He should never have let you go back in.

Bruce hasn't been able to stop that thought running through his head. You'd both known the building was coming down, you'd already cleared so many rooms, extracted so many civilians - but not all the rooms. You'd wanted to be sure. He hadn't been quick enough to stop you. And the whole thing came crashing down - metaphorically, and literally.

He'd never been more relieved than to find you still alive when he and the rescue crew were able to dig you out. You'd spent the better part of two weeks unconscious in the hospital, and it had been pretty touch and go. When you'd finally woken up, it had been a rush of relief again - but it was short-lived, when you'd blinked up at him blankly and asked, confused, who he was.

He'd hoped it would be fleeting and that your memory would return soon as you recovered more. But the days passed, and it didn't. You didn't know him, you didn't know the family - you hardly knew yourself. He knew this was just as hard on you as it was on him - harder, probably - so he'd tried to hide his strain and disappointment every time he tried and failed to kindle a spark of recognition. The doctors said there's no telling with these things. Maybe it'll all come flooding back tomorrow. Maybe it'll come trickling in as bits and pieces over time. Maybe it will never come back at all.

It's not the sort of 'clean slate' anybody really hopes for.

Now, after another week in the hospital, you were finally recovered enough - physically, at least - to come home. He's pretty sure, from the way you'd gaped up at Wayne Manor as the car pulled into the drive, that you'd honestly believed everyone was joking when they told you you were a member of Gotham's richest family and lived in a literal mansion. Your awe and disbelief as he helps you out of the car would have been kind of funny, if it didn't make Bruce's heart ache so badly.

"Welcome home. Come on... let's get you inside."