Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.
Author's note - I revamped it a little bit.
Epilogue
The door swings open into darkness, and he knows.
More accurately, he knew. He knew all along.
Something left with her. Something about the atmosphere, he thinks, it's a little less … breezy.
The kitchen light is on, but his hopes are too far gone to be recalled. There is a woman, a woman he remembers loving, but not the one that stole the air right out from his lungs. She is holding a piece of paper in her hand, concentrating on the writing.
She looks up guiltily at him, "Bruce …" but her voice trails off into nothingness. She hands him the paper. "She … she wanted to give you this." He takes the paper, refusing to read it in the wrong woman's presence.
She leaves quickly, taking note of his mood, but pauses at the door. He turns to look at her, his brown eyes as big as a kicked puppy's.
"She wanted to ask you … what an angel is doing in the shadows." And then she leaves him, too.
He smirks slightly before reading the letter. He remembers the foggy, confused words. He always will. For a moment he let's himself slip backwards and live that moment again. Pain, coursing through his whole body. Pain and cold. And then ... a woman ... no, an angel is standing above him, saving him. That face, peering down at his fainting eyes, it is etched behind his eyelids forever.
Bruce
The handwriting is chicken scratch, barely even legible. Of course.
Sorry.
He sighs, unsure if he wants to read the rest. It's only going to be her apologizing for his mistakes.
Sorry I couldn't say this to your face. Too much of a wimp. Anyway.
She has to be so cute, doesn't she, he thinks, she has to be so positively irresistible. I have to want her so much, and know at the same time I'll never have her. No one will.
I love you. Sorry about that too. It's all your fault really.
He laughs a little bit. He's never read a "Dear John" like this.
Tell Alfred I said 'hi', or 'bye', or something.
Alfred. Now there's a mood killer.
Okay, even writing I'm really awkward. Guess it's a talent. But here goes.
I really do love you, no matter that I never said it, no matter how far away I run.
I just need to explain myself so that you don't hate me or anything.
I never could, even if my life depended on it, he thinks, wishing she was here so that he could comfort her with that knowledge.
You probably know why I left. Whole anti-commitment and everything.
Anyway, that doesn't change the fact that I love you,
which is probably why it scares me so much.
Anyway.
I just have one request.
One little thing. Don't hate me for this.
Please? Don't be hurt, it's not personal.
I know there's some secret love language where 'it's not personal'
really means it's all your fault, but I don't even speak a word of that.
And you probably know it.
This is the crappiest goodbye letter you've ever read, isn't it? Admit it.
Might as well end this thing with a bit of grace left to stand on.
So, p.s. I love you, all that jazz. Think of me often, and keep me close to your heart where I'll be warm.
Goodbye.
-They call me the breeze, and I keep rollin' down the road.