I really don't know how often I've re-edited this chapter but this is my first Fanfic so please be nice, though I welcome constructive criticism =D

Disclaimer: For future reference I own nothing DC related only my obvious OC's and various sub plots

"Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn" – Mahatma Gandhi

Chapter 1: Contemplation of Death

Pain.

All she felt was pain. Spreading through limb, joint and every cell of her body right down to her core; the source of all her agony. Was she screaming? Yelling even?

'I must be, there's no way anyone can keep quiet through this!'

Despite the coherency of her thoughts, she was deaf and blind to the world. A shutdown of her senses, which had kept her attuned throughout her life were gone.

She couldn't be dead. Not yet anyways because she still felt the pain caused by her monster. Certainly, she must be at leastdying. She'd seen the ruin of her body and had heard the tell-tale sign of approaching authorities before she had slipped into this painful limbo.

Oh, how she hoped she would die. Over what had to be at least four years, she had become a frequent visitor to various hospitals whilst adorned with injuries that would kill anybody… but against all the odds she always survived.

She never would have believed until four years that her body could be so resilient, it just refused to die and every, single time she healed, the very 'helpful' officials would then deliver her back to her monster like she was the morning paper.

'Just business' they had told her, by way of explanation. She had tried many times, to find any look of shame or regret on their faces… in their eyes… but there'd been none as they'd watched her get dragged down the hole, time and time again. Death would be a welcome gift compared to being kept alive as his property.

Due to many close calls with the afterlife, she had tried to remember on more than one occasion whilst stagnating in her cell of all the many theories and beliefs she had heard on what it felt like to die. The one she'd lobbied toward most was the idea that dying was that after the shock had worn off, a feeling of warmth would come over you, very similar to slipping into a warm bath. She hoped that one was true. But she knew by now that such things were out of her control. If fate determined that she would die, then she would die. But she knew in her gut the unholy truth that if she lived once again, it meant that her life was not meant to be over just yet and that she had to prepare once again to be pulled bodily into the darkness once more.

She paused her thoughts when she realised she could no longer feel pain in one of her arms, which one she was clueless to as she had almost lost her sense of bodily awareness, except for the enduring pain. After what had felt like a millennia in purgatory, she was beginning to feel a warmth spread down to where she assumed her hand was and up towards her shoulder should be.

'This has to be it.' She thought as she fully welcomed the reality of her oncoming demise.

She felt the warmth reach her shoulder and like a flash flood pool into her chest and down into her abdomen with rapid speed. As it spread it washed away the pain, taking it away, giving her blessed relief and comfort as she felt her body succumb.

After all the previous close calls, her body finally decided to obey her will.

The dissipating pain made it so much easier to think as well, so in a moment of unconscious lucidity she decided to think of her loved ones since the whole 'life flashing before your eyes' scenario wasn't happening. For the best really, because she certainly didn't want to watch re-runs of the past four years.

Thoughts of her family and friends immediately jumped to the forefront of her consciousness, all of whom were far, far away across the Atlantic. She wished she had had the chance to talk to them one last time; to see them, touch them and tell them she was sorry and that she loved them. But she couldn't, she hadn't seen them or spoken with them for over four years.

She couldn't help but what wonder what had changed in those years. How her parents were coping? Were her only remaining Grandmother and Grandfather still alive? Did she have any new cousins? Did she even have a niece or nephew?

With that question her thoughts turned to her younger brother. Stilled referred to as 'the baby' by both her and her mother despite him being only four years her junior. She and her brother had always had a close bond. They had played as children and further on in life when they had developed different interests they remained close friends. She always thought her brother had been slightly eccentric but she had always loved that part of him and she had found herself missing him more so than her parents at times. He had only recently turned sixteen when she was taken, which meant he had to be at least twenty or twenty-one now.

Against her will she felt the onslaught of her memories begin to distress her as she recalled how her captor regularly boasted that her brother had been tortured and killed. She in response had proudly declared that unless she saw his body, he would always be a in her words: 'A lying bastard!'

Quickly moving on from her darker thoughts, lest she remember how he always responded to her defiant retorts, she began to pray that her family and friends grief would be somewhat soothed when her demise was confirmed, by the relief that she was finally free of him, once and for all. She sincerely hoped it did because it sure as hell was reassuring her right now as she felt herself rapidly descend into what she interpreted as death's grip.

As she started to feel her mind start to slip, her thoughts couldn't help but turn to him. About how much she used to hate him, a detestation gradually burning and roiling inside her growing into a wrath that would fester for decades. She remembered how her heart would wretch and tear itself apart as she heard the cries, the screams and the begging from the other poor souls from her cell. How her stomach would retch as the putrid and clotting stench of rotting flesh, congealed blood and week's old sweat and defecation would waft through the dank and dimly lit corridors. As she had shivered continually in the dank corner of her cell, she had surprised herself in recent months to discover that she no longer was angry at him but instead felt only pity.

And now in her final moments she tried to predict whether she would have ever forgiven him had she lived longer. In truth she didn't know, the wounds were still fresh and it wasn't just her and her own family that had suffered but countless others that had come before and those that would unfortunately follow. She prayed that the other unfortunate prisoners would be found and kept safe but even she felt in her heart that as long as he lived he would never allow any of them to get away alive.

The warmth had now reached every niche in her body but was starting to cool leaving her feeling cold followed by a numbing sensation that made all warmth evaporate into the ether. The time had finally come. She was close. She no longer felt the stutter in her chest that belonged to her struggling heart and no pain existed for her now as she felt her body slowly...

slowly...

...slip away.

An unexpected jolt of pain ripped through her chest, her back arching and her limbs starting to uncontrollably shake.

Her eyes snapped open only to squint at the bright UV light blinding her to her surroundings. She quickly realised that she was lying down and there were people around her.

The light dimmed and her eyes adjusted to discover she was encircled by a team of bloodied, very tired looking surgeons, all peering down at her. All of them seemed to bear expressions of incredulity coupled with relief going by the tear tracks on their face masks. A warped voice interrupted the silence.

"Welcome back, Miss Owens. You've given us plenty of scares"

They had saved her.

They had saved her life again, so she can return to the dungeon of the Spanish Inquisition. Her body hadn't given up and instead chose to endure... with the help of her surrounding surgeons of course. She was willing to bet anything that fate was laughing at her right now.

Though she had to give credit to the doctors and surgeons of this hospital, they were really good, not to mention dedicated, but couldn't they have just given up this one time.

Assuming that the distorted voice had come from the head surgeon but since their faces were covered and she was still disoriented, she wasn't sure where the voice had come from.

She tried sitting up, opening her mouth to speak. But before she could try, the head surgeon spotted the movement instantly, shooting out her hand to stop her patient from straining herself so early. She was firm but as gentle as she could possibly be as she pushed the young woman back onto the operating table.

"The attack let alone the operation will have taken a lot out of you. Your heart stopped eight times and restarted by itself after we'd given up on the defibrillator." She paused for breath, clearly shattered. "We've been operating on you for over thirty hours to save your life. Someone, up there must certainly like you. I know you may have a lot of things to say but you really need to rest Miss Owens."

A lot of things to say? She could definitely say many things, some good, most of them bad. Maybe to describe her awe for their perseverance and skill but also her frustration and despair because she knew what would happen once again… after she'd healed. In truth, all in all, there were only two words which she wished to scream to the world.

And she do believed they rhymed with Clucking Bell!

"The phoenix must burn to emerge." – Janet Fitch, White Oleander

Sorry no Bane in this chapter but he will be in the next one guaranteed