doctor doctor gimme the news

[greenisnteasy]

Who: Bruce and Sam, and also Loki
When: Afternoon of Day 16
Where: The clinic
What: Sam checks in with Bruce.

Bruce doesn't have any idea how many people might expect to walk through the door today, but he's dutifully here and only moderately bored. He dug through the library to try to find books on norns, whatever they are, or wood fae in general, and he tried to check indexes but "scary black goo" isn't generally listed. Unsurprisingly, not a lot of progress is being made in attempting to find out what the hell's going on with Kenzi's arm, but he's trying. He's starting to think about people he might be able to talk to who might be more familiar. Mina, maybe, but he keeps coming back to Loki and wondering.

Maybe the Sex and Candy Loki would be a better option.

He leans over his desk and pulls over another book. His hair is getting bigger with his frustration.

Comments

[likely_evil]

He had been back three days now, and even though Dean was treating Sam like a fragile egg, Sam knew he should probably get looked at and have someone professional exam his injuries before they all faded away.

And since Dr. Jones had disappeared, and that Mina woman scared the bejesus out of him, he waited until he knew that Dr. Banner was in the clinic and alone before cautiously sticking his head in.

"Hello?"

[greenisnteasy]

Well, look at that. Someone's following orders. Sam is really not someone he'd expected to see, given his recent experience with the men in white coats, but he's glad he's here all the same. And not covered in blood or wielding a knife or sounding like he wandered out of a mental institution. Already that's a lot of progress.

"Hey! Come in, come in." He pushes his book aside and stands up, gesturing to what they're using for an examining table. "How're you feeling?"

[likely_evil]

He really wasn't happy at all being there, and his nervous stance would show that. But knowing he needed someone to look and dress some of his injuries, and all the medical supplies were in the clinic, he had no real choice.

"A bit better. Now that I've moved passed my concussion." Thanks Kenzi.

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce can handle nervous. He can swap out some of his excitement over being able to treat Sam -- which, let's be honest here, he's eager to check up on him after what happened -- and replace it with the calm he can exude.

"And where'd you pick up the concussion?" He slides his hands into his pockets and tilts his head, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible.

[likely_evil]

"A crazy girl with a baseball bat."

He takes another step in, looking around the clinic cautiously. Something in the back of his head is really not happy being in the space itself.

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce isn't really surprised at the hesitancy, and he doesn't push for Sam to come in any more, not until he's more relaxed. They can talk a little first, let him ease into things.

"Was that before or after you escaped?" Maybe he shouldn't bring up his time there, but he wants to see how well Sam's bounced back from the whole ordeal.

[likely_evil]

"After. She said her name was Kenzi? You may want to prescribe her some Prozac or something because she's a bit off, you know?"

Says the man who was wielding a knife in town square. But at least that wasn't his own choice.

"But um... that's why I'm here. I um... I don't remember how I got most of these."

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and slid the sleeves up his arms. His wrists were bandaged up a bit with paper towels and duct tape, which he carefully started to remove, trying not to wince.

"And since you guys have all the medical supplies here after that big round-up right after we first got here, I don't have anything to clean it out myself."

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce hisses under his breath, and then starts recovering the gauze and some disinfectant because he doesn't have the most confidence in the cleaniness of this situation.

"I'm going to guess it was while you were, uh, away." Any other time, he'd probably make a joke because his life is making light of the not funny, but Sam's shock seemed pretty severe. He should watch his mouth.

"Probably not Kenzi. She might need Prozac, but she doesn't seem the type to leave unnecessary souvenirs. Sit down," because Sam's really tall and Bruce isn't, not that much, "and I'll get started."

[likely_evil]

"If it wasn't, you'd think I'd remember the girl who was into the kinky stuff."

He was trying to make a joke to set the doctor more at ease. The guy seemed to be walking on eggshells and that was making Sam feel odd. If they found something to laugh about, maybe it would be easier on them both.

Nodding, he went and sat down in one of the chairs. "I have matching sets on my ankles too. So it you're going to make it that I can't use my hands, you may want me to take my shoes off first."

[greenisnteasy]

He stops and looks up, distressed to hear that. What the hell happened to him? He can't put his finger on why it bugs him that their captors just let Sam come back here; obviously that's good, but it seems so strange to him. He escaped -- "escaped" -- but they aren't doing anything about recovering him, when clearly they were interested in... doing something with him. Something about the whole situation doesn't sit right with Bruce. It makes him feel even more like a sitting duck than before, maybe; it makes him realize how screwed they all really are.

"I'll get those. Let's get you patched up first." He has alcohol and some swabs, and the bandages ready. He's curious to see what might've caused Sam's injuries, knives or something else.

[likely_evil]

Sam nodded, rolling up his sleeves before holding them out to Bruce. The wrists were basic rub burns from trying to fight and resist against restraints. On his arm, Bruce would probably recognized cuts and bruising where needles may have gone in.

"Do you think you can figure out what they did to me?"

[greenisnteasy]

He keeps his face as impassive as possible as he starts cleaning Sam's arms up, swabbing them with cotton, and giving them a good examination. What he finds isn't all that unexpected, considering who took him, but he's not happy to see the confirmation. People are running experiments on them, and Sam was maybe hooked up to an IV, maybe injected with things... Or had samples removed from him. It's a totally selfish worry in the middle of Sam's examination, but if they take Bruce's blood, it could become a big problem.

"I don't know," he says, looking up over the top of his glasses. "I'm going to take some blood samples with the hope I can test them properly here. Wherever they had you, they were... running tests on you, studying you."

[likely_evil]

"That's fine. I figured you probably would. Just um... warn me first? I'm not a big fan of needles."

He gave Bruce a sheepish look.

[laevisilaufeyson]

Loki Laufeyson has learned many things during his time amongst humans, things the extended contact he's had with them has permitted him to pick up where most Asgardians remain ignorant. Things, for instance, like the fact that it is considered polite to knock at doors rather than simply entering, or shouting through it, or foregoing the door entirely and appearing directly inside the room one wishes to enter. And so knock he does, not for reasons of politeness but rather as an attempt to minimize the likelihood of making the good Doctor Banner angry, a process he cannot say he much enjoyed the last time. That the memory of the incident has persisted so keenly in the long years stretching between then and now is proof positive of that.

In all likelihood, in fact, he ought to be visiting the other doctor, the seiðkona,  but curiosity has him by the nose as thoroughly as ever and so here he turns.

Besides, magic is not obscure to the son of Laufey, but Banner is a physicist. Perhaps if he is clever, perhaps if he is able to refrain from being too evasive and cruel, from twisting words and situations and thoughts for his own amusement, he could even secure a deal much like that he made with Stark. Knowledge in exchange for assistance. More knowledge.

And so here he stands, the purpose of his visit more than the obvious, more than just the question of his eyes. That is more mask than purpose. Loki isn't concerned. He does, however, wonder.

[greenisnteasy]

It's always on the days when you least expect anything of interest to happen that the interesting things happen. In other words, holy shit. He freezes in his chair when he spots him, and he tenses, waiting for signs of crazy or murder. That's a running theme for today, he guesses, as is the apparent lack of psychotic homicidal tendencies. Not a bad theme, but still one he wasn't really prepared for.

How does he feel about this? It's really hard to say. So far Loki's been a giant bag of dicks who kills people and tries to take over his planet and has a really pretentious way of talking, but he really can't get the image of Loki in that prison out of his head. The way he'd been trapped in there, tied up with intestines, and that venom (was it venom?) dripping into his eyes... It was horrific, and entirely contrary to Bruce's... everything.

Then there's the deal with Tony. Tony's reckless and apparently pretty delusional about things that could destroy him -- the Hulk, Loki -- but if Tony's going to be chatting up Loki, then Bruce wants to be in on it too. Not in in. He doesn't need to be all up in Tony's business, but he does want to know what Loki's like when he's giving magic lectures, or whatever he's going to do, so he can know because he sure as hell doesn't trust Loki, and he isn't sure he can rely on Tony to give an accurate representation of what happens, given his idea that the Hulk is awesome, or whatever he thinks.

He finally takes his eyes off Loki to put his pen down and push his chair back from the table. He gestures to the examination table, something sharp in his eyes and his frame.

"Well, come on in before you let all the bugs in." Because what else do you say to a freaky ass god who last you saw smashed someone's head into a stone box?

[laevisilaufeyson]

And there it is. Surprisingly nonchalant, under the circumstances. Interesting.

Loki inclines his head slightly in acquiescence, slipping in, though he doesn't seat himself just yet, mostly out of uncertainty as to whether or not the table can support his weight.

"I doubt the purpose of my visit is obscure to you," he says, tilting his head so that the light catches his eyes just the slightest bit more.

"I fear my vision is not what it used to be..." A titter would be appropriate, perhaps, a mad little giggle, but Loki offers none. He's not distressed enough or bored enough to play the Hatter just now. He does offer a faint smile, however, something knowing and self-deprecating. 

"I would like a prognosis. Treatment is unnecessary, if you find the thought unsavoury." Besides, though his physiology is analogous to a human's in terms of macrostructure, chemically and metabolically he is vastly different. Medications both ingested and topical aren't likely to have the same effect in him as in a human.

He would, of course, be not at all surprised should Bruce refuse to see him at all, and he's hardly inclined to beg. Nor will be insist, though he could. He could storm and threaten if he wanted, but why bother? What does it really matter, if something which is three centuries removed in his memory still sways those who regard it with greater proximity?

[greenisnteasy]

Nonchalance almost isn't a choice. Getting angry is something that only gives some people -- Ross, Blonsky, and once upon a time not so very long ago, Loki -- satisfaction. Everyone else, it spooks, and if Bruce is honest, it spooks him too. He's gotten better recently about being afraid of his anger -- his, not the other guy's -- and he lets himself have a little of it in small doses. Antidote anger, maybe. Now wouldn't be the time to let himself have it, though; now wouldn't be the time to push his limits, like stretching the muscles of his control. Now he needs to be firmly in control of himself.

He's perfectly calm as he situates himself in his chair, hands folded across his lap. He realizes sitting while Loki's standing puts himself in an inferior position, but he's not going to try to stand up and intimidate him either. Not yet. Maybe he'll need to, but there's something to be said for acting sure of himself. And then, why shouldn't he be? Because the ace up his sleeve is pretty big.

At least, these are Bruce's reasons, but his calm appearance is clearly forced; the tension in his frame and the suspicion in his eyes give him away. Everything about what he's projecting now is almost a dare.

Not that he's waiting for Loki to attack him at the moment, not that he doubts he might really be here for his eyes -- and seeing them in the light hits something in Bruce. There's no way he's going to say no. Even prisoners deserve medical care.

Deep breath, Banner.

"I'll do what I can. It's not going to heal itself?"

[laevisilaufeyson]

The dare won't be taken. Loki acted before out of purpose, however twisted up it might have been. He does hurt because he enjoys it. He does inspire fear because he can, because it thrills him. He does desire power. All of that is true. Good he is not, and never will be, but mindless he isn't either. Risk must be balanced by conviction and in this case? In this case, it isn't.

In this case, not even close. Loki has nothing now in which to be convicted.

“With time,” he says mildly. “I could accelerate it, perhaps... but I've never been blinded before.”

Soft, weary words and few, but they say much. More than he feels he needs elaborate. His age is no secret. He trusts most humans to be able to fill in the rest for themselves.

“I am curious as to the extent of the damage.” And as to how Bruce will deal with all of this, obviously, but that goes without saying. He's silent for a few moments longer, leaning against the examination table to test it.

“No doubt that sounds mad to you, but I have spent a long time in the dark.” It isn't that he thinks he deserves what pain remains, no, but what he does mean, what he isn't saying, should still be fairly obvious. He's spent a long time in the dark, and flicking the light back on suddenly, with no consequences, just like that is, for messy, emotional reasons... too much. It would all be gone. All of it. The meaning too.

“What is the load capacity of your table? My species evolved under higher gravity than yours; I have no interest in breaking it at the moment.”

[greenisnteasy]

So... He's keeping himself blind because it's cool and new? Is that what just happened? He thinks that's what just happened. How weird is it that the blindness in your eyes might be fascinating, but he can get that kind of detachment, if he tries. And dammit, he's actually trying. Suspicious as hell, yes, and hesitant to trust him, and waiting for the punchline, but he feels morally obligated to pay him this attention, this courtesy, of being... thought of.

Suddenly he remembers his father being released from prison, and how Bruce opened his door to him. Something turns in his stomach, and his mind abandons the train of thought.

"I'm not really sure. Mina swiped it from somewhere. Sit at your own risk, I guess." He gets up now, picking up some examination supplies, a little flashlight. "So being blinded is the coolest thing that's happened to you in a while?"

[laevisilaufeyson]

“Do you know your stories, Doctor Banner?” Loki asks, shifting his weight just so, just slightly further onto the table. “My stories, I should say. There is one which tells of the slaying of Baldr and the events which follow; is it known to you?”

He pauses, settling down with a faint sigh. Hardly a creak from the table. Good, then. “This tale is told by your people and the Asgardians both, a prophecy of the end of days. Clever Loki murders Baldr and the fate of the gods is sealed. With his death, theirs – unless he is returned. Unless Hel forges a deal, and she does: should every living thing in Asgard mourn for the one fallen, to them will he be returned. I lived. I did not mourn.”

The switch in tenses is a slip, but not one Loki regrets. Yes. It happened. Not exactly as the story said it would, but it happened. He lived it. That's the point of the telling. “And so as his punishment the Liesmith's son is slain before him, and with the still-warm innards of his child and all the cleverly-spun spells of the Allfather is he bound to a stone, above him a serpent to drip its venom into his eyes. There he remains, through all ages of men, until the dawning of Ragnarök.”

He tilts his head to one side, almost a shrug, a wry and bitter humour in his smile. “You saw for yourself; they had no serpent, but the sculpture is a lovely one. Three of your planet's centuries I was bound there, waiting to die. Healing is the best thing that's happened to me in a while. I'm in no hurry to finish.”

[greenisnteasy]

...well, shit. All of it, every part of it; Loki not mourning, which could either be one pissy flip of the bird or something else, something that definitely didn't deserve that, not that torture, not that anything would. The sickness dawns on him, that Odin would do this to someone he raised as his own son, and Loki's son is slaughtered to...

Bruce feels ill, which isn't really something that happens often, only when it touches this part of him that sits in the middle of his feelings about his father, about crime and punishment and what people do and don't deserve for the things they've done. If Loki's manipulating him, he's hitting Bruce right where it hurts, and maybe, yeah, he learned all about Bruce's father, but Bruce kept his mouth shut about the things his father did to him.

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, protecting against his own memories.

"Why didn't you mourn?"

[laevisilaufeyson]

“I killed him. Why would I mourn?” Of course it's more complex than that, of course, but that doesn't stop this immediate, amused response from escaping Loki's lips.

“I am no Asgardian. I am the spoils of war, stolen and reshaped in the image of my captors, a better image, taught to kill my own kind in their name and told nothing. Their prophecies and their politics made me; I am a toy, a trinket, an object and objects cannot mourn.” So it is, it is in a sense just that, just insolence, just spite, but there's ever so much more to it, a long and sordid history darkened and twisted by time and by hate. Good, was there ever good? Of course, but how much more insidious is it for all of that?

“Loki is a monster; nothing more, and that's all he's ever been. He may as well behave as one.” If that sounds familiar, if that's uncomfortable, it isn't intended to be. If Bruce trusts that the quiet, venomous bitterness in Loki's voice is honest, then it can be nothing more than coincidence. If not...

If not, how could he possibly know?

[greenisnteasy]

Bruce doesn't flinch. He could because hearing that is a blow; he can take people calling him names, he can take 'beast' even, but 'monster' is always going to be too much, to hit too hard, down deep where it really hurts. This isn't even about the Hulk; it goes way back to his father who treated him like an object, nothing better than an unwanted stray dog. He doesn't flinch because if Loki means it on purpose, he's just talking about the Hulk, which is the surface level of Bruce's issues.

It takes effort to stay still though, so maybe he betrays himself anyway, and the hurt fills up his eyes slowly before he looks away, sniffing casually like nothing happened.

"That's not true. You can fight it." He lifts his head and the conviction in his eyes is old. "They call you a monster; that doesn't mean you are."

[laevisilaufeyson]

"Why?" The word is bitter, a curse.

"When I was young I tried, oh yes, once I sought to prove I was as the whole of them were. I sought to keep something that would never have been mine, something as stunted and broken as I am. So I could fight. So I could be as they are, the Asgardians. As I should have been." The words are clipped, furious, and yes, yes, this was a bad path to walk down. But he doesn't seem violent; all his rage is directed inwardly or elsewhere.

"In return, though I had brought many other gifts of finer splendor before the Æsir, when it came to light that I had dared to keep something for myself, just one war hammer with a broken handle and a crack down its face, they repaid me thus." He runs a palm over his mouth as though wiping something from his lips and in its wake the scars appear, lines of torn flesh long-healed. Still ugly. Still brutal.

"A single lie of omission, for which brother dearest held me down that my mouth could be sewn shut. I remember. The awl was bone. Dull. Leather twine. I tore it out."

He tore it out, and as the scars demonstrate, in places flesh gave first. "Had any other creature in Asgard done the same; had Thor done the same, had a dog run off with Mjölnir in its mouth by the handle, the Allfather would have laughed. So to did he with me -- so did they all, when Thor had me pinned there and the awl was tearing through my flesh."

And there it is. Yes. Mjölnir. "He loves that hammer. I did too, but that matters little and less. Now it is as he is. Shining. Perfect.  Better than I will ever be; I can't have it any longer. I couldn't so much as lift it."

Loki's hands relax where they rest against his thighs, and the scars fade again.  "I am what was made of me. If they want a monster, I will be theirs. I will choke the life out of every last one of them -- and I will laugh to do it, because I'm nothing more than the tool of their own self-destruction. Or I was, once. I have had my fill of prophecy. I leave them to themselves, to dwindle and fade in their stubbornness and foolishness, and I will do the same. Alone."

He falls silent, tilts his head to one side and gives a wry smile, the trembling rage dissolved into weariness. Does he like being monstrous, really? Well... yes. But in so very many ways, he abhors it, too.

"In truth I can think of a no more fitting end for them than that, which is perhaps the greatest joke in all of this. They didn't even need me." A dismissive wave of the hand. "And yet being the monster is still better, if this is their justice."

At least this way he has some modicum of autonomy. At least this way he can say no more.

[greenisnteasy]

If Loki were trying to win Bruce's sympathy, he's neatly hitting all the necessary buttons, one after the other. Bruce ought to be concerned about that, not let himself be swayed so easily, and sure, okay, so he's not going to run out and start a presidential campaign for him, but he's gotten under Bruce's skin. He can't forget that Loki's a killer, but so's Bruce. He knows it isn't the same, that almost doesn't really matter. There's too much about the situation, about peoples' expectations, about... the abuse, not that he really wants to think about that aspect of it, that he can relate to, on a smaller scale.

One thing he doesn't understand, but more accurately doesn't want to understand, is how Loki could succumb to being their monster; it isn't like he's blaming him, but Bruce just can't fathom what would make someone want to do that. Or maybe he can, and that's why he finds the idea so frightening.

"But why would you want to be their monster? Why give in? Why not just say... fuck them, and go somewhere else? You can disguise yourself pretty well; you could actually live on Earth, instead of trying to take it over." He sounds too earnest, he realizes, and he tries to rein some of that back in, glancing down to fiddle with the flashlight he found to make sure it works.