insurgents | OPEN POST.

Dear Bruce,

I sat down to write you a sincere and heartfelt email, one brimming over with questions or pieces of my mind. But you know, the biology department circulates memes now.

Someone linked this article to me just as I was sitting down. It's a few years old, so I expect you've seen it already, but it was news to me. I know things aren't easy for you, but I want you to know that it made me smile. That's why you're off the hook.

Please don't change your address without telling me again. I hate feeling like your creepy stalker ex. The case is too easy to make.

I love you.

Betty

[ooc: I'm mostly kidding, but #always-tag-ricks was trending. Good morning.]

Edited 2016-03-11 06:09 (UTC)

Betty,

It looks like you finally uncovered the other guy's top secret blog. Sorry I never shared before. He's very proud of it and his feminist ideologies, I'll have you know.

I'm sorry about the radio silence. Things happened. Kind of all over the place right now. Keep this e-mail, your messages will get to me one way or the other. Forget the physical address, though. I don't have a fixed location right now. For the record, I don't mind it if you're my creepy stalker ex.

How are you? I hope you're happy. Or well enough, at least. I hope work's been good too.

Always missing you.

Bruce

Dear Bruce,

Aside from, you know, I'm doing really really good. I'm happy. And well.

Work is the usual, a little busier now that my post-doc is gearing up to leave me. We're still waiting to hear back from a few places but I wrote her a good letter and I'm sure she'll place well. She and her fiance are apparently getting married in May and I'm invited to the wedding, but they haven't decided on a location. They've decided on a date, but not a location! I hope it's somewhere warm so the packing is easier.

Our new DPI has been giving us some inexplicable results. We made some adjustments to account for [-things. ~~The elevated gamma levels on campus, coughcough.~~

Forgive me bio people, I don't know anything about DPIs, and these are magical comic gamma waves which interfere with lasers and, lbr, are probably greenish. She outlines their set-up in a great deal of detail and then describes the results, enclosing some of them. They're not really light reading material. Then it's two more paragraphs of incredibly mundane happenings, mostly interpersonal and all very very boring, ending with:]

I do follow the news, you know. I keep tabs where I can, but it's all a mess from this end. Please tell me if things get too close. I won't do anything stupid, I know there's nothing I can do, I just need to know. I can't stand not knowing again.

As for the blog, please let him know I'm a fan. Maybe you should get a top secret blog too.

I love you. And not as your creepy stalker ex, you asshole.

Betty

Betty,

I'm glad. That's all I've ever wanted for you.

That's nice for them. May weddings are good. I think. I don't know? I'm not sure what to say to that. I hope you have fun there, though. Are you going on your own?

[ Possibly the most obvious way to ask her if she's seeing someone. Why does he even care? He shouldn't. It's not like they're together anymore. God, he shouldn't even be writing these e-mails.

In here goes a lot of science talk about the results, after Bruce takes his time to look over what she sends him. He can do a few wild guesses at most, suggestions that she likely already has thought up herself at this point. It makes him miss working with her, and he tells her that too. This isn't the same, not even by a long shot, but it's good enough. (No it's not.) ]

You'd probably be better off not knowing. But I'll let you know how things are going or if I drop by the states sometime, but I shouldn't anytime soon. I've been helping with a small clinic where I'm at right now. It's a pretty crappy place but we help people. That part's nice.

I know. I love you too. Definitely as your creepy stalker ex. I'm just giving the stalker part a break for now.

Bruce

Dear Bruce,

I shouldn't have brought up the wedding. It was just on my mind and I didn't think, but I don't ever want to hurt you. I'll find other ways to keep you in my life. I'm not sure if I'll be going on my own. Leonard and I are going through some things right now. It's just the same old stuff, but, Bruce, I'll tell you anything you want to know but do you really want to hear about this?

[She just assumes he cares because she certainly does, so she makes a lot of assumptions about what he means. It's been maybe too long, with too much time spent apart, for it to be a good idea. Everything is too loaded.]

A consultant is coming in to examine our instrument set-up on Monday. I don't have much hope, but maybe we'll be surprised. I emailed the company some of your suggestions and some of my own, so I'll let you know how that goes. I miss working with you too, and not just because of how much easier it would make this sort of troubleshooting. If I can send you anything, papers, patents, anything, please let me know. Whatever you're interested in right now. I guess I don't even know what that is, anymore.

You should tell me about this clinic. The people, the cases, just whatever is safe to talk about. Help me picture it. Are you somewhere warm? Are you tan again? Are you eating enough? I'm picturing you like that first day at the airport in New Mexico with the silly beard and the Feynman T-shirt. Or maybe you're somewhere cold and you dress like a lumberjack. I don't know, you're the one who's been to Canada.

I love you. And I know too. I'll tell you anything. But if you ever come back here without giving me a chance to see you, I will definitely kick your ass. Creeping is unnecessary.

Betty

No. You're right. I don't want to know. Sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I don't know why I did. I really am very stupid for a genius sometimes.
I really am happy just that you're happy, even if I'm not there to be happy with you.

That's good. I hope things work out with your work, and do let me know. I might not be as involved right now but I'm still interested. I keep up with some things, when I can. Internet access isn't always an easy thing to come by even now, but at least it's a little more widespread. Helps me feel like I'm not so isolated this time around.

I'm somewhere warm. Actually it gets kind of hot sometimes, but it's nothing I can't manage. Fewer clothes, I guess. But my hair's short now. Figured I needed a change again, plus my curls kept sticking to my neck and forehead. The clinic is small and a little messy, and we sometimes run out of supplies. There's always a lot of people around, kids, families, everyone's poor around here so we try to help the best we can. Not everyone can pay. The other day this kid's mother offered me some jollof rice, have you ever had any? It's really good, though a little spicy. We ended up sharing it with the the other families there, they needed it more than I did anyway.

I promise I'll let you know when I go back there. And not by just showing up at your door unannounced.

Bruce

I think we're both very stupid about this. Maybe there's no way not to be. Let's keep trying.

I don't want to talk about work this time. I have such a headache, and that headache is named Dr. Quinn Scott. She's our new associate director, very young, very enthusiastic. I think I'd be quite fond of her if her emails weren't driving me up a wall. Did I say I didn't want to talk about this? I don't. At least the ubiquity of communications technology is benefiting you. As much as I appreciated your letters, I like this much more.

Short how? Crew cut short? If you can't send me a picture, you should send me a drawing. I've been thinking of cutting my hair too. One of the students knows a place and has been urging me to go. She's also urging me to dye it, though. Maybe just one or the other before I'm completely gray.

That sounds like a hard life, but I picture you happy. You've got a comforting presence - don't laugh, I know what you're thinking, but I mean it, you're great with kids. And I'll add mosquito netting and generators and whatever imperialistic NGO BS material goods you can think of to my offer to mail you things. Tell us what you need and we'll figure it out. I've never had jollof rice. I'm not sure there's anyplace around here to get it, and we're all very conscious of ethical sourcing these days.

And I lied. You're always welcome, warning or no. We both mean it, this time.

Betty

I'd ask what's up with her emails that bothers you so much, but since you don't want to talk about it, I won't. And yes, this is much easier and more practical. I could write letters but it would take forever from here, if they even got to you.

I'll send you a picture attached to this email. Keep it to yourself, please? Sorry about the kids, they kind of ganged up on me when they saw the camera. They like taking pictures. For the record, I think you'd look great with grey hair, so don't fight it when it starts showing. Mine's started to fill in a lot more as of late.

[ And as promised, there's an attached photo, of Bruce together with four black kids no older than ten, all of them having practically glued themselves to his sides for the picture. Bruce's in a pair of light shorts and a loose white t-shirt, both worn, his hair cut really short, his face not entirely clean-shaven, and his skin tan. The kids are all pretty skinny, but they have huge bright grins that far surpass the smile on Bruce's face, their clothes just as worn and a little dirtier than Bruce's own. ]

Alright, I won't laugh. That's nice of you to say. I'm just glad I get to help for however long I end up staying here. I know it's just a matter of time before I have to leave, though. It makes me worry sometimes. I like that the people here like me but I don't know if I should be getting attached. Things always hurt more in the end when people get attached.

I'll keep that in mind. Thank you.

Bruce

Thank you, if only she were as good at taking a hint. I haven't been remotely subtle, but really, neither has she. You know how some people are not very good with boundaries, but they're so well-meaning you can't really say anything about it? Or you say something but they seem to hear something different? Hypothetically, there could be someone like that in my life.

I'll agree. My favorite thing about digital mail is being able to write back, but the efficiency is a very close second. Usually, anyway.

Thank you for the photo, I'll do my best to keep it safe. You look good. A little like a relief program ad, and definitely like a tourist, but I guess that isn't really something you can help. Don't be offended, but you're wearing the attractive older man look much better than I would have thought.

Also, listen, I hear what you're saying about getting attached, but you're not wrong about internet access and I'm reading great things about Stark's overseas smartphone initiative. You look happy here. I want that for you too. Anyway, I don't know who you think you're kidding, even back in school when you were pretending to be a robot, you were never that good at it. You may as well use that and build a network. So here's my unsolicited expert advice as one of your greatest liabilities: when you leave, you should leave someone your email address. There's no way anyone there is more dangerous to you than me, and you deserve to keep the people who love you.

That's all for now. I'll send you pictures next time unless this hair-styling adventure is a big disaster. Still no news on the DPI front. That's my other big headache.

Betty

Maybe she gets the hint and just enjoys annoying people. You know there are people like that. And do I know how some people are with boundaries? You should've met Tony. You literally just described him, I'm just saying.

Thanks. I've always wanted to look like a tourist. (Not really.) It's kind of difficult not to stand out when I'm one of the very few white people around. Granted, my skin's not exactly white right now, but you can thank the heat and the sun for that. And why would I take offense in that? We both know I'm an old man at this point. I'm nearing my fifties, in case you don't remember.

I look happy. That's good to know. I must be playing the part well.
It's nice of you to say that but it's more complicated than just that. Sometimes keeping in touch is more difficult than just severing all ties. It's like I'm constantly reminding myself of all the things I left behind, all the things I loved and let go.
I'm not truly keeping anything or anyone, even if I keep in touch.

I'm sorry. That got a little depressing. I really am relieved to know you're doing well. I don't know if I can take seeing you right now, but I look forward to you sending me a picture anyway.

Bruce

No that isn't it. I really believe she thinks she's being helpful. The only problem is that I'm a grown woman and it really isn't any of her business how I feel about anything or anyone when it isn't related to work. By Tony, do you mean Tony Stark? I've never met him, but he seems like quite a character. [Also, the General hates him, so she's inclined to at least give him an inch. Very subtle prompting: what the fuck happened with him and with everything?]

I should have just said what I meant. I meant that it's nice to see you as you are now. There was a time I thought I would never get to see you grow old. Seeing you age into a silver fox is, in comparison, acceptable. (I'm teasing again.) I'm nearing my fifties too. It's almost time to make a large irresponsible purchase.

So it's been decades since I spent my years living out of boxes, moving all the time from state to state, but I remember that towards the end I stopped making friends. Or, I made friends but stopped letting them in. I didn't really see the point, until college, and by then, I was out of practice. It's not the same situation and it's hypocritical of me, but I think this is the sort of difficult worth pushing through. Leave a door for people, if you can. Growing numb to other people doesn't really protect you from them. Am I pulling a Quinn here? You can say so, and I'll get off your back about this.

I'd like to think I was being honest when I said I never want to hurt you, even if that means... not writing so often? At all? I don't really want to test it, because I'm really starting to suspect it's not true. I enclosed a picture - I don't really think it looks like me. You can be depressing. You don't have to apologize when your letters aren't happy and you don't have to smile in your pictures for me, although I think you should do it for the chemical benefits. I know you're not really happy. I know I'm just projecting. It's good just to know how you are, even if the answer is a minimal "alive".

Betty

[There's a photo of Betty with a pixie cut standing a little awkwardly outside what is probably the hairdresser's. Her smile is the sort of stiff where you've held it for too long. She's dressed pretty much the way she's always dressed, low-cut semi-formal blouse and her mother's necklace, some kind of cardigan thrown over one arm. There's a partial reflection in the glass behind her of the student holding the cellphone camera.]

Then consider this my minimal 'alive'. (It's not like I can die anyway, so you can kind of assume that's always the case.)

Yes, I mean Tony Stark. 'Character' pretty much covers it. He'd have liked you, you know? I thought about that a couple of times. I'm not sure you'd have liked him back though, but it's always been fun to watch you bickering with people.

It looks great, by the way. Your hair. You're beautiful. It's perfect, you're perfect.

[ And it hurts. It hurts more than he thought it would, seeing her smiling face on that old screen. ]

I'm sorry. I love you, and I miss you. I miss you so much. But I can't handle this. I need a little time, I think.
I'll try to remember to say 'hi' sometime. Feel free to let me know how things at work turn out.

Always yours
Bruce

[So that's it.

She's been crying every time she's received an email. Crying a little in between too. It hasn't disrupted her life much, but enough that her co-workers are concerned. Leo tries not to say too much about her ongoing correspondence with Bruce, he's careful that way, but she knows he thinks it should stop and almost entirely because he's worried about her. Well, now it's stopped. Bruce was stronger than her again, or maybe she pushed him too hard.

A little time, she can do. Has done. It's what he asked for, and there's literally nothing else ~~he'll let her~~ she can give him. So no reply.]

[ Bruce doesn't feel strong. He feels weak and a little broken, a small crack that widens every day she doesn't answer that email. Not that it surprises him; but it still hurts. It hurts as much as it would have if she were to reply.

For months he keeps going, and keeps waiting for that crack to somehow magically vanish, to fill in with something else, even if it's just some inane distraction. But it doesn't, and when Christmas comes around, Betty will find a package waiting for her at work. No sender information, which might just tip her off as to who it is from.

Inside, she'll find a small Christmas tree ornament in the shape of a microscope, a Peruvian lily embedded in a plain round resin shape, and a very rough sketch of Betty, graphite on paper, drawn partly from memory, partly from that picture she sent him. Probably riddled with mistakes, but then Bruce has never been much of an artist.

There's a letter too, clean handwriting sitting across the lines of a notebook sheet, folded up and tucked into an envelope. ]

Betty,

These gifts aren't much, but I hope you like them anyway. I moved again, I'm closer now. There are lilies like this one all over the place, but they're pretty, so I thought it'd look nice to preserve one. I'm not sure what you can do with it though. Stare at it, I guess? Maybe it can be a nice paperweight.

I wanted to send it to your house, but I wasn't sure if you still had the same address. I didn't want someone else getting the package either. Anyway, I hope that you're alright.

I miss you very much. Merry Christmas.

Love,
Bruce

[She's going to kill him. She's going to kill him and then someone will probably give her a Nobel for it - because it would be an astronomical feat of biophysics because it's not like he can die anyway, the bastard - and then she'll have to kill them too. Actually, these days, she'd probably be arrested and tried, and that does bring her a little bit of peace in the swirling maelstrom of her emotions when she receives his package during the depths of holiday hell.

Bruce hated Christmas, she remembers. Bad memories or something (she knows it's both). But he was always extra gentle then, withdrawn, but especially careful, and kind. She replaces the papers and objects in their packaging and tucks them into her bag, stops by the office to call in sick, and spends the rest of the day rage baking challah and holiday cookies and not crying into the dough. Halfway through, she pins up his drawing and his letter to her blank refrigerator door, hangs up the ornament, and leaves the lily on the dining table where she won't be tempted to stroke the resin surface with a powdery hand or scream at it.

The little apartment is overrun with plants, some stacking up on the occasional box left over from her move this past summer. She hadn't told him she'd moved out, so it was just as well he'd guessed it. Had he seen it coming? She can't think about that at all. Eventually she has to dig out the email chain she'd never deleted; she types her response like it costs her by the character.]

They're all beautiful. You were right, I've moved too. I'm at [address] now.

I love you and I miss you too. Happy new year. Don't be sad.

Betty

[There's a picture enclosed of the little microscope dangling from the tip of a mother-in-law's tongue.]

[ For what it's worth, he hates Christmas even more when he's alone. At least when he was with her there was always something good about it— if not the gifts, then the food, the decorating of the tree, or even Betty trying to sing along some silly carol playing on the radio. Right now all he gets is silence in his small bedroom, the only decoration a tiny angel with a broken wing that one of the kids offered him as a thank you for helping them.

And even far from home, it still feels like Christmas out on the street. Cheap lights, carols playing on old radios, people getting whatever gifts they can manage to their loved ones. Commercialized holidays work like that, he figures. No matter where he is, people will be celebrating it, one way or another.

Her email is short, but that might just be for the best. It's easier to handle when there's not too much for him to process, and her address alone is already more than enough to take up all the space in his head and make him turn in his bed at night. It feels like an invitation of sorts, or maybe he's just reading too much into it. Is he? God, he doesn't even know anymore. He misses her too much. ]

Thanks for the picture. That doesn't look a lot like a Christmas tree, but it's nice.

Hope you like your new place. I'll be thinking of you come New Year's, when the clock strikes midnight.

Bruce

[She doesn't expect a response and receiving one is like getting hit or getting kissed. Her heart has been broken for~~ever~~ months, it shouldn't be a fresh shock to feel it break again over a handful of words. Is he doing that on purpose? Maybe Leonard was right in every way. Maybe Bruce can't help it any more than she can.

Instead of writing back, she goes out to a party with friends. She drinks more than she should, doesn't write anyone anything ill-advised and honest, and when the clock strikes midnight she thinks of him too and hates herself a little for it. It's a few days before she can pull together something human to say to him, something safer than the stingers behind her eyes or all the barbs behind her teeth.]

I didn't want a tree this year, so, snake plant it is. It's an evergreen, just not a conifer. Good for atmospheric toxins, though. I'm repainting.

Betty

['I thought of you too' - but he knows. He doesn't deserve the monster in her, but she thinks, for him, for them, the rest is just as bad. Better hopelessly inadequate than a poison.]

[ Bruce doesn't really celebrate the New Year's, but then he doesn't really have anyone to celebrate it with. He doesn't even have a dog now —makes it more difficult to move around—, so he just lies in bed alone, hearing the people celebrate outside, the loud cheers letting him know when midnight strikes.

He tries to fall asleep, but apparently his mind's decided to stay awake just so he can think of her through the turn of the year, and he does.

The next morning, he starts packing his things. He doesn't leave, though, he just tucks everything away in his backpack and gets ready to go at a moment's notice. He just doesn't yet know where he's going exactly, he just knows that he has to, and knows that he shouldn't. At least not to where he truly wants to go. ]

That's good. They're nice plants. Low maintenance. Hope your place looks nice when you're done.

Bruce

[ Short emails don't really make it any of this easier to deal with, but at least there are less words for him to be thinking about. ]

[Oh my god, Bruce, you could at least have gone outside and looked sad until someone took you in and fed you or something. Someone was probably dying for the chance.

She's not sure what they're doing now; their conversations have never been this stunted or fraught and it all feels... delicate. She doesn't know where the boundaries are anymore, and she tries to assume every letter will be the last. Her next email is just:]

I don't mind a little maintenance.

[and six low-res before-and-in-progress pictures of some rooms (living, dining-kitchen, bathroom) that were previously white and are now on their way to being pastels or slightly different shades of white. The decorating is a little sparse, but there's definitely the beginnings of a jungle happening underfoot.

God, she's going a little mad again. Some of her students are starting to complain that she's getting them all fat, and students never complain about free food.]

[ He's fine! He's fine. He doesn't want random people feeding him or taking him in anyway. Even if he didn't think he's better off by himself, he still wouldn't have wanted to spend that time with complete strangers. So, alone it is.

The pictures are nice. He's not really sure where they're going with these emails, like they're just distant acquaintances sharing random details about their lives— not that Bruce is sharing much of anything at this point, he's just reading and seeing what she shares herself. It's weird and delicate and feels like something could just crack if he says the wrong thing. If he says more than just the bare minimum, the cordial answer. ]

That's a lot of plants. Trying to recreate the setting for the JP movies? Minus dinosaurs, I hope.

[That's a little too familiar, but he's broken out of that space before. And they wouldn't be strangers for long if he would exchanged names, exchanged stories. It's a good thing this is all in the exposition text, Betty's mad enough as it is.]

What can I say, the strays come to me. Find me a tissue sample and I'll see what I can cook up.

I'm kidding. I don't think there's space.

[She shouldn't have to clarify. She doesn't know how to talk to him at all, and that's disturbing. It's email, so there's no point in signing off anyway. This feels much more casual, which is apparently what they're trying this time. Like they're starting over: same course, new landmines. But she coaxed him out once, and she'll do it again if he'll just keep replying. Please, please don't go again.]

[ Yeah well, Bruce is actively avoiding any remotely serious topics because last time they went down that path, it ended up with an abrupt stop being put to their emails. And as much as it hurts to see her unread messages on his inbox every so often, it hurts even more to not hear from her at all.

Of course it also has him taking really bad decisions. Like the decision to go all the way up to Mexico, and then... then, just sit there. Like the border to the United States is some kind of threshold he can't cross. ]

God. You're a menace. Someone needs to stop you before you turn into John Hammond II.

But joking aside, the place is looking great. Nice colors.

[There has to be a way to navigate these things so they aren't always about pain. Although if they haven't found a way by now, maybe there really isn't one. Maybe this will be it for the rest of their lives. (Or just hers.)

She tries out a bunch of evening courses just so she's never sitting at home waiting for a reply that might not come. She's done this part before, living suspended; it's not that hard the second time around.]

Thanks, I might try some re-tiling too. I'll send you how everything looks at the end when I get there. Unless everyone gets eaten by dinosaurs. You never know.

[ Bruce is kind of used to pain, at this point. It hurts when he talks to her, it hurts when he doesn't. It hurts when he's not with her; it doesn't hurt as much when they're together, true, but he still feels guilty and selfish, like his presence alone is just hindering her, and he's just making her life more complicated.

Not to mention that he's not safe; he will never be safe. But that's not something he ever says out loud, because he knows she wouldn't agree with it. ]

If you do end up having a dinosaur problem, let me know. I'm pretty sure I could help with that. But preferably, stay away from prehistorical DNA, please.

[Wow, does this mean that all she has to do to get her self-sacrificing idiot ex and his feminist discourse alter-ego back into her life is get attacked by dinosaurs? Because she's pretty sure she can make this happen. Maybe not on her own, but it's a wild world they live in. She could start by moving to New York. (But then she'd be surrounded by New Yorkers.)]

I'll keep my DNA meddling strictly to contemporary organisms.

Actually I'm not doing so much DNA these days. I'm not even in the labs much. I got roped into organizing one of the core lectures this semester so it's been mostly herding undergraduates.

the biology department circulates memes now

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