Re: Above the antique store: Cat & Bruce
She rolled her eyes. "Of course you know what you want. You're Bruce," she said, as if that explained everything there was to explain in the entire world. And Cat was always flippant, Master Detective. It was a defense mechanism, and so were the broad strokes. It was easier to say you weren't wanted yourself than to let someone else say it. That was 101 when it came to the girl on the bed, and age didn't matter even slightly when it came to that specific personality trait.
"You don't think we learn from our mistakes? I don't believe that for a moment." She said it certainly, as she did with all her observations, correct or not, but there was a question in her mossy eyes. Correct me, and that was how Cat communicated. She waited a moment, taking a bite before embarking on excuses and youth. "Bruce. You brought Damian up, not me. You opened this door. You mentioned his aunt." She put the burger aside. "I can never say anything right with you, have you noticed? When I was old and sad, it made me even sadder. But, now, I just want to understand. Why is everything I say to you the wrong thing? What was the right thing to say?"
She was young, sitting there, and old all at once, and she very much wanted to understand the man on the bed. It seemed, somehow, they went all these years without ever understanding each other.