Re: log: gatsby, bruce/selina
"I know it's always been fake." Of course he'd known. He hadn't grown up a Wayne thinking that the glitz and glamour around him was real. He'd always despised the hypocrisy of the rich; he just wasn't as inclined to placate them, to live the facade, as he'd once been. "I never liked it. I'm just..." He trailed off with a frown. "I'm just tired. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of an endless cycle where nothing changes," he explained with drunken emphasis. But when she mentioned his Gotham he paused, gaze gone hazy and wistful as remembered. "I don't hate them. Not all of them. But my Gotham... my Gotham made progress. People wanted to change. It was different, Selina. It was different." Repetition, but he couldn't explain it. And it wasn't the fault of these people, really, that they weren't in his Gotham. He could hardly hold something beyond their control against them.
A part of him was pleased when she said it was temporary, though he doubted she'd be returning to Gotham. "You'll be staying here? In Gatsby?" Oh, no, he wasn't stupid. She could tell him Banner was just a friend all she liked, but he'd never believe it. And he was jealous, but he didn't have any right to be. Better she return to Marvel. They liked her there. "Of course," he echoed, the gin turning bitter on his tongue. He swallowed, hard, chasing his dislike of the situation down along with the booze.
He broke eye contact when her gaze turned sad. He didn't want sad. He gulped down more of his drink, and he shook his head. "Yes, I am. Here. Here, I'm wrong. In my Gotham I was right," he told her. "I've talked to everyone. They know." But no one understood. Even Eddie and Stephanie, whom he felt accepted him for who he was and not who they wanted, or expected, him to be, didn't understand. How could they? The two of them, Selina, they'd returned from hell. He'd returned to it. This Gotham was chaos and suffering. It was death and destruction. It was guilt and self loathing. It was people who didn't know him, people who didn't understand him. It was a man, a perception, he didn't recognize.
He felt alone, and he could tell no one. It was eating him from the inside out like acid.
Her words made him wince, too, like she'd slapped him. He downed the rest of his drink. "I didn't--" But he had no idea where he was going with that, so he cut himself short. "I'm sorry," he said instead.