Author's Note: Been pretty Justice League crazy lately. Still am, really. I have another Justice League story in my head, but this came to me and I wanted to write it before the idea went stale. It's since expanded into a prequel (Anchor) and a sequel (Branches). This isn't my first fanfic, but the first I've published here. Character ownership goes to DC Comics.

'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 had pushed 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 warm glow of the Batcomputer's main monitor behind as I head for the gym. I can't leave him behind, he won't let me. I can hear his footsteps following me. His anger, I can tolerate. I might even be able to ignore his disdain. It's the disappointment that I know will be unbearable.

Disappointment. It's what I hand out as an afterthought to those closest to me, a dessert following my enforced distance, my refusal to accept pity and comfort. I had let them down. Leslie, by dawning the mantle of Batman. Dick, by refusing to show understanding and letting him leave. The others continue their fights, sometimes at my side, sometimes on their own. Now, two more names added to the list of those I've disappointed. Only Alfred had never left.

Am I now testing even his limits? All the support he has given me, all the self-sacrifices he has made for me, in memory of my parents, in the name of the mission. The mission—it's hard to focus on now, but it's still there, behind the shadows of disappointment I know are waiting to engulf me as soon as I turn around.

Thought of it hurts, but I've endured worse. No, that's a lie. I'm trying to endure worse. I will never have to endure the disappointment of my parents, no matter what I imagine, no matter what Scarecrow's toxins induce. This is real. Alfred is real, my present. 'But she…is my past…'

The lights turn on automatically as I step into the gym. My gaze finds a heavy punching bag, suspended by mirrored sets of chains between the floor and ceiling.

"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice interrupts. I hesitate for a moment, my left foot moments from landing once again. My momentum carries me the rest of the way. My foot touches the floor and the hesitation is gone. The bag awaits.

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

I stop, my feet beside one another, and I turn slowly. My expression is blank, but I see everything in that aged visage that I expected. I was right, the disappointment hurts most.

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

"It was never about happiness, Alfred," is the only reply that comes to mind.

"Not yours, certainly," Alfred concedes. He straightens, as if he could have any further. There's something uncharacteristically mocking and condescending about his posture and tone. "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 allows a meaningful silence. "It certainly didn't help Master Dick."

The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

"It certainly didn't help Master Tim."

The rage is on my face now, there's nothing I can do to reign it in. I turn back to the punching bag and cross the gap between me and it with long, hastened steps. At least Alfred hadn't seen my face, his eyes too busy being closed while he talks.

"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."

The fist I've wound back stalls, my teeth bared at the thought, at the mention of my parents. My jaw falls slack and I turn back. 'Alfred—of all people, Alfred!'

"You know what has to be done!" I'm shouting. I can hear my own anguish. "There is the mission and nothing but the mission!"

"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."

Of course he is 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, looking to the punching bag for the release he keeps interrupting. "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. My spine somehow remains straight, a coat hook for the rest of me to hang miserably from. I feel like the lost eight-year-old, nine-year-old, ten-year-old boy I had once been. The empty window between my parents' murder and when I set myself firmly on the path, when the mission was still only the plan. There is only one person to turn to. "What do you want me to do, Alfred?"

"What you want to do." It's so simple an answer, but I don't know how to respond. "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."

'Using my title again…he sees something he likes. I don't…' I turn back to face him again. He's still disappointed, but there's at least hope on his face.

'But it still doesn't hurt like seeing hers…' Her face appears in my mind, my most recent memory of her. The disappointment, the pain. I hurt her. Pushing her away to protect myself had hurt her, but it wasn't until her expression betrayed her resignation that I had realized what I had finally done.

She had left the cave, used the transporter to return to the Watchtower. It is the only path I have left. I can feel that my anger has finally faded from my face and I immediately replace it with determination, with focus.

I reach back, grasping the nose of my cowl and pulling it forward. I leave the gym, the punching bag untouched and forgotten behind me.

"See her as yourself, Master Bruce, not as the public playboy or the private Batman." A warning or advice, somehow I'm not sure which it is.

I step up onto the transporter pad. "Thank you, Alfred," I say, unmistakably in the manner of the Bat, but without the harsh edge of dismissiveness.

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

A moment later, the cave is behind me as well, replaced by cold steel and an enormous glass pane. Behind it, the inescapable image of what we fight to protect.

I turn, crossing the room wordlessly, heading for the elevators and my first destination, hopefully my only destination. No one speaks to me, none even try. After everything Alfred said, for the first time, it bothers me.

'Maybe I really do want more, more for myself…' I can't help but suppose as the elevator doors close in front of me, the button for Dormitory Deck A lit beside the door.

The elevator ride down is short, the door opens a scant few moments later. Before I can take a step out of the elevator, I find myself face to face with the last person I want to see right now.

"You!" he furiously shouts.

Almost before I know it, my back is pressed flat to the back of the elevator. My breath escapes me and I feel the strain in my bones where his fists have gathered the edge of my cape to hold me. I look up from his hands, past the "S" emblazoned on his chest, up to the lividity overflowing his expression.

His reaction speaks volumes. 'At least I was right about where she is,' I realize.

"What are you here for?" I have no intention of ignoring him, but somehow he's less compelling to answer than Alfred.

"I'm here for her." No names are necessary. There's no one else either of us could mean.

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

For a moment, my hand plays towards the compartment in my belt, the kryptonite protected from his sight. 'No! I have to be able to do this on my own, there is no kryptonite for what I'll need to do next…' My arm falls straight.

"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 that he doesn't back away, but more surprised to see that the door is still open behind him. His foot must be in the way. I don't care—shouldn't care. I just need to do whatever it takes to get past him.

"Don't stand in my way, Kent. Not now." I let my voice speak more for me than my words. Never have I spoken more deeply in the voice of the Bat to Clark than now. If ever there were a time to capitalize on another's fear, if ever there were a purely selfish reason for me to do it, this is surely it, she is surely it.

It works, I can see that he is taken aback. It doesn't last long, the anger is back after only a momentary reprieve. Maybe it'd have worked better if not for that anger. He lifts me, slowly this time, and again by the seam of my cape. He turns, carrying me out of the elevator, stopping with his squared shoulders in the middle of the doorway. He drops me and I fall the half foot back to the floor. "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, it laces his words. I'm confident enough that it's an idle threat, but no matter how many months and years will ever pass, that other world is still too real to forget. How many times have we already skirted that fate? 'CADMUS was right to fear us.'

There is no more gravity I can add to my expression. I understand his intent, certainly better than he could understand my reasons for pushing her away and better than he could my reasons for being here now. His expression falls neutral and he steps back into the elevator, closing the doors with a press of the button and heading up for the bridge.

I turn. There's nothing in my way now. Six bedrooms on the floor and little else. Three doors on each side of the hallway, assigned and arranged by our ID numbers. Mine to my left, Superman's to my right. I stop at the next door on my left. 003. Wonder Woman. 'Diana.'

I think to knock, but something compels me to at least start this conversation on my terms, to at least get inside her door before she can shut me out. She has had a lot to say to me over the years and I've done my best to push her away. It's not so much that I suddenly have something to say as it is that I have to give her a real answer, that she deserves a proper response.

"Security override. User code: 001"

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

"Unlock this door."

I look to the console to the right of her door. The lock indicator light in the lower right corner shifts from red to green. Her door opens, flooding the hallway with light.

It's impossible to miss her, for me to miss any detail about her. Her eyes and cheeks are red, evidence of tears she is too enraged to continue shedding. She is standing over her waste basket. Her limbs are bent just slightly, her muscles taut as if she were engaging the basket in open combat. She holds a handful of black fabric high above her head, ready to consign it once and for all to the bottom of the basket.

She lifts her head, turning it to the doorway, to me. Surprise flashes over her features, only to be replaced by indignation. She throws the fabric, at my face instead of into the trash. It begins to unfold in the air, but I don't have time to recognize it before it smacks against my face. Silk. A garment.

It drops away and I lift my arms to catch it, letting it fall until it hangs around my forearms. Tears. Rips. The dress she wore in Paris. It quickly dawns on me. She is throwing away the memory of dancing with me, the promise she had made up on her own and vowed to hold me to.

"What do you want?" No patience. Icy detachment. Resentment. I avoid looking up to her face and don't try to analyze it, afraid I might find that there is nothing else hidden behind her tone.

Alfred's words ring in my head while my gaze remains on her dress. I step forward, letting the door close behind me as I shift the tattered clothing to my left arm, lifting my right to my cowl. 'As myself…' I repeat for my elder guardian while exposing my face and head.

My response to Clark comes next, the closest to a plan I've had between leaving the gym and opening her door. I lift my head, meet her steely gaze with conviction. "To stop running. From you. From myself."

Surprise again lights her face. An instant of hope that I am sure my own expression reflects. Anger again. She turns to the window overlooking the Earth, lifts her arms to cross below her breasts. "Is that what you were doing today in the cave? What you've been doing to me for years? I would never have considered myself so frightening a monster. Even I reach the point where your message is undeniably clear."

I can feel it. She is giving me my turn, giving me a taste of the distance I tried to maintain. I hope to myself that she is only trying to teach me a lesson, that her turned back only means that she can't yet meet my gaze.

"I was wrong! I've been wrong. I'm sorry." My words grow softer with each sentence, but no less heartfelt as they become more apologetic.

She turns again, her arms still crossed and the hope on her expression stronger than before, lingering. She replaces it this time, not with anger, but with need. It nearly escapes on her tongue. "Why, Bruce?"

I can't help but sigh. This is the time for admissions. "I've been afraid to do anything but hone myself. Afraid that the slightest distraction, the slightest shift in focus would destroy me. I feared getting to the point where I would forsake the mantle of Batman and sully the memory of my parents; that I would disappoint them."

"Is that what you thought I would be? A distraction?" Miraculously, it's not an accusation, but something clearly of great difficulty for her to comprehend and believe.

"No." There is no way I could say that, never to her, no matter how I might deflect the question if someone else were to ask.

"Then what changed?"

"Alfred," I answer simply. The look in her eyes tells me it isn't enough. "He saw what happened in the cave. The dam burst. He's no longer content to be an observer. He made me confront myself.

"Diana, I want more than Batman for myself. I want love and I'm an idiot for not being able to admit it to myself or to you beforehand. Diana…" I pause and close my eyes, holding them shut as I steel myself. This is the time for professions. "Diana, I love you."

I watch her face for her reaction. She is still for a few short moments, then she crosses the room in a flash. She balls her fists in my cape as Superman had done by the elevator.

'My future, our future, is up to her now…'

She drops her chin, shaking her head lightly while looking down, leaving me staring at her gorgeous sheets of sable hair flowing over her head and down her back. She quivers, but I can't see her face to guess why.

My feet leave the floor as she lifts me up. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the pained grimace run free across my face. 'I had my chance, now she's going to shut me out forever.' I promise myself not to fight her.

"You arrogant, obstinate, egomaniacal idiot of a man!" she slowly exclaims, each word louder than the last, the delay between each word shorter than the one before it. She punctuates the exclaimation by touching her forehead against my chest.

I feel myself lifted higher and open my eyes to see her straightening and twisting her arms. Her shoulders and torso follow as she turns. A moment later, I'm looking down at the top of her head. A moment more and my feet are catching up to my head. They pass behind me and she finally lets go. The struggle to reach a decision is evident on her royal countenance and I am sure as I sail and tumble through the air that I am the very image of confusion.

I land a moment later, flat on my back on something soft. The soft surface brings me to a quick stop as I sink into the material. I notice as I settle that something is under my right shin, lifting it a few inches higher than my left. I explore with my gloved hands. I find an edge with my right hand and tip my head back when I realize for certain that I'm not on the floor. She is walking slowly, deliberately towards me. I feel my gaze drawn down to her legs and a moment later, they lift. I drop my gaze further towards the red of her boots and the floor, confirming that she is indeed floating.

I turn my gaze to her remarkably unreadable face and she shifts in the air, spinning around and dropping down over me. She straddles my stomach and leans over me, her hands coming down to grip my arms, holding me still, captive. Her expression shifts. A smile, a grin. Possessive. Satisfied. 'She's forgiving me!' I tell myself with relief.

Her elbows bend as she arches her back and leans down to my face. She kisses me—claims me—takes my lips with an urgent insistence. I answer as best I can, kissing back against her lips and bending my elbows to lift my hands to her sides, thankful that she's only holding my upper arms.

The sensation is exquisite in almost every sense of the word. Only elegance and refinement are missing from the princess's side of our ever-deepening kiss and I cannot bring myself to try to introduce it. The intensity of her passion surprises me, but I remind myself how long Diana has been pursuing me. My thoughts go to a future together with the woman bent over me and I realize there will be years for chaste kisses, casual embraces, and unabashed affection.

This is a declaration. This is an admission of passion. This is an apology. This is repentance. This is making up for lost time. Most importantly, this is forgiveness.

Finally, it ends, the velvety softness of her lips pulls away. I open my eyes, seeing her do the same. We gaze into one another's eyes for a moment of wonder.

"Bruce, I—"

Her tone makes me cut her off. I lift my head up to interrupt her with a quick kiss, unable to bring myself to rudely shush this princess. "No. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm sorry, Diana. I love you. I have for a long time and I will for far longer." I drop my head back to the sheets below. I hope that my tone was right, that the sincerity and affection were there as I meant them, suddenly unsure of my own voice.

She smiles. The first genuine, joyous smile I've seen since Diana first stepped off the Batcave transporter pad earlier today. It's…liberating. My heart swells with the realization that I put that smile there.

"I love you, too, Bruce," she replies with quiet affection. She leans down to close the gap between our lips once again. Her eyes close a moment before I feel the perfect, smooth velvet of her lips.

I can only respond.

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