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It had taken some convincing to allow one prisoner to chat with another. But with acting Director Coulson had been cutting the red tape across the board, thereby granting access when little would plausibly exist if SHIELD were in other circumstances.
Bruce had been led down the hall to a room not-so-different than his own, albeit a bit more separated, much like when he'd first come to SHIELD. This time, however, he is permitted access to the other side of the plexiglass while the latter sits askance.
Sam Sterns sits in a chair centred in the room… perfectly centred, almost like he'd measured with a ruler and found the exact place where he should sit.
A large stack of novels have been piled near the door. Read, consumed, and now left to be retrieved.
When Betty enters with Bruce in tow, Sterns' gaze remains fixed on a place on the floor. A guard stands just outside the space where the pair linger, solidly separated from Sam Sterns, but seen. Heard if they should speak.
The yellow of Betty's dress reflects near green in this room where even her dark eyes draw the hue. Her eyebrows lift expectantly, but she doesn't speak, not yet anyways.
If Sterns knows that someone else is here, he makes no indication. His eyes, dark, intense, and focused, remain trained on that single spot on the floor.
*
"I trust you have a hypothesis," Bruce says sharply.
He forgoes any pleasantries or other protocol. Sterns is a criminal. Takes one to know one he guesses.
The scientist stares at Sterns from the edge of the room, looking rather smart these days with a black tie, a white dress shirt (with a pocket protector, of course) and dress slacks. His hair is neatly combed and his face has been shaven. He looks like a new man. He is.
*
Betty's head cants to the side with an unspoken thought, left mute quite purposively, and she actually takes a step backwards. She'd arranged for this meet, but she'd intended to fade into the background as best she could.
The sharpness in Bruce's tone is met with odd, continued silence. Lowly, he annunciates each of his words: "The hardest thing of all is to find a black cat in a dark room, especially if there is no cat." His lips tug upwards at the edges as his gaze finally lifts. There's something unsettling about the smile with all of its angles, sharpness, and pulls. His grin skin tightens uncomfortably with the motion and his hands fold lightly in his lap.
"Of course, Doctor Banner," how he deduced that is anyone's guess, "we all have working hypotheses, even if we don't utter them. Most keep them silent, mere considerations rather than actual theories ever given speech."
*
"You don't want to be helped, do you?" Bruce, being the world's foremost expert on gamma rays could certainly help. Perhaps he could slow things. Perhaps some of the things that he learned from testing himself could help Sterns in some way. Clearly that would only be if the criminal wanted it. And Bruce is pretty sure he doesn't. Banner pushes his glasses up higher upon his nose and sits there quietly,
*
That smile seems to continue, and something sharp reflects behind Sterns' eyes. He leans forward, and pushes himself to a stand. Staccato'd steps drive him to the glass. "The help I seek can only be granted upon my own accord within my own power and ability."
*
"That power might seem suspect," Bruce says with a tilted head as he pushes his hands into his pockets. "Given that you are in a cell, of course."
*
Sterns hums in reply. His hands clasp behind his back as his head drops into a nod of near-ascent, a consideration, but not quite welcome posture. "Prisons limit many things, but not everything can be contained by four walls." His eyes continue to glimmer with mischief. "Cells, on the other hand," his lips turn upwards again. "Therein is the most potential."
*
"Well," Bruce says giving a slight shrug. "They've kept me in here well enough. Tell me, Mr. Sterns, do you know who I am?"
*
The question earns an incredulous stare. Another hum emits from the back of Sterns throat, a near-reply, but not one that actually says… anything. "Prisons aren't intended to breed such," his eyes narrow, "polished inmates."
*
"Well, Mr. Sterns, my name is Dr. Bruce Banner. I am an expert on gamma radiation. Meanwhile, this is my colleague, Miss Ross, whom you have already met. Her knowledge on biology is second to none. I would stake my reputation on her skills. Now, as you may or may not care, I should tell you about my hypothesis. I believe that the cells in your head are hemorrhaging and that, while you are experiencing some positive effects from your exposure to these rays, I believe that these will be fleeting, that your skull will not be able to keep up, and that your grey matter will end up spilling out onto the floor. So, maybe you want my help, maybe you don't. Perhaps you want Miss Ross' help, perhaps you don't. But, at least you cannot say you weren't warned."
*
Betty can feel her own posture straighten some at the mention of her skills, but she doesn't offer remark, leaving Bruce and Sterns time to chat. Her hands fold lightly in front of her.
The thoughts offered by Banner merit a vague nod. Sam turns on his heel and he, rather erratically, runs his hands through his increasingly sparse (thanks to his ever-expanding cranium) hair. Those fingers tug slightly, as if aiming to feel some semblance of an answer between his fingers. "I suspect," he begins, "you believe your hypothesis to be entirely correct, yet I suggest that you, fair doctor, are working on insufficient information." He turns on his heel and paces the other direction, giving ample thought to the man's theory.
"Give me evidence of hemorrhage. Just the expansion of my skull?"
*
"Like I said, Mr. Sterns. It's just a hypothesis. Surely you paid attention in science class long enough to learn the scientific method. Should you find you need me, please do let Dr. Ross know. Good day." Bruce smiles toward Betty, "I believe we're done here."
*
Betty casts Bruce an easy smile and she nods slightly before taking a single step away from the wall.
Sterns issues the man another look, "Or, is it related to your published paper: 'Cellular regeneration, gamma radiation, and potentiality in organic markers'?" Wryly his tongue clucks and he begins to pace once again. "You theorized that perhaps not all cellular structures could handle stress. That some would adapt. Others would not."
*
"Perhaps you have evidence that you won't. Your life, not mine." Bruce takes some steps towards the door, looking to leave. "Arrogance comes with intelligence, Mr. Sterns. It's a pity that wisdom and humility do not."
*
"I've heard of your… condition," Sterns fingers steeple in front of him.
How he knows anything continues to be in question, prompting a very sharp furrow of Betty's eyebrows. Her cheeks puff out irritably. "Mister Sterns," her tone takes on an undeniably firm edge, but she doesn't say anything else, resuming her silence instead.
*
"If you're going to try and entice me to blow all of these doors down, Mr. Sterns, you're going to have to try harder than that. I'm so sedated right now that Opium Dealers in the Chinese wars would call me relaxed," Bruce says with a smile.
*
Sam lifts a hand, no, he has no interest in that. "I only ask because, you, of all people would understand the effects of gamma radiation in a most… personal way."
Betty's lips twist to the side. She inhales a long breath and her eyes narrow slightly, "How… who?' She can't seem to articulate the thought.
Sterns lifts a hand again, brushing of the question with silent resignation. "You've said yourself your people keep a log. You see who comes and goes." He shrugs.
"
*
"That is correct, Mr. Sterns. My experience is well documented," Bruce says as he looks to Betty with a raised eyebrow.
*
Sterns turns on his heel again, to walked with those same clipped steps. "Well-documented. Well-researched. And yet it still remains." His head cants to the side. "But it speaks volumes as to the continued radiation that lingers in your veins as it is in mine. But its dormancy intrigues me. How does it trigger, exactly?"
*
Bruce has partially disconnected.
*
"You know the answer to that," Bruce responds plainly. "I get the feeling you just want me to say it."
*
"Yet no trigger exists for my condition. No surge in energy. No spike in adrenaline. I just am." There's a long pause. "Does it concern you, Doctor Banner, that someday all that will remain is the other guy? Because while I still /am// Mister Sterns, I am the ubermensch. I am what remains when evolution is pushed, prodded, allowed to grow." He simply shrugs, "So what will happen when inevitably your evolution takes its next leap?"
*
"Of course it does," Bruce says with a shrug of his shoulders. And then, Bruce's eyes look cold. "Evolution be as it may, if he were here right now, he would squish you like a small green ant." And then, Betty will see it. The look of anger in Bruce's eyes. She's seen it before—never towards her but to General Ross, Talbot (we won't go there), and now Sterns.
*
"But it's predictability lingers. The probability isn't something that has missed your grasp. If you can't control him — control yourself — then it will all fade. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not in a year. But it lingers. Someday." If Sterns is concerned about getting quashed like a bug, he makes no indication.
Betty, however, does have concerns. She reaches out towards Bruce's hand to give it a squeeze. Warmth reflects in her eyes. "Bruce. Please," she murmurs softly. "We should go…"
But Sterns is far from done, "The research you've published in the area is brilliant, but even after years, you've not yet managed to control him."
*
"The day isn't over yet, Mr. Sterns," Bruce says coldly as he glares at sterns. "In fact it's a long way from over." But Betty's touch has a way of making Banner listen to sense. "You're right. We should go."
*
Betty tugs Bruce's hand towards the door. The silent direction is enough. That touch aims to keep Bruce grounded. Intact. The warmth remains as she taps on the door to get the guard not he other side to let her out, but even as she does so her eyes catch site of a paper at the edge of the novels on the other side of the plexiglass. She recognizes spine of the book, and even the spacing of the words, prompting a small frown. "Where did you get the book?" Her face pales. Amongst the novels, Einstein's Relativity: The Special and the General Theory is unmistakable.
Sterns smiles, "Oh here and there." His smile turns nearly sinister as he adds, "I look forward to our future discussions, Doctor Banner."
The door opens.
*
"Mmm." Bruce says noncommittally as he leaves the cell, stopping a moment to look at Betty as he does so. It's not clear what got under Bruce's skin, but it's clear that he did.
*
The door closes beyond the pair, and Betty links her fingers with Bruce's. Evidently, she has no intention of letting go — not immediately already. The guard is given a nod and the pair tread down the hall. She swallows hard and then inhales a deep breath. "Verdict?" she murmurs softly.
*
"He's a dick. And I don't like him," Bruce says with a chuckle. "I hope that's not how I come off to people. As far as his condition, I don't really know much. Maybe you'll have luck in having him give you some samples. I can't figure out what motivates him and what he wants. If we find that out, maybe we have a chance."
*
"That makes two of us," the laugh in Betty's voice is unmissable. "Believe me." She laughs again. "He… sets me on edge. And I can't explain it. Not remotely." She manages a flicker of a smile. "And you definitely don't come off like that. Believe me," her eyes sparkle easily. The last, however, warrants a nod. "I can't either. He doesn't seem to want to get better. He does, however, constantly want to read. And… insanely challenging material." She frowns slightly again. "I'll work at getting samples." She emits a heavy sigh.
*
Bruce lets go of Betty's hand and wraps an arm around her waist, "Don't let him trouble you too much. He's probably not worth fretting over."
*
Betty sidles against him and nods lightly. "You're right of course." She leans towards him to press a light kiss to his cheek. Thanks in large part to the cell in which he's stuck, "He's probably harmless."