I own nothing.
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He didn't smile much anymore.
You couldn't tell by looking at him; he still walked around without a face most of the time, even though they knew what he looked like with one. You used to be able to hear the smile when he talked, though.
He didn't talk very much anymore, either.
Of course, until he'd gotten back from (hell) Cadmus, nobody seemed to want to talk to him unless they had something to find out. Now all they wanted to do was ask him questions they didn't really want answers to. "Are you alright?" (No.) "How are you feeling?" (I'm not.) "How did you keep from breaking?" (I didn't.)
Some of them (the innocent ones) feared him for surviving. Others (in the other half of innocence) admired him for giving no pertinent information away. None of them knew what torture was like. Most of them had felt pain, of course, but not directed, repetitive, searing, neverending...
J'onn, at least, had done what he could to help. He had offered his services in a councilling capacity, which the faceless man had declined. (He didn't feel as though the Martian could be fully trusted. Superman trusted him, of course, but then, Superman trusted everybody. Likewise, Batman trusted him, but who knew what a telepath could be capable of given free reign of a man's mind?) Regardless, he did his best to keep anything that could trigger painful memories out of his path. For that, although he would never say it, the Question was grateful, even though it was never enough.
Batman did what he could, too. (For good reason, as the Question was his most reliable failsafe in case... that... should come to pass.) He did slightly more and slightly less than J'onn. For example, he got the Flash to leave him alone, which meant that the Question was free from one annoyance but out one distraction, and he paid the medical bills, although he would have done that anyway. However, he did get Helena access to the Watchtower's medical facilities, so she could visit him, and offered to patrol her territory in Gotham, so she didn't have to leave. (She accepted on the first point, but declined on the second. She had developed other contingency plans.)
She was always with him in the medical facilities, which (smelled like) reminded him of (hell) Cadmus. They were usually together at night, too. Sometimes she would hold him when he cried. Sometimes he did the same for her. Sometimes he would ignore her, and spend the night writing down what he had revealed to his tormentors and how that would affect the web of conspiracy. Sometimes they would make love like (hell) Cadmus had never happened. Sometimes they made love like it was going to happen again tomorrow. Sometimes they just slept.
He didn't talk very much anymore.
That was okay with her. She hadn't exactly fallen for him for his conversational skills anyway. In any case, she wasn't exactly looking for talk when she was with him. There was only so much time they had together; that much had been made clear to her when she almost lost him. Why waste it on talk?
He didn't smile much anymore, either, except when he was with her.