DISCLAIMER: I don’t make profit on this, don’t sue;

these characters belong to DC Comics (which is owned

by Warner Bros I believe)

WARNING: Spoilers for JLA #90, JLA #70,

Batman/Superman #12, Wonder Woman: Gods of Gotham

***

Can I Have One More Day?

By bnjammin

***

He remembered it all as clearly if it had happened

yesterday. 

“I don’t need faith, Princess, when I have you!”

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the patch of ground,

flowers from friends and admirers scattered

throughout.

“Have faith in my dream – faith that all the darkness

and horror will one day be gone.”

He just stood there, staring, basking in his emotions

although not letting them get the best of him.

“You’re more than some dark knight of fear. I know you

are. I’ve felt it.”

He looked to the side. She had asked to be honored on

the land of her ancestors, living for an eternity with

her dear sister.

“Its possible – its more than just possible that we

could be wonderful together.”

He blinked back tears. No, he would not give into

them. It was one thing to mourn her death, it was

another to jump to stupid conclusions. They had just

been friends, nothing more. Just friends.

“There are times I forget that you’re human, Bruce.”

He remembered they had both come to the same

conclusion. What she never knew was that he had tried

using it – that blasted Martian machine, and he had

asked her – and somehow he knew that she had

experienced the same vision, “Can I have one more

day?”

And now he couldn’t. Thanks to the treachery of

Darkseid and his Female Furies. He remembered

afterwards when Barda had come to them, face covered

in blood, body covered in gashes. Her normally

impeccable and beautiful hair were singed and in

disarray. And her eyes – her eyes were like death. She

walked into the room where Darkseid had just disavowed

Kara Zor-el. She had stared at the icy figure of the

Dark God but had said nothing.

“Where is Diana?” Clark had asked.

Barda closed her eyes, noticeably breathing deeply to

hold back tears, and shook her head. Barda, Kara, and

Superman had cried that night at Barda’s home. She

told them how Diana had sacrificed her life to save

Barda. Batman had simply listened silently throughout

the night.

Her funeral was a quiet one on Themyscira. The Justice

League made an official announcement afterwards and

millions flocked to the statue they had erected for

her in New York. Yet, the one thought that was

constantly on his mind, and for this he was truly

ashamed of himself, was a question. His mind was

preoccupied with what he would consider trivialities,

but no matter what he termed them, he couldn’t stop

thinking about them.

Nightwing and Robin and even Huntress had been

wonderful, helping on his patrol, even asking him how

he was always knowing that he would simply grunt in

response. He was grateful, undoubtedly, but all he

felt was cold emptiness. 

And, today, he stood before the plot of ground at

which she was buried, in firm disregard for the

Amazonian decree that no man should visit her, not

that they knew he was even there. He didn’t care. They

wouldn’t have been able to stop him if they had wanted

to.

He knelt on one knee and placed a beautiful rose, the

most beautiful one he could find, atop her grave and

finally, he let the tears pour out. She had been the

first person outside of his immediate “family” who had

looked into his heart and found something bright –

something valuable. She had been the one he felt

almost comfortable bantering with. In a moment of

weakness, he had even admitted to finding her perfect

and beautiful. He had even given in to his feelings

once, just before death when they were in the Obsidian

Age, not knowing what would happen. He was ashamed to

admit it, but there were times he looked fondly on the

fact that their hands were clasped even after death.

He was ashamed to admit it, but he envied that one

moment in time when he knew without a doubt that he

would die. In that one moment, he knew what he wanted

to say and who he wanted to say it to, and it had felt

right.

He pulled his mask back and whispered, “Diana... every

one I have left is yours.”