Re: Bar: Cat C/Bruce W
Once, Cat would've been hurt by his lack of trust, but perhaps she'd calloused over in the past few years, or perhaps it was age. This man had been part of her life since she was a girl, and there was a time when she would've given nearly anything for him. Oh, Cat had been a very obsessed kitten once. She might've been making an effort to keep from slipping back into Russian and memory, but that wasn't out of any imposed distance. No, any distance between them had always been his.
"He's not your size." Obviously. "But someone his size was out there in one of your suits. The Capital doesn't know it's not you. It's the symbol." Which was true enough for the rest of the world, but which had never been the case for her. It wasn't just the suit; it was the man in the suit.
She let the matter of his injuries lie. She understood where he stood now, and she would leave it there. Silly Cat. Her smile was warm and slipped back like a good mink onto bare shoulders. "Oh? But I murder people so well." Not necessarily a lie, but she was teasing. Hopefully, he could read that in the lift of her lips.
And she watched him make his way to the door. She didn't inquire or offer help. That thing about pride, you know. But she couldn't be as distant as he was in his farewell. She just wasn't that person, and she never had been. She leaned her elbows on the counter, and her voice was a purr that chased him and coiled around him warmly at the door, even as Repose's cold swirled in. "Thank you for the company. If you ever feel like letting that guard down? You know where to find me, Bruce."
With that, she went back to counting her till. The numbers, whispered as she did math, were in Russian. "один. два. три..."