A/N: Thank you for the reviews!

Chapter Ten - The Funeral

She deliberately chose not to wear her Amazon garb to the funeral. It somehow didn't… fit. With Superman's ceremonial funeral, it had worked. She'd been honouring a fellow hero then, a teammate. Not now, though. In mourning the man she loved she couldn't be a soldier. She wasn't sure she was one, anymore.

Her mother wasn't pleased. As she had with Superman's funeral, Hippolyta had come to Man's World, apparently under the impression she could be of some comfort to her grieving daughter. She was wrong; if Diana hadn't been on Themyscira, she would have been faster. She might even have been in Gotham while it was happening, might have been with Bruce when they captured him, might have –

Alfred cut her off gently, putting his hands on her shoulders. He'd reappeared for the day of the funeral, and she hoped he was going to stay once it was over. Without him, she and the boys had been muddling through each day. It felt wrong to cook in Alfred's kitchen, so greasy takeaways had been their staple diet. Wherever the Englishman had been, though, he seemed to have gathered the necessary strength – she knew he was far from fine, but his normal demeanour had resumed.

"There is little point in 'might haves', my dear," he said gently.

Diana shook her head. "'Might have' is all I've got, Alfred." Her mouth tightened, her eyes hardened in anger. "And I know that if she hadn't called me home, I could have saved Bruce."

"She is still your mother."

"No," Diana said bitterly. "She is my Queen. She has made that abundantly clear."

When she had arrived, and seen the way Diana grieved, Hippolyta had told her that as an Amazon, she shamed her people by not celebrating the life of a warrior, a hero. That while her vengeance had been just and true, she now failed her mother and her gods. It had only been Superman's presence that had kept Hippolyta from being thrown through a wall.

Diana had told her she should return to Themyscira. Hippolyta had refused. "I am still your mother, Diana. I will remain until you are ready to recognise that once more."

Diana had left the room without a word. She didn't know if her mother remained on the Watchtower, or gone to stay in Themyscira's United Nations' embassy in New York.

Alfred looked sadly at her. "She is trying," he said. "Do you really think she did not come as your mother?"

Diana shrugged. She didn't much care what Hippolyta thought of her at the moment.

She did care that the funeral went off without a hitch, however. She knew Commissioner Gordon shared those views – together with she and Dick, they'd come up with a plan that would make a state funeral as safe as possible. It wasn't only Gotham's important figures that were coming – the U.S. President would be there, so they also had the benefit of the Secret Service's resources as well as those of the FBI. They were there ostensibly only to protect the President, but as far as Diana was concerned, the protection of one man was what truly mattered – the one being buried today. The President could be shot a dozen times as long as no one touched Bruce.

She knew Gordon agreed with them. He had every police officer in the city lined along the procession route, all armed to the teeth with either sniper rifles or submachine guns. Anyone who tried anything would be eating lead, courtesy of a still-grieving GCPD.

Diana had approved of Gordon's decision, and ignored Clark's protestations that Bruce would never have allowed that kind of murder in his city – and certainly not in his name. She knew that. The fact remained, though, that Bruce was gone. As far as she could see, he was gone because he was bound by laws that his enemies weren't. She wouldn't risk losing the only vestige of him she had left, and nor would she let the principle 'thou shalt not kill' stop her in doing whatever it took to protect his family.

Alfred said nothing to that. She knew he was disappointed, but in what she had no idea. She didn't think it was in her, or Dick or Tim. She had the awful feeling that... he was disappointed in Bruce. She didn't ask, though. She didn't think she could handle hearing those words come from the butler's lips.

Diana took a last sip of her coffee as the kitchen doors opened, admitting Tim. He was dressed much the same as Alfred; in a sombre, dark suit, black silk tie. His eyes were red. "Ready?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "Dick's just coming." He paused. "He's… He's in the ballroom."

They'd carried Bruce up from the Cave three days ago, and laid him in the ballroom. The undertakers would take him into the hearse from there. They weren't taking the chance that they would find out how to access the Cave – yes, the world now knew that Wayne Manor was the home of Batman, but there was a growing call in some parts of Gotham's government for him to be investigated as a criminal, rather than a hero. That meant the Batcave would a crime scene, so its precise location remained a secret. The entrances to the Cave for the Batmobile and Batwing were concealed, and there were only four people alive who knew exactly how to enter through the clock. None of them would divulge it. If anyone tried to extract it from them, though... Just thinking about anyone regarding Bruce as a criminal made her shudder with rage.

The politicians should tread carefully.

As they marched through the city, Diana didn't look at the people lining the streets. A city of five million people, and all of them were completely silent. Not one shout, one whisper. She wasn't sure if they were even breathing. She wasn't sure she was. She walked behind Dick, Alfred, Tim and Barbara, and next to Clark and Shayera. Shayera was next to John – their hands were clasped tightly together. She kept trying to draw parallels between this and Superman's funeral, but it wasn't working. There were no shadows flitting from rooftop to rooftop. The sadness she'd felt then did not even begin to compare to what she felt now.

As the cathedral came into view, Clark's hand found hers. By the time they got to the church, her hand ached.

Behind the remaining six League Founders, walked Commissioner Gordon and the upper echelons of the city's government and law enforcement. When Babs had chosen to display where she belonged and just how close her connection to Batman was, she knew Gordon had been shocked. Not that she was Batgirl – she had a feeling he already knew that – but that she was displaying her loyalties to everyone in Gotham City.

It didn't take long for the huge cathedral to fill up. Within fifteen minutes the last of the guests were seated; there was a silence, and then the doors groaned open one last time; in the silence it echoed everywhere. Dick checked to see who it was, then stiffened. "What the hell is she doing here?!" he hissed.

They all looked around; to see a pretty brunette come into the church. She moved warily, cautiously, as if expecting attack at any time. She wore a plain black dress, but the fact that it clung to her every curve abolished the need for any other ornamentation.

Dick stood up with a thunderous expression and stormed toward her, coming to a stop inches from her. Tim and Diana weren't far off his heels. "Why the fuck –"

Nightwing cut off as Diana put a palm on his shoulder. He cast a questioning glance at her, apparently not prepared to give up on his tirade entirely. "She has a right to be here, Dick," Diana said quietly.

The woman's green eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you," she said.

"You loved him too," was the simple reply. Simple, but the additional meaning behind it was clear. You have no claim on him. You are here with our good grace, and you will leave this city if our patience with you expires.

Catwoman only nodded meekly. She took a seat at the back of the church.

Diana had no idea what John, or Clark, or Jim Gordon said about Bruce. She was only focused on not doing what she wanted to do. She could tell from Tim's white knuckles that he was holding onto her hand with all his strength. Diana couldn't return the gesture without breaking his hand, however much she wanted to. So she focused on that. She focused on finding the balance between offering comfort and safety.

When Dick stood up to speak, Diana almost let go of Tim's hand. He wouldn't let her. She wept then, because she knew that causing him pain was unavoidable now.

"I grew up with a wonderful family. My parents loved me, I never doubted that – but they were taken from in the same cruel way Bruce's parents were taken from him. And maybe that created a bond between us, but through that, I gained another father. And that's all I can really say. There were times when he was a cold-hearted bastard, there were times when I thought he needed me way more than I needed him, there were times when I never wanted to see him again — but he was my father. And right now, I'd give anything in the world to have him back here right now, even if all he'd do is growl and bark at us all."

At her side, Tim's shoulders were quaking. She was sure it was through grief — and not from the fact that as soon as the funeral was over, she'd be taking him to the ER. She looked at her hand wrapped around his, noted how white her own knuckles were while she gripped Tim's hand. She had to have broken at least four bones.

Dick didn't sit down again. He left the cathedral, followed closely by a silently-crying Barbara.

Diana blacked out after that. She'd catch flashes of it in her dreams later – rain splashing into the mud, a red rose on a coffin lid. The names Thomas and Martha carved in stone. Flinching at the hollow thud the earth made as it was shoveled into the grave. Being hugged by J'onn as he explained he was always here.

She knew he was. It was just that the one she really needed wasn't.

The next thing she remembered clearly was winding a bandage slowly and carefully around Tim's right hand. "I'm so sorry, Tim," she whispered.

"It's alright," he said lowly. "It doesn't really hurt."

She knew that was a lie, and she knew that he'd had worse before. She gave him a shot of Pethedene anyway. It didn't take long for the slightly pinched look to smooth from his features. She put the bandages onto the desk and tied a neat knot in the dressing on his hand. "There."

He nodded and got up. "Thanks, Diana. I'll go see if Alfred needs any help clearing up."

Exactly what Alfred was cleaning up, she didn't know – there hadn't been a wake, but someone hadn't told Alfred that, despite it being a joint decision between all of them. He'd cooked something with almost every ingredient they had in the kitchen. The only problem was that no one was eating.

She packed up the remaining medical supplies and walked over to put them back in the cabinet. On the way back, her eye was caught by something small and white in the huge black of the Cave. Frowning, she walked over to the computer – it was an envelope under the keyboard.

She moved the keyboard – and saw her name. Written in Bruce's handwriting.

She noted with numb pride that her hands weren't shaking as she reached out to pick it up. The envelope wasn't sealed. She wondered if he'd written it that night she'd come to see him. No, that would imply a quick decision, and Bruce didn't – hadn't made quick decisions. So. Was it possible that he'd written this earlier? Before he left for patrol? If… if it was his answer, then she knew what it would say. If it had been a yes then he would have told her himself.

For a moment, holding the still-folded piece of paper in her hand, Diana's heart quailed. Could she see it? In his own words, telling her that she'd lost him without ever having him?

Whatever he'd put down, she needed to see it. She needed to know for certain.

She sat in the chair, in the leather seat that still held the imprint of the way Bruce sat, and opened the letter.

Diana,

If you're reading this, then I'm dead. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and no matter how it's happened, you probably couldn't have stopped it, so please don't blame yourself. Clark will, no doubt, and nothing will stop him, but you shouldn't. There are things you need to understand, things that I haven't gotten around to telling you –

No. That's not right. Things that I haven't had the courage to tell you. January 2005, the twenty second. That day, you, John and I went on a mission to the past, and then to the future. You don't remember it – the pollution of the timeline saw to that. All you really need to know is that I almost lost you. You faded, right in front of my eyes. Lantern and I fixed it. We got you back, no harm done. But it made me realise something. Two things, actually. The first is that I love you. This is the only time I'll ever allow myself to say it, so to speak. I'm sorry for that.

The second thing is that the reasons are impenetrable. I'm not going to change my mind. It's not worth the risk to the team or to you. Still, you deserve my honesty. Don't carry on thinking that we had a chance; we didn't. And that wasn't anything to do with you. This is the truth. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. It's not a case of lack of emotion – God knows that's there. It's a case of logic. And logically, this could never work.

You're my friend, Diana, I hope that's how you'll remember me – as your friend. But this is a goodbye, after all, and I've said everything I have to say.

All my love,

Bruce.

For a long moment, Diana only sat there, not crying, not feeling anger bubble up, just feeling… as though she'd died. Perhaps she had. Batman was dead… it seemed fitting that, somehow, Wonder Woman should die with him.

Sliding the letter back into the envelope, she folded it and pushed it down the front of her top. Then she got up from the chair in time to see Dick coming down the stairs. He wasn't trying to hide the tears. They didn't speak, and she only watched as he moved toward the glass cabinet displaying the costumes of the Clan. He opened the door with the code, then knelt and pressed his hand downward to something Diana couldn't see. Then he pulled out from the floor three envelopes, then stood up. He didn't come back to her though, and knowing that he needed the moment to compose himself, Diana turned away, heading up the stairs to where she knew Alfred and Tim would be waiting. This wasn't her place now. This was for the Batclan alone, and she wasn't one of them, not really. She should grieve as Bruce's friend, as his colleague, along with the rest of the League. With Kal, Wally, John. She hadn't been Bruce's wife, his lover. She hadn't been family. And there was no regret now. There wasn't anything.

Entering the kitchen, she cleared her throat. "Alfred, Tim, I think I should leave. I don't want to intrude any more than I already have done –"

The Englishman stood up. "I won't hear of it, Miss Diana. Your presence is not an intrusion, believe me; it is a balm."

Tim nodded. "Yeah, Diana." He stood and grasped her hand in his good one, his expression borderline pleading. "Please stay."

Dick's voice sounded from behind her, hoarse with emotion but hiding it well. "You should," he said. They all turned to look at him, and he held up an opened letter. "You're not done yet."

She's alone in the world. Her friends are gone. Almost everyone she ever cared about lie dead around her. She's not done, though, not yet. She is Champion of the Amazon people. Her armour is testament to that – it is battered, torn, bloodstained, as is the rest of her. Despite the bruises and cuts on the skin, she has never looked more beautiful.

A smoke-laden breeze catches tattered hair, lifts it toward the sky. Her eyes blaze in defiance as she faces down her foe. The shots begin. Diana raises her bracers, deflects as many as she can. It's not enough. Three will get through before Flash, her only living ally, gets there.

Three. That's enough.

One impacts her shoulder, opening up a red laceration, forcing her to take a step back.

Two enters just below her ribcage, punching a bleeding wound into her skin, and forcing her back once more.

Three pierces her skin and goes directly into her heart.

There is no scream.

A/N: Review please!