insurgents | OPEN POST.

[ She's gotten so used to keeping her secrets alone that it's reflexive, trying to hold things back when they're tied into him, even from him, or sometimes with the idea that it's for him. But she does want him to have everything, to be her full partner again like she hasn't had since he left, and some time she'll figure out that if she wants to know him again, she'll need to let him know her too. And it's like there was a part of herself that was left behind in that coma, and she's been missing it all this time, and now it's awake, she's awake again. It's like he makes her whole, the one person who knew her completely. ]

You said that. In your emails. You said you thought it looked nice. Great, actually. [She's basically got those memorized, oops.] You said that about my hair too. It's... a little annoying now but it'll grow back out. It's only been a year.

[She's just making words now because it's too good to be speaking to him, to hear him speaking. She thinks he's the same. She could fall into him now and she's not sure why she doesn't. Maybe she's just savouring it, light chatter with Bruce while she recenters and doesn't touch his face all over like a creeper.] You look... [so beautiful. also terrible.] exhausted, actually. Are you hungry? Do you want to take a shower or anything?

[ He can't help but smile at the string of thoughts spilling out of Betty's mouth, like she can't even filter her words properly, but he finds it sweet more than anything. Relaxing too, soothing, like the first wave of relief in years, water given to a man just coming out of a desert. It's how he feels seeing her now, hearing her, getting to be this close even if they're not touching anymore.

Part of him wishes they were, part of him worries if that's too much— for him, her, or them both. They never really had boundaries set between them but now he's not so sure if that's still how things are. ]

It does. Perfect. [ But then that's how he's always seen Betty, how he always will. She could be bald for all he cares and she would still be perfect to him.

He lifts a hand up to his own hair when she mentions a shower, looking somewhat apologetic for showing up here looking like crap. Even if he doesn't feel like crap, honest. ] I'm... a shower would be nice, actually. I need to shave, anyway. And probably trim my hair. [ It's a mess of curls right now, too long and untamed, since he hasn't really cut it for a while now. ] Don't suppose you have a pair of hair shears lying around, do you?

[Her cheeks still feel hot and blotchy. He isn't the only one who looks like he went through a wringer right now. She does feel like crap, though, but distantly.]

I don't know, I don't think so. I threw away so much. I'll have to look. [Murmuring, not quite able to take her eyes off him, the shots of silver all through his hair, the tiredness around his eyes she wants to lift away. Oh my god, Bruce, stop touching yourself the way she wants to be touching you.] I can pick one up tomorrow. There should be some new razors in the bathroom, though.

[Somehow, in the course of saying that, her hands have found their way to his face, brushing along the fuzz of his jaw. She doesn't really remember moving, or leaning closer, but she swallows and finds she can't move back, either. It's not really a sense of boundaries on her part, or even any particular awareness of the space that was and is no longer between then. It just feels like things happening, and her letting them happen, and him letting them happen like the steps of a dance. Slow, slow, quick-, quick-, slow.]

I should probably wash my face, too. Is this okay, Bruce? I don't want to hold back. [Two separate thought processes running in parallel and spilling together, neither particularly controlled.]

[ Bruce's view might be a little biased, but he thinks Betty looks wonderful always, he just doesn't like it when she's sad, when the pain shows in her features. So maybe her face is a little red and blotchy but she's not crying anymore, and there's little or none of the worry, the urgency or the pain from before, and that's all he could ask for. He'd hate to (yet again) be the cause of her suffering. ]

That's alright. Just a razor is fine, thanks.

[ At least he'll manage to get rid of the mess of a beard covering his jaw and cheeks, even a little of his neck. He probably thinks he looks worse than he does, honestly. He also doesn't realize that scratching along his bearded jaw or running his fingers through his air is in any way a temptation to her.

But when she reaches out and touches him, the last thing on his mind is to pull away from her, even if his heart leaps at just feeling her hands on him, her fingers brushing across his jaw, his cheeks. He blinks more slowly, and leans in a little closer to her instead. ]

It's okay. You don't have to. [ One hand reaches out to hers, and he holds it in place, tips his head just enough to let his cheek rub along the inside of her fingers and palm. ] You never have to hold back with me.

[A bark of a laugh, slightly hysterical, because that's exactly what she wants to hear and so far from being true. She wouldn't be showing him that, doubting him, hurting him, trapping him with her fears, if she could help it but she's already done that plenty tonight.]

I miss you. [Not, 'I've missed you,' even with him in her house, his face between her hands.] And. I'm scared.

[And somehow this translates into leaning in the rest of the way and kissing him, softly, just lips pressed tentatively to lips in light pecks, almost holding her breath. Her hands rub against his cheeks and eventually bury into the curls of his too-long hair.]

[ It's not as far from being true as she might think —as they might think— but that's something for them to figure out over time. Right now he just cares that they have that time, that they won't part, that he's not just passing by before he disappears into the world again. Whatever they do now, what matters is that they have the time to figure it out, together. ]

I'm right here. [ But he knows what she means, he knows because he feels it too. Betty's right here and he misses her still, misses a myriad of things they're not doing right now, things they haven't done in a long time. He misses even the sound of her laughter, when it comes unbidden and light and full of joy.

Some of that is soothed the next moment, when she leans in and kisses him. He doesn't need to think at all to return it, only a soft gasp of surprise leaving him before he's tipping his head and his lips are pressing more presently against hers. His hand settles on her side, rounds her waist and comes to rest on her back, pulling her a little closer to him. ]

I miss you too. [ But he's not quite as scared. Then again, Betty's always had that effect on him. He only wishes he could do the same for her. ]

[There's a suggestion of urgency, a part of her that wants to rush them against some undefined deadline, but there isn't one. Every time she reminds herself that there isn't one is a pleasure, a stuttering revelation in loop. She'll keep him forever, for real this time.

She closes her eyes and licks at his lips, letting the soft pressure of them push her worries out of her mind. When he pulls her closer, she leans in too until she's pressing him slightly into the back of the couch and the very few inches she has on him mean he would have to be tilting his head up slightly. The warmth in his voice makes her fingers tighten, and she doesn't bother replying, only deepens their kiss, gradually, too slowly.

It's like holding back, but it isn't. She wants him to have time to stop her and tries to trust that he will, but it's more than that. Because not getting what she wants... sometimes that's what she wants. Longing for Bruce while she has him and can have him fulfills something too.]

[ There's urgency on his end too, but it has nothing to do with feeling like he has to go. He doesn't have to, and he remembers that, he can almost feel it in his bones. Betty's presence is like an anchor keeping him there, and there's nothing else, no reason to leave, no place to go to, nothing to run away from. It's terrifying but freeing in a way.

He's safe here, in her house, in her arms. The only reason he rushes is because he's missed her so much, and now that she's closed that distance between them, literal and otherwise, taking things slow seems almost impossible to him.

His lips part thoughtlessly when he feels her tongue, instantly willing and eager to deepen the kiss, his own tongue darting out to taste her lips, trace the edge of her teeth. The sound he lets out is near an urgent hum when he dips into her mouth, arms curling tighter around her, as if he's physically incapable of letting go right now. ]

[There's a part of her still thinking about the hair clipper. There's a part of her thinking about her neighbors and the locks on her door. She's too splintered and raw to quiet inside and probably won't settle until she's slept, so she imposes her peace over passion and forces the surface smooth. Holds them both in time.

One hand cards through his hair and the other moves down to trace his face again, the subtle signs of age, the skin she can reach above the collar of his clothes. His arms around her are solid enough that she can push back against them and press forward against him at the same time and savour being surrounded.

She sucks on his tongue gently, breathes through her nose, lets the way he feels when he's all but thrumming with wanting her to pass through her body, to heat her core. If he's going to let her set the pace - and that's how it seems between the way he opened for her and the noises he's barely making - then she's going to make him wait for everything. She's going to drag out every step. If he'll let her. If she can.]

[ He couldn't let go of her if he tried to, and even if he could, he wouldn't want to, wouldn't relinquish this hold he has on her, not unless she asked him to. And she's not asking, thankfully. If anything she's making it plenty clear that she has no intention of putting any distance between them anytime soon, and that's the sweetest and greatest source of relief to him right now.

That he has to hold back in a sense, that he has to be careful, that he knows very well. But he doesn't have to hold back when it comes to showing how much he loves her, how much he's missed her, how much he wants her.

She's always been the one to set the pace more often than not. There's amusement and a trace of nostalgia when he sees that that hasn't changed at all, and he hasn't changed in the sense that he's all too glad to let her take the lead either.

So, he lets her, and she can. His eyes stay closed and he offers small little sounds, few and far in-between and lost into the kiss, his tongue passively seeking out hers while a hand moves up her back, fingers sifting through her short hair and cupping the back of her neck. ]

[He still gives himself to her in every way, even now, and she can feel the way he missed her like a matching bruise on her heart, a violet swathe of loneliness running twenty-five hundred days deep since she's seen him with his soft eyes and sad smile, since she'd kissed him goodbye and left him in the care of his monster.

If he had loved her any less, she thinks she would have been able to let go by now, to leave their relationship a strange memory, an old flame showing on the news. But it seems that he can't, and she surely can't either. She'd thought he'd found a new home, a new and fantastical sort of life, but he's here again, hers again. Anyone else who needs him can fucking fight her.

Just the thought of Bruce being taken away or called away makes her bare her teeth into their kiss, although she bites his lips gently, still scratches his scalp and neck only lightly. Her breathing... is a little faster, and that could be anything.]

I'm not going to. [In response to her own thoughts - it takes her a moment to sort out which because it's all a jumble - and to something he had said, oh, ages ago.] Set up the couch for you. I mean. I wasn't planning on it.

[ What she says is disjointed at first, it makes no sense. Bruce can't tell if it's because of the kissing, because his breath's coming a little short and his mind's both slow and racing from the rush, and he can't make heads or tails of her words. But apparently the problem in coherence is on her end, mostly anyway, and once she clarifies his confused expression opens into a small grin, a chuckle slipping past. ]

Alright. That's... yeah. Okay. [ Okay? So she means they're sleeping together, right? Literally sleeping, in the same bed, not... anything else, necessarily. God, Bruce hadn't even considered that as an option when he'd made his way over here. Now that it looks like it's happening it's hitting him like a freight train coming out of nowhere, and he looks stunned, to say the least. A little at a loss, more like. ]

[Oh my gosh, you goose. He looks way too surprised and happy about this. They're not stuck in a shitty motel room or a tiny campsite, but she hadn't shared a bed with him back then because she had to, either. But maybe that's why she's bringing it up now, because somehow she'd suspected it hadn't gotten through to him yet. She's said she loves him in writing, in gestures - hasn't she said it out loud yet?

It doesn't matter. If she says it enough, maybe he'll believe her. She ruffles his hair fondly and considers pinching his slightly fuzzy cheeks, but decides to not trample all over the mood.]

Don't make that face at me. I love you. I've never stopped. [Kissing again, because honestly, who needs concentration?] Don't you remember how I used to want you? Well, it'll like that, except... we'll... have to be careful and I'll chop you up into little pieces if you try to leave the apartment without me.

[ Well, it goes a long way between loving someone and wanting to do something about it. He knows Betty loves him, he's always known, but then he also came here expecting (and dreading) to find Leonard still living with her, so that should give her an idea of where he thought this reunion would be headed, and it sure was nowhere near a shared bed.

But he'll take that, definitely. Gladly and without questions. ]

I'm... pretty sure that chopping me up into little pieces doesn't count as being careful, you know? [ He's smiling, though, entirely amused and not the least bit serious. He knows Betty isn't either, not about the chopping up part anyway. As for the rest, he repeats his own words from before, just like he will again. He'll say them as many times as he needs to until it sinks in. ] I'm not leaving. I mean, I might want to go find a job or do grocery shopping at some point, but I'm not leaving you.

[ ...She would probably only have remembered that that was a problem when confronted with it. Which was part of the problem, really. Being with Bruce was such a part of her that everything else fell away when he was there. Just reading his words could do that to her.

He hears what she's really saying - although she'd argue she very much means it, don't test me, Banner - and his answer settles her, at least a little more, enough to finally ask,] What changed your mind?

[She shifts a little more on top of him, ostensibly to get more comfortable, but really also to pin him beneath her a little better as though he might, reminded of his answer, suddenly realize this was a mistake and try to rush off.]

[ Oh he's sure she could hurt him bad if she wanted to, and not necessarily in a good way— she can be vicious like that, and that saying about a woman scorned doesn't apply to anyone else as well as it does to Betty. Well, in her case it's more like a woman angered. She's kind of scary when she's angry, and this coming from a guy who turns big and green when he's well and truly pissed.

He opens his mouth, closes it again, fumbles with his thoughts for a moment before shaking his head and shrugging. He doesn't move, not even a little, no intention whatsoever of leaving or so much as putting distance between them. ]

I just... Things got a little complicated. [ To put it mildly. ] I guess I realized I needed you. I thought I could just go back to running at first, but... I can't anymore. And leaving you at all was the biggest mistake of my life.

[ And considering the experiment and the lab incident that turned him into what he is today, that's saying a lot. ]

You did the right thing. The General was obsessed with you. You couldn't have stayed.

[That time doesn't feel all that long ago, and she hugs him, more to just feel him there than to, uh, immobilize him this time.]

And then I don't blame you for staying away. [Or if she does, she knows it's irrational, which means it doesn't count.] Not after last time. Not after... and then you were alone again. [Even without the details there, her lips twitch down and she buries her face in his neck so her voice comes out muffled.] I'm glad you decided I was worth the risk. Or you were.

[She definitely believes that that's how it went down. Sure.]

It's not just that.

[ There's more— there's more and Bruce has to tell her. He doesn't want to talk about Natasha, but then that hardly had anything to do with his decision, and all in all, it's not relevant. So what, he got a crush on a friend, he developed certain feelings for her, that's not important because it's not this, it was never the same as what he has and will always have with Betty. And the moment he put some distance and looked at the whole thing from another perspective, he doesn't think it meant that much to Natasha either.

The point is, it wasn't part of his decision. Not the big part anyway, the important part. That, he'll tell Betty about. Give her some notion of why he had to run, why he couldn't stay with the team anymore. ]

Johannesburg— it was on the news, wasn't it? When the... the other guy went on a rampage through the city. You saw it, I take it?

Everyone has a camera phone and internet service now. [Which is a yes. It just hadn't really made any sense - she wasn't even sure what the Avengers had been doing there at all.] I don't really remember the first time, but it was like that, wasn't it. You were gone.

[She touches his face while they talk, fingercombs his hair, not really to distract him or herself but as some sort of absentminded comfort. Her tentative theory has been that he was experimenting on himself again. With the resources that she assumes were at his disposal, she doesn't imagine he wasn't developing at least one anti-Hulk measure, and maybe one had gone wrong.]

Right. [ He nods. It doesn't make it easier, knowing that she saw the whole thing, but he should've known that. He knew it had been all over the media at the time, with people crying out left and right for imprisonment and worse. ] Yes, it's... it was like that. It wasn't me. I was trapped.

[ That's one way to put it. It doesn't explain everything, he's not even sure it's really how it was, but the sentiment was close enough to it. ]

We were on a mission, and there was a pair of twins there, with these... abilities. They'd volunteered for an experiment, and got some unique powers. They were working with... with someone we were trying to stop. The girl used her powers to get into our heads, make us see things, render us virtually useless. [ A pause. ] Well, most of us, anyway. She had other plans for me.

[ Or maybe not, hell if he knows. It's not like he ever thought to ask, when he could barely look at Wanda in the eye, let alone tell her anything that wasn't bitter, aggressive, angry beyond any measure of what he's even used to anymore. ]

She tore me apart. She pushed me in deep and she dragged out the monster. She made us both see things, she just... [ He grits his teeth a little, lifts a hand to cup his own forehead, then cover his own eyes. The memory of how it felt assaults violently now, and he has to take a moment to swallow it back down again. ]

I couldn't stay. Not after that, I couldn't. I could barely look at the rest of the team, and I don't think they wanted me there either. I just had to... I had to leave.

[It's... a lot. Psychic twins or whatever Bruce is describing, sightings of the Hulk in Sokovia, what Betty doesn't know about Ultron or Vision or the Black Widow or the Scarlet Witch - the details aren't important compared to what he tells her and what it means to him. As he speaks, sometimes sounding clinical, sometimes excruciatingly emotional, Betty has to struggle to keep her own feelings under wraps enough to let him finish. It's not a stretch to assume that this is the first time since the events of last year that he's said any of this to anyone, that he's had anyone he trusted enough to tell. It means he isn't holding back from her either. So she doesn't interpret, doesn't interrupt, doesn't do anything more than listen and try to take in what he's giving her, as much as he can stand.]

You were hurt. Badly. [And he's still hurting, and she isn't sure if it's the things he was made to see or the things he was made to do, just that she can't take either away.] And then you were forced to hurt all those other people. Bruce, that isn't your fault. That wasn't his fault. But... it happened and it was horrible... no wonder you left.

[What else was there to do? There's a fleeting thought - that he came to her, and she can't keep him safe any more than she could the last time. That for all his power, the Hulk couldn't either. ]

You don't have to face them. You don't have to do anything. Just stay here. Just stay with me.

[ It's difficult to sound detached about it, to tell the story and not feel the lump in his throat tighten, his voice lilting and his calm tone slipping away from him. He hasn't told anyone about this, she's right— more than that, he didn't even talk about it with the people who already knew. And after he left, keeping all of that bottled up and buried somewhere deep and dark seemed like the best option.

Except now that door's opened again, the walls fall apart like they're made of cards or sand and Betty barely needs to nudge him just so. He's a little close to crying, but not really, there's the urge but his eyes feel too dry. ]

It doesn't matter. It always feels like it's my fault.

[ And that's it, fundamentally. That it doesn't matter what Bruce knows rationally, how he feels about it doesn't necessarily follow logic. And he feels responsible, he feels like he's at fault. He blames Wanda too, for the record, and he'd likely throw that in her face if he ever saw her again, but he still doesn't feel innocent in the middle of all this. He's not. ]

I wanted to... I want to. [ He drops his head a little, and his eyes close heavily, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against her shoulder. ] I missed you so much. I needed you so badly.

I know. I know it does. It's okay. You'll be okay.

[She's holding him a little tightly now, but he can take it. And she can take this. He'd always been good at hiding his feelings even from himself, although once she'd learned to guess them and he'd allowed her in. He isn't hiding now, so even through all the things she's putting off feeling - outrage, disgust, sadness, probably guilt - she's happy too. Or relieved. It had been a year - it had been years - of being apart, and it's like cleaning out a wound she didn't even know she had to at least be able to offer some support, to be able to hold him again. And he'll still give her himself, she can still reach him, and all amorphous misery they've gathered apart can still be pinned down between them.]

You're a good person, Bruce. It wasn't your fault. [There's a choking quality to her voice - maybe she'll start crying again, if he doesn't. God, she hopes not. ] I'm glad you told me. I'm glad you're here. It's okay. It's okay now. [I'll take care of it. Whatever's next.]

[ It doesn't really feel okay, but at the same time, it kind of does. This isn't what he came here for, though— not that he had any plan past not running like a coward, but he still wasn't planning on talking about this. Not so soon, anyway.

But she asked, or she didn't but she wanted to know, so he had to tell her. Even if it means that once that dam breaks, he can't hold any of it in anymore, and he's just a tiny little existence drowning underneath the weight of all he's had to live with over the past few months.

Her words don't help. She tells him he's a good person and all he feels is a pain to his chest like he's just been stabbed, and when she chokes up a little, he fails completely to bite back a sob, even if he immediately lifts up a hand and covers his own mouth in a feeble attempt to not let her hear him cry. ]

Shh, I've got you. I've got you.

[She's dragged him into her home, cried on him, made him cry too, and she still wouldn't want anything else. She has him now - she'll keep him safe, even though there isn't really any way for her to do that. She'll find a way. She'd fistfight Captain America now if he showed up at her door. She would kick the Army's collective ass. Instead she rubs circles into his back and pets his neck and just keeps hanging on, keeps him pinned to her couch and murmurs comfort into his hair. It's repetitive, a soft litany she has to force past the tightness in her throat. She's not even sure he's listening, but she doesn't need him to listen, just to let her keep him.]

You didn't- [clears her throat] you didn't deserve to be hurt. You didn't do anything wrong. You don't have to believe it, you don't have to be okay, but don't cry, Bruce. My one. My love. I've got you. Don't cry.

[The effect is a little ruined because she thinks she might be crying now too. The emotions she had on hold are finally trickling back in, but how furious she is with the world for using him is secondary and distant; it just makes her cling to him more ferociously. She only wants to be here with him now, when she couldn't have been before.]

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