A/N: It's angsty, but I was in an angsty mood. My first JL fic, so please go easy on me – and if I do write anymore BMWW fics, they hopefully won't be quite this dark. It's in Diana's POV.

Hatred

I hate you.

I know I shouldn't, and I know that things become more difficult everyday because of it. But I still do.

There was a time when I thought I hated all men. But I was wrong. I just hate you.

I don't hate the Bat, and I don't hate the playboy. Because however much you might tell me it's the other way around, they're just tools. I hate the man behind both of them. You know I loved you once. You know I spent months in quiet awe of it before I ever confessed my attraction to you. You know that I and my love remained defiant in the face of your excuses. Do you know what I thought when hearing them, how naïve I was then?

What am I thinking? Of course you do.

You know everything.

I thought I could outlast them – your reasons. I thought that one day (it didn't matter when), you would come to see them as being as pathetic as I did. As inconsequential. And when you did, I thought I'd be waiting. The ever-patient, ever-faithful princess, waiting for her knight to rescue her. Funny how little I knew of myself then.

I'm not patient. And I certainly won't ever need rescuing.

But I didn't know that then. And because of that, I put my virginal heart in your gauntleted hands. I knew you'd try and break it. I knew you'd push me away with your harsh words, do your best to make me see that there was nothing to wait for, that you'd never open your heart to me or call me anything other than a- what was it?

Ah yes. A 'respected colleague'.

But I figured…somewhere, in your heart, you'd recognise that you did care for me. And who knows, maybe you did. Perhaps you still do. Whatever it was, your normal finesse failed. Because you did break my heart.

You did. Not the Batman. Not the billionaire. You.

But it wasn't a clean break. The wound's festered. Grown more painful with time, not less. If anyone knows anything about regret, it's you, right? Because I regret allowing that to happen. I regret letting love turn into pain, and pain turn into bitterness, and bitterness turn into hatred.

Hera, I sound like one of those movies Flash and I watch together. Who's the character? Yoda, is it? Well, he's a wise man. Short, and green, and not human, but wise nonetheless.

The burn of it never stops. It dulls occasionally, throbs at others. But it's always there, quietly seeping into my happy memories of us and eating through them like acid. They are few. And they are poisoned.

I can see the day coming, it's not too far off now. When I'm just going to walk out of the Watchtower, and not come back. I can't do it anymore. Don't misunderstand me, I won't be running because of my weakness, because it hurts too much to sit across from you in meetings – I'll be doing it, because at every meeting, my fists are clenched under the table, and at every meeting, I get closer to just flying across the table and killing you. I mean it. You told me once that you have a contingency plan for each of us.

You had better get mine ready.

If we're ever on a mission together, I can't guarantee you'll be coming out of it. I'll still help out if the League needs me. But when it doesn't, I'm going to be in some Tibetan temple somewhere, meditating out my hatred.

I hope you don't try to find me. If you do, I can see what will happen.

You'll ask me why. No, you won't ask, you never ask. You'll demand to know why. I'll end up telling you, because I don't hide in lies. The lenses in your cowl will widen slightly, but there won't be any other sign of an emotional impact.

That will anger me.

You'll say, "I thought we discussed this."

And I'll concur. We did discuss it.

I'll turn away. You'll put a hand on my shoulder to turn me back. Then one of two things will happen.

I'll either put my fist through your skull, and then wipe your brains off my hand onto the snow-

Or the Batman impression I've been working on will suddenly crystallise in that moment, and I simply won't care.

Whatever happens, I know myself now. I hate you. I can live without you – if that was your goal you've ensured it.

Because you and me, Bruce, if there ever was a you and me?

We're done.

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