Bruce Banner. (![]() ![]() @ 2015-06-12 12:47:00 |
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The walk to Potts Tower wasn't a short one - two and a half miles, give or take, depending on one's tendency to meander. Under normal circumstances Bruce never would have considered it a pleasant walk, either, dominated as it was by the jam-packed and often featureless wind tunnels of midtown. But he'd been inordinately cooped up, recently, whether in the lab hacking away at the problem of the hour (how did you find an Asgardian needle in a Midgardian haystack?) or accumulating a lot of flight time, a lot of jet lag, and a lot of nothing to show for it in the attempt to address said problem. He was looking for a way to get out - if only for a little while. Until he had to dive back in again. And as evenings had been going, this one wasn't bad. The weather hadn't yet plunged into the full-on window-steaming garbage-reeking hell that was summer in the city. He could comfortably pause on some of the slower corners, while the lights were changing, to flip through the battered little paperback he'd brought with him. (It wasn't old enough to be special; probably an early nineties imprint, but one that had been as one might say well loved during its journey through a gamut of used book stores, stands, and boxes until it had come to rest in his living room a year ago.) An old favorite for a new arrival - one that had nothing, of course, to do with explaining the mysteries of how their tesseract was currently pushing and pulling and rudely interrupting the lives of so many hapless new New Yorkers. But it was a book that was a way of thinking, like all good books, and one that had been designed to appeal to the open, curious, and compassionate mind, one that gently (but with good-humored gravitas) shook assumptions and the old scaffolding of thought until they fell out of the way. Forget cell phones. There was no introduction to modernity better than science fantasy from the children's section. Not that he thought this particular man was likely to need a great deal of help with that introduction. No doubt he was perfectly capable. But Bruce wanted to be friendly; he felt a certain warmth toward him that wasn’t entirely attributable to his fondness for the other JARVIS. And if there was something a little unseemly about forging independent connections with figures so deeply embedded in the past of one’s intimate friends (with whom one’s intimacy rarely and even then largely unilaterally extended to discussions of family matters), he was very willing to pretend that there wasn’t. Innocence, for some reason, was something people were all too willing to believe of him. He was just being kind; he was just bringing a book; and if the conversation just happened to furl out into things that weren’t really his to know, that was just the imprecision of human conversation. Not that he meant to pry. But open, curious, and compassionate minds had two edges. If not more. Only a little wilted from the humidity, he tucked his copy of A Wrinkle In Time under his arm as he entered the tower (after removing the ticket stub he’d apparently been using as a bookmark), and, sailing through to the appropriate door, shifted his water bottle to his other hand to knock. It was late, according to Edwin’s standards, but he hadn’t even changed into his pajamas yet. Wearing his trousers and shirt without vest or tie, the top button undone, sleeved neatly rolled up, this was about as dressed down as he got. If he were at home… his real home… he’d be falling asleep by now. What would Anna think of him? She wasn’t here, which made it all the more difficult for Edwin to fall asleep. During the day, Edwin could distract himself with various activities, but lying in bed alone only accentuated the fact that he missed his wife. Ever since he’d been introduced to the modern television, evenings were spent watching videos, instead of listening to Benny Goodman. He’d just discovered YouTube, and was in the middle of a Great British Bake-Off marathon, when he heard a knock upon the door. It couldn’t be Mr Stark - if Edwin’s services were needed, he would’ve used the phone. “Pause,” he told the television, and the image froze - damn convenient that - and he rose from his chair to see who it was. The man at the door wasn’t familiar, but Edwin took it in stride. “Good evening, how may I help you?” “Hi,” Bruce said, giving him a smile that was more genuine than formal - even if the manner hadn’t been charmingly familiar (was it, though? or was that impression simply the result of the power of suggestion? hard to say; not worth sussing out, when the result was pleasure), being looked at with an utter lack of recognition was kind of a treat. “I’m Bruce Banner.” He slipped the book out of the crook of his arm and extended it to him. “I just thought I’d drop this off for you.” He was not, to say the least, cued in to most sartorial cues - but it always struck him how people from very different walks of life, to whom he’d had a pretty wide range of exposure over the past couple of years, could express fairly sophisticated messages with things he’d only ever considered to be uniform pieces. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d given any thought to a pair of pants that wasn’t entirely summed up by are these too long, but here was someone wearing more or less what he was, but who was quite obviously a man out of time, and to whom he immediately attributed a not inconsiderable number of personality traits - Or it was more suggestion, and that was all. He frequently met people about whom he had a large stock of preconceived notions, these days, but he didn’t often care enough to separate that chaff from the wheat of reality. That was the only difference, here. He nudged his sunglasses a little further back up into his hair. “I know settling in can be overwhelming. I hope it’s going well.” “Ah! Mr Banner!” Edwin suddenly remembered. “You wrote to me when I first arrived. It’s a pleasure to connect your name with a face. Please, do come in.” He stepped aside to give Bruce enough space to enter his apartment. “Thank you very much for the book.” Edwin accepted it and glanced down momentarily to look at the cover, then to turn it around and inspect its back. “Make yourself comfortable. Would you care for a spot of tea?” Edwin placed the book down upon the end table beside the seat he’d been sitting in. “I’m currently reading a book for the Tower’s book club, but I’m nearly finished. All the Light We Cannot See, by Anthony Doerr. It won awards, but personally I’m finding it... disagreeable. It’s very well written, to be sure, but I suppose it’s too close to home from me to really enjoy. Set during the War, you see?” To answer Bruce’s question, Edwin slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and frowned, thoughtfully. “I’m doing as well as expected, under the circumstances. Somebody warned me that once you believe you have everything sussed out, this world suddenly throws you off your trolley all over again. I’m trying not to let anything surprise me, though truth be told, some of this modern behavior is quite shocking.” Not about to protest the invitation - conversation and hydration struck him as an agreeable mix - Bruce stepped inside with a grateful nod. “I’d love some - thank you very much.” He let his reflexive please, call me Bruce die in his throat, half because he couldn’t imagine it would be comfortably accepted, and half because, for his part, he couldn’t really picture calling him Ed. There were parts of the social code he’d have been very happy to spin back to 1943, frankly. (It did leave him with the slightly stickier problem of whether to point out it’s Doctor, actually, but his modern sensibilities placed the appearance of modesty over accuracy in formality.) “Much of it’s meant to be shocking, I think. Then the adults among us refuse to give it the satisfaction of a reaction, and - the envelope keeps on sliding.” He smiled. “And now refraining from eye contact is what passes for manners, around here.” But it wasn’t like there weren’t etiquette alarmists to be found even here and now - anyone of any stripe could find what they were looking for in this city, which was undoubtedly its greatest strength. Settling in might have taken some time, but fitting in was a breeze. “This might make a decent palate cleanser, anyway,” he said, nodding at the book as he tucked his sunglasses into his pocket. “It’s a very different genre - one that didn’t really take root until a decade or two after the war ended. It should be something fresh.” He paused, and then conceded: “Although hanging around with the Starks does tend to put one in the avant garde of the world of science fiction.” In the kitchen, all the elements for tea were right at hand, since it was Edwin’s beverage of choice. He set the kettle on and collected the teacups from the cupboard, all the while speaking to Bruce in the dining area through the open window space over the sink. “Oh yes, I understand the psychology behind it. I was just a lad, but I can still recall my grandmother making a fuss over the cut of dresses, how they revealed the calf, and how women wearing trousers would be the death of society.” He started fussing around the kitchen as he continued to speak. “The year I came from, 1946, the bikini had just come out of France, and it was banned at most beaches. I just never thought I’d see…” he paused to think of the right words, “...such lack of decorum. But not just that. There’s so much violence and sexual conduct, especially on these television shows. I made the mistake of watching this one program, and it was so explicit, I was shocked. And mind you, I work for Howard Stark… I thought I’d become calloused to that sort of thing. Good Lord,” he just realized. “I’ve become my grandmother.” The kettle began to whistle, and Edwin took it off the burner, poured a bit of the boiling water into the pot to temper it before measuring out the tea leaves and adding more water. In no time at all, he returned to where Bruce sat with a tray that included wedges of lemon, sugar cubes and a small pitcher of milk: if you were going to have tea, then you ought to do it correctly, especially for guests. “Howard Stark is.. was… a man ahead of his time, and his son takes after him. I’ve seen inventions of his that boggle the imagination, and others that perhaps should never have been created in the first place.” As he poured, he noticed the weariness in Bruce’s face with genuine concern asked, “Are you well, sir? You look tired.” As someone who’d spent his early twenties in Los Angeles, Bruce had always been rather grateful for the bikini. He laughed - short, quiet, watching the lemons and the sugar and all the other trappings assemble. “We all get there eventually, I suppose. Some of us faster than others.” He had a little more grey in his hair than he’d ever really hoped for, but the fatigue wasn’t helping either; he wasn’t under any illusions about that. “I’ve been traveling - that’s all. Not a huge fan of airplanes.” Which was true, and less complicated (and potentially disturbing) than going into detail about the tesseract’s propensity for throwing the kind of curve balls that defied the laws of physics; that he’d been given a few days to live as not a monster, and had handled the reversion to normalcy extremely poorly; that he’d then spent half a week believing himself to be Robert Mitchum in Out of the Past; and that you, too, Mr. Jarvis, have these charming hijinks to look forward to. The man had just discovered HBO - enough was enough. “My work normally keeps me in the laboratory, so when they start flying me around - I complain. I’m a homebody. Which it’s easy to be, around here. Tony’s a generous host.” A trait which, it appeared, might have been taught. “And the company’s always exciting. Thank you,” he said, taking his tea. “I have a pretty strong historical interest in things that should never have been invented. It’s a - well, calling the Manhattan Project a ‘hobby’ is probably a little hard-bitten.” Especially for someone from 1946. “But it’s … edifying, to have people from other times.” A small smile appeared upon Edwin’s face at the mention of travel. “There have been times when, in my service to Mr Stark, I’ve been called upon to travel great distances. I also managed to travel a bit before the War, while in the Army. I always found it invigorating, seeing new places and experiencing new cultures. Though truth be told, the actual getting there part is a bit of a trial. But yes, Master Tony is incredibly generous. It’s only recently that I came to understand that nobody in Potts Tower pays rent, which is helps as tenants adjust to their new surroundings without the added pressure of making ends meet. And in addition to all his inventions? He’s quite amazing.” Edwin spoke proudly of Tony, pleased to be serving the Stark family. “I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been having a difficult time with jet lag. May I inquire as to what sort of work you’re doing?” The mention of Bruce’s ‘hobby’ made Edwin’s eyebrows rise. “The Manhattan Project, you say?” He frowned again. “The memory of the atomic blast in Hiroshima and Nagasaki are still fresh in my memory, as is Mr Stark’s reaction. You do know Howard Stark played a large role in developing the bomb?” He grimaced and lifted his tea to his mouth, but before taking a sip, he asked, “Then you probably also know about the various other disastrous inventions Howard created, which went awry.” There were few quicker paths to admiration than hearing one’s friends spoken of with affection or pride, and Bruce found his positive inclination toward Edwin confirmed - he was now solidly in the good graces category. Anyone who would describe Tony as ‘quite amazing’ for paying other people’s rent could be assured of a spot on the good list. He blew across the surface of his tea, looking pleased. “Yes - we’ve chatted about it, once or twice.” Largely in the context of Bruce’s barely-contained enthusiasm over some minor relic of an Oppenheimer, or a Fermi. “I’m not as familiar with his other work, if only because it’s not quite as relevant to my own. I worked on developing radioresistence protocols for the Army, before I came here - using some of the same technology that went into Project Rebirth, actually. It wasn’t successful. But I’m still in more or less the same field - working on biomedical solutions for whatever problems crop up. Quantum chemistry’s sort of my first love.” Which was all rather vague, but he was generally conscious of not going on about his projects, which were, to put it kindly, of limited interest to most people. “The field was going through its birth pangs in your day. Things have to go awry before they can go right. But I suppose - it’s harder to be philosophical about, when you have a front-row seat.” “If you haven’t heard about those inventions, then it’s a good sign that they’ve been well and buried, “ Edwin replied. “They were… how to put it politely? His mishaps. It got him into a bit of trouble with SSR, when they were stolen from his personal vault by a less than savory group of people. I’m pleased to say that it was remedied with the help of Miss Carter. On the day I was taken by the Tesseract, Mr Stark was actually in the process of dismantling said inventions, so that they’d never get into the wrong hands, again.” He quirked a smile, remembering his part in assisting Peggy, as well as his offer to help her again, should the necessity arise. It was a hair-raising, whirlwind number of days, and there were times when he didn’t know how or even if they’d make it though, but looking back, he realized he enjoyed their adventure. “Going awry before moving forward. That rather sounds like something Mr Howard would say. So long as it doesn’t do any permanent damage. “Radioresistence,” Edwin repeated to himself, thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with what that is, nor with quantum chemistry. And I only know about Project Rebirth from what Mr Stark has told me … it was the process they used to develop Captain America. Did they ever rediscover the lost process? I understood that they needed samples of Captain Rogers’ blood for them to proceed, and considering there are two of them about…?” “There are two,” Bruce confirmed, groping through the now-familiar process of trying to explain the tesseract’s peculiar function without actually having an explanation. “The second one was brought here, like you were, but from some other, parallel existence. He wasn’t developed by the same process - or, if he was, not by the same people. As far as I know, the process used in thisdid</i> attract them. I ordinarily wouldn’t be discussing this with anybody, but given that you work for Master Tony and the fact that it’s been decades since these events happened in your chronology, I imagine it’s alright. There was a chemical compound if, when detonated, caused not an explosion, but an implosion, where all matter in a certain radius was drawn in to a single point. Let’s just say that a certain lake in Cedar Grove, New Jersey no longer exists because of it. And then there was this gas, called Midnight Oil, meant to be given to soldiers to increase their productivity. Turns out that instead, when inhaled, it turned them into murderous animals. New York City was nearly sprayed with the gas.” Edwin prudently chose not to include Howard’s part in the drama, not wanting to cast his employer into a bad light, what do speak of his own role. “ If it weren’t for Miss Carter, I shutter to think what might’ve happened. But she was terribly underestimated by her colleagues. No, I wouldn’t say luck. More like skill, perseverance and being at the right place at the right time.” With a look of concern at Bruce, Edwin then apprehensively questioned, “This mishap you mention, it wouldn’t happen to be the one you were involved with?” Well. Those were interesting, as expected. He made a mental note to do a little looking into the apparent singularity of Cedar Grove, New Jersey (attempting simultaneously to envision some mechanism whereby that wouldn’t destroy the entire planet, and to appear as though he wasn’t deeply intrigued), and just arched an eyebrow, hiding whatever incipient signs of interest his face might have betrayed behind his teacup. ‘Murderous animals’ sounded a little more familiar, but also a little more pedestrian, not requiring much past certain ill-advised pharmaceutical combinations already available. “That’s the one, yes.” This wasn’t normally an awkward conversation, anymore, because these days his condition was just a matter of public knowledge - and it sounded like Jarvis already had an inkling. But it was a fine line to walk between honesty and the desire not to cause undue alarm. He drank his tea. “To be fair, it did impart some radioresistance.” Sort of. “Along with some extremely unfortunate side effects, which - you may have heard about, I don’t know. They’re very well-controlled.” By a combination of luck, denial, risk aversion, and violent repression. “But - no, the dangers of unbridled innovation haven’t really died off since the 40’s.” He tried a smile. “Unlike some unlucky parts of New Jersey.” “Ah.” Edwin nodded once to indicate that he understood. “Forgive me for prying. Yes, I read about the side effects… the internet keeps very little secrets, I’m afraid. But I have no doubt that you have it under control,” he added confidently. Perhaps Edwin was a little uninformed in that area, but he was convinced that Bruce was safe if only because Edwin had faith in Master Tony. A Stark would be responsible and wouldn’t permit anything, or anybody dangerous in the Tower, much less walking the streets of New York CIty; this was how much faith he had in the family whom he served. “It’s not prying,” Bruce assured him, more than happy to let the internet bear the burden of explaining the specifics; if everyone was going to know about it, the least he ought to get out of it was an exemption from unpleasant explanations. “It’s not really the sort of thing you keep from people who invite you to handle their china.” Except when it was. But he smiled, tapped the edge of his teacup, and moved neatly on, not particularly keen to dwell. “There must be a lot for you to catch up on - the internet really is an invaluable tool. But overwhelming, I’d imagine.” Wikipedia did not, unfortunately, come with a where to start feature, and would not doubt have been more useful if it kept a few more secrets. But he was happy to help, even if it put them in danger of a not-very-abbreviated discourse on the modern history of achievement in physics. |