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      All was still at the Gem Depository. The sound of breaking glass exploded in the night. The silent alarm button flashed red, bathing the store in bloody light.
A man slipped in through the broken front window that he had shattered with a brick. He smashed countless cases and shoveled the goods into his bag hurriedly.
The crook turned to leave when he ran straight into something, no – someone.
      Like a shadow, the Dark Knight of Gotham stood noiselessly.
      The thief moved to punch, his fist barreling at Batman's jaw. The caped crusader moved out of the way easily and grabbed the thief by the collar of his shirt, throwing him into a wall like a rag doll. With in an instant, Batman was on the crook, slamming him into the wall mercilessly.
      "Look, I'm sorry, man! Take the good, please, just don't kill me," the man begged. Batman ripped the crook's ski mask off and drew his fist back to punch him in the face.
      "Batman?"
      The voice was like ice water on Bruce. He dropped the thief and hand-cuffed him to the water heater.
      "Batman, that's you, isn't it?" Superman said tentatively. Batman stood up straight, letting his cape fall back around him as he turned slowly.
      "It's been awhile," he responded calmly, coldly. Something like hope prickled in Batman's heart.
      "It's been four years, you act like you haven't seen me in a few weeks," the Man of Steel pointed out. "How are you?"
      Bruce looked at his old friend for a moment, lost in his thoughts. He hasn't changed a bit.
      "Not here and especially not in front him," Batman warned, his eyes narrowing. He once again turned his attention to the gem thief. "If they ask, you were caught by me, not him, not both of us, me. If you so much as breathe a word of whom or what you saw, I will find you."
      The man nodded eagerly, his eyes swimming with fear. Batman turned and walked straight past Clark and out of the gem depository. Superman followed blithely, not bothering to question where they were going to go.
      With one well aimed grapple, Batman soared off and up to the top of a tall sky-scraper. They were so far up, that the cars below seemed to just be dots of light.
      "Bruce, it's good to see you," Superman said a little more warmly as he landed agilely upon the concrete roof. "How have you been doing?"
      "Fine. More petty criminals keep popping up, I followed this one to Metropolis because," Batman paused. Why had he come to Metropolis? There was no way that these crimes had al been organized by the same person because they lacked consistency and aptitude to actually pull it off. Maybe he some how hoped to run into Clark and was giving him self an excuse.
      Superman noticed the sudden lapse and stared at Bruce's back with sorrow. How had things become like this?
      "I know, Bruce," Clark said. He turned away from Bruce and stared out at the full white moon in the cloudless blue sky. "I wish that I could change it, go back and stop this from happening, don't you?"
       Once Clark turned around, the place where Bruce was standing was vacant.
He really hasn't changed.

           "Master Bruce? I made some turkey roast and if you wish, I could heat you up a plate," Alfred called out as he wandered through the bat cave.
      No response. Alfred turned to leave but was stopped by Robin's voice.
      "Hey, Alfred, don't bother. Batman left awhile ago, all geared up," Tim hollered back to a displeased Alfred. The ex-sidekick was lounging in the bat cave, his feet resting on the deactivated super computer.
      Alfred looked down at Tim condescendingly, "And you didn't stop him Mr. Tim?"
      "Hell no. Would you stop Bruce when he was dressed up?" Tim gave Alfred a look.
      "No, of course not."
      "That's what I thought. Ugh, I hate that damn Amanda Waller and her fat a-,"
      "Master Tim, language," Alfred chided. "Besides, you have school tomorrow, so off to bed."
      "How can I ever possibly follow in his footsteps if you won't let me stay up past midnight?" Tim yawned back. Alfred smiled gently at the boy.
      "You are more like Bruce than you know."
      The two argued a couple more minutes before Tim finally relented and, after a quick hug, was off to bed. Alfred rested his hand on the back of the swivel chair and sighed.
         "Ahem."
      "Mr. Wayne!" the butler cried, whirling around. Batman was leaning on the wall just a few yards away, concealed by the shadows.
      As he stepped out more into the light, Bruce pulled back his mask and eyed his old butler with soft grief.
      "How long have you been standing there?" Alfred demanded, straightening his vest and wrist cuffs.
      "Long enough," Batman said calmly, giving a half shrug. His deep voice resounded soulfully throughout the cave, waking the bats somewhere in the heart of the chasm.
       Bruce walked past Alfred and sat back in the chair that Tim had previously occupied. His icy blue eyes stared off into some unseen world. The silence hung between the two men like a veil.
      "What happened four years ago?"
      Bruce didn't look Alfred in the eyes. He couldn't. All those years ago, his life had been changed. When he actually found solid ground, friends, a family, it had been ripped away from him. He always figured that his heart had turned to stone but somehow, all of his barriers had been peeled back and he didn't even realize it.
      "The US government held a United Nations meeting," Bruce began, his voice sounding detached and metallic, "in which they discussed us. After what happened with the Justice Lords and after Lex 'died' everyone was afraid that we would grab power."
      He paused for a second, looking up at the ceiling. "And that's when it all happened."
      "Lex began to run for president, just like what happened in the alternate reality that the Justice Lords reside in. We did our best to fight him becoming president but Luthor already it planned out. He framed the other candidates of fraudulency and he won, like you already know. Well, Amanda Waller, his cohort, was pulling strings and tried to make some recent crimes look like it was coming from our newer members of Justice League. And she succeeded.
      Eventually, over a two year course, the last members were the seven of us; Me, J'onn, Diana, Flash, Clark, Green Lantern, and Hawkgirl. Soon after, the UN confiscated the watchtower and suddenly, we weren't superheroes, we were vigilantes.
      What people don't know was that we were put on trial a few months later. They told us that we were not above the law and, while they couldn't hold in any prison, they could certainly hurt us. Amanda Waller knew everything about us, our weaknesses, our loved ones, our homes, and she used all of it against us. We were told that we would leave that court room and never speak to each other, never dawn the uniforms again, or else."
      And it was out there. All the wounds from those four long years ago, of people giving up, all the doubt so many people had in them and their cause, and even the doubt in each other was so starkly fresh.
          I'll always fight even if it kills me, even if I'm not a hero anymore, Batman swore to himself, even if it didn't really matter.

      Music pulsated in a low-key club filled with dancers and drinkers, some both. The rhythm was like the beat of a heart, keeping the club alive. The air was heavy with smoke illuminated by different shades of light. The bar was active and surrounded by girls too young, girls too old and guys too drunk.
      "Shayera, another round?"
This club is as shitty as it comes, but it's my shitty safe haven. Instead she just said, "One more, James."
      The bartender, James, had dark cropped hair with streaks of blood red in it and he had dark mysterious eyes. He was strangely tall, broad shouldered and good looking.
      Had it been another day or another time, she might have been his lover, but Shayera had no interest in love anymore. The only things she knew in these days now were the blurry feeling drunkenness and the pain of hangovers.
      "You know Shayera, maybe this should be your last one," James remarked loudly over the music, but then quickly added, "but, if you want more, I will gladly fill your cup up a million times over."
      She gave him a bored look with eyes gleaming sharply. Her hair was still the same light auburn color but now a little bit longer and she was clad in a silky pink dress, and over it, hiding her dappled maple wings, was a stylish tan trench coat.
      "Hey, bartender, give me a beer," came an isolated voice down a ways from the bar. James shot Shayera an apologetic look before attending to his thirsty customers.
                   ~As the night wore on, the bar became a little less crowded while the dance floor's popularity also seemed to decline. James stopped occasionally to fill up Shayera's emptied glass but mostly tended to the other bar patrons.
      "How're you doing?" James said, giving her a lazy smile while he had a second.
      "Fine, James. But, now that you mention it, I think you've been purposely been giving me less beer tonight. How many times do I have to tell you that it takes more for me to get drunk?" she questioned, arching one perfectly plucked eye brow.
      "Well, you saw right through me," James laughed dryly and ran a hand across his chin stubble thoughtfully, "and you do seem to handle your liquor better than most."
      "Hey there, waiter, I'm parched over here," came another barely coherent voice over the music. James rolled his eyes.
      "You absolutely wouldn't believe this guy. He comes in and drinks almost as much as you and the whole time he keeps talking about this green pal of his. I'm pretty sure he was wasted before he even came in here," James said, totally exasperated.
      "Wait, what?" Shayera asked. This suddenly perked her curiosity and her concern. No one, except maybe the Amazonians of Themyscira, could consume so much alcohol and live.
      It's not my problem. It's not my problem. It's not my problem, she repeated to herself, but the part of her that was still Hawkgirl was practically screaming at her to do something.
      "Maybe I ought to get him outta here," she offered. James gave her a skeptical look.
      "You think that I'm going to just let you traipse out of my bar, hand in hand, with some drunken idiot, especially when you've had nearly as much as he has?" James snapped.
      "Yes," she sighed, feeling irritation prickle at the base of neck.
      "Well, girlie, you are so wro-," Shayera flung herself forward and grabbed James by the front of his shirt balled up in her fists. She lifted him easily up and over the wooden bar, sending her beer mug to the floor, shattering it.
      "Listen to me. I'm not some helpless woman, and I am certainly not about to let you tell me what to do, got that, little man?" she spat. He nodded slightly, and she released him, permitting him to scramble backwards. "Now, where is he?"
      "The young guy at the very end of the bar," James relied, pointing a shaky finger in the general direction.
      Shayera tramped over as best as she could in high heels over to the last figure at the end of the long ingot. Sure enough, slumped over a shot whiskey, was a man. Shayera tried to lift him to get a good look at his face, but again the man slumped back down.
      She noted with a slight blush in her cheeks how toned the body of the guy was as she lifted him under her arm and carried him out. Cold night air hit her hard, and sweet frozen oxygen filled Shayera's lungs. She finally felt down this mystery man on his back, kneeling in front of him and felt her heart jump to her throat.
       Lying on the partially frozen sidewalk was the face of Flash, his red hair splayed out behind him.
       "Flash?!" Shayera cried, falling backward. "Flash, wake up. Com'on, Wally, I need you to get up."
       At first, she feared the worst, and crouched on the slick concrete sidewalk with one of her closest friends passed out drunk, Shayera felt completely lost.
       "Wally, you fool. What were you doing drinking so much?" She put one hand one his flushed cheek, feeling tears spring to her eyes. Slowly, his eyelids lifted, exposing his forest green eyes.
      "Hawkgirl? Whoa, I must really be drunk," he slurred. His eyelids slid shut again and like that, he was out.
      She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him up from the ground and breathed in his old familiar scent washed in alcohol. It had been four long years, and fate had dropped her friend into her lap, literally.
      Shayera gently rested Flash's head back down and stood up in the still night air, her breath coming out in steamy swirls. She was thankful for the late time and sudden deadness of the city as she shrugged off her trench coat, letting her wings out. Shayera struggled with Flash for a moment to get his arms into the holes of the jacket and then searched him for some ID or anything to point her in the right direction.
      After her search came up empty, she felt even more alone. Where could she possibly go to that would be safe for her and Flash. Shayera glanced around weakly.
                          "Gotham City Limit" – Thirty-Two Miles
       "That will have to do", she thought, "I just hope Bats is up for some company."