It's better to burn

-Robert laughs lightly, clapping a hand to Bruce’s back. If Bruce’s comment about Calvin means anything nefarious, Robert fails to grasp it. He likes Calvin. Good kid, sweet dog.-

Aw, c’mon- a couple of good looking, charming guys like us? I’m sure we could find some people willing to play now and again.

-Bruce perks up, surprised by the sudden contact. Man, they are both attractive and charming, aren’t they?

...oh shit, is he staring? Fuck. How long as it been since he responded? Hopefully a totally normal and not at all weirdly long amount of time. Bruce clears his throat with a chuckle, taking the opportunity to pat Robert’s arm.

Hm. Solid. Anyway. -

Her shoulders relax, tension practically melting off them. Bruce’s insult doesn’t appear to phase her- she’s been called worse in her time with the company- if anything, she takes it as a sign of utter resignation. 

Miss Pauling’s expression softens at his question, taking a surprisingly sympathetic look.

“Of course.” Her voice is soft now, soothing. “Your mother will have access to the very best care in Boston. She won’t want for anything.”

“Good,” Bruce says, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he lets himself be vulnerable- he looks tired from this experience, and hurt by the thought of the company doing something to hurt his mother. God, sometimes he hates this stupid place.

All at once he remembers where he is and who he’s with, though, so he sits up. His expression darkens. No, it’s not the company, so much. It’s Miss Pauling, out to get him since day one. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he grips the arms of his chair.

“That’s hardly a real issue. Plagiarism, academic dishonesty…” Miss Pauling waves a hand rather dismissively and grabs the picture, setting it snugly back into the file. “All that really matters is that a school board will believe most anything if you’ve enough compelling evidence.”

Her eyes narrow, looking just over the rim of her glasses at Bruce. He’s shaken, she can tell, but there’s just enough fight left in him that he may not do what she wants of him. With a low hum, she flips through several more papers. 

“But if that’s not incentive enough for you, I have something I believe will do.” Miss Pauling pulls one or two sheets from his file, these appearing to be medical papers. The papers are set onto the table and slid towards the pyro. “Tell me, Bruce. Have you ever wonder how your mother managed to gain access to the cancer treatment she’s involved in? It’s astronomically priced and- I’ll be honest with you- not really something she can afford on her salary. Who do you think actually pays for all that?”

Bruce stares at her with a look of disbelief for a long moment, before carefully accepting the papers. As he reads, his eyes widen in shock, piecing everything she’s saying together. He supposes, in a way, he already knew who was taking care of his mom’s bills. There was no way she could afford it on her own. Neither could any of their brothers. He swallows, his expression darkening, and then slams the papers back on to the desk. Bruce stands, suddenly, throwing his chair back and leaning over the desk to stick a finger in her face.

“You leave my ma out of this,” he growls. After a moment he clenches his fists and sets them on the desk, leaning forward on them. “She’s a good woman, and she needs those treatments and her medicine. You really expect me to believe you’re gonna put an innocent woman’s life on the line because I won’t fuckin’ go to therapy?” He laughs sharply, standing up straight again. “Fine, go ahead. I’ll send her my paycheck. And if I can’t, Calvin will.”

“Everything about your life is our business, Mr. Hutchins. You waved any remaining shreds of privacy when you signed your contract with BLU- which you would know if you read it.”

She flips open the file, revealing an array of photos. Pictures of his family, his childhood home, even of him. Miss Pauling grabs the pile and flips through them, searching for a particular one.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Bruce. I’ve worked with a variety of mercenaries in my time with the company, so I know there’s not a lot I can say to convince you to see the doctor. “

She finds the picture she’s looking for and sets it face up on the desk, sliding it towards him. It’s a picture of Ben- alarmingly recent, by the looks of things.

“What I can tell you is this: your brother’s education hasn’t quite taken the…unfortunate turn that yours did. It would be a shame if your lack of cooperation somehow became his problem.”

Bruce sits up and leans forward, snatching the picture from off her desk. As he observes it... his stomach sinks. He knew, of course, that TFI was keeping tabs on everyone. But seeing it in front of him like this... the photo is grainy, like it was taken from a distance. In it, Ben isn’t looking at the camera, but off in the distance. Bruce swallows thickly- the photo most definitely is recent. He recognizes their campus- Ben’s campus, now that he’s not there. Suddenly, the high he was on feels very far away.

Frowning, he sets the picture back down.

“Records need to be updated regularly. We would be remiss if we didn’t use every resource available to us- and Dr. Burfitt is an invaluable one.”

She pushes herself away from the desk with a small sigh, turning her back to the pyro and pulling open a filing cabinet drawer.

“I don’t truthfully expect you to understand- and frankly, I don’t care if you do or not.”

Miss Pauling finds the file she’s looking for and removes it from the cabinet, turning back to face Bruce and plopping it heavily on the table between them. It’s about a half inch thick, and written on the tab in small purple ink is B.Hutchins. She sits.

“So tell me, do all your brothers still live in Boston, or just Benjamin?”

Bruce blinks at her for a moment, taking several long seconds to process exactly what she’s asking him. He swallows- he can see what she’s doing and he’s not biting. Of course she would know about Ben. The company has pretty much every bit of information on him that they could get their hands on, so they’re bound to know about his brothers.

But still, something about her asking about him doesn’t sit right. He frowns.

“Cute. Take a seat please.”

Miss Pauling doesn’t bother too look up at him, and continues on with her forms, occasionally flipping from one paper to another, double checking figures and such. 

It’s another couple of minutes before she actually acknowledges the man in her office. She often forgets exactly how much larger than she Bruce is but, here in her broom closet of an office, it’s again abundantly clear. She would be intimidated if she didn’t know exactly how to handle him. 

“I understand you’re taking issue with the company mandated psych profiles.”

Bruce groans, plopping down in the seat across the desk from her. It feels too small for him, but it’s whatever. He sinks down into it as far as he can, impatiently playing with the hem of his shirt.

Just when he’s about to bail, she finally speaks. He considers, and then chuckles, shaking his head.

“It’s open.” She’s busy filling out a couple of important forms, and she’d really rather not lose her place.

Bruce pushes the door open and ambles inside. Ah, yes, the broom closet. Right now it just feels pretty cozy, though, like he could toss a blanket and a couple pillows on the floor and go to sleep.

When Bruce finds said note, he groans audibly. Miss Pauling is such a fucking mood killer. Anything with administration, really, but mostly her. So instead of heading over right away, he fucks around a little first. Drinks a little beer, smokes a little pot. Yeah, that should make this go a little smoother.

8(

You don’t have chips? You’re really living in some medieval times over on BLU, huh?

-grabby hands, give us the chips-

Yeah, no fuckin’ kidding. Between me and Max, snacks don’t stand a chance. And your sister took the rest of the good food.