Author's Note: Into sequel territory at last. Please enjoy. Character ownership goes to DC Comics.


I lean to my left, resting my chin on my thumb as I stroke below my lip with my forefinger. I reach out again towards my computer's keyboard, skipping through a few articles. "There's a connection here somewhere…"

Newspaper articles. Dozens of them. All pertaining to the past and present crimes of the instinct-driven animal known otherwise as Killer Croc.

Something catches my eye in one of the articles and I sit straighter in my chair, leaning forward and joining my left hand with my right at the keyboard. A notification sounds before I can get anywhere.

I turn around, looking expectantly towards the transporter pad tied into the Watchtower's systems. There's no need to pull my cowl up. I sit comfortably in the knowledge that only the League's founding members can access the Batcave with the transporters and that only two of them would ever come to the cave unannounced and uninvited.

The cave lights up for a few instants before I recognize the form of my guest. I'm not surprised who it is. The light from the transporter fades. I stand and turn, tipping my head forward almost imperceptibly as I straighten.

"What do you want, Princess?"

"And hello to you, too, Bruce." Amused sarcasm. I shouldn't be surprised, if ever there were someone who could brush off my standoffish attitude, it would be Diana. Of course Alfred would have no trouble either, but he has the advantage of understanding what forged Bruce Wayne into Batman.

"Something I can do for you?" A change in tactics. Hopefully I'll be able to get her out of the cave so I can get back to work quickly.

"Well, no." She pauses and, for a brief moment, the Princess of the Amazons looks unsure of herself. "Do I need a reason to visit a close friend?"

I can feel my jaw tightening. I know what she wants, it's obvious. 'Back to this again? I'm not in the mood for talking about relationships.' I can't keep my shoulders from sinking a little with my exasperation. "We've discussed this already, Diana." My tone comes off sounding a little more out of patience than I had intended.

I follow her gaze as it falls to the cave floor between us. I notice she's barely taken five steps from the transporter pad. I look up from her feet, notice that her shoulders have fallen as well. I raise my focus back to her face and see the forlornness set about her features.

"Yes. We've started many times," she admits with disappointment. She lifts her eyes back to meet mine. "But we've never once concluded it." Hope.

'And I'm about to shatter it.' I feel a strange, uncomfortable weight to the thought. Regardless, I can't let myself grant her wish. I need to speak. "I have. You haven't."

She does well to hide the pain from her face, but it's still clear to me. I'm not sure if I see it because of my time reading people as Batman or if I'm paying attention because it's Diana. 'Time to drive the point home.' A dismissal without a dismissal. "I have work to do."

Her hands tighten into fists as I watch. Anger flashes across her face and I feel a more familiar personal regret, weight of the knowledge that being Batman means my own isolation. I suppress it quickly, my focus still locked on Diana's face.

Now she surprises me; the anger drops all at once from her expression. An unfamiliar neutrality replaces it. "Fine." Her voice is strangely monotonous, without emotion. "I'll let you get back to work." A hint of scorn in the last few words.

Diana turns, steps back to the transporter. She lifts her right hand to her ear. "Mr. Terrific, one for transport." The transporter begins to activate and a moment later, she is gone.

I let my expression soften before the judging silence of the cave. I stand still, but my mind races, analyzing Diana's expression. Her reaction. The fact that she never looked back, not even for a moment before she disappeared into the telltale envelope of light.

"Res…resignation?" I let myself ask aloud. I run with the idea for a moment and I soon realize: she is resigning herself of pursuing me. The muscles in my jaw loosen and my mouth opens. I turn enough to drop back into the chair. I swivel it back towards the Batcomputer to my right and my head falls forward.

"I did it. I finally did it."

I hear footsteps from the stairs. Alfred. It's nearly impossible that he would miss that. He probably heard the whole exchange, probably saw it, too.

'I did it. I finally did it,' I repeat silently to myself, the words no less morose, no less distraught then when I had first spoken them aloud. I keep telling myself I should feel a sense of freedom, but all I feel is emptiness.

I close my eyes to blink, but stop halfway, for a long while not bothering to open them again. I finally do when I hear Alfred's footsteps come to a stop a few feet from me.

It doesn't matter what he will tell me, how he might berate me. I had pushed Diana once too many times. My indomitable will, my stubbornness, had finally broken her indomitable spirit. 'What…was her indomitable spirit…'

I lift myself from my chair, leaving the functional but comfortable seat to head for the gym. Alfred follows. He won't let me walk away, not from this, not from him. 'I knew he wouldn't let me put this behind myself so easily.'

I'm sure I've disappointed him. I've certainly disappointed Diana. Now it's clear that she won't be willing to try again. How many more times will Alfred let me disappoint him? Am I even now testing his limits?

'I don't know how I'd continue the mission without Alfred, with Dick away in Blüdhaven. I can't rely on Tim and Barbara as Robin and Batgirl and expect to have someone I trust care for the manor.'

Thoughts of Wayne Manor falling apart from neglect hurt, but the idea of Alfred leaving easily overshadows that pain. Even so, I know I've endured worse. No, that's a lie. I'm trying to endure worse. The specter of a greater pain lingers over me, even as I distract myself with what could become of the manor.

'Diana is gone, she will never let herself be anyone but Wonder Woman to me now.' The emptiness in my heart from the idea is crushing. I need an outlet.

The gym's lights turn on automatically as I step inside. I turn with purpose towards a heavy punching bag hanging near the far wall, suspended by chains in the exact center between the floor and ceiling.

"Master Bruce."

I hesitate for a moment, my left foot moments from landing once again. 'Wait...' My momentum carries me the rest of the way. My foot touches the floor and the hesitation and the thought are gone. The bag awaits.

"Bruce." Firm insistence. There is to be no compromise with that tone.

I stop, my feet beside one another, and turn slowly. I hold my expression blank, though I see all the disappointment in his aged visage that I expected. 'I know this.'

"Are you happy with yourself? With what you've done?"

"It was never about happiness, Alfred," is my automatic response. The words came to me without thinking.

"Not yours, certainly," Alfred concedes. He's mocking me, I know it. "The mission demands all be set aside to ensure that others are not hurt, to keep families whole, to above all protect other children from your fate."

He is silent for a few moments. Realization beings to dawn. 'He's told me this before.' What will come next is still a blank and I can't think of where this seems familiar from.

"It certainly didn't help Master Dick."

Anger interrupts my thoughts. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. My lips begin to draw back into something between a scowl and a pained grimace. I suck in a sharp breath through my clenched teeth.

"It certainly didn't help Master Tim."

The rage is on my face now, there's nothing I can do to hide it. I do my best to school my expression and turn back to the punching bag. I'm standing before it a moment later, feet spread and knees bent.

"You and I knew your parents—God, rest their souls—differently. You best knew their love. I best know their hopes and dreams for you. You do them no disservice fighting to protect Gotham, fighting for our world, but you do them every disservice in doing so at the expense of all else. They would forgive your public acts, they would applaud the good you push for with charities and the clout of Wayne Enterprises and the Foundations, they would accept how you choose to spend the family fortunes, but they would never stand for your self-imposed isolation."

My fist quakes in the air beside me. My lips draw back once more and this time I feel the cave's dank air against my teeth. 'Alfred—wasn't saying it once enough, Alfred?'

"You know what has to be done!" I'm shouting. Like those before, the words come to me without the need for thought. "There is the mission and nothing but the mission!"

Alfred's hands, closed into fists, drop to his sides. He begins approaching. "And yet you continue to waver, find love in women—did you not love Miss Beaumont? Miss Kyle? Even Miss Talia has more than caught your eye."

'You already know you're right.' "Yes! I wavered—"

"And is that really weakness? Is it so wrong to want more for yourself? To be selfish?" He pauses and I turn away from his intense gaze, looking past the punching bag as I bring my feet back together below me. "Don't bother denying it to me, Bruce, I know you well enough by now. Stop lying to yourself."

My arms fall to my sides, but somehow I remain straight, hanging like a sad, wet coat on a hook. I feel empty. Alfred is the only one who can help me. "What do you want me to do, Alfred?" I feel the memories begin to clear. I remember how he will answer.

"What you want to do." I still don't have the words to answer that. "Do what you want to do, Master Bruce, not in the mind of the Batman or in the skin of the Playboy, but in the heart of Bruce Wayne."

More of my memory comes back. I remember what I did when this first happened just as I turn to face him again. He's still disappointed, but I remember to notice the hope lighting his eyes.

I remember that Diana had left for the Watchtower. I have to go there, find the reason behind this déjà vu.

I reach back and grasp the nose of my cowl to pull it forward. I leave the gym, the punching bag untouched and forgotten behind me. I have a new goal to work towards.

"See her as yourself, Master Bruce, not as the public playboy or the private Batman."

'A dream? No, too clear. Nothing out of place or ideal like the Mad Hatter's machine. John Dee? No, still incapacitated.'

"Thank you, Alfred," I say in the Bat's voice, following the script in my mind, waiting for Alfred's response.

"Don't thank me yet, sir, not until your obstinance is forgiven."

I grit my teeth for a moment before the transporter activates. 'I don't like this.'

A moment later and the cave's expanse widens, the open space filling out as it's replaced by the Watchtower's main transporter deck. I ignore the sight of the Earth in the enormous window opposite the control deck.

I cross the room without a word, heading for the elevators and what I expect will be my only destination. No one speaks to me as I walk, none even try.

'I remember what I was doing before Diana arrived, I was researching Croc's history after failing to catch him. The same as before. Could…that have been the dream?'

I step into the elevator as its doors open. I turn quickly, standing to block Booster Gold from joining me in the elevator. I reach across and ignore his pleas, pressing the button for Dormitory Deck A and waiting for the doors to close a few inches from my nose.

I step towards the back wall. I don't have long before the doors will open again. They do moments later and I lean further away, finding myself face to face with the exact person I expected to see.

"You!" he furiously shouts.

He presses me back, pushing until I am pressed flat against the back wall of the elevator. Despite my preparations, my breath escapes me involuntarily and I feel my bones compressing beneath where he holds the edge of my cape in his fists. He lifts me until only the toes of my boots are touching the floor. My eyes never leave the lividity overflowing his expression.

"What are you here for?"

'To play my part,' I sarcastically answer to myself. "I'm here for her."

"Haven't you done enough? How much more can you break her?"

It's only a question. I leave my arms at my sides, safe in the knowledge that I don't need the kryptonite hidden in my belt. "No. I'm here to stop running. From myself. From her."

His fingers relax and his arms loosen, now only holding me at the wall, no longer pressing me into it. His expression doesn't change. I'm surprised, but only because the open door behind him is again more interesting. I tell myself not to care, that I have to get past him to get to Diana.

"Don't stand in my way, Kent. Not now." I let my voice speak more for me than my words. Only once have I ever spoken so deeply in the voice of the Bat to Clark, but now I suspect that one of them is a fabrication.

Unsurprisingly, I can see that he is taken aback. He overcomes his surprise momentarily, his anger back in full. He lifts me again by the seam of my cape. He turns, carrying me out into the hallway. He drops me and I fall the half foot back to the floor. He steps backwards until he is all the way inside the elevator. He lifts his right hand to the elevator's doorframe, keeping its doors from closing for a few more moments. "I swear, Bruce, if you hurt her like this again, the Justice Lords will start with your death instead of Flash's."

The venom is there as it should be, but then I notice the differences. 'He never stepped out of the elevator last time.'

His expression falls neutral and he closes the elevator doors with a press of the button, heading up for the bridge. I take a moment to think back, taking stock of all the little differences between now and the last time. They are almost exclusively my own thoughts, born from the awareness of the déjà vu.

Soon finished, I turn. There's nothing left but the door to Diana's room. I walk briskly towards it, stopping in front of it and glancing toward the keypad. I skip thoughts of knocking. I need answers.

"Security override. User code: 001"

A synthetic female voice in my cowl, "User identity: Batman, confirmed."

"Unlock this door."

The lock indicator light in the keypad's corner shifts from red to green. The door to Diana's room opens, adding the light within to the soft glow in the hallway.

I look up from the panel and, again, it's impossible for me to miss any detail about her. Her eyes and cheeks are colored with a familiar red, evidence of the tears she is too enraged to continue shedding. She is standing over her waste basket just as she should be, with her limbs bent at just the right angles and her muscles taut as if she were engaging the basket in open combat. She holds the black of her dress high above her head, ready to throw it and me away.

She lifts her head, turning to the doorway, to me. Both surprise and relief flash over her features before she replaces them with indignation. She throws the fabric at my face and I lift my right hand to catch it in the air. It still blocks my view for a few moments as I wrap my fingers around it.

I pull it out of my line of sight and take my turn at surprise as it fills my expression. A moment later, Diana's hands are flat against my chest. She pushes me, making me stumble backwards, out of her room. I nearly fall over as she follows me into the hallway. The fury on her face is unmistakable.

She reaches back, her hand naturally finding the panel and closing the door, locking it with a personal code behind her. Without a word, she turns to my left and storms off towards the elevator. She calls for it with a press of the button. She has to wait only a few moments for the elevator to arrive. She wastes no time stepping in and reaching behind herself again to press the button, hastening the doors shut.

My eyes follow her the entire time. She never looked at me for any longer than necessary. Aside from the short emotional response when I first arrived, it's like she ignored me, denying me recognition. 'Her take on dishing out the distance.'

I look down to the dress in my hand and stare at it for a little while. I feel my thoughts take their natural course, the sort of perspective on the situation that I've practically ingrained in myself. 'This is the more likely response. The last time must have been the dream. I certainly could have dreamt it last night. I was chasing after Croc then, too.'

My mind wanders before I close my eyes and force a sad smile. It would never be so simple patching things up with Diana. It would have been too easy to walk to an Amazon's room, say a few words, and have her forgive me with a kiss—even more unlikely with me on the receiving end.

I give a self-contemptuous humph at my thoughts and open my eyes, lifting my gaze to the elevator. I drop my arm and the dress back to my side and head towards it.

'Looks like I'll have to disappoint Alfred again tonight.'

I press the call button for the elevator and step back. I lift my hand again, my mind compelling me to look at Diana's discarded dress one more time. I stare at it blankly for a few moments, then hear the chime signaling the elevator's arrival.

I drop my hand back to my side and let my cape fall in front of me, hiding the dress within it as the doors begin to open. I close my eyes and lift my head to look forward again.

The hiss of the doors opening stops and all at once I feel a great pressure around the front and sides of my neck, my breath stopped dead in its tracks. My eyes flash open automatically and they start to bulge out of my head as my mind races to process the image visible through my cowl's lenses.

'Superman!' My hands dart to his thumb and fingers of their own volition, wasting precious, airless seconds trying to get under his grip. I try to tilt my head back to get my mouth open, growing desperate for air and hoping I'll be able to draw at least something in through my mouth.

My eyes never leave his face. Silent fury. It practically glows like his heat vision from his eyes. It's painted across the set of his brow. It's written in the downward curve of his mouth.

A small twitch runs across the skin between his nose and upper lip and he swings his left shoulder forward. A moment later, he turns again, pivoting forward over his left foot as he throws me back.

I sail down the hall, slamming against the metallic wall. My back hits first, issuing a loud bang through the air around me. Almost at the same time, the back of my head strikes the wall, bouncing violently away and nearly driving my chin into my collarbone.

My head lolls around for a moment as I fight to stay conscious. My head pounds, throbs. I can feel something dull on the back of my skull. Logic tells me it's pain, but the rest of my body is numb. Feeling seems alien to me.

Finally, I regain control of my neck. I straighten my head and look up to find Superman floating down the hall towards me, his toes hanging only a few inches over the floor. I think of the kryptonite in my belt and hope against hope that my arm is obeying my commands and reaching for it.

Superman's eyes light up and the lower half of my field of vision is split in two by beams of red, passing below my head. I feel my fingertips touch a rough surface. My jaw hangs stupidly as I realize what it is. Superman melted the kryptonite's lead compartment shut.

"I warned you, Bruce. I told you what would happen if you hurt her again." There's no emotion to his words. I think back to the last thing he told me. He means to kill me.

That the Boy Scout could have it in him still seems too unreal, but memories of the Justice Lords fill my head to bursting. I feel like my mind is trying to make up for neglecting our corrupt counterparts when I was supposed to think of them before.

"The rest of the League will never stand for this!" I think to myself, realizing halfway through that the words are passing over my lips.

"They'll fall into line. They did for the Justice Lords. They will for me."

Superman reaches down for my throat again. He spares me the crushing pressure this time, contenting himself to lifting me slowly against the wall. He lifts his right hand towards my face. It passes above my eyes and he takes hold of my cowl.

With no great effort, he tears the cowl away and reveals my face to the empty hallway. He leans closer, staring me down. My head is held still, the back of it against the wall, the heel of his thumb and his wrist against my chin.

"What you did to Diana was low. You hurt her. You've been hurting her for years—the strongest woman in the world and you found a way to break her! That's what you've always done. It's what you'll always do. It's what makes you such a good crime fighter. It's what makes you such a horrible person.

"There's nothing illegal about what you did, Bruce, but you've hurt your friends—my friends—more than I'm willing to tolerate anymore. I won't forgive you for that. Not anymore. Never again."

Superman winds his right fist back, giving me just enough time to exclaim through my closed jaw in a distorted voice, "Clark!" A moment later and his fist connects with my chest. Pain explodes throughout me, filling every corner of my mind as his fist plows through flesh and bone, effortlessly crushing my heart.

My body goes limp and I feel a tugging darkness around the edges of my vision and consciousness. Its pull on my mind grows stronger and I'm dimly aware as Superman drops me, my body slumping along the wall to sink down to the floor.

I feel my mind shutting down, but before I pass out, I hear Superman's voice for the final time. "Now you know how Diana feels."

Diana fills my fading consciousness. Rage joins her image on the center stage within my mind. Desperation and anguish follow. Blackness soon wipes clean the emotions and thoughts, closing in on the vanishing image of Diana. Despair fills what little of me is left.

I imagine myself screaming to keep the despair from consuming the last of my mind. There is no sound, no familiar sensation of my mouth stretched wide, no burning in my lungs for fresh oxygen. The last traces of Diana disappear, but still I continue.

Without warning, I hear my voice. Light overwhelms my senses. It dims quickly and I see familiar woodwork as my surroundings fall into focus. The sight shocks me and I stop abruptly, freezing, letting my mouth remain open as my eyes dart across my surroundings. I'm in my bedroom.

It's then that I notice my body. There is no pain in my chest. My back is arched away from the mattress, the back of my head and my backside supporting the whole of my torso from either end. My arms are spread to either side, my sheet bunched up in both closed fists. My knees are both bent, my left pointing towards the floor-length windows that make up the wall there, my right pointing up towards the ceiling.

Desperation fills my mind, clouds my judgment. 'I have to get out of bed!' I roll to my left, towards the windows, and nearly throw myself to the floor. I stumble and a grunt escapes my throat as I right myself. I ignore my dress and rush to cross the room.

I swing the door open, nearly letting it go free to slam into the doorstop. I grip the doorframe with both hands and lean out before stepping into the hallway. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm aware of my ragged breaths and my jaw hanging loosely from its hinge.

I let go with my left hand and swing into the hall, turning to my right and finding Alfred, approaching from the far end of the hall. He stops as I leave my doorway behind. I can see the thinly veiled shock on his face, but his concern isn't what I need right now.

I pick up my pace, nearly at a jog when at last I notice the tray in his hands, a steaming pot of coffee and a cup balanced atop it. "Master Bruce? What's wrong?" Who knows what is more surprising to him, my behavior and the expression plastered across my face or that I'm running past him almost naked but for a pair of boxer shorts.

"Not now!" No anger, but no courtesy either. In my mind, I'm already in the study, adjusting the hands of the grandfather clock to open the entrance to the Batcave. 'I'm getting ahead of myself,' I chastise.

I skip steps as I head downstairs. Only a few halls between myself and the study. The clock sweeps out from the wall almost before I realize I've opened it and a moment later, I'm bounding down the steps to the floor of the cave.

I finally come to a stop standing between the Batcomputer and my chair. The system comes to life under my fingers and I begin typing. Watchtower. Communication systems. Founders' channels.

A tone alerts me to my success. I hesitate for a moment, suddenly unsure of what I'm expecting. I grit my teeth and lean over the keyboard, dropping my head and closing my eyes. "Diana?" I finally ask with trepidation.

The silence as I wait tears at me. I feel a tightness forming in my chest. It cannot end quickly enough. "Yes, Bruce?" Her tone is calm. Curious, gently prompting.

My knees feel like rubber and I sink lower as relief sweeps through me. 'She isn't angry!' I let out an exhale, but it catches in my throat, comes out as a staggered, drawn out sigh.

"Bruce? What's wrong, Bruce?" I don't know how to answer, but she isn't finished. "Please don't tell me you're calling to cancel our date tonight." Dread.

Memories of the past few days come over me like water through a failing levee. I open my eyes and look down to the Batcomputer's keyboard. I see Enter, Shift, and the other worded keys. I realize what I should have in my haste to access the League communication channels: I can read the words.

A smile lifts the corners of my mouth. 'No, not a dream. …Not a dream.'

Finally reassured, I remember the dread in Diana's words. "No. No, not at all, Diana. I just wanted to check in. Tell me again what time your monitor duty shift ends?"

I hear a quiet sigh of relief from Diana's end. She pauses. "Six o'clock. I'm going to change into my eveningwear before I take the transporter down." Her voice is cheery. There's an unspoken 'thank you' hiding between her words.

I give a nod as if someone were there to see it. "Good. I'll see you this evening. Batman out."

"I'm looking forward to it as well. Wonder Woman out."

I reach back out for the keyboard. With a few keystrokes, I close the channel and then finally sit down.

I close my eyes and give another sigh as I do everything I can to relax, sinking deeper into the chair. I hear a throat being cleared to my left. 'Damn. I forgot about Alfred.' I lift my head, turning my head towards him. "What?" My voice is more the Bat than the surrogate son.

He stands silently beside me. Watching, studying, assessing. His expression shifts and I have no trouble reading him. He's unsure of my actions and dress, of course, and his surprise isn't a surprise to me. There's something else though, something that I'm now glad to see. 'He must have been as worried as Diana was,' I tell myself a moment before assigning a name to the thing most prominent on his face: concern.


Author's Note: Reviews are welcome and appreciated, but certainly not required. Thank you for reading.

I didn't want to start with this—for obvious reasons—but I apologize for the recycled animation. I wanted to hit that segment at the beginning and I hope I've done enough to make what follows worth rereading. I also meant to start from Diana's perspective, but while I was planning, I decided to switch the first two chapters.

In its first month, Concern earned over double the visitors of subsequent chapters. Please, give the second chapter a shot before you decide you're out—the third if you're feeling really generous.