Logs:Unknown Variable

Unknown Variable
Dramatis Personae Bruce, Tony
In Absentia	2020-12-18 "Glad some things haven't changed."
Location <NYC> Tony's Penthouse - Stark Tower - Midtown East
Accessible only by private elevator, this home takes up the top four floors of Stark Tower. Three of them are residential, a luxurious sprawl of space equipped with state of the art technology and a wealth of comforts. Private gym, terraced pool room whose glass walls can be rolled back in summer to turn it into an outdoor balcony, full bar equipped with robotic-armed bartender, extensive home entertainment system. For all its opulence, the place is decorated tastefully, careful coordination through its wood-and-stone look. The views, through many windows, terraces, balconies, might be the best part of all of it; from this perch high atop the tower, the city spreads out beneath. The lowest floor of the home is less residential, more technologically bent; packed with a host of robotics, monitors, equipment. Where Tony does the bulk of his personal work, it may well be the real heart of Stark Industries' R&D. New York City is coated in fresh snow and, because this is New York City, much of the snow is already coated in grime. Down in the streets it's a miserable, slushy gray mess rapidly turning to black ice as the temperature plummets, the same up here in Midtown as in other, less well-manicured neighborhoods. But high up at the top of Stark Tower, the snow out on Tony Stark's immense sweeping balcony is pure, white, and undisturbed. It's almost exactly at the technical end of the workday that J.A.R.V.I.S. announces, in his even, unobtrusive voice, "Sir, Doctor Banner is on his way up." The pause in the AI's speech here would register as meaningful or significant, coming from a human. "For his appointment with you at five." Shortly after, the private elevator's doors slide open to admit, indeed, one Doctor Banner. Bruce looks slightly more rumpled than usual, his wavy hair askew and his glasses turning and turning nervously between his hands. He's wearing an orchid dress shirt with the top button undone, gray slacks, and black buckle loafers. He stops just a few steps into the room and looks around him, as if suddenly uncertain of surroundings he had taken for granted would be familiar. Tony, for his part, looks more or less like Tony always does when he's been in his workshop, casual in jeans and an AC/DC tee over a white thermal. He's standing by the windows, looking out at the view with a whiskey held in one hand. "How long's it been. Since the last time you made an appointment to get in here." Bruce starts at the question, fumbling his glasses and then catching them. For a moment his mouth opens and closes, his eyes wide, his brows gathering slowly. "No...?" he finally hazards. "I mean ah, I've never. Made an appointment. Maybe my first time seeing him here Pepper made an appointment for me? I'm not sure, but--" He stops fidgeting and puts the glasses back on. "--you're not him." Tony chuffs, sharp and quiet, his eyes not leaving the window. "Glad some things haven't changed. Just as sharp as my..." This cuts off with a small clench of muscle in his jaw. He takes a quick swallow of his drink, holding the glass a little tighter than before. "I'm not." It's a little more staccato when he speaks again. "So why now." Bruce frowns deeper. "Because you're not him." There's something kind of plaintive and flustered in his tone. "I don't really even know you. I don't know--" His eyes drop to the gleaming floor between himself and the other man, and it's a few seconds of visible struggle before he manages, "--where I stand with you." Tony props one arm over his head against the pane of glass. His forehead rests against it, cheek sucking dismissively against his teeth. "Should you? Stand. Somewhere. I don't know you. You could be anyone." He taps his forefinger quick and jittery against his glass. "Anyone I've -- saved the world with, anyway. Dunno how much that tells you about a person." Bruce's jaw sets, his shoulders tightening. "I don't know what I should or shouldn't do, but I don't have to stand anywhere with you. I can just work for your company and you'll never have to deal with me directly." Here his voice takes on just a distant hint of heat, "But you--replaced my best friend, and I'd like an explanation." Half a beat later, he adds, a little guiltily, "Please." "His idea." Tony's voice is just flat, now. He pulls away from the window, his steps slow and stiff as he moves to take a seat in an armchair. "World was a mess. He had some ideas about fixing it." Bruce seems to deflate, his shoulders sagging and his almost-stern expression falling. "World still is a mess," he says softly, the thumbs of both hands brushing rhythmically back and forth across the pads of his fingers. "Why do you have to trade places for those ideas to work? It's--it's--" His teeth grind audibly as he searches for a word. "--inefficient. You both have a learning curve now. And no friends to..." His jaw clenches again. His next words are tight, but there's no heat left in them. "Maybe he thought that wasn't important." "Both worlds, probably." Tony taps the base of his glass light and quick against his knee. "Probably. Maybe he fixed that one right up. We'll never know." His shoulder hitches, small as well. "Could spend a lifetime obsessing over -- what better choices might have been. Seems --" The side of his mouth tugs thinner. "Inefficient." Bruce lingers where he stopped for a moment longer, then finally settles down into a chair near Tony. He fishes a lotus seed mala out of his pocket and just clasps it between his hands, elbows braced on his knees. "He didn't even say goodbye." This is quiet, resigned, and finally dispelled with a shake of his head. "I guess this ah, isn't exactly a picnic for you, either." There's something vaguely apologetic in this. Then, less vaguely, "I'm sorry." Tony lifts a hand, knuckles digging in against the hollows of one eye. There's a long silence, his eyes fixing down on his near-empty glass, before he volunteers: "I did. Not -- sure it was easier. That way." He lifts the whiskey, knocks the rest of it back. "Not sure it was ever going to be easy. Just. Is." Bruce's right thumb starts to roll over the beads, but he aborts the motion and goes back just clutching them. "I don't think it would have been easier, if he had," he admits, his glasses sliding gradually down his nose. "I don't think anything would have made that easier. But maybe..." He hesitates, glancing up at Tony. "Maybe I can help make your adjustment easier." Another frown, thoughtful, now. "Unless I make it harder just by being me." When Tony's eyes lift to meet Bruce's it's in a quick, startled jerk. He blinks once, then looks away just as sharply, back down to his now-empty glass. "Gonna be hard. Don't think it's getting any harder." His mouth twitches to the side, brief. "Sorry I took your friend." "You didn't take him," Bruce says quietly. The tremor in his voice is subtle. "He left." His breath escapes, long and shaky. "Because he knew the house was on fire." He pushes his glasses back up. "Are you going to have another?" The tip of his hand indicates the empty glass. "I think I'd like to join you, if you do."