It doesn't seem to come up, fortunately. Names exchanged, Clark for Fiona, the latter of whom assures Clark that plenty of stingrays like to be patted, and the ones that don't will retreat into the mangroves potted in amongst the rocks further back. She's been working here for four months. She studies reefs and coral. She's originally from Nashville and she's here on a scolarship.

And maybe there is a moment where she glances past Clark towards Bruce with fleeting speculative recognition, but it drags away again when the sound of an excited child shriek echoes through the enclosure.

"It was nice to meet you," Clark says, freeing her back to her job, and then he does a pat down with his dry hand and a classic 'where'd I put my phone' swivel, immediately scoping the tank just in case. Nope. Back to Bruce, a reflexive peeling back of visual layers, clothing and skin and bone and then a ghostly outline carrying the rectangle he's looking for, all in the bredth of a second.

He smiles, and moves past him to go wrangle a paper towel for himself.