Re: log: gatsby, bruce/selina
"I remember," he slurred, "how things used to be." And he did. Years and years and years ago, but Bruce remembered the early days. She'd been so young, then. He'd been younger too. He hadn't been anybody's Bat then and acceptance was hard won. Things hadn't been good, though. For her, maybe, but then again had things ever really been good for him? There were brief reprieves in the midst of fights, of struggling to lead and deal with the endless expectations heaped upon him. The more he thought, the more he realized he'd never really belonged in this Gotham. But Selina had, and he did remember a time when he thought, maybe, they'd had a chance. But then seven years passed and he'd gotten off on the wrong foot with an older, more jaded Selina, and from there it had been more and more of the same. Two years, and this was where they were now. He wanted to die, and she was involved with someone from another door.
Maybe she was right. Maybe everyone was. If they'd been meant to be together surely it wouldn't have ever come to this.
"I don't know when they changed either." He looked at her when she said she had to find a way to accept that, gaze unfocused and strangely sad. "Maybe there was more I could have done. I... I never meant to push you out to drive you away, but..." He shook his head and laughed, and drunken, bitter sound. "But when has it ever mattered what I meant to do?" He was, after all, the bad guy in this Gotham. In this world of doors and more doors. That was his place, and they wondered why he hadn't wanted to come back. He would deny that he was a hero but in his Gotham, he'd been hailed as one. His actions were understood, they were praised. Everything he'd dedicated his life to had meant something, and here? It meant nothing at all.
His fingers twitched. He wished for another drink. "Everyone wants a place in it," he snapped. "If I could give you all a place and a purpose, I would. I would." He inhaled, a deep, shuddering gulp of air, and exhales slowly. But oh, how he resented the implication that he put the burden of this city on himself. He knew he brought a lot of things on himself, he did, but not this. Not this. He wasn't imagining the obligation he carried, the responsibility shoved upon him. Hurt showed in his expression before he managed to wipe it away. "That isn't true," he told her. "They expect it of me. Don't-- I bring a lot of things on myself. I know. But not this. The weight of Gotham, the responsibility, is put on me. If I turned my back they would hate me for it. They would blame me. And I wish I didn't care."
Time. What time was there, ever? Time passed. Two years here and six years home, seven for her, and now he finally saw that he was no good for her. There would be no more denial. No more convincing himself that he could be better. He couldn't give her what she wanted. He couldn't be what she needed. She was wasting her time on him, and that belief was soaked in self loathing, drenched in it. He watched as she slid the other strap over her shoulder, and he watched as the fabric slipped and pooled at her feet. He knew he should look away, but he couldn't. Stare and stare, and it was warmth, surprise, guilty desire he tried so hard to suppress.
But this would just make things worse. Even as she nudged him back into the chair, a knee on his thigh to keep him there, he knew that. And then he would hate himself afterward, because she'd be miserable, and she'd be hurt, and he was tired of that cycle. As much as he wanted this, wanted her, living was exhausting enough. Any more guilt, and he didn't know if he could do it anymore. He swallowed, hard, and tried to focus, and for the first time he regretted drinking so much. "Selina--" Words. He needed words. But then she tugged the remaining fabric over her head, and words seemed impossible. He wanted to give on. He wanted to, but he made one last effort, one last attempt, even as he leaned forward, even as his hands found her skin
"I don't want to hurt you." An unthinking slur, tinged with desperation. "I've done-- I've made so many mistakes, and this won't-- I'm a dead man, don't you see? And you-- you deserve more."