Good day readers, looks like I have found inspiration to write another one-shot. Want to figure out what it is? Well then, you'll just have to read to find out. Gotta warn you though, this one-shot will not be like the ones on A Childish Game. I consider those more lighthearted, whereas this one delves into the more serious, and like Guest mentioned, depressing side of things. Initially I had posted it as another additional one-shot to a Childish Game, but then four hours later decided to just post it as a stand alone. I believe it's better that way.

I do hope that you enjoy reading it, it took me hours, upon hours to finish this. I'm serious, it aint easy for me to find time to write up an 8,500+ worded one-shot.

But before we can scroll on down, I would like to publicly thank any and all readers, reviewers, followers and favorite-rs for doing what they did. :)

Thanks fan, Guest(s), ChloeRoseIsNice, Ni Castle, snyderk161, littlemsstrawberry, GirlAtThePiano, and Midnight1906 for writing a review to the second one-shot on A Childish Game. I very, VERY, much appreciate it, you guys. It's nice to hear from you. I just hope that you enjoy this chapter as well.

Batman's First Person P.O.V.:

Her body jerks uncontrollably. Arms, and legs flailing all about, in a whirlwind of chaos, and pandemonium. Her fingers curl tightly against her palms, before periodically clenching, and unclenching in a series of quick spasms. Suddenly her hands jerk about her face, in a desperate attempt to claw at the air, and even at her own throat. Blood cakes her fingernails, and the warm oozing liquid begins to seep down the length of her fingers, before flowing in thick pools along the pale flesh at the back of her hands.

That isn't even the worst part of all of this though. No. The worst of it all... is the screams. The brutal, piercing sounds that escapes from deep within her throat, and sears the air with its sharp harshness. It is the sound of a savage animal crying out in agony, as it undergoes the feeling of brutal pain and suffering. This enduring sound breaks my heart in two. Her voice constantly grates against my ears, pounding against them in a desperate attempt to garner my immediate attention, to be heard, and to be understood.

"Let me go!" I roar out in an attempt to break free. I swear out loud, and call out her name in order for her to hear my voice. To somehow let her know that I am here. That I never willingly left her side. That I am not going anywhere, and will not leave her alone. Not even if my body was completely broken in half. Although the pain would suggest otherwise. My ribs are cracked, my left arm is shattered, and so is my right leg. There no doubt is deep bruising along the left side of my face, and the right side of my back. A shallow gash runs along the top of my brow, all the way down to the tip of my cheek bone. Yet, my body remains whole and intact.

"John! Release me. Now!" I roar out in anger, and frustration. He purses his lips in concentration as I strain harder against my restraints.

"No, I'm sorry, but I can't. She could very well hurt you." He grits out through clenched teeth.

"She needs me-"

"Alive!" He snaps at me in a harsh growl, while his eyes flash a deep, dark, green hue, in a show of his anger, and pain. The binds on my body tighten even more, as he continues to hold me in place with the aid of his ring. If I were thinking straight right now, I could easily break free, but the fact is, that I am not. The love of my life is in pain at this very moment, and her pain causes for me to go haywire. She is drowning, and suffocating in a self-induced nightmare. The affects, and even her own body's reaction to the injection, is what is killing her little by little. Slowly, she is growing insane from the pain. Pain that may truly not actually be there, but her brain believes otherwise. Right now her mind, and body, is her own weapon.

The thought of life without her makes me freeze, and I barely register the sound of John breathing out a slight breathe of relief.

I stop struggling, I stop breathing, I stop... Believing.

Everything just comes to a standstill. It is as if a knife has just pierced me in the heart, and a numbing coldness is beginning to spread throughout my core. Slowly, I fall to my knees, a grutal sound stuck in the back of my throat. No... No, no, no, NO! I can't lose her! I yell out in defiance within my head. For if I do... then I will end up losing myself in the process.

"John! I need to be with her... Please." I glare at him, but it is the sound of my voice that gives away my true emotions. I have never begged. Not once in my life have I ever come to this point.

On my knees... begging... please...

The people who have seen me, who have witnessed my actions as a vigilante, ask themselves each day a single question. It is one question amongst many others. One that even, I, find myself asking. It has almost become like a game. The million dollar question, that someone has yet to solve.

What would it take to make him beg? They ask themselves constantly. For him to crack, break down; fall to his hands and knees... to cry out in a pleading manner?

They... We... mull over this particular thought constantly. Examine it thoroughly in our minds eye, until the corners have been rubbed smooth. Until the words just become a blur, and there seems to be no answer. It becomes unsolvable, a locked secret that has yet to find its correct key.

For nothing could break this monster, correct? He isn't even truly human, therefore nothing can touch him. They reason, in what they believe, a logical manner.

Wrong. There is one thing that could cause it... Always has been. But I've only just discovered it, and right now she is lying in that bed. She is already slipping through the crevices of my fingers... through the cracks in time. She is my life, and also my kryptonite.

I look up at John, the man who is keeping me from her. Aside from The Flash, and Hawkgirl that is. He looks down at me, and I can tell that it pains him to have to do this to me. The sorrow, guilt, and pity are indistinguishable, but he's a soldier through and through. He won't disobey orders. Not now, not in a time such as this. He knows what the stakes are in letting me go.

"No, I'm sorry." He replies in his low, baritone voice.

I roar out in a mixture of anger and grief. The two emotions are so much intertwined, that I find it difficult to distinguish one from the other. All I want to do is to rush to her side. To smooth back her hair, and cease her cries. To tell her that everything is going to be alright.

I am breathing heavily now. My chest heaves against the thick, green bonds wrapped about my torso. With every breath that I manage to take, I feel as if time is only running out. Blood and sweat intermingled together, runs down my cheek, before dripping unto the floor. I grit my teeth in a fit of rage as I recall what had happened earlier. My hands clench with the sudden urge to wrap my hands around the pasty, white neck of that murdering psychopath. To slam the ball of my fists against the hairless head of that filthy-rich bastard. If the slits of my cowl could change to a color that would match my mood, then they'd be that of a burning red flame. A burning red flame of hatred.

Flashback: Earlier In The Day:

Superman's Third Person Limited P.O.V.: (All underlined words, are referring to Superman.)

The smoke filled air drifts about. The smell of burnt material and gun powder fills his nostrils. Something is not right here. Despite all this devastation and destruction that surrounds him; he can sense that there is something else that is off. The League had gotten a call, informing them of the recent sightings of Lex Luthor, and the Joker. According to the caller, they were on a mass destructive rampage. Lex, and the Joker were dangerous enough. Hearing that they were teaming up, sent a wave of red flags flapping in the wind.

Sheets of copied papers, acting almost like calling cards, float about the Main Street. Quickly stepping forward, he traps a stray poster between the toe of red his boot and the ground. His eyes narrow as he takes in the image. In reality, it looks as if a child had conjured up such a poster, but that is not the case. No, the small stamp of the Joker's cartooned face located on the bottom right-hand corner of the page, states otherwise.

His eyes travel up, past the small icon, and lands on the first image. There, on the left side, of the middle section, lies another cartooned image. This time, it is that of the legendary Batman. Painted along the strict lines of his mouth, is a sloppy red smile. The paint drips down from the corner of Bruce's lips, making the Vigilante's image all the more eerie. At the top of the cowl, a crop of black hair and a distinct trademark curl has also been added on. As if that weren't bad enough, the Joker just had to add something extra.

His gaze drifts a little farther to the right, and his lips purse in a slight grimace at what he sees. If he had ever had any doubts concerning the great vastness of this man's insanity, it immediately vanishes right here and now. There, in black streaks, is the hand-made addition of a cowl over the upper-half, and throat area of his own iconic image. A thick, blotted, semi-straight line has been slashed across the once wide, heartwarming grin, marking the distasteful, grim mouth. White marks, blot out the piercing blue eyes, in order to portray the slits located on the Batman's cowl.

"Not my color, is it?" A raspy voice speaks up from behind him. He frowns to himself in annoyance. The Batman always had, had an uncanny way of sneaking up on anyone, even if that said person had superb hearing.

"Hardly." He remarks with a flat, dry, uncaring tone. He takes a single step back, and allows the paper to flutter away. He watches the poster, as the winds tugs at each corner furiously, before finally dumping the piece of trash in a deserted alleyway.

He takes a moment to glance at the Dark Crusader. Although the Vigilante is wearing a cowl, it isn't hard for him to pick up on the slight, practically imperceptible, movements being executed. All of which are indicating that the Batman is raising a single brow in question at his current behavior. He turns his back towards the Crusader, and his brows furrow in concentration as he mulls over a certain thought. In a way it's almost... funny. Funny? No, perhaps not funny, but... Disturbing? Derisive? He shakes his head. As far as he knows, it could be all three.

Still, for him to almost be acting in a Batman-like way, is very unusual for him. The roles should have been reversed. He should have been the one to make the remark about the color, to try and lighten the mood with something so menial. The brooding man beside him should have been the one to reply with such a dry and unattached remark. The man of the shadows is the one who is supposed to prefer being alone, thus also wanting to work alone. Yes, things at the moment are not as it should be. Perhaps everything would have been different if he had not heard the news. The news of their engagement.

He clenches his jaw in a fit of anger, and pain. It is no secret to the others that he still loves her. Always had, and always will. In fact, they had been together for some time. It was just him, and her, against the world. Then... things changed.

The Dark Knight from Gotham joined the Justice League. And even though the man was only working as a part-time member, that didn't stop her from falling for the Dark Vigilante.

She still loves him. She had told him as much, but that love for him didn't quell the immense love that she held for the World's Greatest Detective. She was now his, and would forever be. At least until the man, being a mortal, would die. But even then, he knew that she still would love him too greatly, too immensely, for her to even consider coming back into the security of his arms.

She never wanted him to be hurt like he had been. It hurt her, to see him feel the way that he did. So, for her sake, he acted like his usual, -as what Wally would call him- Big Blue, self. He went as far as congratulating them, and the genuine smile on her face was enough to bring the pain rushing back in. Right now though, she's not here. If she's not here, then there is no need to play the part of the Boy Scout. There's no need to keep up the act, to pretend that he doesn't hold some small grudge against the big, bad, Batman.

"What is it that you want Bruce?" He asks somewhat shortly.

The man before him narrows his lens covered eyes, and draws his black cape over his shoulders. It always irks him when anyone uses his true name while working in the field.

"Nothing, Clark." The Dark Knight replies back with an icy undertone. Just as he knew the Batman would. "Diana suggested that I investigate this side of the city."

With this piece of information, he looks at the menacing man sharply. They both know what it is that she truly wants. It seems as though, that he hasn't been keeping his feelings under wraps as well as he had initially thought. Then again, it's Diana whom he's talking about. She has the ability to hone in on ones emotions, like a fly with honey. She wishes for him to somehow get along with Bruce, but could he even go that far? Him and Bruce already had, had a heated argument a couple days before. An argument concerning Batman's secret protocols. Of course its obvious that she forgave him, she had said yes to his marriage proposal after all, but still...

Flashback: Roughly Two Weeks Earlier:

Batman's First Person P.O.V.

He is angry, frusterated and irritated far beyond what I have ever seen before. For the Boy Scout to be throwing a fit like this can almost be found amusing. But not when the topic revolves around my relationship with Diana. I bite back a snarky reply as he continues to speak.

"I ask myself, over and over again. Why did she choose you? What is it that you have, that I don't?" He turns and glares at me. "I always wanted to know... To understand her reasons Bruce. To know why it is that in the end she chose you." He pauses, and purses his lips in deep thought.

"I had always wondered. I had gone over the question a million times in my head. Then I conjured up various conclusions. Is it your mortality? Or perhaps it's just that there is no real explanation for her decision? Maybe that in itself is the reason? Being with you is unexplainable. What if it is because she finds that to be... Intriguing? Or perhaps it is because she can't help but try and fix the broken man that you are. You and I both know that Diana is too caring, and too passionate to leave someone who is suffering, alone. She will try to create happiness for that person, even if it means sacrificing her own." He scowls at me, and I can visibly see a tint of glowing red growing behind his irises. "Now I know, and in a way, it frustrates me to no end. The way she is fascinated by you... The way she feels for you... The way she can go from hating, to loving you in a single second. The very man who dresses up as a Bat every night to fight the scum on the streets." His body stiffens, and his hands automatically ball into fists.

"I should have been the man that she chose. I confess, I love her a great deal. Yet, in the end, she didn't, and there's nothing that I can do about it. So the real problem here is you." He inches ever so closer, and clenches his hands into tight fists.

"Answer me this Bruce. Why? Why did you do this to her? Why is it that it always ends up with you breaking her heart? Do you even realize what it is that you are doing?!" He roars out in a fit of rage.

"You're just chipping it all away one little piece at a time. Soon, there will be nothing left for her to offer you Bruce. In the end, all you do is take, and then you go on and do a stupid thing like this. How could you?!" He snaps at me. He's talking about more than just the hidden protocols.

I don't answer him, and instead choose to merely glare back at him in fierce defiance. Ever the Boy Scout. Believing himself one worthy enough to condemn others and their actions without a second thought on his part.

"Answer me dammit!" He barks out at me. My fists clench in response. Oh, I'll answer him alright.

Suddenly, and without any verbal warning, he lashes outward. Seeing his fists heading my way, I duck in time to avoid the blow.

"Mortality my-" he begins to mutter.

"Kent!" I growl out in warning, while cutting him off.

"She'll soon discover the downsides of your mortality." He continues in an angered frenzy.

"Kent... Snap. Out. Of. It. NOW!" I demand in a commanding tone. Letting out a low growl, he abruptly jerks backward, proceeds to walk a few feet away, before spinning back around on his heel to face me once more.

"You don't deserve her." He remarks in a low and even tone.

"And you do?" I rasp out harshly in question. He pauses from his little routine of pacing back and forth, and looks down to the ground in solemn thought.

"No." He replies in a whisper. He lifts his head, and gazes straight at me. He continues.

"Diana is a woman that exceeds the use of words. I doubt that any man truly deserves her. Let alone, either of us." He takes a step closer and utters his last remaining statement. "But dammit Bruce, this is your chance. The games have ended, reality has begun. Hold unto her Bruce, and never let go, even if I'm the one who is trying to severe the rope." He gives me one long hard look, and then walks away.

Perhaps he is right. No, I know that he is right. It's time that I put a seal on my relationship with her. It is time that I fully commit myself to her. No more games, no more back and forths on my part.

Absentmindedly, I finger the small box hidden in my belt. With a deep breath, I make up my mind. Tonight. Tonight is the night that I will ask her to marry me.

Flashback Ended:

Superman's Third Person Limited P.O.V.: (All underlined words, are referring to Superman.)

It's obvious that Bruce truly does not wish to be here, but he cares for her enough to begrudgingly appear.

He opens his mouth, and then shuts it with a snap. Annoyingly he blows at the curl that has fallen down over his forehead. The soon-to-be husband continues to glare at him. The lenses of the Batman's cowl narrow further with every passing minute. It soon turns into an all-out glaring war between the both of them.

The rest of the world ticks on by without a sound. A blast of silence, a group of deserted buildings, and cracked roads are all that are there to witness these proceedings. Even the gust of wind has died down to nothing, because of the thick tension residing within the atmosphere.

There is not even the sight of a single drop of sweat on the Batman's face, none of the usual signs that indicate some form of surrender, or fatigue. This man may be a mortal, but he is made with nerves of steel. Typical.

Then suddenly, all of it is lost. The silence and the tension dissipate from the air, only to be replaced with that of chaos and destruction. A loud crash to his left causes for him to turn away from the Dark Knight, thus being the first to end the trivial war.

"I win." Comes Bruce's self-satisfied reply, and he can practically see the smirk desperately, but practically failing to, form on that impracticably grim set mouth of his. Ignoring the Vigilante, he turns to face the newly recognized threat.

"Batsy! What a surprise! You really shouldn't have." The Joker cackles out. "It isn't even my Birthday yet." The maniac adds with a terrifyingly wide grin.

"Joker..." The one word is said with deep contempt and, irritation. Clearly the Batman and the Joker have a history of past rivalry. Makes sense, fight fire with fire they say. Why not one psycho with another psycho?

His attention soon turns to the man standing beside the Joker. A greedy smile lines the villains face. Lex Luthor. Someone who he is very familiar in dealing with.

"Luthor!..." He calls out while rising up in the air in an intimidating manner. "What is the meaning of all of this?"

"What is the meaning?" Lex calls with narrowed eyes. "The meaning of all of this Superman is to strike you where it hurts the deepest." Luthor adds in a low, dangerous tone.

"You see, I'm not one to really work with low life psychos like the Joker-" He continues before being cut off.

"Hey!" The crazy clown remarks in protest. Luthor sighs, and rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Excuse me, a delusional, mad, mass murdering psychopath." Lex waves his hands toward the Joker.

"Now that's more like it." The Joker cackles out, while winking at Luthor. Lex just scowls in apparent disgust, and irritation, before continuing.

"You see, I knew that only something... dramatic would make the big three come down here. If it was only me destroying the city, then only Superman would have come, and vice versa. Therefore, I decided to make the ultimate sacrifice in ultimately ruining my reputation, by working with a man so... Well a man such as the Joker."

"Ahh Lexie, you shouldn't have..." The Joker calls out, while batting his eyelashes at him, and pretending to wipe some tears away.

"Don't you dare call me that!" Luthor roars out in great disapproval. The Joker just pouts in answer. "But Lexi-" Yet before the Joker can even finish that sentence, Luthor whips out a weapon, and aims it point blank at the Clown. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the sight of Batman gripping a batarang.

"Say another word, and I shot you." Lex Luthor growls out in a serious manner. The Joker just looks at him, and the gun, before breaking out in a hysterical fit of laughter. Toppling over, the crazed clown continues to laugh, oblivious to everything around him.

"Uhh..." Luthor remarks before putting the weapon away. "That's what I get for teaming up with a clown."

"Enough Luthor! It's time that we end this." He speaks up, while floating closer to the villainous duo.

"Clark..." The word is said so lowly, that for a moment he questions ever hearing it.

"Clark. Stop." Bruce says insistently. He clenches his hands in exasperation and impatience, but ceases his advance toward Luthor.

"What. Is. It?" He asks lowly. He twists his upper body to the right, so that he is now facing Bruce.

"Your twelve o'clock. Tell me what you see." He lowers himself to the ground, and begrudgingly obeys. Casting his gaze a little ways past Luthor, he doesn't come to find anything of any major importance.

"All I see is a giant tin can, probably another one of Luthor's machines." He replies lowly, and evenly.

"Look again." Bruce demands with a harsher tone. He does, only this time he using his X-ray vision. What he sees makes him freeze. His lips purse, his hands clench into fists, and trapped in the back of his throat, begging to be released, is a roar of up most rage.

There, within the confinement of the spherical device, he finds her trapped, and unconscious. A clear mask has been securely fitted over her mouth, most likely in order to keep feeding her some sort of knock-out gas. Plastic tubing with needles for ends have been inserted within her body. They snake all about her body, and multiple puncture wounds line her wrists, forearms, thighs and neck. Thankfully, he can still see her breathing.

"Luthor!" He roars out in anger. Lex grins at this expected reaction, but instead of addressing his usual nemesis, he turns to face the Bat.

"How perceptive of you Detective. Most would have questioned the existence of such an object only after making such a mess of things." At that Luthor directly looks at him.

Luthor then continues. "It is an honor to finally find someone worthy of my intellect. As you probably have already figured out by now, someone who you both care deeply for, has found herself in a... predicament. One that involves a great deal amount of pain." Lex pauses, and gives them both a self-satisfied grin. "You should have seen how she ran to aid you, when she thought that you," Luthor points at Bruce. "Had been trapped inside." The Joker suddenly stops laughing once he hears this, and the grin that seems to be permanently plastered on his face, continues to eerily grow wider. "Batsy! What a naughty, naughty boy you've been." Joker says in a mock, scolding manner. Bruce just chooses to ignore him.

Batman takes a single step forward in anger, before Luthor abruptly raises his arm, his hand loosely gripping a small device. Waving it around, Luthor lets out a small tsking sound in a sign of disapproval.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you Batman. With one little push of this button, she will die a slow... agonizing... death." Luthor warns, and Bruce immediately takes two steps back.

Lex presses a second, much smaller, button on a small hand held device, and the steel-like container opens with a slight hiss. She is now exposed for the whole world to see. Her eyelids flutter furiously, before closing shut once more.

"You see, the Joker here has managed to get his hands on a variety of potent drugs. All of them are familiar to the Bat. Especially one in particular... Vertigo, and another specially created toxin. But there is something you should know Batman. I have managed to enhance all of these strains of poison. Even if Wonder Woman's immune system could fight all these drugs off, they'll only regenerate over, and over again."

Bruce stiffens next to him, and he can hear the Dark Crusader grind the surfaces of his teeth together. Luthor smiles at them both with a devilish charm. Slowly Lex runs his thumb over the large, red, bulging button. Then, with the sound of the Jokers cackle booming in the background, Luthor proceeds to press the dooming device with no remorse.

A scream pierces the air... then there is only chaos.

First Person P.O.V.:

Return to Present:

I watch on in dread as she continues to suffer. She screams out vile words in her native Greek tongue, and lashes out at anyone who dares to come near. Already, I can see the blue and purple coloration forming on her skin. Her blood vessels may already be decaying. All these signs indicate that she won't make it, but I know her better than most people. She WILL get through this... She has to.

Once again, I strain against the bonds of Green Lantern's ring, and he grips me harder the more I struggle. Realizing that I'm no use good if I have damaged lungs, I relent, and the grip loosens in response. Grinding my teeth together, I begin to formulate a plan.

I take in the scene before me. The heart monitors are going crazy. Both doctors and nurses alike are rushing back and forth into the Medic room, in a panicked frenzy. J'onn is nearby, taking control of the situation. From the first time she was rushed up here, he has been in charge.

His eyes are glowing orange, and his face, usually free of any emotion, is strained with that of worry. I refuse to believe that what I see is the answer to the whole equation. One's eyes can be their best tool, but they can also be their worst enemy. Eyes can be easily deceived, and made to believe that what they are seeing is the reality of everything. I don't completely rely on my eyes alone. No, I have technology that aids me, limits the amount of times my eyes can be tricked to a low minimum. But without the use of that technology right now, I have no way of being a hundred percent certain. I can't live with that, I need to know the truth of it all.

"J'onn...?" I call out to him in question. He pauses in his movements, and spares me a glance through the glass wall. He bows his head low, and then turns his back to me. He answers back in a single whisper, and even his telepathic tone holds a hint of remorse.

"I'm sorry Bruce... I truly am sorry."

"J'onn!" I yell at him, but all too quickly the connection is severed. That is all that he can say at the moment. She continues to thrash in a horrific manner. As fast as the medics rush in, they're being rushed out in stretchers, due to the numerous injuries inflicted upon them by her hand. I close my eyes briefly, then snap them open in defiance. Despite what others may think, I will not give up on her.

"Lantern...! You will regret this." I growl out at John. He chooses to ignore me at the moment, instead his eyes are intently glued to the medic room, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Turning back, I watch as J'onn abruptly whirls around, in order to face a shadowed figure, located in a secluded corner of the room. I freeze at this, and watch. It doesn't take me long to realize that they're telepathically communicating with each other. Hesitantly, the form finally detaches itself from the shadows, and inches closer to J'onn in a dazed state.

I blink as I register the presence of Clark. My brows furrow as I try and recall how it is that he is in the room and I am not. His mouth moves, but his body is rooted to the ground. He then shakes his head fervently in answer to J'onn's request, and takes a fearful step back.

J'onn takes a single step closer to Kent, and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Clark glances at her lying in that bed, struggling for her life, then looks back at J'onn. Drawing back his shoulders, he nods his head in agreement and acceptance. With a look of determination he hovers on over to her bed. A loud, startled cry pierces the chaotic air, as one of the rookie medics is suddenly hurled through the room. Clark is quick to catch him, and sets him down to safety.

"Back away!" He demands to everyone with a slightly hoarse voice.

"What is he planning on doing!?" I snarl out in anger, as I watch him float ever so closer to her medical bed. The remaining nurses back away at his impending presence, and watch on with rapt attention. She is about to smash her fist into some medical machinery, until Clark swiftly races forward and grips her wrist in his hand. Just as quickly, he grips her other straying hand and forces them both to remain immobile. Leaping up unto her bed, he proceeds to straddle her, in order to pin her whole body down. He's hurting her. In her mind, he is the enemy, and she puts up more of a fight.

J'onn notices this, and races forward in order to insert an IV into her arm. Her left arm slips out from under Kent's grip, and she proceeds to punch him squarely in the face. A loud booming sound resounds through the whole watchtower, causing for it to quake in apparent fear. Reacting instinctively, he grips her once more and slams her hand back down flush with the mattress. She cries out either in pain or anger, and he winces in response. But I don't care anymore. I don't care if he's Superman, the all-time Boy Scout. I don't care that these bonds can be deemed unbreakable for a mortal. I don't care that Shayera could bash my skull in, or that Flash could vibrate so fast that I'd burn alive. I. DON'T. CARE.

All I care about in this instant is her. She is my day and night. She is my breath of life. Before her, there was nothing but revenge, and grief. Pain, and brutality. Loneliness and the everlasting darkness. I will not give up without a fight.

It all happens in a blur. A moment of occurrence that escapes the notice of my own primal senses. I don't even remember how it is that I broke free from John's ring. Perhaps it was the swift kick to his gut that I executed. Perhaps it was the moment that I slammed my right shoulder against his chest and threw him to the ground, before stamping the heel of my foot against his laid out hand, causing for the sound of his bones cracking to be heard by all. All I knew right then and there, was that I was free, and running, jumping, and evading. Finally I crashed through the glass door, and tore across the room with a blinding rage.

I glare at Clark, but dare not move him from his position. Right now he is the only thing standing in her way from accidently snapping my body in half. Drawing my cape over my shoulders, I lean in slightly closer to her face, and whisper a single word.

"Diana…" My warm breath tickles the very hairs resting alongside her left temple.

She pauses momentarily, her chest heaving, and her brow lined with sweat. Her eyes snap back and forth in frenzy, searching, seeking for someone in particular. Then her eyes land on me, and it is as if a cloud of fog has lifted. Her piercing blue eyes lock with my own, and she utters the first coherent word ever since this morning.

"Bruce…." Her body begins to tremble with fear, yet still she tries to hold unto the sight of me.

"Please… No." She whispers in a last utterance of farewell. Then the screaming starts up once more.

A lot of things can happen when your true emotions take over. This is why I never succumbed to their influence in the past. Emotions and feelings make for a sloppy fighter and detective. Right now though, I am not only the Bat seeking to bring a rampage of hurt to those who had committed this crime, but a man who desperately wishes for things to have been different. If only, there had been more time.

Days Later:

It is over, the light has faded away into a shadow of blackness. The brightness of the night-time stars have dimmed, and it seems as if the earth has paused in its continuous whirling movement in order to mourn. Even nature cries out in pain and anguish at the loss of her presence.

All hope seems to be lost, but when had I ever truly hoped for anything. I should have known that the supposed "turning point" in my life was only a fluke. A perfect sham for a man like me. How could it all end like this though? How is that I work among-st the strongest, most capable people on this earth, yet neither one of them could help her? Better yet, how is it that I couldn't do a single, damn thing myself!? How is it that we have failed her? Without her, there undoubtedly will be a wide, gaping, black hole among-st the ranks in the League. The world has gone into mourning, and it is now time for me to return to my lair.

One Week Later:

I slam my fist against the glass case, but the force behind the punch is not enough to shatter it. It is the very case that holds her very wedding gift safe and secure. My gift to her, which was suppose to be her very own Batwoman suit. Now she will never know, will never have the chance to wear it. I will never get to see the elated expression on her face as she saw it for the first time. I growl out at myself in irritation.

Diana is- I gulp in sorrow- was an amazing woman. Clark was right. No one deservered her, let alone me. I screw my eyes shut in mourning. The Batman couldn't show weakness. He couldn't betray his comrades by showing them this weakness. They needed him to be the one who was calm and collected, so that they could grieve. But the man within me wishes to be selfish, and begs to be allowed the right to mourn himself. I do have the right to mourn.

I drop to my knees, and recall to mind the memories of these past few days. The anguish that was so clearly visible on her face, the necessity to drug her in order for her to calm down. Nothing helped, nothing worked. In the end, she broke free from her bonds, eyes bloodshot and skin a deep purple and black color. She fought continuously, and she managed to block every tranquilizer that Green Arrow was shooting her way. In the end, her fighting is what killed her. The worst part... The worst part was discovering that I was- am mainly at fault.

The day I hunted down the Joker, shoved my fist up against his throat, and demanded for him to tell me where the cure was hidden, was one of great heartbreak on my part. To discover that Diana was not just pumped full with Vertigo and various other drugs was enough to want me to slam my fist against the Joker's pasty, white face. But to hear him cackle out that not only did she have those particular drugs in her system, but also a different drug, made specially for her, caused for my gut to clench with worry. I proceeded to demand the title of the product, and the name of the producer. What he said in reply, shocked me to the core.

"Why Batsy," He gasped out in a wheezy voice. "You should know... you created it." His hysterical laughing can still be heard, resounding throughout my head, and mocking me. Taunting me, accusing me of what was the truth. He, the Joker, was a murderer, and that day I became one to. How could I ever forgive myself for what I had unknowingly done to Diana?

I roar out in a mixture of grief and anger. A pure hot rage fills my inner being, and in a mindless set of frustration I proceed to bash my fist against the glass casing. A shower of sharp glass rains down on my bent form, embedding themselves within the crooks of my belt, cowl and cape. A searing pain races across the knuckles of my hand, but it dulls in comparison to the aching feeling of loss. The pain is engulfing me whole. It is digging its way deeper into my core, until I can no longer withstand the burden that it creates. The heaviness in my chest, the emptiness in my heart. How is it that I can live on without her by my side. The answers is, that I cant. Her death was the last straw.

Faltering slightly, I rise to my feet, and make my way deeper into the cave. I wasn't stupid. When creating those contingency plans for the rest of the League, I had not excluded myself. I knew that there was a chance that I could also go rogue, and I needed to help devise a tool that could assist the rest of the Bat family in bringing me down. I had to protect others from my own self.

Now though, there is no one here to protect me, from myself. As I continue my journey through the cave, I lash out at anything and everything in a blinded whirlwind of rage. My fists connect with machinery and weapons alike, destroying and utterly pulverizing various hardware and the rest of their internal systems. Grief, pain, and a thirst for revenge had transformed me into the Batman. Another great loss, another great mishap at my own hands, another life lost, changed me into this vile, grieving man. It is all just too much to bear. Finally reaching my destination, I slam my hand down on the bulging red button located in the center of the hidden room.

With a hiss, a compartment unlocks itself, revealing a small green vile of liquid. Grunting, I reach forward, and grip it within my somewhat unsteady fist. Unscrewing the lid, and ripping my cowl off of my head, I bring the vile closer to my lips. I gaze down at the dark liquid and hesitate for a single moment.

"If you do this, then what will happen to Batman? Is he just going to be gone forever?" A voice asks within my head. It is my own voice, the logical part of me that is speaking.

"Dick will take over. He's capable enough." I argue back in an insistent manner.

"Yes, he will take over, but do you truly think he wants that? He would die himself before taking your rightful place as the Bat." I furrow my brows at that.

"He'll be fine. He always has been." I remark after a moment of thought.

"And the others? How will they feel?" "He" asks me in an accusing manner. I shake off the small inkling feeling of guilt.

"I just... can't." I close my eyes, and bring the deadly drink closer to my mouth.

"You have to Bruce. Diana would want for you to fight. To fight for survival." It replies more insistently. I scowl in response.

"Why? She fought to survive, and in the end it killed her!" I yell at "Him" angrily. The vile continues to inch ever so closer.

Alfred, please forgive me. Almost there. I close my eyes, and prepare to tip my head back. Then the vile is knocked out of my hand, and the sound of glass shattering on the floor causes for my eyes to snap open. There before me stands Clark, a look of incredulous rage across his features.

"What in the name of Krypton are you doing!?" He roars out at me in disapproval.

"I come down here, looking for you, and find that your trying to kill yourself!" He says with a spiteful tone. I scowl at him furiously, and slam my curled fist against his chest. The bones in my hand crack, and he looks at me in with a mixture of shock and pity. I don't want his pity. I don't even want him here. With a snarl, I aim my other fist at him, and strike outward. Quickly he reaches up, and stops me from hurting myself any further.

"Bruce. Don't do this to yourself." He says in a calming tone.

"Let. Me. Go." I growl out through gritted teeth. After a moments silence, he obliges, and releases my arm. Snapping my cowl up off of the floor, I stomp away from him, away from the room, and away from what it was that I was so willingly ready to do. I guess there was someone who did save me from myself after all.

"Batman!" He calls out after me. I just choose to ignore him, and don't answer.

"Bruce." His voice is closer, and I know without looking that he is trailing after me, while hovering up an inch off of the floor. I know, because Diana used to do the same thing.

"Leave Clark. Before I make you." I spit out in irritation. The stubborn fool chooses to do otherwise.

"No Bruce. I'm not going to leave you, Not in a time like this, and definitely not after what I saw."

"What you saw, is none of your concern. Now, out!" I point toward the staircase as I manuever around a trashed table, and grimace at mess I have made. Clark flies in front of me, and takes a stand before me.

"I'm not moving from here Bruce. You've been holed up down here for about a week now. Alfred and the others are worried... and so am I." I glare at him.

"Damn you! Can't you just leave me alone! I don't want your help. I am fine!" I make a move to walk around him. Just as I am about to pass him, he lays a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Bruce, don't do this to yourself. I know how you feel. Let me help you." He doesn't plead, but the implication is there in his tone.

"Do you really Clark?" I snap at him. "Do you know how it feels to be responsible for creating a serum that killed your own fiance!?" I yell at him. "I'm actually surprised that your not here to kill me yourself. Doesn't it anger you that I am involved in Diana's death Clark!?" He winces and takes a step back. Then he scowls at me fiercely.

"No Bruce. I don't know how it feels to have that particular guilt, but that doesn't mean that I loved her any more less than you did. You may think that what I am telling you isn't true, but her death has been tearing me apart. While you've been down here secluding yourself, I've been out there confronting millions of reporters as they continue to bring up the subject of Diana's death. Reliving that moment over and over again in my mind. How do you think I feel? Huh?" He asks me sharply. "As for your serum... I already told you what I thought of that, but I'm willing to try and help you Bruce, because I know that Diana would have wanted me to." I gaze back at him steadily and notice for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, the haggard lines lining his forehead, and the impossible way that his body hunches forward as if carrying an all too heavy burden.

I look away, and squint as if looking at something far away. He remains quite as I think. Clark and I may never truly get over our differences, but could we get along? Even with everything that had happened? I know that, that is what Diana had wanted in the first place. For us to be at least... cordial with each other, or at least as cordial I can get.

I breath out a heavy sigh, and look shrewdly at him.

"For Diana..." I murmur in a begrudging manner. He allows for himself to nod at me curtly. "Thank you Bruce, that is all I ask." He looks pointedly at the stairs, and I get the implication of what it is that he wants me to do.

Squaring my shoulders, I begin to lead the way back upstairs. With each step I take, I find myself preparing for what is to come. Living in this world without her will seem impossible, but I'm the Batman. I will find a way, just how she would have wanted me to.

In the end, Diana's death was what brought the two superheroes together as friends, and comrades. Because of one woman, they found it within their hearts to work side by side, and the League grew stronger because of that. Despite their contrasting differences, and continuous arguments, they had learned to overcome that. Batman's involvement with the serum that had helped kill Diana was only known to the remaining original League members. It was a long time, but some members were able to at least forgive him on some level. If Superman had found a way to be able to work with him, then the rest sure could.

No one ever forgot the Amazon Princess, for how could they? She was the best of them all. In the end, it was her love for both of them, and their love for her, that urged them to fight on. To live day by day, without her physically being there by their sides. She lived on eternally in their hearts, and would forever inflict her shining light upon earth. Without her, the League would have been doomed to tear apart. For the truth is this. Divided they would fall, but together they would stand strong.

So what did you think? Was it horrible... good? How about horribly good? I know that its kinda sad. (Wipes tear away) With Diana dying and everything.

Bruce trying to kill himself, I see as having almost a Romeo and Juliet thing going on. I don't, it might just be me.

In the end the two men who loved her and disliked each other though, grew closer as friends. At least a little bit. Perhaps somewhat? A lot? anyways, I think that's good. Alrighty, let me know what you think. :)

(P.S.: Sorry if it sounds like I'm just rambling on. I'm just really ready for bed. Night)