He almost does. The micromovement is there, under his skin. But he stays put. Utters, stupidly,
"We haven't sat down to talk about it."
Bruce snaps his mouth shut and closes his eyes; it's a near thing the way he grinds his teeth together isn't audible. Fuuuuck. He takes a steadying breath and then, another crack at it, "He," because that isn't Clark, it isn't. He opens his eyes, bleak apology there, "kills me whenever he finds me."
(Time after time. Chained, in strangely intimate ways. In battle, carelessly. After torture. Snapping his head off in front of his companions, heat visioning him into a charred skeleton. In one spectacular terror he struggled to wake from, an entire day of watching parademons mangle two dozen people before he-isn't-Clark reached into his chest and nearly gently crushed his heart.)
Quieter: "The implication is that an error I made resulted in Lois' death. And that your grief, and anger at me, made you vulnerable. I can't see. What happened."
no subject
"We haven't sat down to talk about it."
Bruce snaps his mouth shut and closes his eyes; it's a near thing the way he grinds his teeth together isn't audible. Fuuuuck. He takes a steadying breath and then, another crack at it, "He," because that isn't Clark, it isn't. He opens his eyes, bleak apology there, "kills me whenever he finds me."
(Time after time. Chained, in strangely intimate ways. In battle, carelessly. After torture. Snapping his head off in front of his companions, heat visioning him into a charred skeleton. In one spectacular terror he struggled to wake from, an entire day of watching parademons mangle two dozen people before he-isn't-Clark reached into his chest and nearly gently crushed his heart.)
Quieter: "The implication is that an error I made resulted in Lois' death. And that your grief, and anger at me, made you vulnerable. I can't see. What happened."
What I did.