You... you know I have to... “Are you hurt?” “No.” “Then why are there bruises all over your face?” with Him. I don't care who he's with.
i did a little something of bruce and betty in college :)
Betty was perfect. She was so thoughtful and smart and perceptive and kind and Bruce doesn’t know how he got so lucky. He doesn’t deserve her, he knows, and he feels like he’s just waiting for her to realize that and leave him. But he makes the most of what they have, while he still can.
She takes him in like she always does; she observes the facts first, glancing over him, face solid and unfeeling as stone. And then the emotions connect with the data and her eyes widen and her eyebrows twist downwards and her mouth falls, agape. Her face morphs and her sympathy and worry is clear, discernible even for him.
Bruce wishes she weren’t so astute sometimes, because he hates explaining things. But she’s a scientist so her eyes catch every detail. Though to be fair, Bruce suspects that anyone could see the massive shiner on his face, scientist or not.
He had gotten in a fight again, probably over something dumb. He can’t remember what it was about now - he finds he can never really remember. He just wakes up with the aftermath. With bruises or cuts or both. Bruce has theorized before that something possesses him, like a demon or something.
(He knows those sort of things don’t exist; demons or angels or God. But Dad had thought they did, and dammit if Dad didn’t beat the fear of God into him...
...recently Bruce has started to think that it wasn’t so much a fear of God, but a fear of his father that has left these vestiges of cowardly faith.)
He’s thinking about this now as Betty stares at him, trying to ignore the pulsating ache of the bruise on his eyelid. The vision in his left eye has narrowed significantly. Due to swelling, most likely.
“Bruce...” she breathes, “are you hurt?” her voice grows in magnitude as she talks, almost as if she’s afraid to speak up at first.
They’ve both had bad experiences with fathers.
Bruce isn’t hurt. He’s learned to ignore the pain. He convinces himself he can’t feel it anymore and the heat shooting through the nerves around his eye settles.
“Then why are there bruises all over your face?” She says sharply. There’s no malintent behind the sting in her words, just...frustration.
Frustration with him, probably. Most likely.
“I got in a fight,” says he. At least he thinks he did. The demon — or whatever — had possessed him and he doesn’t remember.
Betty gives him an exasperated look mixed with something like sadness as she retrieves some frozen peas from the freezer in their apartment. He puts them on his eye wordlessly. Tending to his wounds was like a routine at this point, some sort of twisted waltz to a macabre melody.
“Do you remember what caused it this time?” At first she thought his memory problems were just excuses. He didn’t blame her. (He didn’t deserve her). But after he had broken down crying in the middle of the night after a nightmare in which he had broken Micheal’s nose during recess, her skepticism faded.
“No,” he muttered angrily. He hates his brain. He hates this demon that makes him forget.
“Hey,” she says, then pulls his head down to kiss him, “it’s okay, we’re working through this. I know it’s hard honey, I know...”
He wraps her in a hug and holds onto her for dear life.
But he doesn’t know what he’ll do if she leaves.