Dear Betty,

It's been almost a month since the events at Harlem. Since then, I have moved on to several countries and have found myself in places I only thought belonged to fairy tales. I won't tell you, in case your father reads your mail, so because of this, I'm not really expecting a response. To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure why I'm writing, perhaps to get some things off my chest.

Since Harlem, I haven't really had an incident with the Other Guy. Which is either really good news, or really bad. I hope to go to North Europe shortly see if I can work with a renowned scientist in blood mutation. He works a lot with Mutants such as Wolverine and Professor Charles Xavier – you remember we met Xavier in the 80's during a class presentation on how Radiation from the sun could have generated species like the humans and the extra radiation that Humans have subsequently dug up are contributing to Mutants.

Anyway, I'm not saying it will work. I highly doubt it. But, I always figured it was worth a try.

Currently I'm working with a local missionary group, providing homes and such. Sadly the group is very religious and won't accept me teaching them basic science, which I have argued could prove to be useful, especially if sick and wounded individuals are found. I despise them heavily, and wish they would just listen.

Ah, but no. God knows best. God decides who lives and who dies.

What a pile of bullshit. I ask you Betty, how could we have come so far, only to have this sort of nonsense be piled on us. It was claimed that it was "Moral Guidance" by one of the missionaries. Like a boy of eight is morally bad. Like how religious leaders have turned into pedophiles and are morally "GOOD". It makes me sick Betty. It fills me up with such rage and just…

I digress. This is not a letter about me ranting about my personal hatred towards religion. It just annoys me when everything is claimed to have a reason. Because nothing has reason. How is having the Other Guy, being separated from the woman I love, being hunted, being used by others, and being considered a monster reasonable? A higher purpose in life? Doubt that very much.

Anyway, I'm just very angry about this.

I miss you.

Bruce.

Dear Betty

So it has been a while since my last letter, I thought I'd check up and make sure you didn't think I was dead or something. I moved away from the Pacific Islands – yes that's where I was! It was a very odd place to be, I can tell you that much. I've moved a lot closer to Northern Europe, but still in one of the warmer climates.

It's nice where I am right now, the locals are friendly and they have a good track record with acceptance, so I hope to stay here a good while until I need to move again. I've decided that staying in one place for too long is too dangerous. Moving around seems to keep both me and everyone else safe. Which is always a plus. Also, your father seems to have lost me completely which is always a good thing. I know you'd be asking me to just talk to him. But he's not a man that can be reasoned with. He is insane. And I say that with all the respect in the world. Okay maybe I don't. But after endless fights that I had with his ridiculous pathetic excuses for keeping you at his beck and call, after seeing the way he treated you and acted towards you… Well you know the story between my father and I, and I couldn't stand to see you be treated much in the same way.

I guess I was taking back those moments when I couldn't stand up for myself and had to take the constant abuse. It was payback. And it was, I'll admit, selfish of me.

But I won't apologise for it. No. He deserved everything that he got and everything that's ever going to happen to him. I may sound bitter and resentful, but it's the honest truth Betty. I hope his veins burn when he realises what he has done to you. To me. To us.

I heard recently that Tony Stark recently quit the war machine shipping and supplies. I guess it's a moral stand to take. But just because he's stopped making and shipping these items, that doesn't mean that the designs have ceased being made. I guess S.H.I.E.L.D are annoyed at that, they bought most of their weapons from Stark.

Still a step in the right direction for the world.

I don't think I'd like Stark if I met him. Sure, he's a respected engineer and brilliant physicist, but I have a feeling that he and I would be… Well not the best of friends.

I hope that you're doing well. I'm praying that you've moved on with your life. Moved on and found love and hope and freedom. Found someone who can give you all the things that you want and need. A life, family, normality… Because I can't give it to you, and I don't think I ever can.

I'll never forget the day I met you. Bossy, pissed off, and with an assignment due for the next day. We both wanted the same book and the University only had one copy. So we had to sit through the entire night and do it together. That was the highest mark both of us had ever got.

I don't know why I write these letters. Maybe it's just to find something to do. It's really actually very boring being on the run. There's not much to do, except be with your thoughts.

And you remember how much I hate being alone with my thoughts.

Anyway,

Maybe I'll write again before the year is out. I don't think I will though.

Bruce

Dear Betty

I keep telling myself that I shouldn't write to you, that it puts you in danger, puts myself and the other guy in danger. But still I find myself in times of trouble, just sitting down and writing to you. Then I find myself sitting and waiting three days to see if I send the letters or through them in the garbage.

I've thrown a lot of letters in the garbage.

So, it's been almost a year that I've gone without an update. The guy in the Netherlands couldn't help. Turns out he was using previous research amplifying it and then producing false results. He has subsequently been arrested by the police and is awaiting trial. So that was a bust.

I have since made my way around Europe, even stopping in the United Kingdom – I will say one thing, it's not all it's cracked up to be, you would probably hate it with a passion. I will say this though, their fries are brilliant and the weather isn't as nearly as bad as they make it out to be (except Scotland, that's a grey area, literally) Then I made my way through France – remember France Betty? – Through to Germany, and to Russia.

I'm currently writing on some kind woman's stationary that she's provided me with. She took me in after finding me on a bench in the park, which isn't something you should worry about. I often find myself in parks and cemeteries for a place to sleep. I have no qualms with it. She's a very nice old woman who speaks good English. I think she's originally Polish but has moved around since the war. I'll be staying with her for a few days before making my way south; I'm not sure where I'm going to go yet.

I've made a good deal of money lately helping out with Grave Diggers and providing medicine relief for the sick. Especially in Non-EU countries. Despite Romania being in the EU, they are actually pretty worse off for it. I did my best with a small local charity from Scotland that aims to make their lives better. No pay, sadly, but still, good work, we provided beds and things for the hospices. It's a good cause.

I've also got to say, that I have developed a love for Pierogi. It's an interesting dish; maybe I should send you the recipe… But then again, I'm sure you could find it online.

I know I don't get replies from these, so I'm not expecting to hear any news, but I am curious. Did you move on like I asked you? Or have you remained… Stuck? I hate to think that you have. The main reason I write these letters is to tell you that I'm okay and to make sure that you can go on in your day to day basis and find happiness outside these letters.

Hey, Betty, it's been almost a year without an incident!

How about that?!

From

Bruce

Dear Betty

I heard a small town was levelled in a gas explosion in New Mexico. Wow. As far as I know Eric Selvig is working in New Mexico with Jane Foster(?) and some kid called Darcy. Well, he certainly has his hands full.

I thought about you today. I haven't thought about you in so long. Not since my last letter. I tend not to think about my past that much, it brings up uncomfortable memories and sometimes it's too painful. It wasn't even a lingering thought. Not like "Oh, I miss Betty, I wonder what she's doing," instead it was more "Oh, that's the colour yellow. Betty's favourite colour was yellow…"

It hurt a lot. I'm not sure why I'm even telling you this. Perhaps it's just an excuse to talk to you again. I'm probably not over you. You were my first love. My only love, I guess.

I think by now you would have found someone else. Someone to love you and give you a family. Someone who can give you your needs and wishes.

And whilst I will never stop loving you, it's because of this that I want to give you that life, I want you to move on. I am so scared, so scared that one day I might hurt you. That your father might hurt you, that the other guy might hurt you. I keep picturing myself holding your broken body in my arms and I don't think I could ever deal with that. I don't want you to die, especially not at my hands. And I know that you can't reply to me, so all I can do is imagine a reply. Like I said I have really no idea why I'm writing this to you. Maybe to get some peace of mind.

This might be the last time I will ever write.

I love you Betty.

This is goodbye.

Bruce

Dear Betty,

I told myself I wasn't going to write, but I had to let you know that I was almost found by your father again today. It's alright, I'm fine, but there was a close call and someone almost got hurt. I'm not sure how he got to me but I can take a guess.

I can tell you where I am now, since by the time he actually reads my mail I'll be long gone – I'm thinking about leaving for either Laos or Korea, I can't decide which. I'm currently in India. Helping out families in Calcutta but I'll be leaving in a week or so.

I hope you are doing well.

I don't know what else to say.

Bruce

Dear Betty,

Clever ruse huh? Come on, you can't say I'm not clever. I knew your father would head straight to Laos or Korea without actually thinking that I've gone anywhere else.

I won't say where I am, but I'm in a good place. I'm somewhat happy. I've given up looking for a cure. There is none. Nothing in the world can save me anymore. And maybe that's a good thing that I give up.

For now I can't tell.

No incidents in a while, which is good. I don't know what else to say.

I hope your well.

Bruce

Bruce sat with his pencil in hand wishing he could write something, anything. But his mind was blank. He was so scared of actually writing anything in case he said something wrong or stupid. The Avengers incident was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him in a long time. Finally he was being accepted and the other guy, for as much as Bruce despised him from somewhat halting his life permanently, was now not seen as a brutish monster. It filled Bruce with a sort of hope. His uneasy acceptance by some of the other teammates was made up in the shape of Tony Stark, the last person on the planet he would have thought to have had an affinity with. He and Tony were now the best of friends, both brilliant geniuses' at the top of their respective fields.

Everything in Bruce's life looked like it was going right.

Except one thing.

And he wanted to write to her. He wanted to tell her all these things that had happened to him and how happy he was and that he wanted to see her again without fear that he would be attacked by the Hulk-Busters.

Pieces of paper littered his desk and he sighed, taking off his glasses. He pursed his lips and scrunched up the paper throwing it down. He couldn't get past the first sentence.

Something fluttered in front of him. A folded piece of paper and Bruce frowned. He reached forward and opened it up and saw hand-writing that was so familiar he took a sharp intake of breath.

Dear Bruce,

My favourite colour was never yellow.

He looked around and saw her, standing there, tears in her eyes.

"Hello," She said.

Bruce couldn't find his voice. Betty moved towards him and they embraced, holding each other tightly, tears spreading down their cheeks.