tushanshu_logs

Bruce is expecting Jim to show up at some point after the mess that was the past few weeks. He'd made a point of dropping in without announcement to hang out and provide idle chatter-- and occasionally lunch-- before the depowering and fight against Malicant had happened, and there'd been that one memorable incident wherein Bruce spilled more of his guts than he was comfortable with. He'd prefer pretending it'd never happened as much as possible, but it does mean that he has a certain expectation that Jim will show up uninvited and check in eventually. Bruce isn't someone who seeks out others all that often, and in this case he's content to wait until Jim is ready and has recovered from whatever had happened to him during the crisis. He has no idea what that was, but there was probably something. There always is.

For his part, he's lurking around his lab as usual, determining a new direction of research. Annabeth had given him some ideas, but they weren't anything in his area, and were going to require getting a lot more comfortable with metaphysical (magic) laws than he was currently. Truthfully, Bruce would appreciate the interruption.

It was nice to have something to do that he could accomplish without having to swallow any new laws of reality, or attempt to figure out the impossible. Converting Jack's tree apartment into a massive freezer unit without damaging the structural integrity of the tree with the weight was logistically interesting, but with Tony's help, barely worth mentioning in comparison to what else he was working on. It was a pleasantly mundane diversion for Bruce, and between the two of them, they got it done fast. Not more than a week went by before he was messaging Jack and inviting him over.

He's waiting outside the door, patient and unperturbed to stand and have nothing to do as he waits. He runs through potential experiment set ups in his head. From the outside, there's already a major difference: a sleek metal door has replaced what used to be there, and the joints with the wall are seamless and heavy, not allowing a wisp of air to escape.

Between the news that his suite was finished and the progress he and Damian had been making while working on portable cooling, Jack's mood was starting to improve from the significant (though largely hidden, for the sake of those around him) low it had reached upon Tony's disappearance. For the short flight he didn't bother to bring the other device, shooting as high into the air as the barrier would allow and then zipping down towards the Wood Sector, reveling in the freedom of movement.

He spotted Bruce standing outside 3A, arrowing down towards the ground and pulling up at the last second to land lightly on the grass. "Hey Bruce! Wow, look at that door, it looks like it's off a spaceship."

Bruce hasn't had the chance to watch Jack zip around so freely before, just seen him coming in and out windows, and he hasn't totally lost the novelty of the sight as he shoots over and lands. It's the naturalness of the movement, he thinks, that makes it fun to watch.

“It's for insulation,” he explains, expression light and open, if not smiling. “You'll have to be careful to make sure the seams stay tight, and don't leave your windows open. It's a power expenditure and it could damage the tree.” A lot like air conditioning, really, just if you had two supergeniuses build it for you to keep it at an even lower temperature.

"Keep the door closed, right, got it," Jack said, opening it and marveling at how easily and quietly such a large portal moved. "But I have to keep at least one window partly open, for the Wind."

As soon as he crossed the threshold he could feel the drop in temperature of the ambient air and bounced on his toes excitedly. "This is gonna be so great!"

Keeping the window open is going to be a huge power drain, but, well, Bruce runs a quick mental calculation in his head and realizes that he and Stark had between them built something that could power a freezer for the next five hundred years with ten windows open. That's what happens when you get two supergeniuses on the job.

He can't help but smile just slightly, tolerant as he follows in after Jack and shuts the door behind him. "There's a temperature control to the right on the wall," he points out. "I wasn't sure what you'd want it at. It's at five degrees Celsius right now." Or a little over 40° F.

Sure enough there's a small panel inset into the wall, and although everything else looks like normal, everything on the wall is in a slightly different place. It'd had to be shifted around to install all the insulation, and the windows are completely different, much thicker and like the door, seamless with the surrounding wall. Bruce had conscientiously included an easy way to open them from the outside.

"It's not bad in here," Jack replied, by which he meant that he would promptly turn the controls down so the ambient temperature was below zero, but that could wait until Bruce didn't have to stand around in it.

He wants to touch everything and so he does, hands running over walls and furniture and fabrics as though memorizing them. His tactile exploration leaves tiny little bursts of hoarfrost and he's utterly delighted that it doesn't melt off right away.

"How did you two do all this? Was it really easy for you 'cause you're so smart? You're sure it won't hurt the tree? Is this the weirdest thing you've ever built?"

It's already cold enough that Bruce is huddling up into his jacket, which he'd had with him to work on it without freezing despite the heat outside. But he's endured far worse than this with less, and he can stand it for the duration of a conversation-- he'd had to stand it for the testing process, anyway. A little more won't hurt.

Bruce just stands in place and watches with faint amusement as Jack trails his hands over everything, leaving ice behind and shooting questions at him. Ordinarily, and at first when they'd met, Bruce had been somewhat resistant to so much energy directed at him; but he likes Jack enough now that he isn't put off by it.

"You're probably not interested in the how," he answers, thinking of how technical that would get. He dodges the implied question of how smart he is, like he usually does. "The, uh, the concept was easy. I'm a physicist. Stark is an engineer. We do may more complicated... and weirder... for fun. It just took a while to install." It was a lot of insulation, windows, and the door (which was the hardest part) to get all in order.

"And no. It won't hurt the tree." The weight of a traditional cooling unit might have, but they'd come up with something lighter.

"I can be interested if you use small words," the spirit joked. "But I was hoping this would have at least made the top ten list! Guess I'll have to try harder for next time."

He worked his way in a circuit around the room and by the time he reached where Bruce was standing. "It's perfect," he said-- and then threw his arms around the taller one. "Thank you."

Whatever Bruce was going to say in response, an offer to try to find small words or a lightly sarcastic returning joke about what would be in his top ten list, is lost when Jack throws his arms around him. He's so completely taken aback that he can't respond for a second. It's not that he never touches anyone-- there's a thousand small, unconscious touches that come with daily life-- but out and out hugging is extremely rare. Conscientious of who he lets into his personal space, Bruce is constantly looking for a potential confrontation, something that would provoke a transformation, and in pursuit of that he by rote keeps his distance. Physically and emotionally. Most people sense that his personal space bubble is fairly large, and respect that; and he hasn't for years been around the same person long enough to develop the kind of relationship where they'd feel free just hugging him out of the blue.

But it's not that he minds it. After that second, he starts to relax, tentatively bringing one arm up to return it in a half-embrace. His enthusiasm is nice, and a helpless, self-conscious smile scrawls across Bruce's face. “Just thought you could use something better than a freezer,” he downplays it, trying not to be too awkward but probably failing.

Funny thing about having a badly broken leg, one hell of an infection, a fever, a couple of surgeries and lingering nightmares about systematic asphyxiation. You end up with a lot of time on your hands that you try desperately to fill with whatever won't make your nights bleed together with old traumas and fresh wounds.

He throws himself at whatever he can. Wherever he can. As often as he can, and Bruce? Bruce is so on his list. Jim packs a lunch (grimly) and crawls into a functional shirt (also grimly) and heads for the lab (slightly less grimly, there are things he tries to check at the door).

Walking without the aid of a cane is still kind of a novelty to him, after Korra's impromptu healing, and Bones... arrival. He's still not sure what to make of that. Bones. Here. Telling him-- telling him he's not actually dead, telling him that they find a way to bring him back. And not just any way. Khan's blood.

Jim grabs a tribble on the way to the lab - any tribble, it really doesn't matter - and doesn't knock when he arrives. Instead, he puts lunch down on one counter and holds the tribble aloft. "I've got a science... doctor brain trust question. Thing. Any takers?"

Jack huffs a soft laugh into Bruce's shirt, a spot of cold against the cloth before he pulls back, hot just from the hug but outside that personal bubble as though to make up for the sudden intrusion into it. "It's just... really nice, to have someone take the time to think about something like that," he replied.

It's admittedly a small relief to have his personal space back, just because he feels more secure that way, but Bruce doesn't seem disgruntled about it. He still has a more relaxed air than normal for him, if not openly happy then at least amused.

He entirely understands that point, if from the perspective of not usually having someone to take the time to think about him. Before now, Bruce didn't allow anyone that close.

"It wasn't any trouble," he says simply. With an unexpected note of teasing, he adds, "Now you won't have to dodge questions about where you live."

A flush of purple across his cheeks and the tips of his ears at that, because he had been embarrassed and it took someone far less observant than Bruce to tell, before the winter spirit clears his throat and turns his attention back to the controls on the wall.

"Right, so... 40 degrees..."

There's a brief, barely audible note of laughter from Bruce, surprised to have gotten such a reaction out of him. His standard of teasing was still Betty, who won every exchange between them; Bruce wasn't used to landing a hit.

"Yeah. I haven't actually tested what minimum temperature it can support... uh, you should be covered, though." With Tony involved in it, he can't imagine it couldn't handle well below freezing.

When he looks up and sees the tribble, Bruce can't help an expression of aggravated distaste, before it smooths over into resigned exasperation.

"Somehow I think you mean me," he says dryly, pushing back from where he'd been working and turning to give Jim his attention. His eyes scan over his injuries, taking note of them but saying nothing. "What is it?"

"I very definitely mean you. Hey, Doc. How's it hanging?" And Jim drops the tribble in Banner's lap and hops up on the counter beside what he's brought for lunch. "These tribbles potentially carry regenerative platelets. Subject zero was injected with some pretty crazy stuff before it ended up here, and I want to know if its offspring are carriers."

He says all this completely casually, as if having any kind of scientific knowledge at all is just second nature to him. "Pizza?"

He makes a dour face at having the tribble dropped on him, but tolerantly and conscientiously picks it up and turns to put it on an unused lab bench, where it can be an innocent puffball without knocking anything over.

"That should be easy enough to determine. I can probably find regenerative platelets in my sleep." His voice gets even dryer as he says that, an allusion to how many years he's spent staring at his own, watching them foil his attempts at a cure.

Bruce shoots him a glance at the offer of food and shakes his head, already turning to get out a syringe, gloves, and whatever else he needs to take a blood sample of a tiny thing. "Do I get to know the story behind subject zero?" It's an open question, accepting a refusal if it's given.

Jim's jaw works briefly, and then he dismisses the tension with an easy shrug. "My doctor stuffed one of these things full of, no kidding, the blood of my enemy. It brought it back to life. I need to know if the ability is-- passed on, I guess. And I'd prefer it get done quietly." He trusts Bones, he does. But the man's already got enough on his mind, and Bruce is one of those rare people that Jim both likes and trusts. So he doesn't mind asking so much.

The request that it be done quietly gets a mild look, Bruce turning it over in his mind but allowing it to stand. It reminds him of his standing, inarticulate agreement with Costigan to do each other favors without question or explanation; with his own desire for privacy so strong, it's not difficult for him to agree.

"If you're willing to wait a few minutes, I can tell you right now," he answers. "You think it's part of what's making them so hard to manage? I haven't really been keeping up on that." The novelty of a portable calming mechanism had worn off by now.

"That sounds like a perfect excuse for an making ice cream party," Jack said with a firm nod. "'Cause I'm a fan of things that do more than one job, like... a swiss army knife, or a spork, you know. So ice cream making air conditioner is right up my alley. Or, tree. Right up my tree, yeah."

"I think they're enough of a nuisance on their own, nevermind what they'd do if they had a healing factor. No, this is -- personal." He says that with a tiny bit of uncertainty, shifting on his feet. It's not like he's averse to telling Banner why it's personal, it's more that he doesn't really want to talk about what it means to know that it's Khan that saves his life, however inadvertently.

"And sure, I'll wait."

Bruce listens to him rambling with a faintly amused quirk of his eyebrows. "I wasn't aware there were... ice cream making parties. Sounds like your kind of thing."

"Because you can never have too much ice cream! Well, you can-- but you can never have too much of a moderate amount of ice cream," Jack nodded emphatically.

"What's your favourite kind?"

"I know something about genetic modification being personal," he returns calmly, his own kind of statement that he doesn't need further explanation. Bruce goes about getting a blood sample from the tribble with gentle, patient hands, despite his earlier exasperation with it. He pets it calm afterwards with one hand, while he uses the other to start preparing a slide.

"So, while you're waiting..." He trails off, looks over at him momentarily, before abandoning the tribble to slip his glasses on and apply himself to his work in earnest. "Any less personal news to pass on?"

Too much of a moderate amount is definitely an oxymoron, but before Bruce can comment on it, he's being asked about his ice cream flavor preference and he goes honestly blank.

"Uh. I don't know. I don't... have a lot of it." Not exactly a priority while he was on the run, or that easy to obtain in some places. "I think I used to like chocolate with brownie pieces in it." That was mostly what Betty bought, anyway.

"That flavour's good! I like Rocky Road but mint chocolate chip is awesome too-- actually I like most minty things. Oh, but Billy got me seasalt ice cream one day, he left it out on the balcony for when I visited."

An info dump, not the least of the most interesting points that he referred to Costigan so casually or that the undercover actually got Jack ice cream.

"My doctor's here. Bones, you should probably meet him at some point. Hell of a guy." Jim's tone and expression are a myriad of things. Fond, exasperated, a little bit tired. "He's the CMO of the Enterprise."

Honestly, he has no idea what Banner's stance on doctors is. People tend to love 'em or hate him, and given his whole... situation the odds are it's probably the latter. Still, if you could put them in a room together long enough to stop hissing at each other, they'd probably get along.

Bruce hadn't actually known that Costigan and Jack are friends, and it even takes him a moment to place the name and remember that that was him.

"Costigan? I didn't know he was an, ice cream kind of guy." That might have to get some mild teasing from him next time they see each other. Bruce's impression of him is admittedly filtered through a very business-like relationship, but he somehow hadn't pictured him as the type to leave out ice cream for spirits.

That thought sparks another one, and he can't help adding more lightly, "That mean if I leave out mints on my balcony, the spirit of winter will come and visit me?"

Bruce doesn't hate doctors. He has an appreciation for altruism that is the bare exception to a general dislike of people. He hates those that try to control him, that think they're entitled to his blood or his genes, but doctors on their own he doesn't mind.

"You have a doctor named Bones?" he has to ask.

"If you want the Spirit of Winter to visit you, you just need to ask," Jack said wryly. "But hey, I won't turn down free snacks. Do mints even count as snacks?"

"It's not his real name," Jim says dryly. "It's 'McCoy. Leonard McCoy'." And you can bet he drops into the Doctor's own southern drawl to spit out his name, exactly the same in pitch and cadence as it was the first time they met. "But he told me his wife took everything in the divorce and just left him with his bones. Plus, sawbones, right? Made sense at the time and it stuck."

Jim hops down from where he's sitting and comes to lean over the table, getting almost up close and personal with that microscope. "So how long've you been into all this stuff, anyway? Science, I mean."

Not even Bruce can resist a twitch of amusement, glancing up over his glasses at Jim, at hearing that imitation. They must be good friends if he can get him down that well.

Normally Bruce likes more personal space than this, but he's used to putting up with Jim by now, so he merely goes back to what he was doing, adjusting the focus on the microscope. "Since I was a kid. I used to steal physics textbooks." This much he can manage to admit about his childhood, impersonal as it is. "They, uh, they wouldn't let me skip grades until I was older. I was pretty mad about that."

"I skipped a grade," Jim says conversationally, remaining exactly where he is, half in Banner's personal space. "And then I failed like, the next four." Okay, the number is nowhere near that, but Jim's own personal rebellion had manifested in skipping out on school, intentionally blowing off tests and just generally being a little shit. Landing in and out of 'behavioral correction facilities' or whatever you wanted to call them. Genius level repeat offender, right?

It was always a tiny Pyrrhic victory to his young self, seeing the way his stepfather fought down the irritation at his bad grades. Jim always was the perfect student before his brother left, and the reversal had been frustrating to the man. Jim liked pushing him. Daring him to go one step further.

In hindsight, it was pretty puerile. But sometimes it's all the fights you walk away from.

"It's all useless at that level anyway," Bruce says dismissively, not totally paying attention to what he's saying as he reaches over to grab a pipette and an unmarked solution. His respect for organized institutions has never been high, given how largely unnecessary they were to his own learning.

He squeezes a droplet of the solution out onto the slide, peering intently through the lens as he does so, and waits in patient silence for several seconds to watch the reaction. "It's definitely regenerative," he concludes, not taking his eyes away. The aftermath is just as important as the reaction itself. "I can't tell you to what extent without further trials, but it looks significant."

"Well thank you for crushing my inner nine-year-old's ego." It's said in jest, and there's no heat to the statement. Banner's statement, though, makes the playfulness drop away from his presentation.

"Awesome," he says, in a tone that means anything but. "It came from a human donor. Don't even ask me why it works on a tribble." So maybe science isn't his strongest subject, but he's pretty sure that you really shouldn't be able to just crossover the species like that. He rubs a hand across his occipital bone and then down against his neck. "Do you think you can isolate it and-- I don't know, recreate it or something?"

It definitely shouldn't work across species, but that's the least of Bruce's scientific aggravations in Keeliai.

He drags his eyes away from the oculars and gives Jim a more considering, level look. "Theoretically, maybe. What do you want it for?" So sue him for being leery of replicating an insanely powerful, cross-species regenerative for someone from the military. Bruce likes Jim, maybe even trusts him a little, but some suspicions are deeply ingrained in him for a reason.

Jim grimaces. He really doesn't want to get into this, but-- sometimes, you have to give to get.

"There's this man from my world. Khan. He's a genetically engineered supersoldier. That's his." He nods to the slides. "The blood, not the tribble. I got killed back home, and my doctor... used his blood to bring me back." He doesn't look pleased about that. Maybe it's Kyle rubbing off on him a bit. Dead things should stay dead. But he waves a hand, dismissive. "If Khan ever shows up here, odds are he's going to try and use his blood as a bargaining tool. Say if someone gets sick, or injured, or doesn't trust the people here that use magic--" Like Korra, and he taps his foot against the floor. "Let's just say I'd rather he not have a monopoly on it. He's kind of a psychopath. I don't care if you want to keep it locked up in a lab, but I do not want him to be able to hold this over people's heads."

If. It's a big gamble, but it's one that he can't help but take. If Khan shows up. If he's from the right time. If, if, if, and Jim hates operating blind. Oh, he's good at it. All the dumb luck in the universe, right? But it's not the game it used to be, not any more.

The words genetically engineered supersoldier do nothing to help Bruce's paranoia. If anything, it heightens it, sharpens his attention to a fine point as he takes in every word. He has to agree that dead things should stay dead-- he's always taken a sour disposition toward his own presumed immortality, and uncomfortably tries to avoid thinking on it.

That Jim doesn't care if he doesn't have control of the extracted regeneration factor is what convinces Bruce. Letting Bruce keep unilateral control over something is a fast way to get him to agree.

"I'll keep a sample of the blood," he decides out loud, seeing the logic in Jim's concerns and not discounting it. "I'd rather not have the concentrated substance sitting around. It's too easily abused. But I can keep some blood on ice, and if it comes up later, let me know. If he shows up and starts with the extortion-- this is my area. I'm confident I can replicate it."

That's the most he'll promise. Bruce isn't keen on absolute commitments, but if those terms are acceptable, he has no problem with it.

"That's fine. If you're worried, don't tell me where it is, okay?" Because Jim understands why people - why Banner - would be concerned about something like this. Hell, he's concerned by this. The Eugenics war was not a bright shining point in human history, it was a brutal fucking massacre and it's the reason that humans in his day and age hate any sort of genetic tinkering, tweaking or improvements.

He gives Bruce a brief, grateful smile, and it's like a weight's come off his shoulders. "Thanks. Have I told you lately that you're awesome?"

Maybe someone else would take that as an opening to reassure him that he trusts him. Not Bruce. He takes it at face value, and nods, satisfied. "I won't lose it, and I won't tell anyone," he promises, signifying that he's going to take him up on that, and keep it somewhere secret. It can join the place he keeps the modified samples of his own blood that he'd used to research the cloning.

Then he's thrown slightly off balance by the compliment and the gratitude, and Bruce's business like attitude dissolves into a characteristic wry answering smile. "Not lately, no. You just like having someone to do secret science for you." It's a mild joke, not an accusation.

"Oh come on. I've got Spock for that. And Bones. They have to do what I say just because I outrank them." Jim's smile settles, becomes a little bit fond. See, this is exactly why he likes Banner. The guy's not afraid to tease him, he's not a pushover, and he's smart as hell. All these things are things that Jim looks for in the people around him, and admires.

"Maybe I just wanted your charming company, princess. Ever think of that?"

"Princess?" he asks skeptically, giving Jim a look that amounts to a more dignified, tolerant, oh please. "That's the nickname you're going for?" It's less aggravating than Tony's, but that's not saying much.

"And sometimes you need someone who doesn't have to do what you say. I get it." Bruce thinks he does get it. Sometimes you need that outside perspective. At least, that's what he'd come to value Jim for, himself.

Since they've moved on to the pointless witty snark portion of the evening, Bruce turns and starts cleaning up, carefully saving a portion of the sample as he'd promised.

"You got a better one?" He is all cheek, okay? Sorry, Bruce, this is your life now. Pray that Jim and Tony never become friends, it'd result in a black hole of smarm.

And then he smiles, shakes his head and claps Bruce on the shoulder. "Anyway, you're right on the money this time, I probably shouldn't stick around. Thanks for the science, Doc." He's got, you know. Tribbles to hunt down.

(These things really are trouble. Bones was right to name the damn things.)

So, if Bruce adds nothing further, Jim will head for the door with a final cheery wave.

There's no way he's about to suggest some of the awful things Tony has come up with to call him. El presidente is just the tip of the iceberg.

Bruce quirks him a smile and a wave back, not even bothering with a you're welcome, considering it unspoken. This is another responsibility to take on, holding onto this blood sample, but Bruce doesn't mind. Jim has good reasons for it and he's letting him stay in control of it.

He's also, he realizes after he's watched him walk out the door, left him with a tribble when he'd so assiduously been trying to keep them out of his lab.

"Damn," he sighs.

closed

(JIM)

(JACK)

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this is the part where you tell me what he'll find, btw XD

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bullshit science blood that can heal people from the dead across species!!!

gasp sounds totally legit!!

trek science man. trek science.

the original technobabble.

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