course, Bruce “Hulk” Banner, who’s won this event several times.  Won the Infinity Gauntlet, uh, four times?”

“Five,” Thor corrects, looking nowhere but into Bruce’s eyes. 

“Are you two, uh… an item?”

“I hope so,” Bruce answers quietly.

“Definitely,” Thor answers, and leans down to kiss Bruce softly.  The kiss lasts longer than is usual for a sports broadcast, but not inappropriately so. 

*          *          *

EPILOGUE

There is a famous photograph of the lovestruck look between Bruce and Thor that follows that kiss.  Every article and story about either of them after that seems to use that picture when discussing their romance.  But Bruce doesn’t mind that everybody’s seen it.  It’s still his favorite picture of them, and it’s the first thing he and Thor changed about Bruce’s house when Thor moved in. 

A small, framed copy of that picture sits on the white granite kitchen countertop, where Bruce sees it several times a day, and smiles every time. 

The picture is only one of the many colorful, homey things now scattered about the kitchen.  Bruce likes to complain about Thor’s tendency to leave things laying around, but it’s a complete sham.  Sometimes, when Thor’s out of town competing, Bruce even leaves things on the counter on purpose, just to remind himself how much fuller his life is now that Thor is in it.

But Thor is not currently out of town.  He’s standing, admiring the warm tropical colors he helped Bruce paint on the walls of the living room while he waits for Bruce to pull on his knee brace.  They’re on their way to the beach to surf, like they do nearly every morning.  Once the brace is fastened, Bruce stands and takes Thor’s extended hand. 

As they make their way down the lava-rock steps descending the low cliff the house sits on, they’re talking about their upcoming day.  They’ll be in the Surf Shack together most of the time, but Thor will be very busy.  He has meetings with several people to work on aspects of his surf school. 

Natasha has found him several investors, and there’s a meeting with an architect to sign off on Bruce’s plans for the building.  Then there’s yet another meeting with members of the Pupukea City Council and a meeting with some officials from the State of Hawaii.  They still haven’t agreed to grant Thor a zoning variation to build his surf school next to Hulk’s Surf Shack on Ehukai Beach.  But they will.

Bruce has no doubt that he’ll make them fall in love with him just as Bruce has.  He is sure that the surf school will happen, and that one day, when the time is right, Thor will retire from professional surfing to run it.  But as much as he’s looking forward to that, he’s kind of enjoying the way things are now.

Whenever he can be, Bruce is on the beach cheering Thor on as he continues to dominate the surfing world.  He’s also there afterward to massage the aches and commiserate when things don’t go well. 

The two have become partners in spreading Thor’s message about surfing safety.  Once Bruce had mentioned it in his interview with Sam Wilson, reporters began asking Thor about it and he began to have myriad opportunities to make his point.  Bruce gets interviewed quite a bit himself, using his own injury to illustrate the dangers of surfing even in reasonable conditions.  Bruce and Thor both know that hard-chargers and headstrong grommets will always take unwise risks, but they think they’re getting the message out.

The surf today is respectable, and Bruce and Thor spend an hour trading waves and sneaking kisses between runs before heading in to the Surf Shack. 

As Thor begins his long day of meetings, Bruce is delighted to look up and find Natasha sitting at the Snack Bar.  She’s sipping a Pitaya Thruster, of course, and toying with the straw.  Bruce notices that it’s the appropriate straw.  It always is nowadays.  Since switching suppliers, Bruce can count on one hand the number of problems he’s had, and even those have been immediately remedied.

Natasha is smiling indulgently at him.  M’Baku, leaning on the other side of the counter, is also looking in his direction.

“What?” Bruce asks with a defensive chuckle.

“Just you,” Natasha answers.  “Happy looks good on you.”

Bruce hears a “Behind you,” and instinctively moves aside to let Clint by.  He sets a steaming plate of something that smells delicious in front of Natasha, then turns to Bruce.

“Well I hate it,” Clint announces.

“Why?  You love Thor!” M’Baku challenges him.

“Yeah, but you know me.  All this love and domestic bliss?  Ugh.  Give me a good screaming match once in a while.  Maybe throw shit at each other.  I like things messy.”  

~~ The End ~~