[ It's fine. She's crying now, she's heaving loudly with every choked breath, and that in itself makes Bruce's eyes well up with tears, but it's fine because he can hear her cry, he can feel her shake and sob against him, and that's the tangible proof he needs that she's here, and he's here, and he's alive again. Sure, he still feels like an ass for making her cry like this, but he's setting that self-appointed guilt trip aside for just a moment now.
He should have written ahead, let her know, even just a quick email. But he also couldn't. He spent the last few weeks hesitating, going back and forth on his decision, and even to the very last second before she opened that door, he was still debating on whether he should be there, or if he should just turn around and leave again. And that, he thinks, would have been even worse. Telling her he'd be there one moment, giving up and breaking her again the next— and he's hurt Betty so much already, he just couldn't bear doing that again. He'd kill himself; even though technically, he can't.
There's not much he can say right now. 'I'm sorry' doesn't quite cover it, and even if it did, when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a quiet little sob, tears rolling down his cheeks when he blinks his eyes. Every sob she lets out digs into him like a sharp knife, the hot blade searing his insides, but at least he cries quietly, a soft sound that drowns in the midst of hers, and could go by unnoticed if not by the way he shakes a little, and his chest rises and falls in odd spasms. ]
It's okay. [ No it's not, or it is but it doesn't entirely feel like it, not yet. He pulls away a little more, moves a hand to her face in a futile attempt to wipe the tears from her cheeks, his expression a strange mix of pained and overjoyed. ] I'm not going. I don't need to go. We don't— we're fine here. God, Betty... I've missed you so much.
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He should have written ahead, let her know, even just a quick email. But he also couldn't. He spent the last few weeks hesitating, going back and forth on his decision, and even to the very last second before she opened that door, he was still debating on whether he should be there, or if he should just turn around and leave again. And that, he thinks, would have been even worse. Telling her he'd be there one moment, giving up and breaking her again the next— and he's hurt Betty so much already, he just couldn't bear doing that again. He'd kill himself; even though technically, he can't.
There's not much he can say right now. 'I'm sorry' doesn't quite cover it, and even if it did, when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a quiet little sob, tears rolling down his cheeks when he blinks his eyes. Every sob she lets out digs into him like a sharp knife, the hot blade searing his insides, but at least he cries quietly, a soft sound that drowns in the midst of hers, and could go by unnoticed if not by the way he shakes a little, and his chest rises and falls in odd spasms. ]
It's okay. [ No it's not, or it is but it doesn't entirely feel like it, not yet. He pulls away a little more, moves a hand to her face in a futile attempt to wipe the tears from her cheeks, his expression a strange mix of pained and overjoyed. ] I'm not going. I don't need to go. We don't— we're fine here. God, Betty... I've missed you so much.