//  @vdovaiism​ LIKED FOR THE THING ☢

PERSEVERATION.     the   most   lethal   of   vices–   a   mental   illness,   ingrained   in   the   depths   of   his     bloodstream…     a   code,   one   which   could   not   be   more   flawed   if   he   willed   it   to.     each   fiber   of   his   genetics   a   new   shade   of   destructive.     &&   if   he’s   familiar   with   anything   at   all   anymore, it’s     destruction.     that   perseveration   lingering;     an   unavoidable,   bitter   recollection   of   EVERY   defective     movement   he   has   made.     of   those   there   will   never   be   a   shortage,   he   can   be   certain.     from     ungainly   morning   tea   spills,   to   innocent   blood   pooling   on   pavement–     blood   that   he,   of   course,   has   SHED.     will   always   shed.     like   childhood,   transfixed   on   the   acidic   sting of   their   words,   the     disapproving   glances…     the   snickers   of   classmates,   following   him   in   the   shape   of   his   textbooks,     failing   to   let   up   even   in   the   discomfort   of   his   own   home.     threatened   by   his   own   perverse   EXISTENCE. 

time   has   surely   changed   him.     made   evident   by   a   more   gentle   nature,   calm   composure.     an     additional   twenty-seven   gray   hairs   (     he’s   counted   multiple   times     ).     the   way   he   paces   so     RELENTLESSLY.     just   as   he   has   paced   the   majority   of   his   years,   but   no   longer   on   behalf   of nerves…     not   anxiety   or   energetic   gears   ticking   away   in   his   mind,   hacking   towards   a   solution. no,     shoulders   sway   slowly   now,   indicative   of   a   tired   man…     suffocating   under   the   weight   of   should-haves,   psychological   distress.     the   world   is   unkind.     bruce   KNOWS   it   will   only   continue   to   be   so.     a   vapid   expression   and   trousers   a   size   too   large   say   it   all.     this   planet   has   very little   to   offer   him.     perhaps   it   is   only   fair   that   he   is   so   sparse   on   contributions   in   return.

he   would’ve   argued   the   opposite   just   under   a   DECADE   ago.     when   he   had   shown   promise,   much   brighter   than   even   the   most   auspicious   intellectuals…     but   brilliance   is   a   concept   beyond his   reach,   and   he   welcomes   that   notion   now.     he   was   never   destined   for   greatness   in   the   way   the   others   were…     NOT   to   be   remembered,   understood   as   anything   more   than   the   beast, eternally     stirring   below   the   surface.     never   fully   at   bay,   ever-present…     to   be   more   than   that   was   merely   a   pipe   dream.     simply   unattainable. 

banner   has   not   been   reminded   of   his   shortcomings,   his   life   as   an   UNFULFILLED   scientist,   in   quite some   time.     burning   into   the   touchscreen   now,   eyes   red   from   insufficient   blinking,   provides precisely   the   reminder   he   doesn’t   need…     still,   he   does   it   anyway.     numbers   taking   over,   the equations   ENCAPSULATING   him,   making   it   difficult   to   deny   ever   missing   a   seat   in   a   lab.     his work   will   be   harder   to   shake   than  that.     keeping   busy,   preoccupied…   it’s   what   he   does   best, after   all. 

he’s   paying   off   a   debt,   of   sorts…     one   last   go-round.     a   FAVOR  to   the   team…     and   admittedly,     there   are   far   worse   debts   to   pay.     of   this   he   is   painfully   aware.     so   he’ll   be   stationed   here   just   long   enough   to   complete   the   task   and   then–     just   like   clockwork–     gone. at   least   one   notch   in   his   CONSCIENCE   cleared.

it’s   in   the   hallway,   headed   toward   his   temporary   room   within   the   concealed   headquarters,   that   he     sees   her.     (     rogers   didn’t   bother   mentioning   she’d   be   here,   and   knowing   him,   that   couldn’t   be     FURTHER   from   a   coincidence.     )

to   say   he   hadn’t   thought   of   her   would   be   accurate.     he   hadn’t   allowed   himself   to,   as   that   would   only   breed   further   perseveration. 

                                                                                                                                           ❝     hi…     ❞

natasha   is   just   as   unattainable   as   the   rest   of   his   yearning.     he’d   be   WEAK-MINDED   to   ignore   that.     but   there’s   a   brief,   dreamlike   frame   of   mind   that   pushes   past   the   brooding   before   he manages   to   put   a   halt   to   it.     a   flickering   imagery,   a   place   where   they   can   really   be   SOMETHING--     friends,   at   the   very   least.     her   companionship   is   likely   what   he   yearns   for   most   of   all.     definitely   more   than   her   gaze   inflicted   upon   him,   begging   for   answers   he   too   often   refused   to   give.     even   more   than   their   last   vital   moment,   her   fair   hands   outstretched,   searching desperately   for   the   CURLS   at   the   nape   of   his   neck. 

that’s   all   distant,   now.     impossible…     replaced   with   a   newfound   dissonance.     pressure.     tension. the   hollow   space   where   trust   once   resided   between   them…     earned   and   lost,   just   like   that.     gone,   just   like   him. 

❝     steve   contacted   me.     i,  uh…    apparently   desperate   TIMES   call   for   desperate   measures…     ❞