Disclaimer: I do not own Justice League or Justice League Unlimited. I merely write this for my own entertainment and the entertainment of others.

A to Z, an Anthology
Ichor

Strange substance, blood. It was the vital liquid to the body, keeping the organs healthy and such. Diana was hardly squeamish about blood. Growing up in a warrior society meant she had endured her fair share of injuries. They may have healed quickly, but not fast enough to keep her blood beneath the layers of skin.

The gods, Diana had been taught, did not bleed as mortals or Amazons did. Instead of blood, their bodies were filled with a precious substance. Those of Man's World had translated its name as 'ichor', but Diana disliked it. It was such an ugly, negative-sounding term for something so wondrous.

Though now, she began to understand why 'ichor' fit what it represented.

Hades was never one to give up on what he wanted. Her mother, the Amazons, the gods should have remembered that. When he suddenly blew through the gates beneath Themyscira, nearly leveling the temple above them, everyone had been taken by surprise. Ten Amazons had been killed in the blast, and the others had been unable to push Hades back. He'd escaped and fled the island, rampaging into Man's World.

The League had spent over a week trying to stop him – to little effect; it was like flies trying to stop a Venus flytrap – when Diana was visited by Hermes again. He'd ordered her back to Themyscira.

If she'd known then what they would ask her to do, Diana seriously thought she might have disobeyed the messenger god.

Upon arrival, she entered the temple of Athena with her mother, and quickly found herself face-to-face with Hera, Athena, Artemis, and Aphrodite. They explained to her that the gods would not interfere directly to stop Hades, and that instead they would appoint a champion to stand in their place, namely her.

Diana had agreed, more out of form than anything. One did not deny the wishes of the gods. They had then given her a sword, forged by Hephaestus with the Blood of Cronus. When Athena had given her that bit of information, something in Diana had gone cold. Few things could harm a god, but the Blood of Cronus certainly could. The father of Zeus, he'd been defeated by his son and toppled from his throne. To prevent him from ever being a threat again to her children, his wife, Rhea, had killed him and drained his blood from his body, then secreted it away. If the gods had convinced Rhea to give up even a few drops of the precious substance, then there could only be one conclusion.

Hades would not be restored to his throne in Tartarus again.

Diana had been shaken when Athena, Artemis, and Hera had left. Aphrodite had remained behind, though she had been silent for the entire meeting. Diana could still remember the goddess' unhappy expression and words that seemed almost prophetic.

"The taking of a life is a costly thing, youngling. This deed may cost you more than you think."

It wasn't until after the deed was done, a week later, when Hades lay dead at her feet, that Diana understood what Aphrodite meant.

She had been absolved, of course. Athena had been the one to put the sword in her hand, so she would not condemn her. Hera had not stood against her, nor had Artemis. Even Zeus himself had appeared and pardoned her of what she had done. Her mother certainly had not disapproved. If anything, she had seemed almost disappointed that she had not been the one chosen to put an end to Hades.

For all that she had the forgiveness of the gods, and the approval of her mother, Diana still felt tainted. Her hands appeared clean, and yet whenever she looked at them, that pus-like substance was still there, flowing over the hilt of the sword and onto her skin. She did not think she would ever be free of it. No matter what she was told, Diana knew she had blasphemed. She had done worse than Diomedes, who had wounded Aphrodite when she sought to protect her beloved son at the height of the Trojan War. She had actually killed a god, the one who was just as responsible for her existence as the mother who had breathed life into her when she had been nothing more than a clay statue. She could not bear to articulate it in any more detail than that. If she were to call him what just about anyone else in Man's World would have called him in regards to his relationship with her, she did not think she would be able to stand the shame of it all.

Diana also did not know what to say to her friends. The details of the mission had been locked away, but the Founders had direct access to the files, and they knew of her actions. In all honesty, she had avoided all of them ever since she had filed the report for them to read. She wished to evade their disappointed and horrified gazes for as long as possible.

She especially did not wish to see the disgust in Bruce's when he knew that she had crossed a line he had long walked. She had killed, and that made her no better than the monsters he fought when night fell over Gotham City. So she stayed away from just about anywhere she could run into him – namely the Metro Tower and the Watchtower. He was hardly going to show up at the embassy in New York, or her apartment in Boston, so Diana felt relatively safe there.

Sighing, she stared out at the white-foamed waves that crashed up against the cliffs. She knew she wouldn't be able to hide from her friends for much longer. The messages left on her answering machine and voicemail from Clark and Shayera were becoming more and more persistent. Sooner or later, they'd confront her directly.

Not just yet, though. For just a little longer, she could pretend everything was the way it used to be. When she and her friends did not have murder creating a chasm between them, for example, or when she and Bruce were free to dance around one another in a never-ending waltz.

Childhood, it seemed, had come to an end.

She turned away from the view her apartment balcony offered her and went back inside. For a moment, she eyed the mini-bar and wished that alcohol in Man's World could affect her. It would be nice to forget, just for a little while and –

The sound of feet hitting the cement on the balcony caused Diana to whirl around, ready to jump into action –

Batman stood in the open door, any expression he might have had hidden behind the lenses of his cowl. His mouth was set in its normal grim line.

Diana's heart began to pound. So much for safety. This was it. He'd condemn her, and then be gone as quickly as he had come. She'd probably never see him again after this. She sucked in a deep breath and waited, hardening herself for what was to come.

He stared at her for several moments, and then finally spoke.

"I won't forgive you."

Diana had expected it, welcomed it even, but that still didn't prevent the words from shattering her heart. She closed her eyes and nodded, bowing her head and allowing her hair to hide her face.

This is what how it was supposed to be for murderers.

She'd expected him to leave after he'd made his opinion known, but he didn't. Apparently, Bruce wasn't finished.

"But it's not my place to. It wasn't the right thing to do, Princess."

Diana froze. Princess. Hardly anyone called her that anymore, and it had become something of an affectionate nickname when Bruce used it. Why in the world was he calling her that now? Was it to torture her further, to remind her of what she was losing? She bit her lip, fighting back the urge to cry. She was an Amazon. Amazons didn't cry.

His footsteps were silent as he walked across the floor, but Diana could still feel the slight vibrations of his movement. She fought to keep from trembling, trying to keep one tiny vestige of dignity.

Bruce's gloved hand was gentle when he placed it under her chin and lifted her face up. The light stung her eyes, making them water, and despite her attempts at self-control, her despair began to push past her defenses.

"But it was the only thing," he added quietly.

She stared at him. "Was it?" she asked. "I'm not so sure. The gods say I am forgiven of any wrongdoing, my own mother and sisters crow about my… achievement – would you believe that one of our musicians is already putting the deed to song? – but all I can think of is how he looked when that sword went right through his armor." Diana shuddered. "The light… just faded… and the ichor… it was sickening! And my mother and sisters celebrate? How can the gods forgive me if I can't even forgive myself?"

Bruce appeared to have no answer for her, but he did not leave. He stayed for hours, listening to her rant and rave. He even held her when she finally began to cry.

Ichor: n. discharge from sore; blood of the Greek gods.