Disclaimer: I don't own Superman and Wonder Woman. This is just a fan-fic.

A/N : This fic is inspired by a song (yet another song-inspired fic of mine, yeah… I do listen to a lot of songs for inspiration) . Wonder Woman drabble. Maybe bitter and tragic for some.

Heartfelt thanks to ImFanci for the beta on this story. I owe a lot to you, F, thanks! ________________________________________________________________________

BEYOND THE YELLOW SUNSET

It is amazing how the years have passed, how quickly leaves fall from the trees, how fast new tender shoots appear with the dying of the old. In spring, the roses bloom crimson, while lilacs fade from their stalks. In early fall, the leaves turn brown and fall, winter sets in, but so sing the robins. Can spring be far behind?

I gaze at his weary brow. He breathes silently as I press my hand upon his wrinkled ones he folds at his chest. He is covered with his cape of red, each line upon his face may as well be a hundred years. He has been through so much, seen the rise and fall of over ten thousand suns. Now he sleeps, breathing easy, his chest rising and falling under the folds of his sheet as a blazing red sun sets upon the outside sky that our sons and daughters might have called 'alien'. For we are now upon an 'alien' land, the earth we had once called home and left all our kin behind but a far speck in the universe. We had been here for as long as the once majestic yellow orb now fades red and shrunken, and it is here that I will now wait until it becomes a dwarf before it fades away into nothingness.

Life can be monotonous if you have eternity to count without event, the falling of the leaves, the patter of the seasonal rains and soft rustles of snow upon leaves one after the other as if in succession. And yes, before you know it, or before you do get a hold of yourself, a year has already passed, and another, and another … ten, twenty, thirty.

It has been long since I have not bothered myself with counting out the years, for I would only count the seasons then, the joy of seeing another flake of snow, the thrill of feeling a cool spring breeze fanning my brow, and the mist of my breath that one cold winter's morn, with the children playing into the snow, the cooing of the pigeons in the park, and the quiet stroll amidst the fallen leaves of bright orange. That is how I will always remember the place I had once called home.

Kal had often spoke of it as a "big, blue marble", and I have often smiled at that. But deep in my heart I know that it is much more… a bright, blue jewel filled with millions of living, breathing souls, each greater than a whole universe on its own. For it, we had done our all, strived, fought, sacrificed in the days that were, Kal and I, along with a host of friends and allies. But sometimes, we too had realized that giving our all was not enough, and would never be enough in a constantly shifting world of conflicting contraries. We had left it at such, we had decided that the time has come for the new to take place of the old, as in the continuous shift of generations and we quietly made our leave.

Still, a lot had happened in between. One by one our friends and allies had gone, some fallen in battle, striving to their last breath in protecting those they had sworn to protect. In the name of truth and justice they went, fought, and won, but in the end, death had claimed them. Bruce fell with the weight of such ideals. He is sorely missed, and we were there the day he went – fighting and proud to his last breath, which made me think sometimes with a supposed precaution at myself that his ideals had consumed him to the finish, like a flame that consumes anything it burns.

There are others too, taken by mortality's bite, a sign that came either with the first appearance of a small fine line in the skin that too soon becomes a wrinkle, or a stiffening of limbs and joints, not being able to feel the thrill of energy in our erstwhile hale bodies as we once had, reveled at the waft of wind as it pressed against our bodies as we took to the sky, or the sound of billowing capes. There were many, oh, so many who had fallen under such weaknesses… no, I dare not say of them as "weaknesses", perhaps more of crowns or crests? Mortality's gifts they were, as my mother often called them, which is something we Amazons have never been familiar with. Mortality, age and gradual decay of youth and the position of being hale in body which is also limited with time and the shift of the seasons. That is the bite of mortality, and a passing out of the old. My mother too had passed on, fallen, bitten by those same teeth of fate, and Themyscira is now under the rule of a new queen, new… all things new, as old things pass on. Yes, nothing lives on in this world, but still, I am here.

I remember the day Kal's wife died. She had lived to a ripe age; sometimes I think that there was that glimmer of loneliness in her eyes as she gave her last breath. I was there alongside Kal, for most of our friends had passed on. I was there at the funeral, there to help him pick up the rest of his "splintered life", as he often called it. We had already buried Bruce on a quiet grove beside his manor. We had made too many burials, Kal and I. But I was there, and always there beside him, for I know in my heart that when one feels alone, eternity is a bitter thing.

Maybe that was the turning point that consummated both of us. Lois was gone, and most of us had moved or passed on. Was it right for either of us to feel so alone, when all along, we knew in our heart that we have each other? I know all along, though there may be ways of interpreting it; that Kal and I are meant to be, two souls, two halves of one great whole that I sometimes in a moment of vanity admit to myself. The one man I could depend on, the one man who gave me reassurance, not with his words, no. That I am not alone in this world as I so often thought, as far as my mission or purpose in this world would ever be concerned, so have I often assured myself. I know that Kal too, thinks in the same way, though sometimes, when he would not admit it, I see it in his eyes.

Perhaps it could be spoken of in either way that love had always been there, deep inside, in places that even we ourselves had not known. Together we could overcome this endless shift of seasons.

And though it took all that time, all those years, him married to someone else, and I… life was hard. Still, we eventually came together, bound by a love that had always been, united under loneliness that was healed with the bond of togetherness.

Now the scent of the earth, as it rained in spring, or the humid waft of the sea in summer is but a memory. We had left it all behind, soaring onto the endless cosmos, Kal and I, together, as we had always been in spirit and soul, though if not in body for too many years. We had decided that our time on earth too, has come to an end, and it was time to establish our place in the universe by joining its ebbing flow, riding its endless streams, soaring to the stars. But no, we are not gods in heaven, though ageless and immortal I may be, and powerful as a god Kal might have been. It is true that I have never noticed a streak of grey upon my brow, or a fine line under my eyes, not that I am vain about my so called "agelessness". Kal too, was a "god" thriving under the blessings of a yellow star, but it is true that with the passing of the years, he aged, much more so I daresay than me, for now he is old and grey, though it is true that I love the soul that lives inside more than the shell that cocoons it. And now, in this far-off place with a blazing red sun as its daylight sentinel, he prepares to sleep the sleep of eternity, after how many years? I am not bothered to count on that. It is true, I have said that I had ceased marking the rise and fall of the sun for over one thousand years, and more; deciding that each new day was a gift, and stopping there.

He does not stop to draw a deeper, longer breath. It is as steady as the ever-continuing throb of eternity as tears trickled down my eyes. Softly I whisper his name, placing my hand upon his wrinkled cheek. I lift his weary hand to my lips and brush it with a kiss, for where would I be after he is gone? Together we have been for many millennia and the pain of the double-edged sword upon my heart urges me to admit that it is I who must remain to bring this story to the finish while he soars towards a different eternity from what I have known, beyond the yellow sunset.

He slowly opens his eyes as the last traces of red streak the horizon. He whispers. He calls my name, and I call him back. He speaks of love, and I place a soft kiss upon his lips and peer into his eyes. They are still as blue as the oceans on Earth, and it is in such a way that they will remain, forevermore.

I remember what he speaks. It will forevermore be engraved upon my heart and my soul, for he still spoke of peace and love… his endless message to the world that took him and made him belong. More than ever do I realize, once again that deep inside dwells the strange mixture of contraries – the reporter, the simple 'farmboy' as he had so fondly called himself, hand in hand with the great demigod who could move mighty mountains. The man… and the Superman, both in one. What made him such? Even upon his passing, he thinks of others, of me, still, of his children on earth that he says I will seek out some day.

And with a final lurch, Kal breathes, and ceases. He smiles, and joins eternity's flow while an endless rain of tears consume me. As I lift my head in sorrow, I look outside at the passing of the blazing red sun on the dimming west and mourn the passage of a yellow star.

He has gone first, and I remain, left in that long, long path to linger down memory's infinite garden with all the happy days we have known. Now I am alone, to finish with the scroll, bound by my love, my pain and my torture of eternal life.

Still, I remember what he had always been to me, what he himself would always want me to remember – the memory of his helping hand to buoy me on with hope, that I will strive to employ to chase away all those lengthening shadows; a beacon of light to the world, like the yellow star upon which he renews his strength.

With the setting of the star, so passes Kal-El, Clark Kent, Superman,

My love, my hope, my strength.