The tombstone is subtle and nondescript, made of smooth gray granite that gleams faintly in the light of the waxing moon. It is well tended to – someone has dusted off the grime, and a delicate bouquet of day-old blue forget-me-nots and orange blossoms still leave traces of their scent in the night air.
Bending slowly, Bruce's knees crack loudly, piercing the silence of the cemetery as he sets a single red rose by the tombstone. He reaches out, his fingers catching against the solemn words engraved permanently into the rock; his blue eyes trace the letters, and though her name isn't there, he knows without a doubt who rests under the soft grass.
Mother. Daughter. Wife. Hero.
A wonder to us all.
Even after all these years, he hates the lump that forms in his throat and the pressure that builds behind his eyes. When it comes to her, though, he can't help it; he misses her. He misses her sparkling blue eyes and raven-black hair. He misses her rage and her innocence, her confidence and her vulnerability. He misses having someone who doesn't fear him, someone who stands up to his infamous glares, someone who knows both Bruce Wayne and Batman.
Bruce knows that the rest of the world misses her too; he just likes to think he's allowed to miss her more.
He believes completely that everything he feels now – longing, sorrow, anguish – is punishment for trying to push her away all those years ago. He had thought he'd be the one dead and gone, remembered only as Gotham's philandering playboy, admired only by his colleagues, if at all. It isn't fair – she should still be here, gracing the world with her presence.
Instead, he's still here. Still loving her.
From behind him comes the soft shuffle of footsteps, the telltale sign of another old man dragging his feet across the dirt. The sound is unwelcome; Bruce closes his eyes, willing the sound to stop, wishing for more solitude without interruption. Bruce had hoped he would have more time alone with his Princess, but it isn't to be.
"Faraday," he says gruffly.
"Wayne." King Faraday bends down with a wince and sets down a bouquet of forget-me-nots and orange blossoms.
The two men stand side by side, staring wordlessly down at the grave of Wonder Woman.
"How have you been?" King asks.
"Fine." Bruce offers no more.
"I'm glad you're doing well," King volunteers. "The past few months have been tough on all of us. The grandkids miss their Gran-Gran, my kids miss their mom, and I miss my wife…"
"The world misses Wonder Woman," Bruce adds, almost unwillingly.
"And you?"
Bruce tenses up, his fist clenching and the muscles in his neck tightening up in reflex.
"She was a respected colleague," he grunts shortly. It's half of the truth, the same as it had been decades ago when he said the very same words to John.
"And the only woman you've ever really loved."
Bruce turns, on the verge of denying that statement, but King calmly continues without looking at him.
"She loved you too, you know? I'm sure you did. At the beginning, for the first year Diana and I dated… she wasn't always there with me. Her head was usually somewhere else even though she was sitting right across from me. I remember the moment when I realized the reason why was Batman."
King chuckles to himself softly, and, stepping forward, he lays a gentle hand on the tombstone and begins speaking to his wife.
"We were at Domenico's that day and you'd ordered spaghetti. Your fork was halfway in your mouth and you were smiling at some story I'd told when your com link went off and someone from the Watchtower started briefing you. You dropped your fork like it was lethal and… and your voice changed. I can't even describe the difference, but I could hear it, see it in your eyes."
Bruce doesn't dare move or breathe – he can't help but feel like an intruder, even though he had arrived first. He can't tell if he's guilt-ridden or pleased by King's admission, though he is almost surprised when King turns around and looks at him.
"You can't imagine my shock when she said, "Thanks, Batman," at the end of that conversation. Wonder Woman and Batman? It was the last thing anyone could've imagined."
"Believe me, I know," Bruce murmurs.
"Realizing she loved you helped me, though."
Bruce has to refrain from letting out a dumb, "Huh?"
"It motivated me. It told me that even though there was someone else, she was trying to get to know me… and more than that, it told me the exact moment that she loved me too. When I heard that same change in her voice, saw that look in her eyes…"
Bruce turns away, grimacing.
"Sorry," King says. "I shouldn't have –"
"I'm glad," Bruce interrupts. "She… deserved it."
The words he doesn't speak linger in his head: I'm glad she found someone who could love her as much as she loved the world. I'm glad you were able to love her like I loved her. Love her.
Staring long at hard at King Faraday, Bruce gives him an imperceptible nod before turning around.
And for the last time, he walks away from her.