AN: I will never not write spitfire tragedy. Inspired by the song The Lonely by Christina Perri. I don't own any of the characters from YJ

~ Broken pieces of, a barely breathing story ~

The personification of Death has almost always been the same. In some cultures it was a dark, cloaked figure, stalking those recently passed on with his scythe. In others it was a pale young woman. This was not the vision that Wally saw every time he brushed the frozen shadow of the underworld. His was not frightening, or depressing, or even cold-hearted.

He welcomed his Death. She was gorgeous, lively, perfect. She looked just like she did in his dreams and memories. Tan hair and blond locks. Penetrating gray eyes that sparkled like diamonds. She wasn't in pain, there were no scars or wounds, no signs that she had fallen into endless sleep.

This time was no different. As Wally crawled through the dirt and rubble of the wrecked city, she was standing in the distance, smile on her face and hair dancing in the wind.

"A-Artemis." He cried out, his weak arm reaching out towards her.

Her expression didn't change, but her body language did. One hand went to her hip, and the other slightly raised at him, fingers calling him towards her.

Blood was still oozing from his abdomen. The throbbing ache in his back had not gone away. He couldn't feel his legs, but he could tell that they were obviously broken. Sportsmaster's troops were combing the concrete ruins for survivors.

Wally knew that the end was near.

He closed his bloodshot eyes, he was so tired of being alone. He was tired of the agony in his side, the numbness in his legs, and the blasts of gunfire pounding in his ears. The only thing that had kept him breathing for so long was his damn regeneration.

"Wally."

A quiet voice woke him from his near unconsciousness. Death was standing above him, with long golden hair dangling at her torso. She was still smiling, but her eyes were downcast and watery. But she was there, that was all that mattered.

"H-Hey Beautiful," He said, coughing up blood. "You here to finally take me?"

She knelt down beside his crippled body and began to stroke his matted red hair. She ignored his question, and continued to smile sadly at him. "I miss you," Her soft voice echoed for no apparent reason, "I miss you so much Wally."

Feeling her skin again and hearing her voice, Wally felt whole again. He tried to get up, tried to tug her closer to him, but she wouldn't let him. Grenades could be heard exploding in the background. There was also frustrated yelling faintly in the distance.

"Oh Wally, I wish we could be together now, but that's not what's been planned for you. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry."

She had tears running down her cheeks. The drops fell onto Wally's face, and he blinked.

"Please d-don't leave m-me here Artemis, please don't g-go." He managed to choke out, though every word with difficulty.

"I have to; it's not your time. You belong here, Wally. In the land of the living," she paused to wipe her nose, "Without me."

Wally gazed up at her with sad eyes.

"You d-don't understand Arty. I-I no longer want t-to live. It's your f-fault. I c-can't walk into my bedroom without smelling your p-perfume. I c-can't take a shower without feeling your f-fingers crawl on my skin, just like you used t-to. I k-keep seeing you in m-my dreams, and my n-nightmares. I'm s-so alone. After y-you, I can't l-love anyone else. I hate it here. T-There isn't anything k-keeping me here anymore. I-I don't want t-to live here. I-I don't want to live w-without you w-with me. P-Please don't leave m-me."

The yelling from earlier was getting more audible. It was his name being called.

Artemis brushed her lips against his forehead. "The ones you love never really leave you, I'm still with you, I'll always be with you. In here." Her fingers pressed lightly on his heart.

She got up, and started walking back slowly, trying to suppress her obvious sadness. Her body was beginning to disappear, fading into the concrete and dust.

"One day, I'll be back for you. I promise." She whispered.

"You b-better. I l-love you Artemis!" Wally yelled out, his raw voice croaking.

He closed his eyes, and cried quietly. The pain in his abdomen was like a knife. He whimpered and coughed more up more blood.

"I love you too." The wind had whistled.

He opened an eyelid; she was gone.

But she's still with me.

When the team found his mangled figure, he had fallen unconscious, but was still breathing.

He had three fractured ribs, a punctured lung, a major concussion, internal bleeding, a broken arm and both legs. He also had short-term paraplegia from being shot in the spine, shrapnel embedded in his stomach, and no hearing in his left ear.

He'd lost more blood than possible for regular humans.

The doctors couldn't explain how he had survived. Even with his regenerative healing, he'd had too many injuries in such that little time, it seemed a miracle he hadn't drowned from his own blood.

They had no idea what had kept him alive.

Wally healed. It took a while, but eventually his regeneration fully fixed all his wounds, though he still had the scars that proved the injuries had actually happened.

He didn't see her again for a long time. Wally continued his hero career, eventually taking over the mantle as the Flash when Barry retired. He saved millions of lives, not only from Earth, but other planets as well. He was a leading member in the Justice League along with Richard.

He never married. He kept to himself, and was almost always alone. In fact, Wally lived most of his citizen life working in the lab, or writing his famous children's series; "The Archer Chronicles", a story about a snarky teen girl who solved mysteries with the help of her team of misfits.

At the age of eighty-seven, he had lived a long, full life. He'd given up the Flash identity years ago, and the current occupier, Barry's grandson, had already proven himself right for the role; he was cocky, intelligent, and brave. And had a knack for saving planet.

Wally knew his time was coming; he started having the visions of her again, just like when he was younger. His will had been written months ago, and he'd already dealt with all the legalities and such. He hadn't payed much attention to the details; everything was going to Barry's grandson.

It was August 8th. He poured out two glasses of champagne, and sat at the kitchen table. It was their anniversary, seventy-two years since she had knocked him off his feet, literally.

"Cheers." He raised a glass to no one, and then sipped its bubbly liquid.

He filled his cup again, and moved into his armchair in the living room, flicking on the television to the local news and muting it.

"Hello Wally."

A fast turn of his head revealed who was in his house. A slender form appeared from the shadows, with golden locks and piercing gray eyes. Her skin was radiating, and a smile forming across her face. White, flowing cloth hung loosely to her figure. Death had come at last.

"Hey Beautiful. You haven't aged a bit."

"I can't say the same about you Baywatch." She teased, walking slowly towards him.

He grinned. Seventy years dead, and she still wasn't letting him get away from anything.

"So then, Harpy," He emphasised his old nickname he'd used to bug her with, "What are you doing harassing this old geezer?

Her hand rested on his shoulder, and she gazed into his jade eyes with happiness, "I've come to take you home."

"It's about time, let's go Babe."

Wally West died, on August 8th 2083, of natural causes. He'd been alone in his house, and had been smiling. An old, faded picture of a young blonde had been sitting on a table next to him