( the fact that he'd killed bruce makes it even worse, he thinks. the fact that he'd killed his friend and he still tries to act like there are lines he won't cross. he knows he'll cross them, it's just a matter of when and why. of the right person asking him, of needing him to.
the fact that bobbi doesn't mention bruce makes it worse. he knows they're both thinking it, even when she says 'you were always the hero'. they've never spoken about it, have they? and he doesn't know if they're going to talk about it now, not as he glances away from her to the bar, at her unfinished drink and his.
he'd only talked about it precisely as much as had been necessary, which had been firstly too much for his liking but given the circumstances, entirely necessary. to carol, to cho, to the authorities. didn't really talk about it all that much to the hulk, and he'd got why the hulk was—
well, upset was probably an understatement. )
They don't put heroes on murder trials, Bobbi. ( well, they might do, he guesses. false accusations and things like that. but — god, it's always been so complicated, hasn't it? he's believed in not killing for so long, that it's the most important thing about being an avenger, but even he knows it's not as black-and-white as he's always liked to pretend.
and he'd always pretended it was with bobbi. that was why he hadn't stuck with her and fortune, why they didn't want to make it work because they knew what he'd done to the skrulls, because of what he'd almost done — been willing to do — to cross. how much he'd wanted to kill norman. it's always been easier to pretend that he's got some kind of moral character, instead of admitting that it's all for show because he can't bear the thought of who he'd be otherwise.
he turns away from her to face the bar, to pick up the drink he'd decided he didn't really want anymore, but then they'd continued talking, and now the conversation's moved from her to him, and—. nope.
he lets the silence linger as he downs the rest of his drink, placing the bottle back down on the side with a soft thud, the sound dampened by the ring of condensation at the bottom of the glass. )
And I've had at least one beer too many tonight to talk about Bruce, so I'm going to go home and sleep it off.
( one beer too many or one beer not enough, it's not really the truth. it's just an excuse for him to do the one thing he's really good at: avoidance. )
no subject
the fact that bobbi doesn't mention bruce makes it worse. he knows they're both thinking it, even when she says 'you were always the hero'. they've never spoken about it, have they? and he doesn't know if they're going to talk about it now, not as he glances away from her to the bar, at her unfinished drink and his.
he'd only talked about it precisely as much as had been necessary, which had been firstly too much for his liking but given the circumstances, entirely necessary. to carol, to cho, to the authorities. didn't really talk about it all that much to the hulk, and he'd got why the hulk was—
well, upset was probably an understatement. )
They don't put heroes on murder trials, Bobbi. ( well, they might do, he guesses. false accusations and things like that. but — god, it's always been so complicated, hasn't it? he's believed in not killing for so long, that it's the most important thing about being an avenger, but even he knows it's not as black-and-white as he's always liked to pretend.
and he'd always pretended it was with bobbi. that was why he hadn't stuck with her and fortune, why they didn't want to make it work because they knew what he'd done to the skrulls, because of what he'd almost done — been willing to do — to cross. how much he'd wanted to kill norman. it's always been easier to pretend that he's got some kind of moral character, instead of admitting that it's all for show because he can't bear the thought of who he'd be otherwise.
he turns away from her to face the bar, to pick up the drink he'd decided he didn't really want anymore, but then they'd continued talking, and now the conversation's moved from her to him, and—. nope.
he lets the silence linger as he downs the rest of his drink, placing the bottle back down on the side with a soft thud, the sound dampened by the ring of condensation at the bottom of the glass. )
And I've had at least one beer too many tonight to talk about Bruce, so I'm going to go home and sleep it off.
( one beer too many or one beer not enough, it's not really the truth. it's just an excuse for him to do the one thing he's really good at: avoidance. )