AN: Sorry for the delay. Still recovering from mastectomy.

Chapter Seven

Time To Sleep

She had her hair pulled up, but it was strawberry blonde than ebony. And her eyes were brown instead of blue. She had debated on wearing an unflattering and out of season evening gown but just like not wanting to put on a small dab of perfume, she decided against it.

So there she was, wearing an elegant black dress, looking as beautiful as ever, about to be serenaded for an hour by Andrea Bocelli with her ex husband by her side on the private balcony of the theater, the exact recipe for bad news.

And there was definitely a moment, when she settled herself in the plush and expensive when she almost backed out.

She crossed her legs to keep from fidgeting in her seat as the lights dimmed. "Where's Kal? I thought he was going to join us?" she whispered. When he remained silent, she almost slapped her forehead in stupidity. "You didn't ask him, did you?"

"I did."

"And?"

"I asked him if he wanted to watch a concert," he replied with a casual air. "Instead of answering, he looked at me strangely, his way of saying if hell freezes over."

"Really, Bruce…"

He smiled at her chagrin. "It's the truth."

She shifted in her seat. "What's the purpose of this exercise then? Because I happen to have other pl---"

"With that Faraday guy?"

She did not bother asking how he knew. Of course he knew. He probably had King's resume filed somewhere in the cave.

"Yes."

"Serious?"

She did not really have to answer. But she wanted to, as a way of getting back. "If you mean having sex serious, no…not yet."

She was given a two second satisfaction of feeling him flinch.

"Having sex doesn't necessarily push the relationship into serious."

It was her turn to cringe inside but she did not give him time to enjoy his triumph. "Of course, you should know. Any more questions I have to answer before I leave?"

His expression turned serious. "Can't we just have an innocently civil evening, even just as friends?"

Friends…they were less than that now. "I don't know. Can we?"

He regarded her closely, the deep blue eyes staring at hers so openly that she was almost tempted to look away. Then his gaze softened the slightest.

"I'm not sure if you remember," he began. "But it's exactly one year since you and---."

"It's something that we're not supposed to celebrate anymore."

"I had this made." He did not even bother with her sarcastic reply when he produced something from his dinner jacket pocket. "It reminded me of you."

What for?! The look she had on her face spelled out the question. But his smile prompted her to look at the small, crystal vial of perfume. "You didn't have to," her cold tone emphasized that she had no intention of keeping the gift.

He did not appear perturbed at all by her attitude. "At least accept it now. Then throw it afterwards when I'm not looking."

She may just do that afterwards but common courtesy told her to accept the gift for now. Anyways, his display of sentimentality made her more curious of his true agenda all the more. But when a finger accidentally touched her skin, there was a whisper somewhere within her that could not be ignored, and it was faintly wishing that there was some truth to his actions.

The haunting song did not help her current preoccupation.

"Vivo per lei da quando sai (I live for her, you know, since)
la prima volta l'ho incontrata, (the first time I met her.)
non mi ricordo come ma (I do not remember how, but)
mi è entrata dentro e c'è restata. (she entered within me and stayed there.)
Vivo per lei perchè mi fa (I live for her because she makes)
vibrare forte l'anima, (my soul vibrate so strongly.)
vivo per lei e non è un peso. (I live for her and it is not a burden.)"

She closed her eyes and let the sadness of the song touch her heart while trying to justify his actions for doing this, and her reaction for not pulling away.

"Vivo per lei perchè mi da (I live for her because she gives me)
pause e note in libertà.( rests and notes with freedom).
Ci fosse un'altra vita la vivo,( If there were another life I'd live it),
la vivo per lei.( I'd live it for her)".

Then she held her breath when she felt the warm touch of his hand on hers. Knowing Bruce, this was a simple yet very significant gesture. And it did not make things better.

"Stop this, Bruce," she whispered before standing up to leave.

"Diana…"

She was deaf to his voice and everything else except for the sound of her erratic heartbeat and the voice in her head that warned her as she strode to the nearest egress.

"Diana…" A hand on her arm halted her a few steps after the exit. "I know what I did---"

"We have more…things to worry about than our own feelings," she dismissed and walked away. "It's over. It has been ov---"

"I want you back."

She could not fathom how inconsiderate he could as her eyes stared with undisguised anger. "I can't believe how selfish you are," her voice hissed in the dark alley. "And you're conveniently telling me this now…"

"I can't just stand by and lose you to---"

"You already lost me, Bruce."

The instant the words passed her lips she felt him flinch as an expression of remorse settled over his face.

"I need you back." The pleading note in his voice was tearing at the walls of her defenses.

"Why?"

And without a trace of doubt, or hesitation, he just took a deep breath before answering.

"Because I love you."

And she was stunned for a while at his admission. When she had recovered, her words were a slap on the face.

"Wake up, Bruce. You're dreaming. You don't even know the meaning of the word."

He flinched with hurt. He did not even try to disguise that from her eyes. And even though there was nothing she was sure of than her love for him, she turned on her heel and walked away.

She was turning her back on him to spare the both of them more pain in the future.

A part of her was surprised that he did not follow and she was relieved for the moment to face the conflict that she was fighting within, the very strong urge to run back and change her mind. For now, she had to convince herself that what she did was right. Tomorrow, she would have to face the repercussions of her action. She would have to deal with the difficulty of facing him again like this night never happened, like she did not just ended with such finality whatever there was between them, knowing how much she had to give up for the second time around.

Damn it, Bruce…why couldn't you just let me be…

"Flowers…for the lady," a hesitant, youthful voice penetrated her thoughts.

She did not even notice that her footsteps had halted in the middle of the dark alley.

She meant to decline, ignore Bruce's persistence. But he chose right in making the boy run after her. His flushed cheeks and big, blue eyes looked at her with no pretensions and she was drawn to his innocence. There was no way in Hera's name she could say no to the child and resigned to her present fate she leaned in to accept the gift.

So red were the roses that filled her view that obscured everything else. For a moment she was mesmerized, as if time stood still to marvel at the moment with her. But when reality tugged at her senses once more she straightened up, noticing that the small, innocent boy was nowhere to be found…as vacant, white eyes stared back at her and a very sinister laugh reverberated along the quiet alley, echoing in the darkness.

"Goodnight, dear Princess…" the sorceress blew her a kiss before disappearing.

She suddenly felt strange and…weak. As is life was slowly being taken from her…

Then came the sensation of something warm trickling down the skin of her thighs to her legs. When she cast her dizzying gaze downwards, the sight of a dagger embedded in the middle of her chest where her armor would have been was a little confusing at first. But as her weakening focus saw the glistening dark crimson liquid flowing, staining the black dress with a darker hue, the pain tore at her finally as she succumbed to the feeling of dread.

No!

She knew the dagger and she knew what it could do to her.

Her mind fought, but her body could not. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to hold on to the faces of her friends and loved ones as if to take their memory along wherever she was about to go. And sadness allowed a tear to escape from her eyes before her knees gave way, as the flowers fell, as the crystal broke into pieces when it crashed on the damp pavement.

Bruce…

She wanted to tell him that she loved him when she heard the faint echo of his voice calling. But she could no longer move her lips to speak as her life slowly slipped away.

And the last she saw were his tears before everything else was gone.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

He instantly sat up to rid his mind of an awful dream, a dull ache throbbing inside his head at the abruptness of the movement. Massaging his temples to provide temporary relief, his eyes scanned the darkness for the time. The luminescent green display told her that it was two fifty eight in the morning, still a little early by his standards. As he buried his face in his hands, he felt another pain near his right shoulder and remembered that if not for the accident early in the night, he would have not turned in at all.

He could remember tasting death several times in the last few weeks and escaped by some form of a miracle that a part of him still refused to acknowledge. The most recent was a few hours ago, when his grapple misfired as he free fell from the top of an old building. And by some coincidence, the hook was able to hang onto something, swinging him away from demise, his right shoulder catching the brunt of his collision with a stubborn wall.

Knowing he was no good outside while nursing his injury, he retreated back to the cave, ignoring a certain look from Alfred as he took care of his bruises.

He sighed audibly in the shadows. The duty to look after the citizens of Gotham was slowly taking its toll. It was either becoming a burden, the cloak starting to be a little heavy on the shoulders.

Or…he just did not care anymore?

Of course, he still cared.

Just not like before.

Maybe it was time to pass the mantle…

He turned sideways, his reverie interrupted by the sound of running water. Standing up from the bed, his bare feet led him out of the room to traverse the familiar but cold darkness that had been a resident of the big house, as the grandfather clock ticked its second hand, bothering the stillness in perfect timing.

Darkness…

It used to be an ally, a friend. Now the shadows only served to emphasize the unseen enemy, the loneliness.

A few steps later he halted, and just like all the other times there was a slight hesitation before turning the knob. And once inside, he strode immediately to the bathroom.

Making a mental note to call the plumbers in the morning to fix the problem that had been bothering him for weeks now, after turning the faulty knob to stop the flow of water from the shower, he was about to leave when he heard a soft thud. Following the sound led him to the bedroom.

The French doors were unlocked by the strong force of the wind as curtains swayed with the invisible tug. Opening the nearest bedside lamp, he saw that the painting on the other side of the room had fallen to the carpeted floor. Placing it back where it belonged, he flinched inwardly at the sight of blue eyes staring back at him.

It was one of his other talents that no one ever knew, except for her. So one night, while dealing with the confusion of what he really felt for her, he decided to immortalize her face in a canvas. And when he had finished, there was no more confusion.

Because only a man in love could paint with such a beautiful work of art from memory.

So he hung it on this wall, inside this room that was going to be her room…

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked strangely at what he could see from the moonlight and wondered in regret that for all the life he was able to save, he failed at the one whom he cherished the most. And as he looked with anger at his own hands, still seeing the crimson liquid that was her blood in them, he could not help blame himself as he remembered the look on everyone else's faces when he brought her almost lifeless body to the watchtower.

And he could still feel the sting when Shayera slapped his face. "If you only had just stayed away…"

He knew it was not his fault, but he was partly to blame because he distracted her that night, so much so that she was not able to sense the danger that loomed ahead.

But it was the look of hurt and anger in Superman's eyes that affected him the most as the Kryptonian looked at him across the room while Zatanna and Doctor Fate tried their best to revive her with magic.

It was the look that signified that something was broken, something that could never be fixed again.

Broken…Diana…

Her blood…in his hands…

"I think it's Hephaestus' dagger," He remembered the fear that crept into Zatanna's voice at the discovery.

"Hephaestus' dagger?" Superman had asked.

"It is…believed to have the power to kill an im---"

"It's an imitation…" he had to close his eyes as he admitted in a whisper.

Superman turned to him. "How would you…" Then realization dawned on the Kryptonian's face. "You know…because you have the real one, don't you?"

"Superman…" J'onn had intervened, coming between him and the much stronger man.

"All this paranoia…how would you even think…" It was the first time he heard so much anger in Superman's voice. "You didn't even warn her about what it could do."

His hands balled into fists, so tightly that his fingernails dug into his skin at the regret because Superman was right. He had the real dagger safely locked away, along with other important tools that he believed would become useful one day if the need to use them arose, if one of his teammates decided to embrace the lure of darkness.

"In a way, her blood is in your hands…"

There was so much blood…

He could see the blood again, deep red…like the color of flowers that gathered around her as she slowly died in the dark alley…just like his parents…

The people he loved…their lives slipping like sands through his fingers…he thought as he allowed his tired body to rest on the soft bed.

But he did not allow his heart to succumb to the moment and grieve.

He did not deserve the release of guilt.

And he slept with that pain, like he always did after that dreadful night.

But like always, the painful reminder of what took place that night haunted him even in his dreams, as every detail replayed once again. The only comfort he had was through the haze and pain, a ghostly apparition of her face would appear and her voice would whisper his name.

And she made the nightmares fade.