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“What… did you do?”
The Commander’s beaming smile is unfaltering in the wake of Bruce’s skeptical look and flat tone. The baby in her arms seems just as happy, occasionally waving her arms around in the puffy sleeves of the miniature space-suit she wears.
“I thought she should get her own suit. You know, be part of the team!”
Sighing, Bruce holds out his arms. The commander makes a few more cooing noises before dutifully depositing his daughter into them, allowing him to study her new suit up close. The material is firm and bulky. If this particular baby wasn’t already hardy enough - as the children of giant alien races tend to be (some, like the Asgardians, even able to breathe outside without a suit) - he has no doubt that this suit would protect her from most kinds of harm. The image of her wrapped in a suit made of several layers of bubble wrap comes, unbidden, to his mind and amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth as he straps her into the carrier across his chest.
The smile drops a little from Jane’s face and she tilts her head, looking mildly confused. “I thought you were going out today?”
“I thought about it but --”
“He still is!” Tony’s voice cuts him off. A moment later the man himself steps into the room, grinning from ear to ear as he looks Bruce - and the carrier - over. He stops in the center of the room, taking to fiddling with a small, orb-shaped device in his hands rather than elaborating.
After a beat, and with no sign of Tony continuing, Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Tony.”
“Hm?” Tony doesn’t look up.
“Care to explain?” Another beat. “You know I need to take care of --”
“Aha!” Tony cuts him off again with a shout of triumph. In his hands he holds up the device - which Bruce now realises looks very similar to their helmets… except… miniaturised.
“Is that --?”
“Fully functioning, just like the rest of the suit. Look! She even gets her own snoopy cap.” He comes right over to Bruce and bends down to get a closer look at Rion. A moment later he straightens up, helmet no longer in hand but rather attached to Rion’s suit. He looks very pleased with himself, hand on his hip and a prideful glint in his eye.
Bruce remains skeptical. Not that he doesn’t trust Tony or his technology but… the ambitious engineer has been known to get over-excited in one or two of his previous technological endeavours. And that, in turn, has led to mistakes. Severe mistakes in some cases... Bruce doesn’t like to hold it against him, because his success count is far, far higher than the number of drastic failures he’s had. But with his daughter’s life (possibly) on the line, Bruce can’t help but ask:
“You’re sure that it’s safe?”
Tony makes an offended noise, crosses his arms and frowns. “It’s got all the functions of our suits. Liquid cooling, pressure and thermal micrometeoroid layers… even a fully functioning life support system. And, yes,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Bruce. “I did test it.”
Bruce puts up both hands in surrender, a little guilty and very apologetic. Tony waves it off and goes to stand by the Commander, who has made herself busy with her own work in the time it took for Bruce and Tony to have their exchange.
Bruce looks down at Rion. She doesn’t seem phased by the slight restrictiveness the bulky suit and carrier puts on her movement. But then, very few things ever do seem to bother her. Loud noises and sudden jolts maybe. But Bruce tends to avoid those anyway.
“So,” Tony says and somehow he’s managed to stealth his way back over to Bruce while he wasn’t looking. “Care to take her out for a spin?”
There’s pause.
And then Bruce nods.
Within five minutes he has his helmet on, a tether clipped to his suit and is facing the door to the outer airlock. A glance over his shoulder allows him to see Tony and Commander Foster, who give him two wide grins and a four thumbs up collectively.
He turns back. Takes a deep breath. Puts both hands of Rion, hugging her close.
And then he’s outside.
There’s nothing quite like the weightlessness of space. Even the all simulations and training he’d done on Earth can’t compare. Not when he’s acutely aware that the space he’s floating in is the real deal. That the tranquil, inky blackness that surrounds him stretches outwards to infinity. That each speckle of light and color is a planet, a star, the universe, alive and ever changing, as it always has been since existence began. And here he is, a speck upon a speck upon a speck, right in the middle of it.
It’s humbling. Terrifying. Awe-inspiring.
As he drifts away from the space station, light in his eyes and peaceful smile on his face, he looks down at Rion. Her arms are flapping up and down in bird-like imitation, mouth making movements that indicate babbling noises, which he cannot hear in the vacuum of space. He chuckles and holds out a gloved finger to each of her palms, which she grips tightly in automatic response.
“Just wait ‘til you’re big enough to do this without me holding your hand,” he says, not caring that she (most likely) cannot hear him either.
He thinks about how often he has come out here alone, craving the peace of the silence. Craving the security of knowing that no one can reach him. In fact, this is probably only the second time he’s ever had company (the first time being his possibly-a-date with a certain Asgardian prince).
It’s not as allowing for him to get lost in his own head but there are some advantages to company, he muses.
He gets to see their reactions; their broad smiles, bright and infectious, make all the difference in setting the tone. Maybe he should invite the others out with him sometime. Tony and Jane rarely go out for anything other than necessity, but he can already picture them in a more casual situation. The commander would probably be taking it all in, pointing out as many solar systems and nebulas and unusual phenomena as she can name while she drifts. Tony would be more elegant, - because when is he ever not - probably inventing himself a way to control and propel his path through the space rather than just allowing himself to drift.
Maybe he could take Rion. Bruce is more than happy to just float instead of fly but, even though she is unable to speak full words, he can tell that Rion is more of the adventurous, chatty type. Maybe that’s why the other two are so attached to her. Bruce may have officially taken responsibility for her but the other two do their fair share and they obviously adore her.
As if conjured by these musings, Bruce hears his radio buzz and the Commander’s voice breaks the silence.
“She doing okay?”
Once more Bruce tears his eyes away from the scenery and looks down at Rion. She’s gone quiet now, mouth making a small ‘o’ shape as she stares curiously into space. He chuckles, fondly.
“Yeah. We’re good out here, Commander. Thank you.”