Hulk by Peter David (e reader manga TXT) 📕

She was so close that he could smell her perfume. He never quite understood why women tried to make themselves smell like flowers or palm trees or an evening rain rather than just smelling like women.

Still, it wasn’t a bad scent. . . .

He caught her glance, smiled involuntarily, then went back to the issue at hand and studied the readings from the scanners mounted directly under the frog. The frog was trembling slightly, but that could be due to a dozen things, most likely sympathetic vibrations to—

The frog exploded.

Harper let out a tragedy-soaked cry as the amphibian’s little innards splashed all over the inside of the container. Betty emitted a frustrated, “Oh!” Bruce, as was his habit, didn’t let any of his disappointment show on his face, but he felt his shoulder muscles bunching up as they tended to do whenever he was faced with a tense situation. He forced himself to relax, but he could practically taste the feeling of disappointment. Other frogs had suffered “grievous setbacks,” that is, died horribly, far faster, leading him to think that maybe Freddie—Number Eleven, dammit—was going to beat the odds.

He looked at the others in the lab, sighed, and said, “Lunch break.”

“Oh, good,” Harper said, sounding queasy as he surveyed the frog’s remains trickling down the sides of the container, “because, y’know, strapping on the feed bag is exactly what I feel like doing right now.”

There was a lab cafeteria and also some decent restaurants in the area, but Bruce usually chose to eat at his desk. Knowing this, Betty fell into step behind him as he headed toward the lab refrigerator.

“Saw my father in the news,” she said.

“Oh?” The comment surprised him. Betty very rarely made any mention of her father.

“Uh-huh. Getting some medal or something from the president.” She shrugged. “He’s got so many hanging on his uniform already, I’m not sure where he’ll put it.”

“Are you going to call and congratulate him?”

“I was thinking about it.”

That stopped him for a moment as he turned and saw an impish expression on her face. “Really? That would be unusual.”

“Well, you know, he is my father, and since I actually know that, I figured maybe I might be able to lead by example.”

At first Bruce had no idea what she was talking about, but then he understood. He sighed and reached into the refrigerator, pulling out a small paper bag. “Are we back on that subject again?” he asked with a tired playfulness in his voice as they walked back toward his desk.

“Yes, that subject again,” she replied with a fair imitation of his voice. “Just give it some thought. Don’t you want to know about your birth parents, where you come from? It’s not that hard to unseal adoption papers these days. It might open you up to more feelings.”

“And do I want more feelings?” asked Bruce, feeling like the tin woodsman from The Wizard of Oz.

Betty’s response, in a surprisingly serious tone, caught him off guard. “I can wish, can’t I?”

He felt a flicker of guilt when she said that, and some of that must have shown through on his face despite his best efforts, because she looked immediately contrite, as if sorry that she’d said anything at all. He wanted very much to ignore it, but it had been said, and it was out there, which meant it was going to be like the proverbial elephant seated at the table that no one could pretend wasn’t there.

With great sadness and feeling more wistful than he would have thought himself capable of, he said gently, “I do wish I were someone who could feel more, express more. If I were, we’d still be together, wouldn’t we?”

“I don’t know,” said Betty. She looked down, leaning against his desk. “I guess it’s none of my business anymore. I’m just having a hard time, us being apart but still seeing you every day, working together. It makes me feel more lonely than ever.” She sighed. “But what can you do?”

“I can still appreciate you,” said Bruce, “admire you, be a friend—” Then he paused, thinking, My God, you’re giving her the “We’ll always be friends” speech. How pathetic is that?

Betty didn’t seem put off by it; just a bit sadder. “I wish I could say it’s enough,” she said.

Never had Bruce felt a greater, more gaping emptiness in himself than he did at that moment. He wanted to reach over to her, to hold her, to tell her all manner of things and share feelings and emotions with her. The problem was he didn’t truly know if he’d be saying things he actually felt . . . or just uttering the things he thought she wanted to hear.

Instead, he forced a smile and said, in as light a manner as he could, “Well, there is one thing.”

She raised an eyebrow questioningly as, with a flourish, he opened the paper bag and pulled out a container. “Chocolate, chocolate chip,” said Bruce.

Betty smiled, a smile as radiant as gamma rays . . .

As gamma rays? Good Lord, can I ever turn off being a scientist?

The problem was he knew the answer to that as soon as he thought it.

Betty hated the dog and pony show.

That’s what she called the semiannual gatherings of the board of directors, when she and Bruce and whoever was working for the lab would be forced to try to explain in words of one syllable just what it was they were doing, and all the “practical applications.” That was the phrase that drove her the most insane, the one she heard so often she had occasionally been known to mutter it in her sleep. They always wanted to know about “practical applications,” which of course translated to, “How can we make some fast money off this latest experiment?”

They didn’t understand that it wasn’t that easy. Many of the most significant advances in science, the most “practical” and useful developments in the history of mankind, had