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Two weeks of enforced relaxation, while the rest of the Avengers mop up the leftovers of yet another attempt to steal their favorite Hulk. Two weeks of enforced nothing, cut off from the action. Cut off, in fact, from the entire civilized world.
Fury calls it protective custody. Bruce calls it a vacation.
Tony calls it Hell.
"You didn't have to come," Bruce points out. He doesn't even bother opening his eyes. He just lays there, his face tilted up toward the sun, every muscle in his body smooth and flat and relaxed. It makes Tony wonder what, exactly, SHIELD has been putting in their drinks. Whatever it is, it's certainly not working on him.
"I did have to come," Tony tells him. "The alternative was you, alone, at the mercy of a bunch of mad scientists, super soldiers, secret agents and assassins. And those are just the SHIELD agents we like."
"Steve could've come."
Tony rolls his eyes. What he's got to say about Rogers' ability to look after anything more complicated than a house plant could fill a hard drive the size of a planet; just thinking about it makes him tired. He sips at his blue drink through a thin black straw and sighs.
"Thor could've--"
"I don't think there's even any vodka in this," Tony says. The blue drink makes a nice blue puddle against the white sand before it sinks in. The effect is moderately interesting for about half a second, and then he's ready chew his own arm off again, just to see what happens.
Probably nothing. Probably Bruce wouldn't even sit up. Bruce has a blissed-out expression on his face that makes him look profoundly stupid, and hasn't so much as blinked for the past ten minutes. You'd think being the target of the avarice of an increasingly-mad parade of frothing supervillains was the best thing that ever happened to him.
"Go for a swim," Bruce says, barely moving his lips. "Cool off. You'll feel better."
"I hate swimming."
"You hate everything," Bruce tells him. "Go hate somewhere else."
"You'll miss me when I'm gone," Tony says darkly. But he gets up, strips off his shirt, and walks toward the water. He thinks he might feel eyes on him as his feet hit the surf, but he doesn't give Bruce the satisfaction of looking back to check.
The water is kind of nice. Tony swims around parallel to the shore for a few minutes, and it's annoyingly refreshing. After ten minutes of that he has to get out of the water before he drowns himself. He's not a big fan of other people being right about things. He storms up the beach, sand puffing up around his feet and worming its way between his toes. When his shadow falls across Bruce's face, Bruce tilts his head back and opens his eyes.
"You're all wet," he says. His lips curve up in a slow, lazy smile. It's the most interesting thing Tony's had to look at in days, and he can't take his eyes off it.
"Your powers of observation are absolutely unparalleled, Dr. Banner," he says. He takes a step closer. A drop of water falls from his hair and spatters against Bruce's collarbone. Bruce stretches, and suddenly Tony can't catch his breath.
"Fury called while you were swimming," Bruce tells him. "We're in the clear. If you want to head back to New York..."
"Are you... are you screwing with me right now, Banner?" Tony's hate for the world dissipates abruptly and leaves him grinning. "Seriously?"
"Yeah." Bruce's smile widens. He reaches up to grab Tony's hand, and gives it a tug. "Come here."
Tony feels the pull everywhere, and goes with it.