Hours later, Mari wandered through the maze of gray and tan tents looking for the makeshift medical bay triaging the wounded. Her hair reeked of ash and soot, not to mention that shadows of blood and dust covered her body suit like a work of depressing art. The ground beneath her feet was damp and covered with a mosaic of footprints, leaving just a few patches of grass sticking up in sickly tufts here and there. People hurried by, some of them heroes with small cuts oozing blood down their faces and arms, others were volunteers carrying supplies like blankets, water, medicine. It was clear both on their faces and clothes who was who. The heroes wore battered but accepting expressions that spoke of past fights and losses, the others mouths were downcast in terror and their eyes held a fear and shock that never lasted long in the League. A headache pulsed against the back of Mari's skull, though it was from exhaustion or frustration, she couldn't say. And each tiring step brought her closer to the source of dread.

She had spent the last several hours throwing herself into her work. There was wreckage to salvage, team members to track down, injured to care for, and a million other things that kept her mind off the predicament that she knew would upend her life. All of the chaos around her somehow made her feel more grounded than anything else in her life. At least destruction was straightforward - there were things to save, people to help - stuff she was good at. Those things came easy to her.

But this other feeling was new to her. She had never been the other woman, never had to pick up the shambles of a life she had wanted with a fierceness that scared her and then attempted to put it all back together like some kind of puzzle missing half its pieces.

She clenched her jaw as she pulled back the thick curtain to the infirmary.

In the time she had been away, the wide open space had been partitioned into several small alcoves and rooms, while the middle remained open with a few mismatched desks pushed together in the middle. Trusted doctors had been flown in from all corners of the world to treat all the complicated physiologies of various League members. A cacophony of languages and mismatched syllables hummed in her ear, like an airport on steroids, and she found herself being pushed along by other bodies rushing past and around her. She had to shake herself out of the haze coloring her mind to remember what really mattered. There was one person here who knew more answers than anyone else, and she was sure that Gotham's secretive hero was somewhere around here working quietly and diligently.

Quietly, she made her way over to the desks and asked the first person she saw, "Where would I find Shayera Hol?"

"Scuzati-ma?" A surprise voice asked back. The woman's wide eyes were filled with confusion.

Mari sighed, barely holding herself together, and loudly said, "Red hair, wings!"

A different physician turned and answered without looking away from his chart, "Last room that way, on the right!"

Usually, she would be angered by the brush off, but today she simply took a deep breath and forced her feet to carry her down the hastily created hall. Thick wires were taped in bundles on the edges, and random bits of medical equipment were being shuffled between rooms. Hot air kissed her sweat soaked skin, making her feel as disgusting on the outside as she did on the inside. A mix of guilt, anger, isolation, and misery coalesced in her chest. This felt wrong on so many different levels.

How had this day gone from her weddings to such a catastrophe?

Before she could change her mind, she lifted the fabric draped over the doorway the doctor had indicated. Sure enough, Shayera was laid in the middle of the narrow room. Dozens of wires criss crossed over her ghostly white skin, paler even than normal, and a thin blue blanket was draped over her form. Her fiery tendrils spread themselves against her pillow, gray speckled wings nestled around her body like a cocoon. In comparison, the dark figure around her felt like a liquid shadow. He sat in the dim corner of the room, light reflecting off his suit only from the numerous screens around him. Though he didn't turn away from his work, the dark knight ordered, "Close the curtain."

Mari stepped into the room as he asked. Though the curtain offered no protection against the hurricane of noises outside the tiny space, it still seemed as if she had left the world behind.

She crossed her arms and waited impatiently as Batman continued typing commands and flipping through information. She knew the transmissions flashing across the screens were probably vital bits of information, but she wanted his full and undivided attention. He typed quickly for a few more minutes, then suddenly slammed his laptop shut.

At that exact moment, the other screens went dark, and the only lights dimly illuminating the tiny room came from the small spaces between the canvas walls and the machines surrounding the unconscious woman. The hero faded into the shadows seamlessly and perhaps became a little more comfortable in that tenuous moment.

He stood and crossed his arms in a reflection of Mari's body language, but did not speak.

It took her a few minutes to gain her words. Eventually, she settled on, "How long did you know?"

Several moments passed before he responded. She watched the various responses cross his mind, though his mouth stayed set in a neutral expression. He could lie to her, that she knew, and she probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference either way. However, when he finally spoke, an air of honesty and authority surrounded his words, "If you're talking about her condition, since shortly after she left active duty. Their relationship, though, I've known for years."

She scoffed, "It wasn't predestined that they would be together."

He tilted his head slightly at her phrase.

Before she could put any stock in his actions, she shook her head and stepped towards the opposite side of Shayera's bed. The other woman's face appeared fretful even in her state of rest, and Mari found herself reaching to stroke the curve of her brow without thinking. Only a second later she snatched her hand back, but her gaze remained pinned on Shayera's face.

"You really thought you could change anything?" Batman asked cautiously.

Mari sighed and wrapped her arms across her chest protectively, "At first, things were so easy for us. He was fun, smart, honest. There was something about him that I trusted so deeply even though I knew she had left him scarred. When she came back, I asked him to be straightforward with me if it changed anything…"

She sighed mournfully as the memory washed over her. He had taken her to a smokey bar on the far side of Detroit with worn pool tables, a small selection of American beers, and heat that barely kept you warm in the drafty room. The classic cocktail dresses had been pushed to the back of her closest so she could don a cropped, faded tee and high tops. Even then, she still stood out with her crisp enunciation and watchful gaze. Everyone had watched from the corners of their eyes as he led her in and she ordered for them both. They had settled into a cramped booth in the back corner of the bar, her leaning against his side, hand wrapped around a Budweiser she had barely touched when she finally brought up her question.

"Does this change anything?"

John frowned at her, but held her gaze, "Not for me."

"Hm." Mari took another sip of the bitter drink, "I would understand. She's the one that got away."

"She's the one that walked away." John had corrected, "And I'm not interested in reliving my past. This," He held his hand over her knee, "is where I want to be."

That was months before he proposed. Even though she knew that Shayera adored him, John had never given her reason to doubt his words. He was romantic and dedicated, caring and funny. Maybe she simply hadn't wanted to doubt his words, but either way, she had never thought this is where they would be.

Mari wanted to hate the broken woman laying before her. Anger would be so much easier than the pity and sadness she felt.

It was a long while before Mari looked back up at Batman and answered him slowly, "I didn't think there was anything to change. What they had ended long before I came long, and John never made me feel like he wanted anything else. I knew that he missed her and carried affection for her, but I didn't think that it was any different than what you felt for someone with whom you were once close. I gave him every chance to walk away! He always said that she had hurt him too badly, that I was the one in his life now…. I believed him when he said that what they had was all in the past."

"And the future?"

She rolled her eyes, "Obviously I wouldn't have agreed to marry him if I didn't think he was prepared to build a life with me and not her."

Then, an expression crossed the dark knight's face that Mari couldn't remember having seen before. Confusion.

"What?" She asked though she wasn't certain she wanted to know.

The man before her clenched his jaw, "It's not my place to say. You should talk to John."

Anger lit a fire in her, finally, and she narrowed her eyes, "I didn't ask him. I asked you."

"And if you want an answer, you should ask him."

Mari ground her teeth together to keep from saying something she would regret. Leave it to Batman to somehow piss her off more without offering a single piece of evidence as to why she felt like she did. Instead, another question came to her. She spoke it aloud before she could even fully say it in her mind, "Did John know about Shayera?"

Bruce exhaled tiredly. He reached out hesitantly to take Shayera's limp hand in his own, and he began to rub soothing circles on the small patches of pale skin that wasn't bruised, "She didn't want him to know. Her fear was that if he knew, he would put aside his own happiness to do what he felt was right by his child. Shayera wanted him to make his choice free of that burden."

"Why?" Mari demanded, "She should have known he would choose her."

Bruce looked up pointedly, "The existence of a child doesn't always change someone's mind. Sometimes it just makes things all the more painful."

"Speaking from experience?" She asked.

Instantly, she chided herself for irritating him when she was upset with someone else. The events of the day must have really turned off the filter in her mind.

Rather than react, however, Bruce told her simply, "I think it's time you ask John about Rex."