Work Text:
In the summer, and on the quiet days without missions, Hulk swam in the mansion’s rooftop pool nearly every morning. Sometimes Tony Stark was out there as well. He’d nod to Hulk, and then do a perfect dive into the water before swimming laps back and forth across the pool, slender and quick and strong as his arms cut through the water, head only just turning for breath at the midway point of the pool length. Tony Stark maybe couldn’t box, but he could certainly swim, retiring afterwards indoors to eat his health-food breakfasts of cold cereals with whole grains and exotic fruits, or of tofu cubed and marinated in tangy sauces with seaweed.
Sometimes Steve showed up as well. Steve could swim, but he preferred to jog in the mornings, only coming by to the poolside to cool down or relax. He wore swimming trunks with the stars and the stripes, and he looked like an Olympic athletic sitting on the steps of the pool, eyes gently closed and head back, listening to the water and the open air.
Jan came by in the mid-mornings, when the sun was climbing into the sky, but not so high you risked bad sunburns and too much UV exposure. She wore fashionable two-piece swimming suits, applied a generous layer of sunscreen, and then lounged around on lawn chairs on the deck. Clint sunbathed too, his tan uneven like the lines of his Hawkeye costume, showing the patterns of his sleeves and arm-guards. They shared tall pitchers of lemonade flavored with other fruit juices like peach or mango, then lay around like overgrown cats.
Hulk liked swimming alone. He felt different in the water. He could hold his breath so long that it was like those water mammals, like dolphins or porpoises or whales. He liked the floating feeling of being under the water, the rippling sound of it around him, and the way the light flashed in strange patterns across the pool floor. He went swimming because it was better than sitting around watching soap operas or the news in the morning, it was exercise and, also, it was peaceful. He could swim back and forth under the dancing lights of the pool’s surface for a full ten minutes without surfacing, and it was so peaceful and quiet, just the movement of his muscles propelling him through, and the dull sound of his heartbeat, slow and even. No one tried to talk to him when he was swimming, and he did not have that resenting feeling that came from social expectations, of being around others and being expected to talk nice. Even Banner seemed to find this time relaxing, watching Hulk from the back of their mind, nearly meditating with it.
Once, Hulk went out early, when the sun was just barely rising in the sky, and in the clear, early morning air, Hulk lay floating like an over-large starfish on the pool’s surface, and his mind felt so clear. For a strange moment he could nearly not tell—or it felt as though he could not tell who it was, lying there, if it was him or Banner presenting in the body, behind whose eyes it was. In the water, they could have been weightless. He could have been any color. They could have been anyone, or anything, and then Hulk shut his eyes, diving down again, moving in the familiar body, his body. There was a softly tranquil feeling. Then he let go, and it was Banner who was paddling back to the surface, back to the poolside.
Bruce clung to the edge of the pool, and then looked back with a kind of resigned feeling. Hulk’s swimming shorts were at the bottom of the pool. He dove down to fetch them, and then held them up, dripping and heavy. He wondered about trying to struggle back into them.
And here was Tony, strolling up to the poolside in a red, expensive-looking bathrobe and matching flip-flops. When he saw Bruce, he cocked one brow in bemusement, and then took off his bathrobe, offering it to the other man. Bruce accepted it gratefully as he got out of the pool.
“Where’s the Big Guy?” Tony asked. He’d kicked off his flip-flops, and sat down his legs dipping in the pool, next to Bruce.
“It’s his day off,” Bruce said. He cinched the robe around his waist. It was a size too large and smelled of Tony’s aftershave, or whatever he used. “Or, my day in, I suppose.” And now that he was dressed, Bruce clasped his hands. He sat back a little. He was comfortable in the soft robe. His long hair was dripping rivulets down his neck, but he was warm in the bathrobe, and for some reason he did not feel any desire to move.
He looked our across the smooth surface of the pool. There was a strange feeling in his heart. It occurred to him: perhaps it was contentment.
“I think,” he said, “Hulk is happy here.”
Tony looked over at Bruce, and then said, “I’m glad.”
He seemed even to mean it. There was a quiet expression on his face, and Bruce, clever, meditative Bruce, thought of Tony’s strange and eager attempts to form their team, his anxious and suspicious fears when goaded to it, but also his desire to surround himself with people he could trust. He wanted to be with people he could trust.
So did Hulk.
If Bruce waited by the poolside long enough, he would find Clint and Jan come out to sunbathe, or Cap passing by to dip in the pool as well, or even, if they were very lucky, T’Challa coming up to sit in the shade of one of the pool-side umbrellas, meditating on the rooftop while they others took in the sun.
As Tony slipped easily into the water, Bruce watched him and thought: he would go inside and get a new bathing suit. Perhaps, he would even help himself to mango lemonade, and then he would toast bread and cut slices of melon and strawberries to eat by the pool.
He felt content, a strange tranquility in his heart.
He would wait.