Diana stares at the mirror hanging in her room. The reflection looking back at her is tired, devastated and angry all at once. She is so upset. They had lost Wally. Poor Wally. Sweet, genuine, friendly Wally, who made them laugh with his bad, inappropriate jokes. Their friend, who was now gone; killed by Luthor. Her eyes narrow. Even though Luthor had been annihilated, she doesn't feel any better. One punch later there's a considerable dent in the wall.

Her mirror image glares accusingly. She had crossed the line today. They all had. But Luthor deserved it, she reasons. The glare holds. "He deserved to die!" she yells furiously at the woman in the mirror who is all but reproving her. Metaphorically speaking that hateful man's blood is on her hands – even if there was no blood, just a laser factored lobotomy – she did nothing to stop it. Guilt eats away at her. Blue eyes go back to the mirror.

Hastily she gropes around for something. She's no longer Wonder Woman of yesterday. She's not the dame; different. Her fingers close around hard metal. The scissors clatter loudly as she lifts the object. One hand grips a thick portion of hair soundly and noisily chops it off. Black strands fall to the ground. She's done it, now there's no turning back. Ironically, these words can apply to everything else that has been going on this past couple of days. She looks victoriously at the other her, that woman behind the glass. She's not helpless; she isn't.

The door hisses behind her. Without turning, Diana knows it's Bruce. Not Batman, but Bruce. His cowl is off in the mirror. He looks from her hand holding the scissors to the hair on the floor. The Amazon half-expects him to say something; he doesn't. Bruce takes the scissors from her and pulls her hair back, running his fingers through the silky locks. "Let me do it." His voice is a whisper against her ear and she nods. He is protecting her, in his own way. The heat of his body radiates towards her. She's too weak to protest; she wants to feel safe again.

Moments later she feels it. The weight of her hair is slowly going down. Surreptitiously she glances down. There is a pile of dark hair. Lifeless. That's when the tears start pouring. Diana closes her eyes, trying to hold them back out of habit. Still, they trickle down her cheeks. The scissors land on the floor with a loud bang and two arms wrap around her. She can't stop crying. Surprisingly the face that buries in her neck is also wet. She wants to turn around but he stops her with a small kiss to her throat. They stay like that for an indefinite amount of time.

Later, after they have no tears left to cry, he whirls her around gently. Diana wraps her own arms around Bruce and places her head on his shoulder. Humming softly in the back of her throat is all she can do now. Although there are a lot of things that she should be doing at the moment, nothing comes to mind. Bruce runs his fingers through her now short hair – looking in the mirror is not necessary; it barely touches her shoulders – and kisses her forehead. She tightens her hold in response and raises slowly to kiss his lips.

"We'll get through this."

"We will."

It seems that most assume that the Lords are evil. There is a difference between malicious and suffering, but it's a thin line.

The first stage is denial.