insurgents | OPEN POST.

[ 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.]

[ She could be the most stoic woman right now and he still would cry, so long as she held him this close, gave him an ounce of the gentle tenderness he hasn't felt in so long. Softer touches make him fall apart much more easily, and each stroke of her fingers through his hair draws a quiet sob from him, given away mostly by the way his shoulders shake just so, and his figure coils and releases immediately after.

But he doesn't care. It feels like he's been holding onto these tears for years now (and maybe he has), and was only waiting for the perfect time to break that barrier and let them flow. And Betty's that perfect time, of course— she always is, the perfect time, the perfect place, his perfect everything, and he doesn't know how he ever thought he could live without her.

But then he was only focused on making sure she lived without him. He never really cared about himself much. ]

I'm sorry. [ For staining her shirt with tears, for making her cry too, for practically curling up in her lap until he feels like he's tiny and insignificant for anyone but her. That's sort of nice, though. He feels small but safe in her arms, like it's alright to cry here, like it's alright to feel, and to express it wholly.

He turns his head further towards her, face burying into the nook of her shoulder, a more audible cry slipping past his lips. ]

I know. Me too. [For wholly different things.] I'm so glad you're here. [She sniffs, blows on,] You're so good. I love you. You make me... so happy. [...This is what happiness looks like, okay. Before it gets a chance calm down and settle itself in. Like waterworks and Bruce pressed against her. She's many many things and at least one is happy.

If she's going to miss him ferociously, and she does, she'd rather do it while she can actually have him, warmer now and soft and damp and as safe as she can keep him. There are hot tears streaming from her eyes but between her anger and concern and what she knows of the things he's been through, she's just so grateful he's made it back to her.

She loves him as he was and as he is, but it's frustrating, how he usually won't show himself the same compassion he would show even a complete stranger. He's always been kindhearted but it's hard to make him take things for himself when he knows he can get by without them, because he has. Touch, companionship, even the space to cry - in spite of his words, those things include her. But just because he can survive without them doesn't mean he doesn't need them. She survived without him; she still needs him almost more than she can bear.]

[ He nods, the only sounds coming from him the faint sobs he still lets out. He'd say she makes him happy too, but it seems a little stupid when he's crying his eyes out in her arms, when he looks this miserable and broken. He couldn't look any farther from happy right now, but he does feel relieved. Relieved and safe and loved, and he may not be happy right this moment, but he'll get there eventually. He just needs a little time.

It feels like it, anyway. Like her holding him for long enough could heal any wound, dry any tear, shine a light on any dark corner in him. Sometimes he thinks it should take more than that, but then he feels like this is enough, she always has been. Enough, and so much more, and he doesn't need anything else to be fine again.

But for now, he cries and he cries and she'll have a wet stain on the shoulder and front of her shirt that may as well be Bruce-shaped. He doesn't know how long it passes but it must be a good few minutes until he finally manages to calm down and actually take a breath without falling apart all over again. His eyes are a little drier too. ]

I stained your shirt. [ Said softly, but evenly, as he lifts a hand up and dries his eyes the best he can, sniffling a little. ] I'm sorry, I didn't mean to— that was a mess. I'm kind of a mess right now.

[She can't do much more than hold him, mess and all, hands rubbing absent circles as much to soothe herself as him. When he seems a little more in control now, so she loosens her hold, gives him a little more space without letting go. He's scrapped raw and hurting and his voice is so gentle, and as long as he's letting her touch him, she can't really stop.]

It's okay. I don't care about the shirt. I don't- it's okay. Let me- c'mere, just let me... [She kisses his still damp cheeks and the corner of his mouth and tries not to set either of them off again.

Firmly, to hear herself say it,] I'm fine. You're okay. We're both... [She exhales, not quite a sigh.] Let's go get cleaned up and we can deal with everything else later.

[If he's amenable, she'll pull them both up on their feet and shuffle them into the bathroom. It's definitely a single person's apartment so it's not far.]

[ The words ring a little hollow, because he's not really okay. But he will be, he'll have to be eventually, so he files those words and saves them for another day. A day when he manages not to feel scared or desperate and makes it to the end without crying all over her.

He's very much amenable, and it takes no effort at all to get him to stand up and guide him to the bathroom. The moment he sets his eyes on his reflection in the mirror he feels even worse, and he quickly turns on the tap so he can wash his face. Which won't change the fact his beard and hair are still an overgrown mess, but at least his eyes are clearer by the end, if slightly red around the edges. ]

[There are about half a dozen things she could be doing that aren't hovering by the doorway watching Bruce wash his face like she's never seen that before. It's not like she thinks he'll vanish when she looks away or that he can't take care of himself or anything like that; she just can't bring herself to leave him. So she just stands there and thinks about going to change, setting up the apartment, checking the windows and doors, checking the news, and in the end, it isn't until he's about done that she shakes herself back into her body and moves - not away, but toward him until she's too close.

She hip-checks him at the sink, tries to catch his eye.] Hey. [It comes out watery and gentle so she clears her throat and tries again, firmer and fond and probably still a little false.] Hey. Shove over, water bear. Go shower.

[He's opened a lot of himself tonight and, honestly, so has she and she's feeling a little raw for it. If it's overwhelming for her, she can only imagine how it is for him. Even if it's him. Even if it's her. This isn't a motel in the middle of nowhere and they're not about to run. Anything he might need, except maybe those hair shears, is only a few steps away, including a little space for however long he needs.]

[ Bruce looks up when she moves closer, water still dripping down his face, and he manages a half-smile as he scoots over and grabs the hand towel to dry his face off. ]

I probably should. [ He could stand to feel a little more human right now anyway, and he hopes that the water from the shower will help in washing some of this sadness away, this trauma. It's just an illusion, he knows, but it's an illusion of lightness and peace of mind he can live with.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt without caring much that Betty's still there. He doesn't even think about that, never thought twice about being completely bare in front of her, either figuratively or metaphorically. He does look up and glance at her for something else, though. ] Do you have those razors I can borrow?

[She returns his smile and copies his actions when he makes room for her at the sink, splashing water on her face and reusing his towel when she's done. Good enough. His shirt is open by the time she looks again, and it's surreal. Bruce undressing in her bathroom. Bruce staying the night.]

Hmm? Oh, yeah, they should be down here somewhere. [From the cabinet under the sink, she digs out an opened pack of women's razors, still in their cardboard and plastic packaging, and passes over one.] The rest of the stuff you'll need should be in the stall.

I'm going to go [re-center and satisfy my paranoia] do a couple of things while you do that. Are you good to go?

[ He shrugs off the shirt and sets it down on the toilet, accepting the razor from her with a nod. It's not ideal, but he's not going to shave too short anyway, not when he doesn't have proper shaving cream and more padded razors. He doesn't want to risk cutting himself on accident. ]

Thanks. [ He smiles, stepping closer to the mirror again. ] I'm good, yes. I'll, uh... let you know if I need anything.

[ Once she's out of the bathroom, he gets to cleaning himself up, starting with that messy excuse of a beard. Shouldn't be long until she hears the shower turning on. ]

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