For all his fluency in body language - learned secondary, contrasted with her primary - for a moment Bruce actually wonders if she's going to hit him. If maybe she sees the darkness in him for what it is suddenly, failed and corrupted, out of control, and that she's just going to do what no one else has had the spine to do (what Jason can't do) and end it.

He'd let her.

But then she's holding him and somehow that's worse. That level of perception cuts him to the core; he hasn't said anything, hasn't had so much as a goddamn facial expression-- hasn't thought anything. He can't hide from her, a warrior who can read him when anyone else sees a blank page. He doesn't deserve this. He's not her Bruce, he's not the one who gave her his name, but the knowledge of how he'd make her feel if he were to shove her away stills him.

He unfreezes by degrees, bringing his arms around her shoulders, his head bowed. "I'm sorry." Barely audible-- doesn't know why he says it or-- why it is, momentarily, difficult to breathe.