3 Months Later

The door opens, revealing a young man with dark shaggy hair, seated on a bed with a game controller in hand. The youth looks over, pressing a button on the gamepad, and the flashy images on the screen come to an abrupt halt.

"Oh, hey. They said I'd have visitors today."

He sets the plastic controller onto a bedside table, in front of the wall of medical equipment ringing the back side of the adjustable bed. The pair of visitors enter the room, their eyes deftly avoiding the flat bed sheets where the man's legs should be. The youth's eyes widen in recognition.

"I know you, don't I?"

He reaches over and opens a nearby drawer, rummaging around inside. Moving carefully to avoid dislodging the various leads and tubes connecting his torso to the machines, he withdraws a small photo album and places it on the bed in front of him. Flipping through, he comes to a stop near the end of the book and grins.

"Yeah, here you are."

He leans forward, squinting to read the handwritten note under the photograph.

"Bruce, and Diana, right?"

Diana smiles warmly, and the two take a seat on the sofa. They exchange small talk, feigning interest in the video game Barry has been playing. The bedridden man seems genuinely glad for the company, but soon becomes tired. Promising to visit again soon, the two excuse themselves, retreating to the hallway of the extended care facility.

Diana wipes a gathering tear from her eye. Bruce offers a handkerchief, which she accepts with a small smile. Dabbing at her face, she turns back to the closed door.

"Will he ever remember us?"

Bruce looks down, not wanting to meet her questioning gaze.

"They say there's never a guarantee that his memory loss is permanent, but it's unlikely that he'll ever have more than a vague idea of his life before this place."

"But we can still hope, right?"

Bruce shakes his head, "I don't put much stock in hope."

"What about Victor, have you spoken to him? Is he okay?"

"He's alive, but he's not happy. Lobo's blast destroyed his heart. His body repaired itself, but he's only alive now because of the machine. He's still coming to terms with where he fits into humanity."

Bruce sighs and looks out a nearby window. The dreary clouds threaten rain and coming cold.

"That bastard really did a number on us."

"What if he comes back?"

He looks back to Diana, his face stoic and unreadable.

"We'll have to be ready."

They make their way down the hall, taking the elevator to the main lobby of Wayne Med Assisted Living Center. Alfred waits outside, already opening the limousine's door even before they exit the building. Giving a small nod to Diana as she enters the car, he turns to Bruce. "Master Wayne, will we be expecting company for dinner tonight?"

Bruce sits in the near-total darkness, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the array of computer monitors in front of him. He presses a few keys, and the various case files, dossiers, and news articles vanish from the screens.

His back arches as he stretches, stifling a yawn. Spying his coffee mug, he picks it up from the desk and takes a swig.

*Cold. How long ago did Alfred bring this?*

Standing, he idly switches the display over, the screens now showing a simple tracking system. Following Clark's body as it flies through space, the program had generated a predicted flight path for the Man of Steel.

Bruce takes another sip of his coffee, his eyes tracing the spiraling line of his friend's future journey. He follows the dashed line through it's decaying orbit until his gaze finally settles on the sun. The center of the solar system, and the final resting place of Clark Kent, the greatest man Bruce had ever known.

*Rest in peace, Clark.*

Turning away, Bruce passes by the collections of weapons and maps, trinkets and toys, weaving through the displays with a practiced ease. Ascending the stairs carved into the rocky wall, he absentmindedly pours the remains of his drink into the chasm below as the automated systems power down the cave behind him.