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Somehow, Rachel leaning over her shoulder to put her hand on the mouse and close the tab manages to startle Betsy; somehow, she didn’t feel her coming.
“Come on, you’re better than that,” Rachel says, placing a firm kiss on Betsy’s head, and Betsy’s ears flush with frustrated embarrassment, boiling and sizzling and bubbling in the pit of her stomach, because the thing is: she is, usually; Brian’s had been the only opinion on the matter that had truly mattered to her, and she’d been a public figure long before she’d become a superhero, so she’s known how to deal with people’s thoughts on herself for a long while, how to make herself not care.
But even she has her weak moments, and it makes her want to protest, makes her want to pick a fight, tell Rachel all this; but Rachel’s arms are warm when they wrap around Betsy’s shoulders from behind, and Betsy knows that Rachel knows already, that she understands, the thought pulling a sigh out of her as she allows herself to lean back.