Re: Near the entrance: Bat/Cat
Bruce was unaware of what had occurred, or was occurring, behind his back; a small blessing. What was right in front of him was more than enough to content with for one night. Because he knew something was about to shatter, he'd set off a chain reaction and he would be left in the midst of the destruction, always the cause, always regretting when it was too late to do so. His anger didn't matter. Whether or not she could see through hers, that didn't matter either, because this conversation was about them. No wonder it was going so terribly.
Her repetition was quiet, but he heard all the same. She wasn't, logically he knew that, but they were entwined in his head, the two, and old habits died hard. She deserved better than this. She deserved better than him, why couldn't she see that? Everyone else did. But then she would counter with an 'I don't care about everyone else' so that point, well, it became moot. "I care," he said, his voice lowering a notch or two. And he did. If he eventually came back, he cared about whether or not he would fit in and where, how, because otherwise why come back at all? As for what he saw when he looked at her, that was so, so very complicated, but he doubted she would appreciate hearing that. She rarely liked his answers and he'd already managed to spectacularly worsen the situation, which was admirable considering how bad it had been to begin with. His expression became pained when she said she would have gone anywhere with him, and he wished she hadn't said that. He wished she hadn't said any of it, and that was a selfish desire because the more she spoke, the harder this was. "It's not that easy." Quiet, still, unconsciously matching her tone. They weren't just a man and a woman. There was history. Baggage. Why, why was he the only one who saw that?
The sadness in her gaze was like a knife. I thought if you saw me-- He didn't need her to finish the sentence, and he wondered if she really had believed that things would change. That they could. If he told her he loved her, wanted her, what would happen? She would leave Banner, he would abandon Iris, and everything would be fine? Maybe they'd try, at least until he hurt her again and the cycle began all over again. He hurt her without trying and yet she kept coming back, but she deserved better. If he didn't put an end to it, who would? "You don't have anything to be sorry for," he told her, too late, useless otherwise, because he could tell she was falling apart. Right in front of him, and it was his fault. He winced without thinking.
Words failed him again. He let her back up, let her speak, and her words carried a sort of finality. This could be it, if he let it be. She wouldn't come back after this. She would let go, move on, and they would be nothing more than acquaintances, because she wouldn't push and neither would he.
But she was upset.
Less than an hour in Gotham, and he'd managed to cut Selina down. It had become so frequent that he almost, almost, found it laughable in a bitterly ironic sort of way. Intentions, what good were intentions? They had only ever damned him. He hesitated, watching her turn, and he came very, very close to just letting her go. It was for the best. He'd repeated it so very often that he believed it, now. But there was no need to end things this badly. Was there?
"Selina. Wait." Bruce took a few steps forward, a sort of half-pursuit. "Don't leave... like this."