Bruce admittedly could find contentment in the strangest of situations. He'd been blown from one bad place to another at this point, so he just sort of accepted where he ended up for as long as he was there. It was why he went to the camp fire, and why he and Tony were working on a community idea with Frank and Kamala, and why he allowed himself to be glad when he saw the schoolhouse. And books. And a library. He never got past that feeling of excitement in his gut whenever he read something new. He joked that his true soul mate was books, or knowledge, and that seemed pretty accurate.

He already made it through a few, after sheepishly digging and finding his glasses in his bag, and he was bringing them back now. Bruce walked in, his mind going through its usual amount of calculus and question marks, puzzling over a dozen different issues. It made him absent minded, so when he looked up, he saw the back of Sam's head and jumped. Oh! It was her. His memories were very blurry, and also very embarrassed, but they were good too. Bruce had this hovering moment of indecision. Leave her to herself? Say hello? Make some noise so she'd see him and do it instead? This time he would probably not pass out from alcohol.

He decided to pick B and C. "I wondered who was responsible for the little sketches." His voice was quiet and intentionally pitched to not startle someone. Bruce was no spy. He put his borrowed books down to the side, uncertain what to do with his hands, so he slid them together for now. "Hi."