Chapter Text
"Throw away your old underwear and socks every six months." - Tom Ford
"Hey, yeah, I've got a bit of a challenge, mm-hmm, no - not for me, I've got this friend who turns into a giant green rage monster. Yep. Murder on clothes."
Tony grinned at Bruce. Not that the physicist was looking at him, but he clearly felt it, if the way he tightened his fingers in his hair was any indication.
"Tony, who are you talking to?" Bruce mumbled into his lap.
"Tom Ford."
"Tony, why?" Reed Richards all but accused.
"Tom, I'm really sorry about this, but I'm gonna have to put you on hold for a minute. Mmm-hmm. Bit of a thing here. Yeah; that'd be great. Caio." Business concluded, not postponed, he turned his full attention to Dr. Richards.
"Well, Reed, your work in materials science may be unparalleled - and I wish that wasn't true, because I'm enjoying your presence about half as much as you seem to love being here - but you don't even make the top quartile when it comes to fashion."
"So says the man in a red metal suit," Reed sneered.
"Don't knock the suit, it's won more design awards you ever have," Tony singsonged, "aaaaand that's true even if we limit it to the annual CFDA award for superhero costume design."
"You-"
"You two are not five," Bruce said mildly, his eyes dangerously green. "I want us to all sit down and work on this, in silence until we get somewhere. And then we can talk about it."
Tony had moved past shame a long time ago. When you were in the news from the time you were four, privacy was a quaint concept. At this point, JARVIS was curating more than one YouTube channel devoted to him. But Bruce? Bruce still blushed when he was out without a shirt. Not because he was ashamed of his body, but because he was ashamed of exposing himself to someone who'd rather not see. What Bruce didn't seem to realise was that the would-be serum did more than create the Hulk, it had made him built. Everyone wanted to see that.
Hell, the Bugle had even taken a page from the UK and started running the "page three scientist" as a weekly feature in the Tuesday science section.
For Bruce, Tony would have sued; he would have lost, but he would have sued. Except. Except, paradoxically, newsworthy photos in a public location never got any less attention when you did that; and (because the briefs only stretched from from scientist to Hulk) there would always be more pictures.
A solution was needed badly enough to call in Reed Richards.
Even with Reed 'helping,' they were no closer to finding it when JARVIS announced that the gentleman Mr. Ford had sent was on his way up. The elevator opened to reveal a slim young man in the ubiquitous black turtleneck and slacks that served as the uniform of fashion designers everywhere, a brass rat gold-bright against hands that glowed like stained cherry-wood.
"Rafael!" Tony welcomed him, "How long have you been working with Tom?"
"I came back East a little over a year ago," Rafael answered, as he began to unpack a satchel.
While the others stared, a friendship between Tony and a twenty-something fashion designer seemed unlikely at best, the two caught up. Honestly, it shouldn't have been surprising: Tony was a Stark, he could network the fuck out of anything. They learned that Rafael's family in Brasil was doing well, irmãzinha followed in his footsteps - she just sent in her acceptance to MIT. No, he didn't leave the Van Dyne label because of Hank Pym, the man was perfectly civil. It was just Tom Ford landed the SHIELD contract, heading it up was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and, honestly, have you seen what you so-called superheroes are wearing? There's a real need on the East Coast--
"And you think you can help?" Reed sneered, and yeah, it was clear the man went to Caltech.
"Reed, I'd like to introduce you to Rafael Martins, Course 3. Janet poached him right off Killian Court, cap, gown and all, because of his master's thesis on the use of oasis elements to enhance metamorphic textiles."
"Rafael, this is Dr. Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four, pioneer of unstable molecules."
"An honor sir, I found your early work with Promethium isotopes as a dynamic substrate invaluable."
Reed settled at the praise, although Tony couldn't help but mouth "kiss ass." He received a wink and dramatic smooch to thin in air in reply. Being the scientist in the middle of a creative industry had certainly cultivated Rafael's diplomacy: he was unflinching even when Reed stretched out his neck to peer over his shoulder. Rafael kept up a steady string of questions interspersed with praise as he caught up, calming the stiflingly tense atmosphere that had hung over the workshop.
It still took four days, four fifteen-hour days, to produce a textile that could expand to fit the Hulk without plastic failure at maximum dimensions and with a self-regulating neutral state. (The cloth that just kept shrinking as the ambient gamma radiation decreased was amusing, but no-one - no-one - wanted that wrapped around them.)
Reed walked out when both Tony and Rafael complained about all they could make were a half dozen variations on the colour purple.
The fifth day had an exponential increase in the number of paper airplanes and double entendres (both courtesy of Tony Stark) and available materials (courtesy of JARVIS). They were all purple. Even the rigid-fibre shell intended as athletic support - which was technically a saturated foam using a completely different mechanism to change size - was a light lavender.
Still, if they were working with purple then they were working with purple. Tony built his first suit in a cave, so he appreciated having anything to work with.
On the sixth day Tony learned that the Hulk spoke Portuguese.
For all it surprised Tony, Rafael had expected it. One minute he was piecing modesty plates over the nuclear physicist's substantial package, the next he was doing so for the even more substantial package of the Hulk. He cursed, Tony could recognize cursing in over two dozen languages, and asked the Hulk a question that he caught less than half of.
"Confortável," the Hulk answered. Rafael smiled and adjusted the framework holding the plates.
"Melhor," came the rumbled reply, and with a huff, the giant paled and began shrinking.
They moved to a normal work-week after that, with Bruce alternating wearing the two prototype briefs until they went to production. They were nothing to write home about: purple, comfortable, and would prevent a charge of indecent exposure no matter what form Bruce wore. (JARVIS prioritized them in the tower's laundry, so there was no washing-underwear-in-the-sink, but it was a near thing.)
But the pants? The pants were fantastic. Rafael had pointed out that fabric was woven, and by altering the properties of the thread used in the warp and weft they could control how the garment would expand. They ended up with just one cut, a flattering high-waisted slack that screamed 1950's science geek for Dr. Banner that stretched to a hip- and thigh-hugging pair of surf shorts when the Hulk came out. There was even a range of colors, from a lavender that could almost pass as dove-grey to a purple as dark as the shine on a beetle's shell. Tony commissioned more than one matching suit jacket.
Months later, Tony couldn't regret it when the Mark 26 lost the CFDA for superhero costume design (although three-in-a-row would have been awesome). Instead, it went to Mr. Martin, senior designer for Tom Ford, for his work on the Hulk.