Passion Fruit

They broke her, so she broke them in the worst possible way she could. Set after the Max Lord incident. Mostly WW/SS with a hint of BM/WW.

The following stories is based on characters appearing and owned by DC comics. I own nothing.

Passion Fruit

Written by Iinklings

1

Prologue

The room is shrouded in shadows, the silence broken only by the slow pinging of the heart monitor, the hushed and rhythmic pumping of the respirator. The woman on the bed lies quietly, her sheets paper thin over her delicate frame and wires attached to her head monitoring any signs of brain activity. This isn't the Wonder Woman they know. It's a shell of her. A part of her they had never dreamed they'd ever see. She's suppose to be the strong one; defender of the innocents, the supreme, the symbol of Love.

The Goddess of Truth.

The giver of life and death. Clark could still pin point the moment she had stunned them all when she had brought Captain Steve Trevor back to life with a simple soft brush to the lips. It was then that they discovered her powers were manifesting itself into something much further beyond their understanding. Among her other gifts, it appeared that the God's had blessed her with the healing touch.

A gift Diana herself had come to consider a blessing and a curse.

Her gauntlets shine dully, as if they realize how they failed her. Only they didn't fail her, she failed them. They would have stopped her from falling victim to the wrath of Syndrome. If she hadn't turned. If she hadn't left herself open.

She had a choice, and she didn't choose herself.

She lies now in the chasm between life and death that is the consequence of selflessness. Two men sit near her, one on either side. A blue and red uniform dulls down to muddy colors in the darkened room, barely different from the other's gray and black. They are both dark-hair, eyes, uniforms. All dreary and lifeless in this tomb of a space. Both have her blood on their uniforms, although they have washed it off their hands.

Clark sighs softly, hoping the sound isn't as loud as it seems to him in the quiet room.

Bruce glances over at him, wondering if Clark knows how many times he's made that sound since they brought Diana in-it gets more forlorn with each soft exhalation.

"Her breathing seems stronger," Clark says. He wants it to be so. Wants her to wake up and smile at him. He's grown used to seeing her triumph, grown accustomed to thinking of her as his equal. Impervious to harm. But she's not. She's strong, but she's not invulnerable.

And she's skilled, like Bruce, at keeping harm away.

But this time she didn't.

This time she turned to stop the villain who would have gotten by her and paid for it as his henchman, Syndrome, who possessed the ability to maim his chosen victim with the simple touch of a finger, had smashed a hulking fist into her so damn hard that it had sent her careening through five sky scrapers only to come to a screeching halt when her body collided with a steel tank completely obliterating it upon impact.

And then nothing. An eerie silence. Time stopping. And the worst of all no heartbeat. If she were human that fist for sure would've ripped her insides apart. Would've turned her brain to a bleeding mess of egg yolk. But the question had posed- what sort of damage would that blow cause to a demi-goddess. Or any superhuman actually? At first it had seemed as though it was some sort of sick joke, Zeus's cruel sense of humor coming into play just to terrify the shit out of them.

Rao, He'd hit her so hard.

So hard that with his superior senses he had heard her parietal bone shatter...amongst other things.

He had heard a gutteral scream. Later on he would come to the realization that it had come from him. Had watched as she'd hurtled at a break neck velocity thorough Metropolis's finest buildings and hoped to god that his heightened senses of speed and agility wouldn't fail him as he'd darted after her in an attempt to break her fall.

He hadn't been fast enough.

He'd failed her.

Clark had just about staunched his own landing, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to her. He had known something was wrong from the very moment her still form came into his line of vision and something accurate to an overwhelming sense of inquietude had seized his being. Leaving The invulnerable Man of steel frozen, gripped in the silent throws of his own shock and panic. Clark had never seen her bleed that way before. He went a little crazy. So did Bruce. The henchman most definitely had not survived his moment of triumph.

In the end it had been Bruce who had snapped him out of his temporary insanity, who had propelled him forward to take the fallen angel into his strong arms.

"Clark get her off, of that thing dammit" fire had shot up his spine, forcing his feet forward and towards Diana's sprawled form. He had wished he could say that he had handled the situation with the utmost care, and looking back he would have done things a whole lot differently but he had wanted nothing more than to wipe the offending scene from his brain.

Because how does one poke their minds eye out.

He'd pulled her from the ruined tank, his fear starting to catch up with him. Choking him in a way that had his breaths coming in short, stifling pants. His terror had sky rocketed ten fold when her head had draped lifelessly against his forearm. When he'd noticed how ashen her usually olive skin appeared. When he had realized that she wasn't even breathing!

Moving a large trembling hand to her oval shaped face, A quick scan of his X ray vision had exposed all to him.

Several ribs had been crushed to dust.

Multiple internal bleeding, some from open wounds and others from which he could not see.

He'd had no problem cauterizing those, but it had been something else that had stopped him dead.

A bleed, small but there. Spreading like a palette of ink knocked onto a pristine surface. A hemorrhage. Trauma to the head.

Tr-trauma to the-...h-...

He had dropped to his knees, taking her down with him and tried to rouse her. He'd blown his life force into her body, the kiss of life. And when all else had failed he had settled for screaming her name because- Dammit- why wasn't she waking up?

"There's blood" Barry had choked, hysterically. Himself and the rest of league seemingly having have materialized out of no where. And to his horror Clark had looked down to find that a streak of red was indeed making a run from her left nostril.

Not good. Not good at all.

It was then that Clark had found himself thrown into a fit of what Bruce had later described to him as an almost manic desperation. It was the first time the league and the world had seen Superman lose control. He had been frantic to save her. So much so that in his madness he had almost turned against Hal Jordan when he had attempted to tell him it was to late. "Superman I don't t-think she's...I thin-think she's gone" Hal had spluttered out tightly. Clark had gyrated on him then, snapped right before their very eyes, the scarlet fires of Satan in his.

Literally.

"Don't say that. Don't you ever say that!" He had roared, so raw and so angry that even Bruce had to double back.

Denial. Clark had been in denial.

Either oblivious or not caring of the fact that Lois Lane-Kent having just arrived at the scene, had stepped out of a taxi and stood only a few feet away, with wet cheeks and the sharp burning of cold led in her gut. Telling her that her suspicion was confirmed. That she had been right. That she had always been...right!

That every instinct to the contrary was a denial of the following truth.

That no matter how much Clark had stressed that he was not, he was irrevocably in love with the raven haired wonder. No one had ever understood the dynamic between the two. It was something pure. Intimate. Consuming. Primal. An ache that only the other could sate. A compulsive need for each other. Something that couldn't be helped. Something that was inevitable.

A soul mate in its truest form.

Fate had woven their prerogative into the stars.

How could the likes of Lois Lane. Bruce Wayne. Steve Trevor or Arthur Curry for that matter compete with that. In the end it had been Bruce who had taken action, barking fierce and desperate words down his comlink. After all Diana hadn't just touched his heart, she had touched Bruce's to. Had taught him what it meant to love, had shown him that it was okay to feel.

That it was okay to be human.

"J'on-J'onn come in"

"J'onn come in goddammit we need to be transferred to the medical infirmary immediately."

"J'onn Diana's not breathing, come in" not even Bruce had been able to mask the break in his voice.

The rest as cliché as it sounds had been a blur.

A god awful surreal blur, J'onn caught up in some sort of psychic attack had been unable to get a read on any of them and so it had been Victor who had hacked the Watchtowers security system and manually transported the three of them there. Leaving the rest of the league and Metropolis alone with their panic stricken thoughts. And praying to the Gods that Diana would find her way back to this realm. After that it had been a race against time to bring her back to them, with Clark refusing to listen to reason and categorically undeniably out of his wits. In the end J'onn had been forced to sedate him which had proven to be for the best and for the worst.

It had taken sixty minutes to get Diana's heart to start beating again.

"She'll be fine." Bruce knows he sounds shaken, and he tries again. "She's a fighter." Better. Bruce knows Clark needs that. Needs strength and certainty. So does Diana. She can hear them. She has to be able to hear them. Standing, Bruce touches her hair softly, checking to make sure that the tube is not chafing the corners of her mouth. He hates those tubes-they always hurt, always rub even as they carry life with each painful breath.

Clark watches him. Sees volumes in the way his friend looks at Diana.

Hates it.

But has gotten use to the forgery. The pretending. The picturesque illusion that has become of them. The natural order. He touches her as if she is the most precious thing in his world. He knows Bruce loves her. He wonders if Bruce knows that yet. He knows Diana doesn't think he does.

He loves you, he tries to send to her. I love you too.

Rao, knows I love you so.

She is their friend. She is their love. It has always been this way, he thinks. He has Lois, and he has never betrayed her. He does not think he ever will. But that doesn't mean he isn't in love with Diana, too. Loving Lois doesn't mean that he doesn't dream of Diana, of having her some day. He tries not to; he knows it's a betrayal of his wife. But Clark can't stop his heart from wanting, even if he can stop his hands from reaching.

Bruce makes himself sit down, folds his cape around himself as if he can find warmth in it.

He has not felt warm since he saw Diana hit that tank, since he heard Syndrome's raging fist make contact with something awful-not the cool, Amazonian steel of her bracelets, but flesh proven soft by the damage the deadly lethal projectile had done to her. She crashed landed and she didn't scream. She didn't make a sound. Which in a way was worse. She stopped the villain, giving the other bastard the chance to make her pay. She smashed into that tank, bleeding, and so incredible fast that Bruce couldn't get to her to break her fall.

Not even Clark could.

And once they did get to her, he couldn't get her of that tank, couldn't stop the bleeding. Clark did it, cauterizing the wounds.

She had been dead for ten minutes by the time Victor had transported them to the Watchtower.

And with an emotionally unstable Clark. The alien that was sometimes way to human for his own good, had needed to be temporarily put down in order for J'onn to work. Something that Bruce had come to regret later when he had found a snarling, near inhuman and very pissed off Kryptonian in his face. Ready to hand his ass to him. Perhaps even kill him.

J'onn had held her mind in his as they worked on her, kept her spirit there with them as they fought to stop the bleed in her brain. J'onn looked worried, as if he were afraid he might not be able to bring her back to them. Because clinically, yes, she had been dead.

Bruce has watched Diana die once. He doesn't want to do it again. Ever again.

Please God, you can't have her. He pleads silently.

He shivers, and Clark looks over at him. "If you're cold, she might be too." Clark knows he is the wrong one to judge. He's always fine. His metabolism is super just like the rest of him. He wishes he could feel the pain Diana must be in. Wishes he could take that from her and give her complete rest. But he can't, and neither can Bruce, and J'onn was too exhausted after the surgery to keep the link with her open. So they have pumped her full of painkillers that will let her sleep, let her own strong system do the healing for her.

If she heals that is.

Because...

Something is very wrong with this picture. Clark isn't stupid. He knows there's something J'onn isn't telling him. Not telling either of them. J'onn had managed to stabilize her to some extent. But what did that all mean?

Was she out of the woods yet?

Did she even know they were here?

She looks beautiful. Even lying there so still, she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. If she dies...

If she dies...

She did die. He died too. Death is something survivable, or at least the first time. He doesn't think it will be survivable this time. If she dies...part of him will die too.

No scrap that.

The pain would be all consuming, crippling. Dark. Something that even Superman couldn't overcome. He would destroy the world in his grief. That his damned sure of. He would shed blood for the first time, rip out Syndrome's heart and show it to him. Would watch as he gagged on his own blood, as he gasped for breath. For life.

Clark steels himself wondering when the hell he'd gotten so benevolent. So violent.

"Do you think she's cold?" he whispers.

"Maybe." Bruce sounds unsure-Clark has never heard Bruce sound that unsure about anything.

He gets up and pulls a blanket out. He's about to settle it over her, when Bruce says, "What if she's not?"

"Not what?"

"Cold. What if we make her too warm?" He is staring at Diana as if he doesn't know what to do. As if the blanket has become a life or death decision.

Maybe it has?

Clark touches her arm. She feels cool. "I think it will feel good. Just here..." He lays it over her legs, covering her pelvis but not the bulky bandages. He peeks through them with his super-vision, sees that the wounds that are external are seeping. But in a good way. Draining.

"She's so strong, Bruce."

Bruce doesn't think she looks strong. He thinks she looks like a broken doll lying on the bed. He's used to being the one waking up hurt. Hanging out with metas can do that to a regular guy. Diana is usually the one taking care of him, the one who leans over him when he wakes up. He's not sure how to care for her.

Isn't that the problem between them? He loves her with all his heart...and he's not sure how to care for her.

Getting up, he walks to the viewscreen, staring out at the stars. Diana loves this view. She told him that it made her feel small. She told him it made her believe in things bigger than metas. He hears the pinging of the heart monitor-wishes he believed in things bigger than metas. But he quit believing in an alley when he was eight. When God left his side and found some other little boy to take care of. Diana has never stopped believing. No matter what she's lost, no matter how much she's been hurt, she still believes. He wishes he had her faith. He wishes he had her.

Turning, he stares at her, then to Clark, his hands on the sill, clutching. A punishing death grip. Clark wonders if he knows how helpless he looks.

"What was that earlier Clark?"

Clark looks up at him, a question in his eyes. And denial. As if he knows what's coming. As if he knows what the answer will be.

Bruce pushes on. "Don't give me that you were damn near frantic back there"

Clark looks over at Diana. She's beautiful. She loves them both, and he knows that. She loves Bruce. Wants Bruce in a way she won't let herself want Clark-not while he's with Lois.

That hurts.

He knows it shouldn't.

That it's wrong.

But he can't help it.

So he goes with the only answer that he can.

"Diana's my friend. I don't want to lose her" it's the truth to some extent, it's an answer designed to throw Bruce of his trail. But of course nothing gets past Bruce Wayne.

"You sure that's all Diana is to you?" he presses.

This is a test.

Check and Mate.

Because theoretically speaking Bruce has got him by the balls.

He can tell by the way Clark's whole being has seemed to go rigid. Stiff. Locked in an intense stare of, a battle of the wills the question hangs in the air like a noose around both their necks. A query that both men already know the answer to and the resentment at Bruce's earlier actions coming to a boiling point.

Their both in love with the same woman.

Their just both to damned stubborn to admit it.

"It's not that simple" is Clark's pathetic attempt at an answer. His eyes shifting guiltily to Diana. Bruce knows that look. Has seen it more than one hundred times. It's the look that says it all.

That he can't help it. That what red blooded male wouldn't fall in love with Diana. That his feelings weren't selfish. That he saw beyond just the beauty.

That he saw her soul.

Knew her in a way that even Bruce didn't.

The thought makes Bruce snap.

"Of course it is. You just seem to think you can have it both ways" Bruce feels instantly bad for the comment, but Clark just gives him a sad look. As if the insult rolled off him. Or as if it really isn't complicated at all, and he pities Bruce for not getting it.

For not getting her.

"She loves you," Clark says softly. His eyes stray to Diana, then back to Bruce. This is hard for him to say, but he is saying it-it's how he is, and there are times Bruce wishes he could be more like his friend. "Would it kill you to love her back?"

Bruce knows the question is really will it kill her that he's refused her up to now. Will she die, drift off because she is alone, because she doesn't know she's one of the only lights in his life? That he loves her and wants her and wishes he were a better man-or maybe just a different man.

"She loves you too, Clark." It's easier to deflect than to answer.

"Not the same."

"But it could be. If..." It is too harsh to say it. Not when Bruce thinks so highly of Lois. He can't say that Diana would love Clark the same way if only Lois were gone.

"You're an idiot," Clark says, moving the blanket up a little. He is tired of Bruce's pain, tired of his reasons and rationales and pigheaded determination to be miserable. The woman lying under Clark's hand could make Bruce happy. And he runs from her.

"I probably am."

Turning, Clark sits back down, letting a long, slow breath out. He closes his eyes, prays-only he's not sure to whom. His parents raised him to believe in something bigger than himself. But it's hard. When he was dead...he can't remember exactly, but he thinks he was somewhere warm and soft and full of good things. He wishes he could remember. Diana told him about Olympus. It wasn't warm and soft, but it was still a form of heaven, he thinks. She didn't want to be a goddess. If he hadn't been in love with her already when she came back to life, he would have fallen for her just because she wanted to be what he wants to be. Human.

Neither of them is really that. But she's closer to it than he is. Her draining wounds are evidence of that.

"Are you praying?" Bruce is surprised. He doesn't think Clark is religious.

"I guess."

"Who to?"

"Whoever will listen."

There's nothing more to say. Clark has it right. Bruce should pray too. To whoever will listen.

"Do you think she can hear us?" Clark sounds like he doesn't think she can.

Bruce isn't so sure. He's been on that bed enough times, drifting from real sleep to the twilight sleep of the drugs to know that there are times the people around you are perfectly clear. That you can hear every word. Has Diana heard him say he loves her?

"Do you remember the first time you saw her?" Clark asks.

Bruce nods. He'd seen his share of beautiful women, but Diana still left him speechless. "She's changed so much since then." Clark meets his eyes. "She's had to." He looks down then. As if they've had a hand in that change. As if they've hurt her.

Have they? There are things Bruce could have done differently, times he could have reached for her instead of pushing her away. Did Clark do that too?

"Tell me about Asgard," he says.

"Not much to tell. Lots of fighting."

"You were with her for a thousand years."

Clark nods. One thousand years of wanting her. And of knowing that once they were done fighting for Thor and his fellow gods, they could be sent back to exactly the moment they'd been stolen from. Diana had given him that from the start. The truth-she'd been the goddess of that, after all. And because of her, the truth was that he had to be faithful to Lois because he wasn't stranded with Diana, not really, not the way he wished he was. If Diana hadn't told him, he would have made love to her.

If she hadn't told him, she wouldn't have been the Wonder Woman he knows. His touchstone. His truth. Lois is his humanity, but this woman is his true north. He wishes he were more like her. Sometimes he wishes he could see the true thing and not just the right thing, that he could do the hard things Diana is capable of.

It is one thing to drop your guard in a hail of bullets when you know they can't hurt you. It is another to do it and know they will tear you apart. That the price will be pain and maybe even death. He isn't sure he could keep fighting if he had to be frightened of that.

"Clark? Where'd you go?"

He smiles at Bruce, over her, half-covered now by the blanket they think she needs. "Just drifting. We never made love."

Bruce nods, accepting what his friend says. Clark has that look. The eagle scout look.

"But you wanted to?" is Bruce's clipped enquiry.

Clark doesn't deny it. But the man does have a habit of sugar coating the truth.

"Yes"

A beat.

Heavy. But present, and then Clark's talking again.

His sporting that "I know it's outlandish, but I'm telling the truth" look. His friend spent one thousand years with Diana and never made love to her.

Now who's the idiot?

They sit for a moment, and he thinks they are both lost in their own worlds. Worlds where Diana is the centerpiece. Worlds where they contemplate what it would be like to be with her.

"Do you think I should tell her I love her?" He looks down. Where the hell did that question come from?

"Do you want to tell her?"

"I don't know" because he isn't. His at a loss. For the first time ever Bruce has no idea what to say.

He shrugs.

"Not good enough, Bruce. You know yourself too well to give me that."

"I'll just hurt her."

"No, you won't."

He looks over at Clark, even as his hand reaches out to Diana's, where it lies so still on the bed, as if he is already imagining holding it and telling her that she is his world. "How do you know I won't?"

"I know you." Clark has that look again.

Bruce swallows at Clark's look of pure support. Despite everything, despite all the things they've done to each other over the years, Clark still believes in Bruce.

"Besides, if you hurt her, I'll kill you, and you're smart enough to know that." Clark smiles gently. "Or, if you're not smart enough to know that, my telling you should make you smart enough."

"You don't kill." But Bruce can see that where Diana is concerned, Clark will probably make an exception.

"Tell her, Bruce. Take a chance. Maybe happiness won't be that bad?" Clark suddenly feels a pang. Does he really want to see her in his best friend's arms? Does he want to imagine them together-or worse, accidentally, or not so accidentally, see them making love?

But the pang goes away. Does he want to see them like this? Lonely. When they could be together. When it could be so good because they're together.

"She's lonely too, you know?"

Bruce nods. He's seen the look on her face lately. She's tired. She fights and she works and she meets with officials and dignitaries. And through it all she's alone. He's seen the loneliness written in the shadows under her eyes. In the way she sighs when he turns away too quickly from her, when he refuses her offer for coffee or dinner or even sparring anymore. He turns down everything because he wants everything, and he's afraid he'll be weak some day and take it.

And then what? Is Clark right? Would he be happy? Is that what he's been running from?

Clark leans forward, watching her as she breathes. "She's so beautiful. That's what I thought when I first saw her. But she's more than that, too. And it's easy to forget that. I think the world forgets it. They see the face-"

"-And the body." Bruce grins sheepishly at Clark's "Can I go on?" look.

"And the body. And they forget the amazing spirit that is inside her. It's why we love her, Bruce. Without it, without her strength, she'd be just...ordinary."

"Is that what Lois is? Ordinary?"

Clark looks surprised-and a little hurt. "No. I didn't mean it that way."

"Okay. Sorry." But he can see Clark is thinking about it. He's too much of a boy scout not to mull it over in his mind.

"Lois is anything but ordinary."

"Clark, forget I said it."

But Clark can't forget he said it. Does Bruce think that's how he views his wife? She's not less than Diana, even if she is human. She's his life and he's made a commitment to her. His place is by her side.

Or his place is by her side except when he's sitting vigil beside Diana's bed.

Sighing, he gets up, walks over to the viewscreen that had Bruce so mesmerized. "I love Lois."

"I know you do, bud. I didn't mean to imply anything."

Clark isn't sure what to say, so he settles for staring at the stars and not saying anything. He can see far-farther than Bruce, farther than Diana. He wishes he could see the future, see if Diana is going to wake up. "What if she dies?"

"She's not going to d-"

"-But what if she does?" There is a long silence. The starfield has begun to shimmer, and tears swim for a moment in Clark's eyes until he blinks them away.

Then Bruce says softly. "There there will be no light. Not anymore. Not here, and not down there. No reason to fight." He gets up, joins Clark at the viewscreen, his hand falling lightly on his shoulder. Then he grips him hard, shaking him a little. "And I'll keep fighting anyway. And so will you. Because that's what we do. And that's what she does. And if she dies, she'll expect us to keep going. For her."

Clark meets his eyes, has to blink again. "She's never been this hurt before."

"I know." Bruce's eyes are fine. Bruce doesn't cry, or if he does, Clark has never seen it. "But her breathing's stronger. You said so yourself."

Nodding quickly, as if trying to convince himself, Clark turns back to the view.

Bruce lets go of him and walks over to Diana. He wants to kiss her, but the respirator is in the way. He wants to love her, but he hasn't let himself. The respirator has to stay, but maybe he could get out of his own way?

He leans down, whispers in her ear, "I love you. Come back to me." He knows Clark can hear him say it.

"I should go home," Clark whispers. Then he sits down in the chair.

Bruce knows he's not going anywhere. Neither of them will go. Not until she wakes up.

Not until she smiles. And says their names. And chides them for sitting up too long with no sleep and no shaves and nothing healthy to eat.

Not until she's alive again. Truly alive again.

Then he'll tell her. He'll take a chance.

Just give me the chance, he demands from a God he doesn't believe in, but suddenly wishes that he did.

"Just give us a chance."

He doesn't realize he's said it out loud until he sees Clark look over at him and smile.

"Not such an idiot, after all," his friend says.

"I guess not."

They sit in silence, then, listening to the ping-pinging of the monitor as it keeps time with their ragged hearts.

Minutes turn to hours, seeds becoming flowers. They could've been sitting there for an eternity. Just waiting. Waiting for her to return. Their patience, and musing is put to a stop by a disturbance in the corridors.

They here the enraged shouts before it comes smashing through their door.

Quite literally.

Donna flies in, like a bat straight out of hell she she flies in. Almost bringing the already fragile automatic entrance of it's hinges. Two sets of heads shoot up to see Diana's almost uncanny mirage, clutching onto a grimacing J'onn. And an equally seething Arthur Curry behind them.

Her chest is heaving, her eyes washed out with the evidence of tears. She let's go off J'onn, practically pushing him away from her like his the most disgusting cretin she's ever seen. Her lip curling in disgust as she grits out.

"Tell them. Tell them what you just told me!"

Bruce and Clark share a look.

J'onn looks to the two with remorseful eyes, and Clark swears he feels his stomach bottom out. Picking up on the change in J'onn's heart rate, he looks at him with a question in his eye. His mouth trying to form words.

But he proves incapable.

What the hell is going on?

"What's going on?" trust Bruce to get straight to the point of things. J'onn's shoulders visibly sag and he looks to them with a look that Bruce has only ever seen twice in his life.

When the police had told him that his parents hadn't made it.

And when Alfred had, had his heart attack.

He goes cold.

"Speak to us!" Bruce barks. His usually gravelly voice getting an octave higher. If the situation wasn't so bleak it would be comical.

"There's no activity in her brain"

Dead silence.

Ragged breathing.

Donna's.

Theirs.

This doesn't make sense, this should make sense.

"I don't understand" Clark says stiffly.

"Diana is brain stem dead Clark." The man hunter expands. Thinking it best to stop trying to protect everyone. They deserve to know. Deserve to know that Diana isn't going to get better. That while he was doing an overview of her files today, he had discovered a slight anomaly in her CT scan revealing that all was not as it seemed. He'd even tried tapping into her mind, but had felt nothing.

Diana was already gone.

She'd slipped away in the night right under their very noses.

With the grace she'd always carried herself so well with, after 5000 years on this planet her soul had finally left this earth. The same way she'd come in. Breaking them the same way they'd broken her. Only in the most unforgivable way.

She'd made their choice for them.

A/N: Epilogue? Give me your thoughts.