I Live With It Everyday

A Batman & Wonder Woman Story.

Chapter 1

Introduction: Hope you all enjoy this story. A story that takes place in the New 52 DCU with some minor stuff from the pre-New 52. Takes place after 'The Villains Journey' and Cheetah's reintroduction.

This story is dedicated to Samuel Lujan II

December 10th, 1967 to August 17th, 2012

One of my dearest and best friends. I love you and will miss you always my brother…

You were taken away from us far too soon. But, somewhere up there. You're smiling down on all of us and protecting your family and friends.


One year ago….

There was nothing left of the work area. It had been trashed completely. The massive workbench was dented in several places. Several tools and gadgets had been destroyed and lay on the floor in a mess of glass, metal, wires, plastic and various materials. Several feet away and up a flight of stairs, several monitors had been smashed either with batarangs or fists. Several display cases of armor and mementos from past cases and triumphs were smashed.

The massive computer and several parts of the keyboard had been smashed with sparks and a small amount of smoke billowed from the ashes. He could repair it quickly, but right now he didn't care.

The screen had an image frozen in time that had angered him. What was shown on the camera changed everything and would cause problems in the world. The innate risk and danger would create ripple affects for days, weeks, months too come. It affected the team, but what he didn't expect was his own personal reaction.

For what felt like the umpteenth time in the last 20 years of his life happened to him again. A pain that never went away and would stay with him for his entire life. But this pain hurt just as much as when his parents had been murdered that night. For the first time, he could acknowledge that he fell in love with someone. Truly in love, but he suppressed and pushed it away. He couldn't love ever again, if anything he couldn't remember what love was. And he knew that he could not act upon those feelings anymore.

Now, slumped to the ground and leaning against the counter, his cowl lying in front of him on ground, ripped from his cape, was a man that was broken again. It wasn't his spirit, his mental state, but something far more significant.

His heart.

Staring at the ground for several minutes, he bowed his head in shame at his failure. Eyes shut tight and breathing heavily.

He stared down at his suit, or what was left, his left gauntlet was torn off, the left glove was burnt and had had melted a bit. His boots were now stained with burn marks. The man stared at his right glove, feeling a warm and moist feeling. Ripping off the damaged gauntlet, he looked at his right hand and saw several nasty cuts on his knuckles. Somehow he had cut his hand during his rage. The blood flowed like a small river, one of the abrasions had stopped and a dark circle had formed. He could hear the droplets on the metal floor as he stood up. His surrogate father would be here soon and he would see his master at his lowest point in his life.

He didn't want to cry. But he couldn't fight the tears from coming out. Even with his willpower, he couldn't prevent a strand coming down his left eye and down his cheek. He sniffed and exhaled loudly.

Looking up at the screen, he saw the image still frozen. He lifted his left gauntlet and slide a panel back and typed in a command to continue with the newsfeed.

Listening to the newscast, a blank stare formed on his face as he watched, his eyes were devoid of any emotion. He hated what he saw, the kissing, the hug, than they pulled apart and said goodnight, flying in opposite directions. He felt relived, but than the anger swelled again upon listening to the female news anchor.

His blank look disappeared from his face and his eyes lit up. Teeth grinded against one another, fists curled, more blood dripped to the floor. A growl emitted from his throat. The heart beat faster, the blood boiling, the control he prided himself on was gone.

Replaced not by a man, but an animal.

The anchor kept speaking, he had had enough. No more. In a fit of rage and looking for something, anything to stop the footage, he grabbed a three foot long broken piece of table that was on the floor and that looked like a large metal shiv. He twirled it around with an expertise that very few possessed. Pointing the sharp end, he threw the broken piece of counter at the large screen.

The roar he let out scared the residents of the cave, they flew away, screeching as they moved. The large shiv flew into the screen and broke the screen, he saw sparks flying, smoke. And the image of the man she kissed was now split apart, only her face remained.

He breathed harder, faster, the look of anger and hate was flowing in a way he never felt before. That man she kissed was his friend, perhaps his best friend. Right now, he hated that. He hated him.

But he did not and would not hate her.

He bowed his head again and stared at the floor, through his peripheral vision, he saw a small pool of blood forming on his right side. The anger flowed within him, but it was now replaced with sadness and regret.

This time he couldn't hold back the emotion, not this time.

Bruce Wayne, a 30-year old man, and for the first time since he was eight, cried. He let the tears flow and didn't let them stop.

"I'm sorry." He whispered between ragged breaths and a loud sniffle.

He looked up and saw the image of Diana. Wonder Woman, the immortal Princess of the Amazons and of Themyscira.

"I'm sorry, Diana." Bruce said again in a voice that held nothing but sadness.

Bruce finally realized that he was in love with her. That he wanted to be there for her tonight. But he couldn't. He was Batman, the Dark Knight, the detective, a mortal. There was no room for love, for hope, for a bright future.

Instead, it was Clark Kent. Superman, the alien, the Kryptonian. He was the one who showed up.

"I'm a coward." Whispering to himself. "I should never have pushed you away."

And he hated himself for letting it happen this way. He had no idea how they really felt about one another. He didn't want to know, but he hoped, no, believed that it was based on exactly what he didn't want to have a relationship based upon.


It would be what destroys relationships, nothing would grow from it.


Bruce stared at the image and continued to cry. His heart was broken again. And he wasn't sure it would heal, it had not before.

"I love you, Diana." Bruce spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce bowed his head again, a broken man, a lonely man. He didn't hear the sounds of footsteps to his left. Didn't bother to look up when he heard the loud gasp of his butler, his adoptive father, Alfred Pennyworth.

Bruce only cared about how he failed in finding what it meant to love someone. He would never experience it again.

Never again…