that's the thing about bruce. genius as he was, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. even after years spent with him, seeing the good, the intimate, the green and the ugly - she'd blinked. margaret swore it was barely a fraction of a second, cheek pressed against his bare chest: a calm morning, a rare moment where neither of them had some place to be, or the world to save. she was listening to his beating heart, the rhythm nearly lulling her back into a content sleep.
she almost didn't hear him. unfocused, it took her a moment to ground herself back, lifting her head to ask him to repeat himself: but there, in his hand, between his fingers was a ring that spoke the words that would leave her stunned. “ oh my god, bruce. ” the reporter spoke, shattering the calm moment. the sheets rustled as she panicked, rolling off of the bed reaching for the side table.
there, taped to the top was a small black velvet box. a box containing the rings she'd bought months ago.
margaret never believed herself to be the wife type. the white dress wedding, the picket fence, or the doting woman that waits for her husband at home. that wasn't the life she wanted. but then she met him. sat across from her, the glass table with their shit coffees resting on them, in some chair that was probably pulled out of storage because no one thought the elusive bruce banner would be coming. the more the questions kept pooling, the more she got to know him. then, a week later, she'd asked him out to dinner. a thank you for the interview, and at the same time, an apology for the her pushy style of questions. and after their first kiss, well, he'd managed to flip her world upside down.
he, not once, caged her ambitions to fit the mold of a perfect couple. they weren't that picture perfect duo, they had their flaws, their moments and their problems. they fought, they had their misunderstandings, but it had only made them stronger. and as the years passed, he changed her views on what marriage could be. for the first time, the talks of family came naturally. it wasn't forced, nor rushed, nor demanded of her. of course she'd bought them rings, because she'd too had planned on asking him to marry her.
the box bounced on the mattress, fumbling to get the bands out. and once she'd managed to? with tears in her eyes, she smiled as wide as she could. holding her own gold ring, one that was fitted, and made for him and only him, his and her initials engraved on the inside. “ only if you'll marry me too? ”
