She let out a breath she didn't remember holding when his hand touched hers, when she made contact with his cheek, dirty and rough, but his. He was still there. And he was still him. And he remembered her.
“I...think so.” She whispered, almost as if she said it too loud someone might know and take it all away again. He was there. She was touching him. He looked tired and scared and she would swear the lines in his face had multiplied, gone deeper, but still, it was him. Bruce. Her Bruce.