As far as Lucy could see, it was a perfectly acceptable solution to one's problems, or at least far better than her usual solutions. Hitting the wall of the Compound had, fortunately, been a one-time occurrence, but too often she had looked for answers at the bottom of a bottle and wound up with nothing but a hangover to show for it. There was temporary help in it, sure, but ever since Chase's accident — one, she was sure, prompted by a line of thinking that had once been her own — the appeal had been lessened substantially. That Bruce had chosen something like this was, admittedly, somewhat relieving, if only because there was a much slimmer chance of him getting hurt this way.

"No, it isn't," she countered, with what might have been a laugh under better circumstances, ducking her head slightly without taking her gaze off him. "Alright, I mean. The fact that this can happen at all, it's... It's screwed up. It's screwed up, and it sucks, and... You don't have to say it's alright." She sighed, hand moving a little lower on his arm, the other running through her hair. What she should have been doing was stepping away, but she couldn't bring herself to, finding too much comfort in their proximity. That closeness was too much of a rarity these days, with so many whom she'd been close to gone. "Of course you need to vent. Believe me, if there's anyone you don't need to explain yourself to, it's me."