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It's been five days since Bruce left Stark Tower, and he's been expecting one of the Avengers to track him down since.
More accurately, he's been expecting one of the Avengers to track him down and ask him to come back ever since.
Two hours out of New York, Bruce had returned to the Prius he was borrowing from Tony, and saw Clint leaning against the trunk. The STARK8 license plate was replaced with something less ostentatious, and Clint had offered Bruce company, if he wanted it, wherever he was going.
“Fishing,” had been Bruce’s answer. He had learned how to during his time in Rio, before taking a job on a fishing boat. The job hadn’t lasted long, all the yelling and his nerves being out surrounded by water had quickly added up, but he had enjoyed going out recreationally, on the scarce occasion he had the chance. Though as much as Bruce does enjoy fishing both on his own and with company, Clint didn’t look too thrilled with Bruce’s response, and so Bruce had told him he’d rather be on his own.
Clint had taken the dismissal gracefully, pushed himself off the car, wished Bruce the best, and headed to his own car, though Bruce had doubts about the car’s ownership.
Bruce waited until Clint was out of sight before entering the Prius. On the passenger's seat, there was the old STARK8 plate, and a worn leather wallet, with a forged Maryland driver’s license, two American Express credit cards, a debit card, and half a dozen twenty dollar bills.
Part of Bruce wanted to withdrawal all the cash he could, with the debit card, so there won’t be a money trail, but he figured SHIELD would find some way to track his whereabouts, as they have been doing the past few years, apparently.
And so he wasn’t surprised, the morning after settling in, three days later, to find a fishing license on the passenger's seat of the car.
The fact that Natasha hasn't approached him raises his hackles more than anything else, but he has become very good at ignoring the claustrophobic itch in the back of his mind, when he thinks about SHIELD monitoring him.
It's his third day camping, his second fishing, and he’s about to release the fifth fish he’s caught, when he sees the Iron Man suit streak through the sky.
It takes ten minutes for Bruce to then see Tony, waving at him, from the shoreline.
Bruce pulls his line out of the lake, and slowly rows his way back towards the shore.
“What?” Tony asks, as Bruce comes within hearing range. “Not even a Dear John letter?”
Bruce huffs a laugh. “Clint and Natasha didn’t pass the news along?” he asks. But Bruce saw Clint and Natasha to be more insular, from their brief interactions, so he amends, “Or did you just hack into SHIELD’s database?”
“The host screening firewall is pretty state of the art, but they need a bit of work on their subnet protection. Fury should get someone to look into that.”
"That'll be an amusing consultation to have," Bruce says.
"You can watch it, if you come back."
"I could," Bruce agrees.
"Speaking of, seriously, I don't even get a sticky note on a monitor?”
"Sorry," Bruce says, and it's closer to sincere than he would have expected. "It was pretty spur of the moment. Just a vacation, I planned on coming back. Still plan to."
Tony looks appeased at the statement, and he looks around at the scenery for a moment. “You know, Lake Solitude isn’t all that subtle.”
Bruce shrugs. “It’s quiet.” Him and Tony are the only two around, at the moment. At this elevation, it’s still cool, even at this time of the year -- Bruce guesses it’ll be another week before the backpackers and other fishers start joining him.
“You could join me, if you’d like,” Bruce says, the offer surprising him.
“Really?” Tony asks. “Judging by the not-subtle name, I was guessing you probably wanted some time on your own.”
Bruce doesn’t ask why Tony came if he thought Bruce wanted solitude. It’s Tony. “I came for the scenery, not for the name. I don’t mind company,” he replies. Then, guessing Tony probably doesn’t want to spend the next two hours in the middle of a lake, he shrugs, and adds, “If you don’t mind being without WiFi for a few hours.”
Tony snorts. “I can get WiFi anywhere, even in the middle of Wyoming.”
Bruce doesn’t point out that they’re in western Wyoming. He rows the few yards so he’s at shore, then nods down at the Mark V Iron Man case at Tony’s feet. “I wouldn’t bring that on here, no matter how badly you need your WiFi.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tony says, as he takes a few steps into the lake, the water going up his ratty sneakers to the hem of his ratty jeans. “I can get it on my phone.”
Tony takes a moment to shuffle, before climbing into the rowboat. It takes him another few moments to settle himself down, his hands going to grip the sides of the boat.
Bruce guesses Tony’s never been in a rowboat before, and doesn’t seem all that comfortable in it, so he asks, “You sure you want to leave the Mark V where someone could stumble across it?”
“I’m beginning to wonder if you really just want to get rid of me,” Tony replies, unclenching his hands to cross his arms. “Besides,” he says, a moment later, hands going back to the sides of the boat, as Bruce pushes off from shore, “do you think anyone who would stumble across it would know how to use it?”
“Pepper?” Bruce guesses, as he paddles back to his prior location.
“Pepper doesn’t stumble.”
Bruce huffs a laugh.
They float back onto the lake. Behind him, Bruce can hear Tony tapping away at his smartphone, murmuring quietly to himself. Bruce casts his line out, smiles to himself, and continues to fish.