The wind howls outside, the cold whistling in through the draft in the windows. But it's the quiet in the apartment that settles the deepest chill in your bones. You sit in bed, alone, checking the clock for the time and your phone for a text you already know you probably won't get.

Kate’s out, somewhere. Patrolling, hunting down whatever chaos Gotham’s got in store for her tonight.

It’s always the same, night after night. She leaves, promises she’ll be careful, and then returns late—worn, exhausted, and somehow even more distant than when she left. But it's worse this time.

She’s avoiding you.

You know her. You know the way she pulls away when things start to get too close. There’s a wall she’s built between you, brick by brick, and you’ve been patient. But how patient can you be when the woman you're in love with is terrified of your love?

Finally, the door creaks open, breaking your reverie, and there she is. Kate's eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, there’s a flicker of something. Something that says she knows what you’re thinking. Something that’s almost… apologetic.

She shrugs off her cape, beginning to shed her Batwoman suit as she makes her way towards the bed. “Hey,” she says,  “You still up?” The way she asks that almost sounds like she wishes you had fallen asleep rather than waiting up for her like you so often do. Like she'd rather do anything other than have the conversation that's about to happen.