Many thanks to DCLuder for helping me make this story realistic!

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman.

"We are but a moment's sunlight,

Fading in the grass."

~Chester Powers~

Scrapes. Voices. Grunts. Shouts.

Through the hazy fog of my mind, I could hear only those sounds. I couldn't tell if they were coming from far away or close by. I struggled to open my eyes. A bright light pierced through the darkness, and I cringed. Too bright.

I shivered – A spasm ripped through my shoulder – suddenly feeling very cold. Was someone torturing me?

My mouth went dry. Torture? Had someone caught me? Was I in some villain's hideout? My left hand felt the material of my outfit. Satin, not leather. I wasn't in costume.

Or had they changed me?

"She's awake!" a rough voice called out.

"Hurry up and get her out of there!" another voice commanded.

Get me out? Out of where? Where was I? My eyes fluttered once more, and my surroundings began to clear. A car. It wasn't mine, and I wasn't the driver. So who was-

Sharp pain suddenly shot through my head. A moan escaped my lips, and I brought my hand up to my right temple, gingerly touching the spot where it hurt the most. My fingers came away bloody, and I began to panic.

What had happened?

Another scraping noise caught my attention. I turned my head to the right – Oh, it hurt! – to see men in uniform – Firemen? – struggling to open the car door.

What had happened?

I tried to think back to what I remembered last, but it was all a blur. My apartment. My bedroom. Clothes lying all over the place. I would need to put them away when I got back home. Didn't want them getting all wrinkled. My bathroom. That was a mess, too. Cosmetics still left on the counter.

More shouts. More scrapes.

Think. Come on, think!

My befuddled brain slowly began to work again. I was wearing an evening dress. I was going somewhere special? Where? And with who?

My head hurt.

Bruce.

Bruce. Bruce. Bruce. Bruce.

I was going out with Bruce. That was why I was in the passenger seat of a car that wasn't my own. That was why I was wearing an evening dress instead of my catsuit. Everything was fine.

Only it wasn't. The pain in my head and shoulder and the firemen outside the car were proof of that. I should have been able to relax, now knowing at least partially what was going on. I was hurt. But how had I been injured?

The scraping. The voices. The grunts. The shouts. My head. My shoulder. The pain.

Excruciating. Horrendous. Severe. Agonizing. It felt like my head was on fire. No, like someone had dropped a cement block on it. Twice.

What was going on? What had happened?

"B...ruce..." I managed to choke out.

My head. My cheekbone. This pain was horrible. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think.

"Ma'am, can you hear me?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Good. My name is Marc. I have some questions to ask you. Do you know what the day is?"

"Sunday."

"It's Monday night. Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"Okay. Do you know what happened?"

I blinked, sifting through memories. "No, I don't."

Bruce. Bruce always knew what was going on. I could ask him. I slowly rolled my head to the left.

"Bru-" his name died on my lips.

Bruce was there in the driver's side. He was staring at me, but not at me. It was like he was looking through me. I stretched out a hand, but I couldn't reach him.

"Bruce?" I rasped, my green eyes searching his face.

Blood. There was so much blood. It covered his face, and half of his body. The left half. There was a gash stretching from his side to the middle of his stomach. That was all I could see. My vision was too blurry to make out anything else.

"Ma'am, you were in a car accident. We're going to get you out now, okay? You're going to hear some loud noises, but don't worry. We're here to help you." Marc reassured me.

"Bruce!" I screamed. I clawed at my seatbelt, but it wouldn't budge. "No, Bruce!" I tried to open my door, but that held fast, too. Wouldn't open.

It was stuck. Why? What had happened? What was wrong with-

"Bruce!" I screamed at him.

"We're going to take the door off now, Ma'am. Please stay calm. We'll be with you in a minute."

My head. My shoulder. The pain. Seatbelts and doors that didn't work. Bruce sitting there – So still; too still – slumped over. His blue eyes open, but staring into nothingness.

"Bruce!"

A harsh grating.

Cold air encompassed me. Freezing. Chilly.

Gloved hands touched me. Gently, like I was going to break.

"Easy, ma'am. We're here now. We're going to take good care of you." a voice spoke, soothing. Like he was talking to a child.

"We need to put this neck brace on, in case of spinal cord injury."

Neck brace? Spinal cord injury?

What had happened?

"Ma'am, this seatbelt is jammed. I need to cut it so we can get you out, all right?"

A flash of silver to my right – A blade? – then I could feel the restraints holding me back release me. I nearly fell forward. A couple of strong hands caught me.

Bruce?

No. Those weren't his hands. They were gloved, yes, but not Bruce's gloves. Not Batman's gloves.

Bruce was still there in the driver's seat, that unseeing gaze piercing me.

"No. No," I found myself saying.

"We're here, Ma'am. We're going to help you now. We have to check your vitals, okay? And we're going to take care of your head, too."

I could feel them taking my pulse, checking my blood pressure. A compress bandage was pressed to my head, causing stars to dance before my eyes from the touch. I became aware of my surroundings. Sirens wailed, lights flashed, smoke filled the air. There was the excited hum of people talking, but I couldn't make out their exact words. "You have to get Bruce out first. I'm fine. Take care of Bruce. He's bleeding so much."

Someone coughed weakly, and I glanced up to see two of the firemen look at each other.

"Please, help Bruce," I begged. "He'll die if you don't."

"Ma'am, you need to remain calm. Everything is going to be fine. I need you to take slow, deep breaths. Can you do that for me? Good. I have a neck brace with me. I am going to put it on you now. We don't want you moving your head, okay?"

A bulky object clasped around my neck, preventing me from turning my head. "No. Forget about me! Bruce? Bruce!"

The strong hands lifted me, keeping me very still.

Like Bruce.

"No. No! Bruce! Bruce!" I shrieked, attempting to kick my legs to free myself. In my weakened state, however, I was no match for the three paramedics. I was laid on a stretcher, then strapped in so I couldn't move.

"Mid-thirty year old white female, MVA victim, pulse 90, respiration 40, BP 130 over 80, O2 is 95. Possible head, neck, and face trauma. En route to Mercy, ETA ten minutes." a paramedic barked out.

"Please, please, please," I repeated. My cheeks were wet. Tears? Blood? "You have to save Bruce. I won't leave without him!"

The men lifted the stretcher, placing it on the gurney. As they began to wheel it towards the waiting ambulance, I strained to see the car. Firemen were reaching inside, and when they stood upright, they had pulled Bruce out.

"Bruce? Bruce! Are you okay? Answer me!" I could feel panic once again gripping me. There was no reply.

"Ma'am, please listen to me. He's going to be fine. He's in good hands now." one of the paramedics stated.

My head hurt.

And I was confused. Why wasn't Bruce replying? Was he unconscious? Just how severe were his injuries? Did he have a spinal cord injury? Would he recover enough to become Batman once again?

Of course. Of course, he would. He always recovered. He always had a triumphant return from any serious injuries he had received.

Bruce was also placed on a stretcher, and they pulled a blanket over his body before tightening the straps. They began to check his vitals. Heart rate. Breathing. Blood pressure. One of the medics shook his head at the other two.

I panicked. "Bruce? Please, I can't leave without Bruce."

"Ma'am, you need to calm down." a paramedic commanded softly. "It won't do any good if you continue to panic like this. Breathe in slowly, and just relax. We're going to take good care of you."

I was about to protest, but they placed a mask over my mouth, making it impossible to speak. Rich oxygen flooded my lungs, but I was more concerned with Bruce to fully appreciate being able to breathe better.

Bruce. Bruce. What happened? Why won't you answer me? Where are they taking you?

My vision blurred, refocused, then blurred again. I was so tired.

Bruce...

"If you should die before me, ask if you could bring a friend." ~Unknown

The pain in my head and shoulder had lowered to a dull ache. Whenever I opened my eyes, though, all I could see was white. Clean, pristine white. White walls, white floors, white sheets.

I knew I wasn't at home. My sheets were a deep purple.

I could hear machines humming and beeping, and my breathing. Footsteps in the hallway, occasionally voices. As I lay in bed, I wondered where I was and how long I had been there.

"Is she awake?"

"Not yet."

"So she doesn't know yet?"

"Nope. It's going to be hard to tell her."

"He asked to be the one to tell her. Said that she might take it better from him rather than from a stranger."

"Understandable. Poor woman's gone through a lot. I heard that she was a confused, emotional wreck. She'll be even more so once she hears of his death."

I felt sorry for this poor woman, whoever she may be. To have lost someone important to her would be devastating.

I heard the door creak open. My eyelids fluttered. Who was in the room this time? Previously, it had been people I didn't know, voices I didn't recognize.

Movement. A rustling of some kind. Someone sat down in the chair beside me. I had a visitor.

I dared to open my eyes, if only slightly. Out of the corner of my left eye, I could see sunlight streaming in through the window. Possibly around noon? The light still hurt my eyes, but I could make out that the figure was male, with black hair. My heart skipped a beat. Bruce?

No, no. Not Bruce. Not tall enough, and the shoulders weren't as broad as his were.

Dick. It was-

"Dick," I whispered.

He jolted. "You're awake." Relief was evident in his voice, and he leaned over, closer to me. "How do you feel?"

"Not too bad. Head and shoulder hurt."

"The doctors said you were lucky."

I blinked. "Lucky?"

Dick stared at me, an uneasy look on his face. "You...don't remember?"

"Remember what?" Fear began to sink its clutches in my stomach and dread seeped throughout my body.

He stood up, pacing towards the window. He paused, staring outside, and ran a hand through his hair. "Selina..."

"Dick, what is going on?" I questioned. I tried to sit up, but my body hurt too much. I gave up with a hiss, resigning myself to lying flat on my back.

Dick turned back around, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He walked back over to my bedside and took my hand in his. "You don't remember the accident?"

"Accident? What on earth are you-"

And I remembered. I turned shocked eyes to Dick. "The accident..."

"Yeah. The other car ran a red light and smashed into you. Your car then hit a streetlight, causing your car door and seatbelt to jam. They had to use the Jaws of Life to get you free."

I nodded slowly, wincing as the movement intensified the throbbing of my head. Bits and pieces of the previous night came flooding back to me. I vaguely recalled the car door being removed and my seatbelt being cut. Aside from that, it all blended together. The lights, sirens, noises, blood-

Blood? There was something significant about that. What was it? I had been bleeding, but someone else had been bleeding, too.

An image of Bruce sitting in the driver's seat staring at me flashed through my mind. He had practically been covered in the red substance. He hadn't moved at all, hadn't responded to my calls.

I swallowed. "Dick. Where's Bruce?"

He looked away, anywhere but me. The floor, the wall, the ceiling, the machines I was hooked to.

"Dick! Where's Bruce?" Panic overtook me, muddling my thoughts as I searched my memories for a clue as to where he was. Bruce, sitting so still. Bruce, covered in blood.

My face paled. "No..."

"He's gone, Selina," Dick's voice cracked, and he finally looked at me, his eyes begging me to understand.

"No..."

"So she doesn't know yet?"

"Poor woman's gone through a lot. I heard that she was a confused, emotional wreck. She'll be even more so once she hears of his death."

That poor woman was me.

His death meant that Bruce was...

I wasn't aware I was crying until I tasted salt on my lips. My shoulder ached from the sobs that wracked my body, but I couldn't stop. I could sense Dick by my side, squeezing my hand and murmuring words of comfort that didn't register. I felt something wet drip onto my hand, and I knew that Dick was also crying. Of course, this news was just as hard for him as it was for me. Bruce was gone.

Gone? He was gone? Just like that? No time – no chance – to say good-bye?

I had been less than two feet away, yet I had been unable to tell him good-bye and that I had loved him.

My memory from before the accident was still intact. I vividly remembered every little detail. The sparkle in his blue eyes, the secretive smirk present on his lips. We had been relentlessly teasing and flirting. How could all of that end in the blink of an eye? How could Bruce be with me one minute and the next be taken away?

It was a few minutes before my tears subsided. I was exhausted and in pain. Dick was still beside me. His eyes, like mine, were red-rimmed from crying.

"How did he die?" I asked quietly.

"Trauma to the head and exsanguination." he replied.

I was quiet for a moment, the next question on the tip of my tongue. Did I want to know the answer? "Did he suffer?"

Dick shook his head. "No, he didn't."

I studied his face. When friends or family members of someone who had died asked if their loved one had suffered, the answer was always no. No, they hadn't suffered. Yes, they had died quickly. Lies.

Was that what Dick was trying to do? Was he trying to spare me from the knowledge that Bruce had been in agony before he had died? The thought of Bruce in horrible pain brought the tears back to my eyes.

"Dick, please. Tell the truth."

"I am, Selina. Trust me."

I nodded again. "Okay." I closed my eyes, pressing my left hand to my head. My right shoulder had been bruised from hitting the side of the car and was sore to move.

Dick glanced at his watch. "I have to go to work now, but I'll be back later." He hesitated before saying slowly, "The medical examiner found this in his pants pocket." Dick fished around in his own pocket before holding out his hand to me, his fingers clenched tightly around something. "I thought you might want it."

I slowly took the object from him. It was cool and metallic. I didn't look at what it was yet. Something told me I already knew what it was.

Dick walked to the door and paused for a moment. "He loved you, more than anything," he whispered, emotion clogging his throat. "Don't forget that."

After he left, I glanced down and uncurled my fingers. The tears began to flow again. It was a ring. An exquisite ring. A small emerald surrounded on either side by three beautiful, flawless diamonds, set on a solid gold band.

Everything began to click into place. Bruce had made reservations at Sólo, and he had come to pick me up. He had seemed to be more affectionate than usual, kissing me, holding my hand, and telling me how beautiful I was. The last kiss we had shared had been when we were stopped at a red light. I had glanced over to see him staring at me, this expression of awe on his face. When I'd asked him what was wrong, he'd replied that he couldn't believe how lucky he was to have me by his side. He'd kissed me then, slow and passionate.

He had planned on proposing to me that night.

I slowly slid the diamond ring onto my left ring finger.

It was a perfect fit.

"A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own." ~Thomas Mann

It was cold. I hated the cold. It reminded me of that night – How long had it been? – three weeks ago.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Five hundred four hours. Thirty-thousand, two hundred forty minutes. One million, eight hundred fourteen thousand, four hundred seconds.

An eternity, it seemed. His funeral had been eighteen days ago. I had been in the hospital.

Not only had I been unable to say good-bye before he had died, but I had also been unable to say good-bye as they buried his body in the cold ground.

That was why I was here, standing before Bruce's grave. I had come to say good-bye.

He had been buried at Wayne Manor. Fresh flowers were in a vase by the headstone, and I wondered who had left them there. Alfred? Dick? Someone else?

A sad smile crossed my face. Bruce's death was hitting the Family as hard as it was hitting me. Since I had been released from the hospital two weeks ago, I had been spending more time with them than I ever had. It helped to ease the pain I felt, if only slightly.

My chest hurt. It felt like there was a piece missing, a gaping hole that nothing was able to fill. And nothing could fill it. There would forever be that Bruce-shaped hole there. I had lost track of how many times I had cried. Sometimes, it was only a sniffle or two,while other times it was heart-wrenching sobs. Both had been accompanied by a pain so fierce I believed my heart would tear in two.

During my time in the hospital, I had struggled with different emotions and feelings. At first, there had been sadness. Bruce was dead, never coming back. My best friend – my lover – was gone forever. I would never be able to call him, to see him on the rooftops of Gotham. I would never be able to touch him, or be touched by him, again.

Then there had been confusion. Why Bruce? Why not me? Bruce had so much more to offer. He was Batman, for heaven's sake! He saved countless people, jailed many criminals. So why was he torn from this life?

Finally, rage. Bruce had died in a car accident. A car accident. Of all the things in his world, why had he died in a car accident, when he could have so easily been killed on duty as Batman, killed saving someone's life? It just didn't make sense to me. It never would, of that I was certain.

I would give anything to have him back. I would give up Catwoman, my own life. I would even give up the time we spent together if it meant that he would be alive and well. I would give up our relationship to see him again.

Why hadn't I said that we didn't need to go to a restaurant to celebrate our anniversary? Why had I been flirting with him, knowing that I was distracting him?

I found myself thinking about Bruce and what might have been. Would we have gotten married? Would we have had children? Would we have retired from our nocturnal jobs?

Then my thoughts drifted to the times we had spent together. Fighting crime, making love. The good memories, and the bad memories. And then it had hit me. While Bruce may be gone forever, I still had the memories, the knowledge that he loved me.

Dick had said so when he had visited me in the hospital. "He loved you, more than anything," he'd said. I remembered the first time I had seen Bruce as Batman. I had been captivated, mesmerized, and intrigued. He had drawn me in with his mysterious and aloof nature, and I had been intent on capturing his attention. Batman had always rejected my advances as Catwoman, but Bruce had dated Selina, even knowing that I was Catwoman's alter ego. Then had come the time when Batman had finally given in and kissed Catwoman. The night he had revealed his true identity to me was forever etched in my memory. I had been one of the privileged few to see who he really was.

I was reminded of a quote I had read once. "Love is stronger than death even though it can't stop death from happening, but no matter how hard death tries it can't separate people from love. It can't take away our memories either. In the end, life is stronger than death."

I leaned down and traced his name on the headstone, before standing from my kneeling position. I read the lines engraved there. Loving memories last forever.

I clasped my hands together, playing with the engagement ring, twirling it around and around my finger. I would never forget Bruce, of that I was certain.

"Good-bye, Bruce. I will love you always. In life, and in death," I whispered softly.

And I left, thinking that I always would, of that I was certain.

"Death ends a life, not a relationship."

~Robert Benchley