She's never had anybody say that to her, not since she was eight years old and her Dad promised he wouldn't let anybody hurt her after she'd gotten in a fight at school. It sinks in a little- it's probably why her crying slowly dies off, why she tries to breathe and pulls back, her face puffy and red, even though she's knowing only back enough that she's not plastered to him, not so hat he'd let go of her. "I'm okay," She says, even though she's knowing not, because she's not used to this, to what she's supposed to say. She hadn't heard his question, and now his t-shirt is wet and she just pulls in another breath, in, out. "Bruce didn't mean it. It wasn't him doing it." Her eyes found his. "Okay?"