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The Avengers: Making Him LaughTony walked into the lab. It wasn't a surprise to see Bruce in there, working his butt off.
"This really isn't a good time," the frustration was evident on Bruce's face. Tony considered leaving.
"Please," Bruce almost pleaded and looked at Tony directly in his eyes.
"Fine. I'll come back later... hopefully when you're in a better mood."
Tony left the room without another word coming from Bruce or himself. He decided to skip the kitchen and the 'hanging out' room of the heli-carrier, and instead head to the target range.
Tony grabbed his repulsor arm from a case inside one of the vaults of the ship and headed back upstairs to go test his armor. Tony wasn't very surprised to see Hawkeye also practicing in the room.
"Good evening, Barton," Tony acknowledged the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.
"Hello," Clint looked at Tony and shot his arrow at the same time, still getting a perfect bullseye. Tony smirked, hooking up his armored a
Talking Makes It Better"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Talking will make it better."
"You know that it doesn't with me."
Tony sighed, getting frustrated. How the hell did Bruce stay so calm? Especially now, after what had been done to him? "Bruce, I know this stuff. I've been there. If you tell me exactly what happened, we can put his ass in jail!"
Bruce shut his eyes tightly, and Tony knew that he just didn't want to relive it. Tony understood. He understood, but didn't approve.
"You've been locked up in here for days, Bruce. You need to tell us what happened, or at least tell Fury! We saw your situation when we ran in there, it was bad! You were shaking and- and twitching, you couldn't stand on your own! But if you want those guys locked up, you have to tell us exactly what happened."
"Why the hell not?" Tony demanded. Bruce was silent. The other man just held his head. "Just...will you at least take a shower, or something? You're filthy!"
Water, just water, up to his waist, making him
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More