Yes, the green guy decided to put in an appearance, just to appease reviewers. See what you did?
One spiced mushroom and bean burger and an hour nap later, Bruce returned to the computer room, to find Wynter practically spinning in circles over three screens running as fast as they could go under the precise typing of three medical technicians. In the name of all the gods of physics, did the kid's IQ come with a matching metabolism? There were candy wrappers all over the floor. Of a computer room!
("Is there anything you don't run?" he'd asked when Wynter had finished introducing him to the six teams working on the Hulk project. Wynter had grinned that silly kid grin that so very much did not fit his intellectual image. "The decorations committee. I'm as bad as Clark at color coordination.")
Wynter saw him and ran over and jumped up and hugged him. "Bruce! Doc! I love you! Look at what we found! It plays out the same way every time! We've got it, we've got it! There's three papers in this! You'll have to write them, of course. We'll set up the aliases for you, never mind." Wynter waved his hand in dismissal before Bruce could even completely open his mouth in objection. "Watch this!"
On the first screen, a DNA helix unraveled with precision, each anomaly labeled with a string of codes referencing the third screen. Bruce glanced over at it and his jaw dropped. (If he was going to hang around here much longer, he was going to have to wire his jaw shut.) The radiation damage was precisely annotated. And a suggested replacement for each altered molecule was listed, with the full file on procedures stored to one of the Crays.
On the second screen, the helix was being knit back together, over and over in slightly different permutations, but each one showing a whole and undamaged gene. The scan for red tags blinked vaguely here and there, and then was absorbed.
"That's ... that's a ... cure?" He didn't dare believe it. "I won't -- I won't -- change, any more?"
"Oh, way better than that," Wynter said smugly. "You'll have to test it, of course. But this means you can CONTROL the change."
"I ... WHAT?"
Wynter's no doubt incomprehensibly babbled explanation was interrupted when Clark came in the door, carrying about fifty pounds of heavily sugared excuses for food. Wynter ran over and jumped on him and hugged him. "Clark! Kal! I love you! We did it, we did it! Your blood and the doc's were a PERFECT match! I owe you twenty pizzas. No, fifty. Wow! Come see this! And stay the hell away from the lab six through ten wing. We blew up so many receptors, there'll be red kryptonite all over the floor like old comic books for days. Lab 8 looks like they threw a Christmas party in it. The clean-up crew gets a month off with triple pay once they finish. We're still trying to figure out what to do with the wet vacs, though. Launch them into the sun maybe."
Wynter tugged Clark by the hand over to the computers. Clark and Bruce exchanged helpless looks. The two strongest beings on Earth were powerless in the orbit of the living ball of energy that sizzled out of Wynter's head.
The scientists working the computers snuck glances among themselves, lips pressed into sternness to keep from busting a lung laughing. They were used to dealing with mutants and aliens and each other, but Wynter was in a class by himself.
The trick had indeed proved to be Clark's blood, once it was exposed to the not-quite-so-lethal radiation from the red variety. The Hulk proteins loosened their grip under intense green kryptonite exposure, as if in preparation for changing, and Clark's red-radiated amino acids moved right in. Result: a Hulk slightly weakened from the alien contamination, but with a stable cellular structure.
Clark was the one who brought up the subject Wynter had been hoping to put off. "Wynter, I don't know DNA from TVP, but Doctor Banner doesn't know about what the red meteorites do to me. Isn't there a risk that the red radiation will do the same thing to him if his cells start using my biological whatever?"
Bruce frowned. "Clark, it's not like I really mind the Hulk being weakened."
Wynter waved a hand. "No, he's right, I should have explained that earlier. Red K doesn't weaken Kal-El, it drives him insane. But your body chemistry is starting from human, not Kryptonian. The simulations all show that the cell mix provides more stability in your brain activity instead of less."
"Simulations." Clark and Bruce said it at the same time, in equal if not quite identical tones of disbelief. Bruce gave Clark a quirk of an eyebrow. "You're saying, 'it works on paper'." To Clark, "Old joke from the early days when they blew up missiles that everyone thought were perfect -- on paper."
"Ow. I don't think I wanna think about it."
"It works on computer runs," Wynter defended. "But, hey, if you don't want to try it, that's your decision."
Bruce took a deep breath. "Young man, there is nothing in this galaxy I want more. But I will not risk even the remotest possibility of a Hulk even more out of control. Let's go back to the tranquilizer idea."
"No." Clark's voice stopped everyone in the computer room. Most of them had not heard that unyielding tone before, but all of them would hear it in the years to come, and smile at the memory of the boy behind the uniform. "It's a chance, Doctor Banner. A good chance. I trust Wynter." A small smile. "He's not wrong very often."
(Well, except about wearing the fuzzy bunny shoes and eating a chocolate bar over the computer, Bruce thought.)
"You need to take that chance. I would. And I'll be there."
Before Bruce could protest, Clark put his hand on his shoulder. And this time, there wasn't even a trace of pain in his eyes at the contact.
What a weird kid, Bruce thought, and smiled.
* * * * *
Wynter wouldn't let Bruce into the labs six-to-ten wing, either. ("They've almost finished cleaning it up!") The courtyard in between some of the ugliest buildings Bruce had ever seen was set up as the testing grounds. ("Hell, if you smash the admin building, you'll be doing everyone a favor. John's been threatening to blow it up for years.") Techs and engineers and scientists hovered expectantly. Bruce wanted to yell at them and tell them to quit being idiots and get out of there, but he knew he'd be hanging around too if there were something scientifically interesting going on.
The two kryptonite projectors (and yes, that stuff was outright bizarre, he'd looked over the files with increasing shakes of the head) flanked the fountain, using the metal sculpture as an electrical ground. (It was a lousy excuse for a sculpture anyway.) Wynter had directed Clark to get lost, and when Clark had glared and jumped to the top of the nearest three-story building, Wynter hollered at him about "working on the damn flying thing." (Flying thing?!?)
The green radiation tingled all through his nerves. Bruce shivered, feeling like -- well, feeling embarrassingly interested. It was a very good thing Little Sky wasn't around.
(In fact, she was. Skylark was hovering a couple of klicks up, watching carefully, knowing that Clark could be a real dumb kid sometimes, and prepared to use whatever Mother Nature could summon to keep him from proving it.)
The nurse raised his eyebrows at him and waited for his nod, made a noncommittal gesture and gave him an injection of the extraction from Clark's blood. The green projector was a second too slow in cutting off, and Bruce felt the blood spreading through him turn to boiling agony. He fell to his hands and knees with a stifled shriek. Shit, if this was even a fraction of what it was like for Clark....
The red radiation erased pain like a shot of heroin. And a line of cocaine. And a slug of ecstasy. And ... Bruce had never done drugs (except for the gamma ray thing), but he was pretty sure nobody had ever invented a high like this, because if they had, the whole human race would be doing it all the time.
And he was changing.
No. No, no, no! NO! Oh. Ohhhh. Yes, yes, YES!
The Hulk stood up, stretching, roaring his appreciation to the sky. What a beautiful day! What a beautiful world! What colors, what sounds! Except for that incredibly awful concrete and metal thing in front of him. Somebody should get rid of it. Bah. He'd do it himself.
Look at that pretty lady up there, gathering lightning around her, making pretty patterns in the sky. Beautiful! He wanted to jump up and get her. Hm. That was a long way to jump. And lightning prickled. Oh, what the hell, why not? No harm in trying.
And damn if there wasn't a puny human standing in front of him. Puny humans! Always in the way! Never any fun. Why didn't they just leave him alone? Go find your own fun, puny humans. You're no fun to play with. I like the hair, but you're not nearly as pretty as the beautiful lady I want to go play with. Bah.
The first shock Clark got when he grabbed Hulk's wrists was the pain. Oh shit, this was a hundred times worse than when he was in Bruce form. Clark's knees buckled, the scream stuck in his throat. Staying conscious through the blinding explosion in his head was beyond anything he'd thought he could do. Throwing up and passing out for a week were the first things on his mind.
The second shock was when the Hulk ruffled his hair.
Clark swallowed, fighting back sobs, tears of pain still running down his face. "D -- doctor Banner? Bruce?
"Bah!" Hulk said, flinging Clark aside. The impact with the admin building made Clark realize that his first guess had been correct: the only kryptonite effect was his radiation receptors firing too fast and hard. He still had all his inhuman attributes, including the ability to reduce a three-story building to rubble without a scratch.
Well, the building's usual occupants had gotten their wish. He could hear the applause from underground, where everyone was eagerly watching the drama unfold on the main screen of comm central.
Clark stood up, and pushed the concern with his overstimulated nerves to one side in the face of the immediate problem. "Doctor Banner. Calm down. It's me. Clark. Kal-El. The alien, remember?"
"Bah!" Hulk opined. "You not fun. You not pretty. Hulk want pretty lady!"
Clark followed his finger and looked up. Oh, NO! "Sky, get AWAY! She heard him and her eyes widened just as Hulk leaped. She'd been concentrating on protecting Clark. It hadn't occurred to her that the Hulk could come anywhere close to her.
He didn't, but not for lack of trying. Skylark retreated on elemental wings. Clark crashed into the Hulk at about half a kilometer up. The blazing agony sent him nearly unconscious, but not before he caught a glimpse of the massive green face looking confusedly into his. "...Clark...?"
Clark managed to turn them so that he took the brunt of the impact with the ground. That was the last thing he remembered.
* * * * *
"Kal?" The voice was soft, feminine, familiar. Clark struggled with it for a second. Lana? Chloe? Mom? No, even mom didn't call him Kal. He tried to reach up to touch the hand stroking his head, but his arm didn't want to move. Wow, that must have been some hit, for his arm to be numb.
"S-sky?" That was a safe enough word. No matter who it turned out to be, you couldn't insult someone by calling them sky.
Skylark laughed. "You were expecting maybe Nicole? Or Lake? Gaia forbid. You had me worried for a minute there. Bruce too."
Clark looked past her to the heavy dark green features scowling at him and swallowed, not exactly looking forward to a rematch. Then his eyebrows drew together when the Hulk's expression relaxed.
"I'm really sorry about that, Clark. That red kryptonite is kind of intoxicating. I lost it for a couple of minutes. Are you okay?"
Clark managed a quirk of a smile. "You don't have to tell me about the red rock being like fifty shots of cheap tequila. And Little Sky, if you don't stop with the life force thing, I'm going to be something past okay in a minute."
Skylark settled back with a low chuckle that was nearly as bad for both men's state of hormones as her touch. "I was just checking your vital signs. It's not like you to lose consciousness from a little fall."
Hulk stared at her. "A little fall? I landed on top of him from half a klick up! I can't believe he's not a squishy spot on the concrete."
"He's Kal-El." Little Sky shrugged and stood up. "Aside from the problem of being in contact with you, that shouldn't have bothered him any more than being shot. Wynter, we seem to be okay here, but Kal probably needs a pizza or two. How about you, Doctor Banner? Hungry? Your metabolism is running pretty high to maintain that strength level."
"...Oh." Hulk closed his eyes, thinking hard. Slowly, the green faded, the cells shrunk, the bone and flesh compacted. He took a deep breath and looked down at himself. Not a trace of green.
Not much in the way of clothing, either. Between that and Little Sky and Clark's sympathetic amusement, Bruce decided to retreat with whatever dignity he had left.
(Being landed on by the Hulk didn't hurt Clark any more than being shot? This place definitely took some getting used to. He was going to give Swann SUCH a ration of grief.)
There was a major party going on in the cafeteria within the hour, complete with a balloon someone had found somewhere. (It was a weather balloon, but whatever.) Bruce took a sniff of the punch someone had concocted and wondered if the chemistry lab had been invaded or had participated, and if there were another clean-up crew that was going to get triple-time pay and a month off. "In honor of the destruction of the admin building?" he asked bemusedly.
"Yes!" Wynter grabbed his hand and swung him around. "Show them, show them!"
Show them? Turn into the Hulk in the middle of a room full of people? Surely not. "Are you crazy?"
"Yes! Best ever! Well, except for finding out about Clark's spaceship. Hard to top that one. But you definitely rank. Come on! Before Clark eats all the cookies. Bette, get him out of the cookies! Or at least save me one!"
"I'll make some more," the mind-controlling grandmother promised. "Clark, honey, you really should eat some fruit, too. Come, Bruce, we all want to celebrate your success. Won't you give us a little something for our scrap books? The kids all want pictures."
Put that way, Bruce wished mightily for the power to turn invisible. The kids want PICTURES! The pretty girl who had served as his escort on his first day held his arm and gazed up at him with the imploring eyes of a mental six-year-old asking Santa for a pony. Bruce closed his eyes.
It was incredibly easy, without the vertiginous sickening high of the red meteorite radiation. (He hoped he never had to find out just how bad that stuff was for Clark.) The cells expanded, the senses changed, the skin toughened. Too late, he remembered that the sweat pants didn't. Ack.
He hoped the round of applause wasn't for the destroyed clothing.
"Ho, ho, ho," he announced. "I'm the jolly green giant! Trademark not infringed upon, please don't sue. Clark, could you use that speed trick of yours to find me some pants that fit, please?"
Clark didn't make it to the door even at hypervelocity. He was too busy folded double laughing.
One spiced mushroom and bean burger and an hour nap later, Bruce returned to the computer room, to find Wynter practically spinning in circles over three screens running as fast as they could go under the precise typing of three medical technicians. In the name of all the gods of physics, did the kid's IQ come with a matching metabolism? There were candy wrappers all over the floor. Of a computer room!
("Is there anything you don't run?" he'd asked when Wynter had finished introducing him to the six teams working on the Hulk project. Wynter had grinned that silly kid grin that so very much did not fit his intellectual image. "The decorations committee. I'm as bad as Clark at color coordination.")
Wynter saw him and ran over and jumped up and hugged him. "Bruce! Doc! I love you! Look at what we found! It plays out the same way every time! We've got it, we've got it! There's three papers in this! You'll have to write them, of course. We'll set up the aliases for you, never mind." Wynter waved his hand in dismissal before Bruce could even completely open his mouth in objection. "Watch this!"
On the first screen, a DNA helix unraveled with precision, each anomaly labeled with a string of codes referencing the third screen. Bruce glanced over at it and his jaw dropped. (If he was going to hang around here much longer, he was going to have to wire his jaw shut.) The radiation damage was precisely annotated. And a suggested replacement for each altered molecule was listed, with the full file on procedures stored to one of the Crays.
On the second screen, the helix was being knit back together, over and over in slightly different permutations, but each one showing a whole and undamaged gene. The scan for red tags blinked vaguely here and there, and then was absorbed.
"That's ... that's a ... cure?" He didn't dare believe it. "I won't -- I won't -- change, any more?"
"Oh, way better than that," Wynter said smugly. "You'll have to test it, of course. But this means you can CONTROL the change."
"I ... WHAT?"
Wynter's no doubt incomprehensibly babbled explanation was interrupted when Clark came in the door, carrying about fifty pounds of heavily sugared excuses for food. Wynter ran over and jumped on him and hugged him. "Clark! Kal! I love you! We did it, we did it! Your blood and the doc's were a PERFECT match! I owe you twenty pizzas. No, fifty. Wow! Come see this! And stay the hell away from the lab six through ten wing. We blew up so many receptors, there'll be red kryptonite all over the floor like old comic books for days. Lab 8 looks like they threw a Christmas party in it. The clean-up crew gets a month off with triple pay once they finish. We're still trying to figure out what to do with the wet vacs, though. Launch them into the sun maybe."
Wynter tugged Clark by the hand over to the computers. Clark and Bruce exchanged helpless looks. The two strongest beings on Earth were powerless in the orbit of the living ball of energy that sizzled out of Wynter's head.
The scientists working the computers snuck glances among themselves, lips pressed into sternness to keep from busting a lung laughing. They were used to dealing with mutants and aliens and each other, but Wynter was in a class by himself.
The trick had indeed proved to be Clark's blood, once it was exposed to the not-quite-so-lethal radiation from the red variety. The Hulk proteins loosened their grip under intense green kryptonite exposure, as if in preparation for changing, and Clark's red-radiated amino acids moved right in. Result: a Hulk slightly weakened from the alien contamination, but with a stable cellular structure.
Clark was the one who brought up the subject Wynter had been hoping to put off. "Wynter, I don't know DNA from TVP, but Doctor Banner doesn't know about what the red meteorites do to me. Isn't there a risk that the red radiation will do the same thing to him if his cells start using my biological whatever?"
Bruce frowned. "Clark, it's not like I really mind the Hulk being weakened."
Wynter waved a hand. "No, he's right, I should have explained that earlier. Red K doesn't weaken Kal-El, it drives him insane. But your body chemistry is starting from human, not Kryptonian. The simulations all show that the cell mix provides more stability in your brain activity instead of less."
"Simulations." Clark and Bruce said it at the same time, in equal if not quite identical tones of disbelief. Bruce gave Clark a quirk of an eyebrow. "You're saying, 'it works on paper'." To Clark, "Old joke from the early days when they blew up missiles that everyone thought were perfect -- on paper."
"Ow. I don't think I wanna think about it."
"It works on computer runs," Wynter defended. "But, hey, if you don't want to try it, that's your decision."
Bruce took a deep breath. "Young man, there is nothing in this galaxy I want more. But I will not risk even the remotest possibility of a Hulk even more out of control. Let's go back to the tranquilizer idea."
"No." Clark's voice stopped everyone in the computer room. Most of them had not heard that unyielding tone before, but all of them would hear it in the years to come, and smile at the memory of the boy behind the uniform. "It's a chance, Doctor Banner. A good chance. I trust Wynter." A small smile. "He's not wrong very often."
(Well, except about wearing the fuzzy bunny shoes and eating a chocolate bar over the computer, Bruce thought.)
"You need to take that chance. I would. And I'll be there."
Before Bruce could protest, Clark put his hand on his shoulder. And this time, there wasn't even a trace of pain in his eyes at the contact.
What a weird kid, Bruce thought, and smiled.
* * * * *
Wynter wouldn't let Bruce into the labs six-to-ten wing, either. ("They've almost finished cleaning it up!") The courtyard in between some of the ugliest buildings Bruce had ever seen was set up as the testing grounds. ("Hell, if you smash the admin building, you'll be doing everyone a favor. John's been threatening to blow it up for years.") Techs and engineers and scientists hovered expectantly. Bruce wanted to yell at them and tell them to quit being idiots and get out of there, but he knew he'd be hanging around too if there were something scientifically interesting going on.
The two kryptonite projectors (and yes, that stuff was outright bizarre, he'd looked over the files with increasing shakes of the head) flanked the fountain, using the metal sculpture as an electrical ground. (It was a lousy excuse for a sculpture anyway.) Wynter had directed Clark to get lost, and when Clark had glared and jumped to the top of the nearest three-story building, Wynter hollered at him about "working on the damn flying thing." (Flying thing?!?)
The green radiation tingled all through his nerves. Bruce shivered, feeling like -- well, feeling embarrassingly interested. It was a very good thing Little Sky wasn't around.
(In fact, she was. Skylark was hovering a couple of klicks up, watching carefully, knowing that Clark could be a real dumb kid sometimes, and prepared to use whatever Mother Nature could summon to keep him from proving it.)
The nurse raised his eyebrows at him and waited for his nod, made a noncommittal gesture and gave him an injection of the extraction from Clark's blood. The green projector was a second too slow in cutting off, and Bruce felt the blood spreading through him turn to boiling agony. He fell to his hands and knees with a stifled shriek. Shit, if this was even a fraction of what it was like for Clark....
The red radiation erased pain like a shot of heroin. And a line of cocaine. And a slug of ecstasy. And ... Bruce had never done drugs (except for the gamma ray thing), but he was pretty sure nobody had ever invented a high like this, because if they had, the whole human race would be doing it all the time.
And he was changing.
No. No, no, no! NO! Oh. Ohhhh. Yes, yes, YES!
The Hulk stood up, stretching, roaring his appreciation to the sky. What a beautiful day! What a beautiful world! What colors, what sounds! Except for that incredibly awful concrete and metal thing in front of him. Somebody should get rid of it. Bah. He'd do it himself.
Look at that pretty lady up there, gathering lightning around her, making pretty patterns in the sky. Beautiful! He wanted to jump up and get her. Hm. That was a long way to jump. And lightning prickled. Oh, what the hell, why not? No harm in trying.
And damn if there wasn't a puny human standing in front of him. Puny humans! Always in the way! Never any fun. Why didn't they just leave him alone? Go find your own fun, puny humans. You're no fun to play with. I like the hair, but you're not nearly as pretty as the beautiful lady I want to go play with. Bah.
The first shock Clark got when he grabbed Hulk's wrists was the pain. Oh shit, this was a hundred times worse than when he was in Bruce form. Clark's knees buckled, the scream stuck in his throat. Staying conscious through the blinding explosion in his head was beyond anything he'd thought he could do. Throwing up and passing out for a week were the first things on his mind.
The second shock was when the Hulk ruffled his hair.
Clark swallowed, fighting back sobs, tears of pain still running down his face. "D -- doctor Banner? Bruce?
"Bah!" Hulk said, flinging Clark aside. The impact with the admin building made Clark realize that his first guess had been correct: the only kryptonite effect was his radiation receptors firing too fast and hard. He still had all his inhuman attributes, including the ability to reduce a three-story building to rubble without a scratch.
Well, the building's usual occupants had gotten their wish. He could hear the applause from underground, where everyone was eagerly watching the drama unfold on the main screen of comm central.
Clark stood up, and pushed the concern with his overstimulated nerves to one side in the face of the immediate problem. "Doctor Banner. Calm down. It's me. Clark. Kal-El. The alien, remember?"
"Bah!" Hulk opined. "You not fun. You not pretty. Hulk want pretty lady!"
Clark followed his finger and looked up. Oh, NO! "Sky, get AWAY! She heard him and her eyes widened just as Hulk leaped. She'd been concentrating on protecting Clark. It hadn't occurred to her that the Hulk could come anywhere close to her.
He didn't, but not for lack of trying. Skylark retreated on elemental wings. Clark crashed into the Hulk at about half a kilometer up. The blazing agony sent him nearly unconscious, but not before he caught a glimpse of the massive green face looking confusedly into his. "...Clark...?"
Clark managed to turn them so that he took the brunt of the impact with the ground. That was the last thing he remembered.
* * * * *
"Kal?" The voice was soft, feminine, familiar. Clark struggled with it for a second. Lana? Chloe? Mom? No, even mom didn't call him Kal. He tried to reach up to touch the hand stroking his head, but his arm didn't want to move. Wow, that must have been some hit, for his arm to be numb.
"S-sky?" That was a safe enough word. No matter who it turned out to be, you couldn't insult someone by calling them sky.
Skylark laughed. "You were expecting maybe Nicole? Or Lake? Gaia forbid. You had me worried for a minute there. Bruce too."
Clark looked past her to the heavy dark green features scowling at him and swallowed, not exactly looking forward to a rematch. Then his eyebrows drew together when the Hulk's expression relaxed.
"I'm really sorry about that, Clark. That red kryptonite is kind of intoxicating. I lost it for a couple of minutes. Are you okay?"
Clark managed a quirk of a smile. "You don't have to tell me about the red rock being like fifty shots of cheap tequila. And Little Sky, if you don't stop with the life force thing, I'm going to be something past okay in a minute."
Skylark settled back with a low chuckle that was nearly as bad for both men's state of hormones as her touch. "I was just checking your vital signs. It's not like you to lose consciousness from a little fall."
Hulk stared at her. "A little fall? I landed on top of him from half a klick up! I can't believe he's not a squishy spot on the concrete."
"He's Kal-El." Little Sky shrugged and stood up. "Aside from the problem of being in contact with you, that shouldn't have bothered him any more than being shot. Wynter, we seem to be okay here, but Kal probably needs a pizza or two. How about you, Doctor Banner? Hungry? Your metabolism is running pretty high to maintain that strength level."
"...Oh." Hulk closed his eyes, thinking hard. Slowly, the green faded, the cells shrunk, the bone and flesh compacted. He took a deep breath and looked down at himself. Not a trace of green.
Not much in the way of clothing, either. Between that and Little Sky and Clark's sympathetic amusement, Bruce decided to retreat with whatever dignity he had left.
(Being landed on by the Hulk didn't hurt Clark any more than being shot? This place definitely took some getting used to. He was going to give Swann SUCH a ration of grief.)
There was a major party going on in the cafeteria within the hour, complete with a balloon someone had found somewhere. (It was a weather balloon, but whatever.) Bruce took a sniff of the punch someone had concocted and wondered if the chemistry lab had been invaded or had participated, and if there were another clean-up crew that was going to get triple-time pay and a month off. "In honor of the destruction of the admin building?" he asked bemusedly.
"Yes!" Wynter grabbed his hand and swung him around. "Show them, show them!"
Show them? Turn into the Hulk in the middle of a room full of people? Surely not. "Are you crazy?"
"Yes! Best ever! Well, except for finding out about Clark's spaceship. Hard to top that one. But you definitely rank. Come on! Before Clark eats all the cookies. Bette, get him out of the cookies! Or at least save me one!"
"I'll make some more," the mind-controlling grandmother promised. "Clark, honey, you really should eat some fruit, too. Come, Bruce, we all want to celebrate your success. Won't you give us a little something for our scrap books? The kids all want pictures."
Put that way, Bruce wished mightily for the power to turn invisible. The kids want PICTURES! The pretty girl who had served as his escort on his first day held his arm and gazed up at him with the imploring eyes of a mental six-year-old asking Santa for a pony. Bruce closed his eyes.
It was incredibly easy, without the vertiginous sickening high of the red meteorite radiation. (He hoped he never had to find out just how bad that stuff was for Clark.) The cells expanded, the senses changed, the skin toughened. Too late, he remembered that the sweat pants didn't. Ack.
He hoped the round of applause wasn't for the destroyed clothing.
"Ho, ho, ho," he announced. "I'm the jolly green giant! Trademark not infringed upon, please don't sue. Clark, could you use that speed trick of yours to find me some pants that fit, please?"
Clark didn't make it to the door even at hypervelocity. He was too busy folded double laughing.