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He entered through the window and heard the sound of the shower running. The half empty bottle and lone shot glass on the table spoke volumes on how she had been faring, since his last visit.
He silently crept down the hall toward the bathroom door, and peered in.
She was curled up on the floor of the shower, wet hair spread out around her naked form, as the water flowed over her pale skin. She lay on her side, face turned down towards the floor, eyes closed, although he could see enough to tell that they were red and puffy from crying.
He would never admit it, but his heart nearly stopped in that split second, before his brain registered that yes, she was still breathing.
It was a floor length shower, made of glass, so he was able to slowly approach her without her even realizing he was there. He opened the door, thanking the universe that the hinges were greased and didn’t make a sound as it swung open.
The feel of cold air was the only indicator that he was there, and she did not respond even as the chill swept through her.
He reached for her slowly, how one would approach an animal in a trap; perhaps she would allow his help, or perhaps she would rather gnaw her own leg off than allow the likes of him near her.
As his gloved hand met her shoulder, she flinched further into her fetal position, and managed to rasp out “Just kill me, too.”
He hesitated. He had assumed she blamed him for the death of her younger brother, but now it was confirmed.
Nonetheless, he reached for her again, and drew her up into a sitting position. He waited for her to lash out, physically strike him, but the blows didn’t come. She seemed indifferent to him, and her fate.
She stayed sitting, hunched over her knees, unashamed of her nude body, as her head hung down, eyes remaining closed.
He tried to protect her modesty, as his eyes analyzed her. Her scalp still had suds in it, and she had lost weight. The bruises had faded though, which was something. The memories were enough to haunt her, she didn’t need the marks as a morbid reminder.
He tentatively brought his hands to her scalp and gently assisted the water raining down, in removing the product from her hair. Once he was satisfied her hair was clean, he hoisted her up into a standing position.
She stood on her own legs, which was progress – he pushed aside the thought that she still wouldn’t open her eyes to look at him. He turned off the shower and wrapped a towel from the nearby rack around her shoulders, covering her and protecting her from the cool air in her apartment.
He used the hand towel that had been next to the sink, to towel dry her hair, and guided her to her bed. She trudged along slowly, still hunched in on herself, eyes still firmly closed. Pulling back the covers, he nudged her to get under the flannel sheets, and she quickly dropped the towel and groped her way into bed.
She was still damp from the shower, but her cozy bed helped her realize how exhausted she was. Being miserable was draining.
She turned onto her side, and heard the whisper of his cape as he walked away, and assumed he would leave now, out the window he came in. She was startled when his hands touched her again. His gloves were wet, which made her realize that all of him was wet, since he had assisted her in the shower. He had gone to find her brush, and pressed it into her hair, gently untangling each strand.
Her eyes screwed tight, as tears began to form. He was being so tender to her, even knowing how much she hated him, and how much blame she placed on him for not protecting her brother.
Tears pooled in her eyes, running in rivulets, mingling with the droplets on her face and neck from her wet strands of hair.
He silently continued his gentle ministrations, as she quietly cried, taking the occasional gasping sob.
Finally, he finished and went to return the brush to the drawer he had retrieved it from, her small hiccupping breaths the only sound to break the silence.
He returned to stand over her, removing his damp gloves.
When his bare hands soothingly began to stroke her hair and face, her eyes finally opened and met his.
The juxtaposition was intense; the intimacy of their contact, contrasted with the weight of negative emotions that led to it.
It continued for several minutes, as she calmed her breathing. Yet as her body relaxed, her mind was in turmoil.
The bare skin of his hands was unsettling to her. It reminded her that there was a human being in the costume, a person who was capable of making mistakes.
She didn’t like it; it made it harder for her to hate him.
As she finally slipped into a peaceful sleep for the first time since that fateful night their paths crossed, she heard him whisper it so quietly it could have been a breath.
“I’m sorry.”
Then he was gone.
Before the final tendrils of her consciousness slipped away to slumber, she sighed three words that would change her life forever.
“I’m sorry too.”
He was silently shutting the window behind him when he heard her utterance slip through the final few inches of space between the window and the windowsill. He hadn’t realized how much guilt he had been holding onto, until her words washed over him.
She hadn’t said she forgave him, or that it wasn’t his fault. Yet he felt infinitely lighter.
As he stood on her windowsill for several moments, relishing the feeling of her admission, he had a strange thought that his smile in that moment would put Joker to shame. He didn’t care.
His celebration was brief; he was a hero after all. It wouldn’t do to waste time, smiling like an idiot on windowsills. He brushed off his silly grin, returning to his usual stoicism.
He may have failed her, that night. He would have to live with his choice, forever.
But it’s a new night. A new opportunity to save someone else’s little brother.
He threw a grappling hook and disappeared over the rooftops.