angermanaging | IC contact (TuShanshu)

I won't. I'll get in touch with him again in a day or two, all right?

[ The unspoken I'll try to make it right is there, though nothing in his voice or expression betrays it as he takes another sip of his tea. ]

You know-- you, and he and Pepper... you're the closest thing to family I have here. Sorry if that sounds weird or it's one of those things I'm not supposed to say out loud but, that's how I think of you guys.

[That's all the answer Bruce really wanted, and he's raising his own tea unhurriedly to drink when Jack keeps talking, and his hand stills halfway there.

There's a flicker of something painful across his face before he can stop it. Family. The word is something of a landmine for Bruce, and although they're not talking about his family-- he never talks about his family-- there's an implication here that he has someone in it again, in some vague, unspecified, not blood related way.

He spares a bitter thought that Jack doesn't know how grateful he should be that they aren't actually family. Anyone with his genes is doomed.

Tony and Pepper make sense. Bruce can see why someone would get attached to them-- he'd gotten attached himself, after all, and for good reason. They were both generous without being invasive, not perfect, but dedicated to the right thing. All qualities Bruce admired. He had a hard time finding anything about himself that would match that.

But Jack didn't know, did he? What kind of person he was attaching himself to like this. Bruce just hadn't gotten around to telling him, not when he instinctively kept every scrap of information about the Hulk to himself by long habit. And maybe now wasn't the time to go into that explanation, which was convoluted, and bad timing with Tony just arrived again. Aside from which, he's uncomfortably reminded of Betty, and how insulting it would be to refuse her faith in him. Hers he's forced to accept because she knows everything he's willing to give breath to about him, and still decides to, but moreover, it seems cruel to refuse someone something like this.

He puts his tea down instead of drinking it, raising his hand to rub at his face, trying to muster together a response.] I, uh, I'm not really a... good choice, [to put it mildly,] but--

Thanks. [Lowering his hand, glancing over. He's unable to smile, but there's something soft about his expression. He searches for something to say that won't seem like he's rejecting him.] It'll work out, [he says honestly.] You're not going to lose us.

[That's not really a promise he can make, he knows, with the state of things. People disappearing, reappearing, with and without memories; that they're all clones; that they could die and might not come back, with the war gearing up. Bruce makes it anyway. If he couldn't believe in the idea that someone was there for you without their physical presence, he wouldn't have gotten through the past nine years with his sanity.]

[ Jack tries to read Bruce's reaction; read it completely, because his kneejerk feelings get the spirit into trouble more often than not and Tony was a case in point. He sees the pain before it gets cleared away again, the pass of one hand across his face (Jack does that himself, when he's thinking, when words don't cooperate, and he finds a tiny bit of contentment in being like someone else).

He smiles a bit at the attempted deflection, thinks that's okay, I'm not a good choice either and the thanks that comes without a smile, though he gets the understanding and something like let him down gently and Jack thinks, that's more than most people have ever bothered to do.

Jack almost laughs at the reassurance, but that would have been cruel as well. Still, there's a soft pain lingering behind his eyes like an old ache, like a phantom limb. He knows three centuries of loss and it shows if one knows how to see it, like counting the children on the playground because there were rumours of Scarlet fever going around, like sitting on January farmhouses where little boys who he'd watched grow into young men got letters delivered with military condolences. It is with our deepest regret to inform you that...

Academically Jack knows that it's never been personal but he goes to the winter funerals when they're held and when the mourners are gone he leaves frost on the new headstones, wishing he could chisel away the born and died dates to add a few more decades between them. He might be new to making two-way connections -- bonds formed and reciprocated but he's always, always known what it's like to be the one left behind. ]

I know.

[Meanwhile, Bruce can barely begin to guess at what's going through Jack's head. He doesn't know all that much about the spirit, not really; and he adds that to his mental list to remedy, alongside telling him about the Hulk. If they're going to be pseudo-not-really bad choices family, however reluctantly and tacitly, then they should know something about each other. Bruce likes his secrets, but he isn't dense or asocial; he knows you're supposed to give them up to the people important to you.

And he also knows that, with this mental shift in his head, he's not as willing to just let things go whenever they arise. Bruce doesn't think of him as really family, no, that's not a word he ever wants to use again outside of its original context, and letting someone close to him in the first place is its own immense difficulty-- but even without that explicitly defined term, he likes Jack. He feels somewhat responsible for him, just a little. And moreover, he wants to help.]

You sure? [he asks quietly, meeting his eyes head on.] That I'm not missing something?

[It's an open offer to talk. One Bruce doesn't make very often.]

[ The winter teen turns the glass back and forth between his hands, catching the tiny droplets of condensation formed by the competing temperatures between the tea's warmth and his own chill. They froze against his skin and he ran them back and forth like tiny marbles around in his palm, up his fingers and back down again in the same way a master of sleight of hand would handle coins. ]

You mean something not about Tony?

[ He seems perfectly content to let the familial discussion rest there, as though aware that his broaching the subject even by a little had raised the level of awkwardness in the room. Cautious of creating a wedge between them, Jack realized he probably should have kept it to himself. Bruce, he decides, has enough to deal with on a regular basis without adding a needy spirit into the mix.

He holds out his glass hoping for more tea but the gesture is a plain message: whatever Bruce wants to ask, he'll answer. ]

[It's fascinating to watch the frozen droplets slide across his hands, but Bruce doesn't let himself be distracted. He's too sharp not to notice how Jack had turned the question back around on him, not volunteering anything but not closing up, either. To someone as experienced and versatile in verbal evasion as Bruce, it's noticeable.

He isn't worried about the possibility of creating a wedge or a point of friction. Although it's almost impossible to get Bruce to declare his attachment to anyone out loud, once they've earned it in some measure, he's loyal to a fault. It's hard to drive him off, and it'd take a lot more than a peripheral mention of what is one of his taboo subjects, especially after Jack had backed off so quickly, something he hugely appreciates.

But he's careful about his response here, at first not sure what to say. He fills the pause in which he thinks it over with pouring more tea for him, not steaming any longer but still hot and needing to be refrosted. As he withdraws the pot, he says,] I mean anything that you'd want to say.

[Wanting to clear the air, he adds,] If we're going to be not really family, we should probably be opening up. [There's a subtle note of humor to the statement, a self-conscious jab at himself for his difficulty doing that.]

[ The tea gives Jack another excused moment in which to gather his thoughts, carefully cooling it down and enjoying another long drink. ]

I've got a really good memory.

[ a pause; it sounds awkward, without context, without framing ]

I don't know if it's a spirit thing, like how I always know what day of the year it is or exactly how many blizzards a place has had since... well, forever. It's like there's all this stuff crammed into my head and you could spend a whole lifetime just sorting it out.

But it's not just the big things, or the Winter things, it's... little memories too. Stupid stuff, like where on the desk the coffee cup was sitting when Pepper told him his "two o'clock" appointment had arrived, or the way he always moved the tip of the soldering iron counterclockwise before putting it back in its holder. I don't know if I'm supposed to keep stuff like that, or if I'm just supposed to forget about it... or if I even can.

[Bruce listens, and feels justified in his thinking that there was a lot more to Jack than he'd been privy to, before. This is confirmation, a solidifying of his assumption that he shouldn't assume the exterior was everything that was going on. He's sure it wasn't deceptive, or manipulative-- Jack was almost painfully honest, to his reckoning-- but it wasn't the whole story. It's a strategy Bruce himself employs.

He nurses his tea as he listens, turning that quiet patience on this, now.] And it's not always a good thing, [he says with understanding.] Sometimes it's just-- painful. It'll never be the same. You can't get that back.

I know.

[He doesn't try to mitigate it or make it better. Bruce doesn't have any comforting words, not for himself or for anyone else. But there is a comfort somewhere in accepting it as it is, however painful.]

[ Narrow shoulders rise in a helpless shrug because he does understand that as he echoes Bruce's words: ] I know.

[ Knowing wasn't the problem so much as coming up with a strategy to deal with it. Jack's was far from a scientific mind but he was deeply intuitive. His solution to problems was to keep poking at them until he found something that worked, haphazard and impulsive choices, decisions based on instinct instead of fact. Combined with a curious nature and centuries of being adaptable made him nearly an epitome of "street smarts" and yet... there was still a serious gap in his knowledge in interacting with other people. Observing other people had not taught him how to deal with them when they were hurting you without meaning to. ]

[Bruce isn't the person to go to for understanding how to interact with people, either. He hardly knows what he's doing.

As evidenced by how he'd meant to try to cheer Jack up a little when he saw him, and has done the exact opposite. He lets out a short exhale.] Sorry. I'm not really, comforting.

[ Jack half-turns so he's facing him more directly than just side by side, and glances up with a smile. ]

You might say that, but talking to you helps more than you know, Bruce.

[That legitimately surprises him for a moment.] Really? I'm not exactly-- anyone's shining example of optimism.

[His tone makes it a joke, and like Bruce's almost always are, it's at his own expense. But he's aware that he's an unremitting pessimist, and he has plenty of reasons to be. Bruce doesn't show any bitterness about that.]

[ Jack's gaze returns to his glass and he takes another sip, savoring the flavour of the tea, swallowing before answering. ]

Optimism can't fix everything, believe me, I know.

[ His usual demeanor wasn't a front; Jack generally was that happy and pleasant and eager to be with people. But it wasn't the entirety of who he was, just like Winter wasn't all pretty hoarfrost on windows and tobogganing. He just was selective about the rest, the part that had been fostered in cold silent moonlight and long years of unanswered questions about everything. ]

[The same was true for Bruce in reverse. His life was an unending string of tragedies, a continual confirmation of every fear he'd ever dared to believe might not come true. But that wasn't all it was, and he was aware, he knew, that the brightness he did find was due to others that didn't think the same way he did. Betty was a shining example of that in his memory, but all along the years of his traveling he'd run into people here and there who helped him for no reason whatsoever, often when they didn't even speak the same language.

And since coming to Tu Vishan, he'd had that cemented. The idea that he didn't have to live in isolation, teetering on the edge of despondency, if he let others in.]

Maybe not. [A beat of silence, as his gaze flicks over to Jack, before he goes on,] But I appreciate it where I find it.

Me too.

[ As much as he appreciated someone to talk to, even if the conversation didn't exactly address the topic head on. Jack finished the tea in his glass, setting it down on the countertop, glancing up at Bruce. ]

You know you can ask for anything, right? If you need it... so long as I'm here, I'd always...

[ He broke off, shrugging awkwardly. He doesn't know how to say it properly; he just hopes the man understands. ]

[Addressing topics head on has never been Bruce's style. He assumes that if Jack wants to, he'll bring it up himself; but it's never really helped him, so he's not about to impose that misguided attempt on Jack unless he seems to want it.

And this offer he does understand. It stymies him for a second with understanding, in fact-- he knows how encompassing that offer is. He feels immediately like it's not fair to let Jack say that without telling him about the Hulk, without explaining, but the words still don't want to come. Bruce hates talking about himself and he still feels like it isn't the time.

Instead he has to look out toward the window Jack had come in, at the burgeoning twilight and the water in the canals out his apartment building, to find his response.] Yeah. [In a moment of bare honesty, he adds, somewhat lighter,] It's a little weird for me. I've been alone for. A long time.

[It's one of those flashes of insight that occur all at once, when pieces slot together in your knowledge about someone. There's a slightly questioning tone, but he's relatively confident when he says,] But I think you know about that.

[ They did a lot of similar things, especially when attention was drawn to them. For Bruce, it was his intelligence, purposely left unaddressed by the man most of the time and yet shining through whenever he put his mind to a task. For Jack it was too much emphasis on being legendary, on being Winter and he'd laugh it off and remind them that he was from Pennsylvania so he was just a guy, not that much different than anyone else.

Jack doesn't move, hands resting inside the front pocket of his hoodie now that he was no longer holding onto the glass, watching Bruce. There's neither agreement nor denial in his posture or expression... waiting, to see where this went. Technically it could be taken either way: that Jack knew about Bruce being alone, or that Jack himself had been alone for a long time. Neither are incorrect. ]

[Bruce doesn't have any reason to suspect that Jack would know more about him than what he's told him, and so far, that hasn't been much, not regarding the real details of his life. So in this case he definitely means the latter.

Whereas before this conversation he'd always respected his distance and never pushed, now he's feeling a little more forthcoming about it.] It is different here, [he says, remembering the conversation they'd both had weeks ago about being not totally sure if they'd go home if they had the choice.] It's... possible. Easier. To know people.

[An unspoken concession that yes, he has let Jack, and others, grow important to him. He's not totally isolated, and he's not trying to push him away. Once, both of those would be true.]

Yeah. This place changes the rules... the ones we thought couldn't be changed.

[ Jack remembers that conversation too and it's something that's been in the back of his mind, lurking just below the surface. Especially given how suddenly people disappeared, here one moment and gone the next and it was an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. The spirit thought, maybe that's why I told him, just now... because there was the a fear (not unfounded) of the risk that he'd never get the chance.

He thinks, he should be uncomfortable about having things guessed about him but the awkwardness doesn't come. So he nodded finally, affirming Bruce's observation. He had been alone for a very long time, in more ways than one. Alone in being unseen, alone in having no guidance, alone in having no one he could rely on except himself. ]

[He's not surprised to have his guess confirmed. It makes sense. The pieces that he knows of Jack's life fit together that way; and Bruce might not know much about spirits, but he does know that part of the definition is immortality. By nature they tend toward the incorporeal, the abstract and the unreal. It's easy for him to imagine it as lonely, with his own experience drifting in and out of other's lives, as unseen as he could be. And for Jack it would be so many more years, when Bruce already felt like the nine he'd been on the run were so long they were erasing the ones that had come before it.

He knows, too, what it's like to lose a chance. He'd known it before he got here, and had it confirmed since with disappearances. Bruce doesn't begrudge him the impulse not to leave things unstated, when you never knew and couldn't trust that sudden external events wouldn't sweep them away from you. But Betty, and those here, had begun to make him believe that period of loss might always be eventually ended.

Lighter and almost wry,] Always seems like just when you give up is when someone comes along to prove you wrong.

[ The change in tone and words prompt a similar reaction from Jack, the heaviness in his gaze lightening once again. ]

You'd almost think they were doing it on purpose, huh? Ought to give those people a piece of my mind.

[ He withdraws his hands from the pocket of his sweater, takes his staff from where it was leaning innocuously against the wall, layering a fresh crackle of frost across the old wood. ]

I should get going.

[Bruce sets his cup aside and straightens up to say goodbye. He's still not sure he'd really helped any, but Jack had said that it made a difference, so he'll believe him. After a certain point, there's only so much you can do for someone else, in any case.

The window's still open from where he'd come in, and Bruce reflexively walks over to it to see him out.] Don't be a stranger, [he says, half-joking, half-serious.]

[ Jack hops up, rests one leg bent beneath him on the sill and nods. ]

I won't.

IC contact (TuShanshu)

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