Well ladies and gents, for many days now I've been contemplating Knightfall and the lack of "Closure" it really has, so because the inspiration was strong, and because many people asked for it I decided to extend this, former, oneshot.

The extension wont be ridiculously long however, and this story will end at chapter 8, the subsequent chapters will focus on the remaining six original Leaguer's reactions and contemplations over Bruce's death.

The order is as follows.

1) Shayera
2) Green Lantern
3) J'hon Jhonz
4) Flash
5) Superman
6) Diana
7) Epilogue

I hope you all enjoy it.

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I pressed the controls on the Javelin's console, deep space sensors and control grids bleeping and flashing with the precision of well kept, well funded machines.

Machines...he had kept that way.

I didn't focus on it, didn't let my mind dwell on it, on him. I try to drown out the sounds, to filter them through one ear and out the other, but its no use. Not really. Steel and Diana work with the medical equipment we have. Adrenalin, the defibrillator, even going as far as trying basic C.P.R

Its not working, with the continuous flat line droning of the heart monitor, it becomes apparent, not even a twitch, not a flicker of hope.

The flat-lining monitor seems to grow louder in our ears, punctuated by everyone's own hesitation to speak, to move, to breathe. I never knew why they called it a flat line until now.

It was just this continuous drone, this simple unending, unchanging tone that seemed to carry itself across distances inconceivable. It pierced your ears as though it wanted you to bleed, and it carried on from there.

It drilled into your ears, through them, right into your skull cavity; through your brain. It hurt, and with its sound I felt pressure against my forehead, as though it were trying to drill through my skull itself and manifest its taunting resonance onto a physical plane.

But as much as it pained me, as much as it hurt, I couldn't bring myself to demand they turn off the machine.

Because that hope was always there, I always felt as though in this next second his heart would start, in this next second we would see our flicker of hope, of light. That he would open his eyes, that I'd be able to spar with him again. Beat him at chess again, discuss battle tactics with him.

But the flat line remained, taunting, carrying on, unchanging.

In Thanagar, a world torn by war and despotism in its waning years-years I had been born into-death wasn't uncommon. A Thanagarian that grew up with both, or even a single parent, was a rarity; an anomaly. Many in our world called such people the, 'Heldig En' otherwise known as the "Fortunate ones"

But in our culture, the 'Heldig En' were not so fortunate.

Considered soft and, weak, having never known the pain of loss, knowing the protectiveness of parents, Heldig En children were often looked down upon, scorned by others with less favorable pasts.

I was guilty of that-I admit. I hated them. Those who had never known what it was to starve, to have to search through trashcans, to worry about where their next meal came from, to fight over scraps with the other street rats, to have to fight off thugs and others of a less savory sort.

I thought they had been soft, that they were weak, unfit to be Thanagarian civilians, much less soldiers.

It was because of this, death on Thanagar was different. It was expected, wanted even. We felt as though the death of those close to us, made us stronger, harder, more Thanagarian. Better.

Even against our most hated enemies, the Gordanian's, we relished the fight, relished the battle. Not just the excitement, but the death: the death of the Gordanian's, the death of our allies, it didn't matter.

We never understood, why we had begun loosing the war. Why our Thanagarian stubbornness, our pride and our ferocity hadn't simply carried us to victory on our powerful wings and flashing power weapons.

But I understand now...and it took this planet, these humans in order to do so.

When I first arrived on earth. I truly hated these humans! Loathed their complacency, their weakness. These people treated death as a punishment,a sad event, something to fear, to cringe away from, to weep for.

I hated it. I hated them!

But...as my roles, from spy, shifted to scout, from scout to temporary citizen, and finally from temporary citizen, to a soldier completely cut off from her own people; I needed to help them, at the very least, for my own survival.

And as I saw more and more people returning home, knowing that they weren't crushed under a collapsing subway tunnel, that those muggers hadn't shot him, that the drunk driver hadn't hit him, that the gas leak hadn't taken them in the explosion, they returned with the knowledge that they'd...hold their children again...be able to make love with their spouse again.

That they were simply alive and able to appreciate every day all the more because of it

And...somehow....somehow I understood...death wasn't a blessing...it wasn't some secret to becoming stronger, to better yourself.

It hurt.

It was supposed to hurt. It was supposed to be painful. It made you not want to let it happen again...to use all your strength to stop it, to change it, to make it so you never had to experience such pain again.

Its what we the Thanagarian's learned too late. We simply fought...we fought for ourselves...for the honor of Thanagar, for false platitudes and empty oaths of loyalty.

We fought for everyone...but the men and women next to us...our comrades. They died cold and alone on those battlefields.

Just like he did...

I felt a hand on my shoulder and I brought my eyes to face Kara, her young face as sympathetic and sad as I'd ever seen her, blue eyes glimmering with pity. "Shayera." She said, placing her remaining hand on my wrist, and only now did I realize that my grip on the navigation wheel was tight. So tight my knuckles had turned white, and the blood in my digits had gathered at the very tips of my fingers, making them a dark, dark red color, almost bordering on purple.

But, even with my grip as tight as it was, my arms shook, I was trembling. I felt lightheaded, and I could no longer bear to look at Kara for some reason.

I looked away, my hands, falling limply from the console, resting at my lap. I looked down, to the floor. And I faintly recognized Kara take her seat next to me, in the co-pilots seat, adjusting the Javelins controls to herself, leaving me with nothing...

Nothing to do....

Nothing...to avoid looking back there...to avoid looking at him...

No...not him...not Batman...

a corpse.

The batman I knew was a warrior, bred for battle, strong and powerful, a match for any Thanagarian warrior, several even. He was better than them, better than all of them...

That wasn't him, that was an impostor...some kind of decoy...a trick...

a corpse.

It wasn't him...it couldn't be him. Not the batman I knew. He couldn't die...he wouldn't...

Suddenly I couldn't stay in my seat anymore...I couldn't just sit and pretend this was batman. He wasn't! I would go back there, pull off that cowl and prove that it wasn't him. It wasn't Batman.

I unbuckled the safety harness with earnest, almost trashing with my wings as the multi weaved nylon fabric refused to release me quick enough.

I swiveled on my heel as I came to my feet, smoothly going around my seat, only to pause right there next to it as I finally allowed myself to look back.

Stillness...

Thats the only word I can find to describe it...just...this stillness. Between everyone, even the ship seemed to not move. The hum of the engines, its soft vibrations, seemingly absent, the sound of their voices, of the various control devices of....of the heart monitor...when...when had it shut off? When had it all gone this silent?

And no one moved...not Green Arrow not Steel, not Diana...not...not Batman.

My eyes trailed over him, the stillness of his body, always he had that stiff posture, but not here...here it was a stiffness brought on by hardening proteins, and unmoving blood, not by the strength of his character.

The cowl still covered his face, as though the others couldn't bring themselves to remove it...couldn't bring themselves to confirm the evidence for themselves

A harsh heavy panting reached me then...or had I simply become aware of it now?

My eyes found Diana, a hand against her heart, the other, pressed against the Javelins bulkhead, as though to keep herself upright. Her face was an ashen white, a sickly pale that made her eyes, once blue, vibrant and full of that simple, exuberance only she seemed to carry everywhere she went, seem like shards of shattered glass

Steel and Green arrow moved closer, as if to catch her in case she fell.

Were I in the right mind, I would have recognized the beginnings of hyperventilation, an anxiety attack. Were I in the right mind, I would know that with a normal human, or even a Thanagarian I could go and help this individual, offer physical comfort. Were I in the right mind, I would recognize that moving to help a level five Meta like Diana was tantamount to signing a slip for internal injuries. Were I in the right mind, I would have recognized that I should have done what Steel and Green arrow were doing, keeping their distance, and waiting for her to collapse.

But I was not in the right mind; I don't think any of us really were. And I didn't care about the dangers, I didn't care about, what could happen to me...I didn't care...because he wouldn't have cared would he?

No...he never cared...he would say to damn the rules, and damn the dangers. Thats what he did...every day...thats who he was.

I rushed forward, hooking my arms under Diana just as her legs gave out beneath her. As I felt my arms strain against the weight of her armor, and collapsing body, and for a few moments I cried out her name, a sharp yell that echoed across the hollowed out shell of the javelin. "Diana!" I feared we'd both tumble to the floor, only to soon find Steel and Green Arrows arms assisting me in raising her, and allowing her to topple into a seat.

Her hair, a sheen of black tresses now fell haphazardly across her face, wet streaks of tears making some strands cling to her cheeks.

I kneeled in front of her, keeping us at eye level.

Before I could say anything her hands lashed out, rushing forward and wrapping around my biceps with a viselike strength I knew could become downright bone crushing in seconds if she lost control of herself.

But I didn't care. I didn't care about my arms, my bones, the bruises that would be there tomorrow, the tingling numbness in my fingers as her grip cut off the blood flow to my extremities.

"Shayera..." She said, trembling as she looked into my eyes, arms shaking even as they held my own. "Shayera..." She repeated, heavy, erratic breathing breaking into sobs that clogged my own throat with emotion and made my own sobs threaten to break through whatever numb haze had settled over my mind.

The Amazonian fell forward, her head falling onto my shoulder as she cried, my own tears coming unbidden as her voice reached me, her own broken voice echoing my earlier thoughts. "Its not him...its not him..."

The pain, the grief, the sadness, this feeling of utter helplessness...this is what death was...this is what the Heldig En of Thanagar had been spared. And perhaps, they were weaker for it. But this was something Thanagarians should never have relished in. And it was something I now coveted for myself.

How could they-how could I- have ever called comrades friends, called them family? Brothers and sisters in arms? My people had never known the true meaning of the words. Only how to pronounce them. Never in Thanagar had I felt this for a lost friend...never had I felt such utter pain.

This sharp, stabbing sensation through the chest, as though someone had jabbed a spike through my chest cavity and now twisted it with a sick satisfaction, reveling in the knowledge that...There was nothing that I could do.

"Shayera..." Diana continued to repeat, wanting to know what she could ask, just as I wanted to know, what I could possibly answer her. Her, who's voice dripped with so much pain, such utter anguish...she searched for hope...searched for someone to tell her it was all a lie...a myth...a dream...some falsehood, from which she could awake and have Batman...alive, maintaining his silent vigil over Gotham in the night...

But what could I say? What...in this galaxy could I possibly say—other than...

"I'm sorry."

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Shayera's thoughts, I hope, can portray the shock of the moment, along with the initial reaction of disbelief and denial.

Either way hope you all enjoyed it read and review please.