A/N I own nothing, all characters belong to DC and Warner Bros.

An enormous thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story for all this time and an even bigger thanks to those who reviewed. I read and appreciated every single one:)

Now, I present to you the grand conclusion.

Death:

The action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of life of an organism

Vic rolled over and threw an arm around the waist of the sleeping silhouette next to him.

"Are you awake?"

"Mm, now I am."

He mentally cursed himself and opened his mouth to apologize for awakening the angel next to him when Helen turned to face him, placing a hand on his chest. He gulped quietly as she looked up at him with her doe eyes, staring straight into his soul. God, he loved her. He loved her so much and here she was his, his, his.

This place didn't have a name; the spirits residing in it simply referred to it as Eternal. The name didn't matter. All that mattered was that death was an illusion brought on by humanity's inability to filter reality and that energy released in death went somewhere.

Which, coincidentally, was where Vic (or what remained of him) was.

The greatest thing about Eternal was that since there was no physical mind anything one wished to do was done with a simple thought. Anything -or even more importantly anyone- was brought to him or accomplished. Here, he had ditched the unchangeable corruption of Hub City and moved to a cabin in the mountains where he could be alone. Here, he knew everything about his past from the name of the ship his ancestors docked to America on to his parent's anniversary. Yes, here he had parents.

Tot was his father, a woman by the name of Margaret his mother. The childhood in an orphanage filled with abuse and neglect was replaced by an infinitely happier one with an actual family. In this world, he wasn't socially awkward or weird; he was respected and left alone. In Eternal, everything that had ever weighed him down was simply gone.

And here, he had Helena.

Naked and beautiful, she lay in his bed next to him. Q could feel the comforting whisper of her breath on his chest, her hair spiraling onto his bare skin. She was the crown jewel of his kingdom. Not only was she his friend, but she was also his lover. His Helen to protect and keep safely away from the rest of the world where people tried to hurt her. Since this perfect world was for them both to share, he had gone ahead and undid the more painful parts of her childhood and going so far as to prevent her parents murder while keeping her current character intact.

It was one of the many things about this place that he loved.

Helena's adoration of him was like nothing he'd ever experienced. In many ways it was like their friendship, but with significant differences. There was a sort of connection between them that made them inseparable. Something that chained them together. With their pain gone all that was left for them to share here was love and joy.

Vic sighed and laid his head back as Helen scooted up her chin to kiss his neck. In many ways death was like the last kiss he and Helena had shared on Earth; sweet with an underlying sadness. His body trembled beneath the thin cotton sheet as Helen shushed him and murmured not to worry.

"Vic, baby, it's okay." She cooed, "Shhh..."

He sucked in a deep breath trying to calm the chaos of his mind. "I know."

Everything was okay in Eternal. No, it was more than okay; it was absolutely perfect. He had managed to create a perfect world for him and his beloved without the pressures or problems Earth had cursed upon him. Here, they were happy and so very safe.

Here, they were together.

Vic held Helena's body close to his, lazily kissing her temple with a sigh. "I love you."

"I love you too, babydoll." She smiled brightly.

For once Q didn't question it. Instead he merely nodded and rubbed her back. This was Eternal, after all. In a world where everything was perfect and blissful he never doubted those words.

Vic Sage had found life's greatest joy in the comfort of death.

With a heavy heart and a sigh, Helena Bertinelli opened the door to Vic's apartment.

She didn't give a damn if anyone said otherwise. Whether he was still alive or not this would always be Q's apartment.

His presence still was painfully obvious in what was at one time his home. The floor was littered with papers, his coat was hanging off a chair, and in his living room the Conspiracy Board was hung up proudly on the wall.

Not even a full minute into being here and Helena already felt like crying.

How could he have just died? What universal force could have possibly been so cruel that it took away the only thing in her future that promised to be wonderful? Why, with all the scum populating this planet, did Vic of all people have to be stolen from her?

It wasn't fair.

Why did he have to be so stupid and take a bullet for her? God, it wasn't like she didn't appreciate it or anything but still! That didn't make up for the fact that he was gone and never coming back. It did nothing to condensate for the emptiness in her heart left by him. It didn't give him an excuse for abandoning her.

It wasn't fair.

She quietly strolled into the empty apartment, her yes instantly falling onto the Conspiracy Board. When they had first met the exact same thing had happened. Something about that glorified piece of cardboard called out to her and begged to be looked at. It called out to her like a lover opening their arms for an embrace, which Q would never get to do now.

It wasn't fair.

Helen obediently complied to its beckoning and headed towards it. Most of these theories she was already up to date with. The government being behind 9/11? Old news. Elvis Presley having an identical twin? Now that was new. Where did Q even come up with half of this stuff? Or for a better question how on Earth could he possibly prove this was true?

Helena gulped when she realized he never would prove any of them now.

It. Wasn't. Fair.

Looking at the board was too painful. Unable to take any more of it, Helen turned away and headed towards his bedroom. The last time she'd been in here his room had been just as messy (Vic had never exactly been a neat-freak) but the bed had been smaller. She smiled when she realized it must have meant he found someone to share it with.

She frowned when she realized it had been meant for the two of them to share.

Lips beginning to tremble, Helena quickly took a shaky breath and began to search for his laptop. She fumbled around blindly for a few minutes before her eyes locked onto it hidden on a shelf in the closet half hidden by a shirt on the floor. Damn Q's inability to be tidy!

Her legs trembled as she got up, but she ignored them and walked towards her destination. The laptop was simple and unimpressive; no one would have ever guessed that on it there was the amount of information equivalent to what the Government possessed if not even more. It was simplistic genius.

In other words, completely Vic.

As the laptop was starting up Helena's mind began to wander. Sitting on his bed she realized that this could have been their bed if she wasn't so stupid or stubborn. Their bed in their apartment in their city.

Thinking about what she could have had with Q made her cry.

He loved her. She didn't know it then but she knew it now. In his dying moments he had chosen his last words to be that he loved her and thought she was beautiful. Such a selfless act that came so painstakingly naturally for Vic when she herself couldn't even allow her own self to give them a try. How Vic had ever thought she was perfect was lost on Helena; she was so flawed that sometimes she wondered how he could stand to be around her.

When had this all started? Had he felt this way all along? Just recently? Did he really think she was gorgeous? Helena didn't know, but she was going to find out.

Maybe the letter he had mentioned would clear this all up.

Her fingers danced along the keyboard as she typed in his latest password (a supposedly random set of numbers that were in fact the date of the first time he hacked NASA) as her heart began to pound in her chest. Q had never mentioned a letter before. When had he written it? What was on it? There were so many questions in her mind Helena felt as though she was Vic himself.

It only took her a few moments to locate the file on the screen. After that it was smooth sailing. As her index finger hovered over the keyboard she suddenly froze. What if there was something bad on here that she didn't want to see? What if this contained a secret Vic couldn't bring himself to share with her? What if it shattered her fond memories of him?

What if it brought everything into clarity?

She clicked on the file and began to read.

My dearest Helena,

While I know we were never a couple in the strictest sense that is exactly what you have always been to me: My Helena. Nobody else's but mine to love and care for. Even though the ring you wore on your finger clearly made you Roger's in the legal sense in my eyes you have always been mine.

I suppose you are wondering why I would keep a letter about something like this saved on my hard drive. As you have undoubtedly figured out in the many years we've known each other, I have a tendency to be just a little on the paranoid side. In our line of work the possibility of death constantly looms over us, and though I have kept quiet about my thoughts and emotions concerning you for almost a quarter of my life I doubt I could keep my silence in death. With that in mind, I have constructed a letter to explain to you how I have felt in case something happens to me and I am unable to tell you personally. I took it upon myself to update it with a new one every year that passes, and as you can probably guess my letters along with the depth of my emotions have grown as the years flew by. But that is the past and this is the present.

I love you now, but the course of my affections began many years ago. The truth is that you fascinated me from the start. When I first caught sight of you in the Watchtower during Superman's original meeting concerning the expansion of the League I saw you standing in and out from the crowd. You were surrounded by them, yet isolation danced around you. You didn't belong there with all the larger than life heroes dressed in obnoxious colors and so open about their deeds. Just like I didn't.

I had found an equal.

An attractive equal at that. While I never exactly sought you ought as a possible lover, I did take note of that. I was surrounded by beautiful women at all hours on the Watchtower, women that other men would have killed to spend the night with, but I always thought you were the most attractive. Your costume was certainly more conservative than, say, Wonder Woman's, but you still managed to show off an ample amount of flesh. The lines on your leotard followed your curves perfectly and framed your figure like a picture. You presented your body as it was with no corset to amplify your figure, no bra that gave the illusion of extra breasts, and no apologies. You were as you were and you were proud of it.

The courage and confidence it took to dress like you did drew me in almost as much as your sense of independence. You were simply fascinating. But there was so little about you that I knew, and I wanted to know more. I wanted to get to knowyou. No, not Helena Bertinelli the Mafia Princess or the angel of death that was Huntress. I wanted to know the real you: Helen. Nobody seemed to know her, just the facade of Helena or Huntress. Perhaps the Helen I wanted to experience didn't even exist. In the weeks that I had noticed you I was uncertain of how to proceed on initiating a conversation. What would I say? Would you even want to talk to me? Where or when would I do this? My questions were answered when you barged into my room one evening demanding I help you.

To say I was surprised you came to me would be a severe understatement. I was flabbergasted. Flabbergasted, but not upset. If anything I was secretly pleased you had sought me ought for my intelligence. You jumped on my desk and crossed your legs, batting your eyes and telling me you needed help. I am not a fool. While I'm not very experienced with flirting I could recognize it.

I didn't try and kid myself that you were flirting because you found me appealing. You needed information and I was your means to get it. Saying you had information on Cadmus was bull and we both knew it, yet it didn't bother me. I agreed to help you and thus our friendship was born. Because of your need for justice we grew close and became friends. Because of it, I got what I wanted and got to know you. As the night progressed I discovered that I had been very wrong about one thing; upon reading up on you I was under the impression you were my equal, but as the night wore on it became abundantly clear that you were my superior.

I suppose it was that revelation that made me begin to wonder if telling you about my attraction was the correct way to proceed. But can you blame me? So much strength, power, and intelligence all inside someone so unbelievably gorgeous was overwhelming for me. However, I gathered my wits and put on my calm facade.

For better or for worse, it worked.

I'll always wondered what would have happened if I told you how I felt that night on the docks. Would you have laughed at me or mocked me? Felt awkward and simply avoid me? Maybe...Maybe you would have gone on a date with me. Maybe we could have been something. But I was a cowered and avoided confessing the truth of my intentions, muttering something about aglets. No more will I be silent. I love you, Helena. I have for a long, long time but could never work up the nerve to tell you. I find you stunningly attractive, sassy, strong, independent, intelligent, and perfect for me. I have yet in all my years seen two people as perfect for each other as we are.

I haven't always been on love with you; it took time for my emotions to flourish. As we spent more time together I felt my simple attraction turn into a deep sense of caring. Suppose you could say I had myself a bit of a crush on you. Okay, it was more than a bit. It was actually quite large. But what significantly increased it was Cadmus. Breaking into their office to gather information was fun, but what followed it was not. I offered to take you to dinner afterward, but you politely declined saying you had a date with Roger.

Ah yes, Roger. Your little boy-toy. I tolerated him at first, but near the end I developed a serious hatred for the bastard. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

After you headed to go see Roger, I found the files on my laptop. What I discovered was shocking and terrifying. For hours I contemplated how to proceed when it suddenly hit me: if something wasn't done about Luthor then the world -and more importantly you- would cease to exist. With that in mind, I quickly set out to stop him by killing him and preventing him from taking office.

I had miscalculated one crucial thing- the influence of Brainiac. With him Luthor easily managed to capture and subdue me. They drugged me and hooked me up to one of those damned electric machines, jolting my body with electricity to get me to confess my knowledge of their actions. What I saw was beyond anything I've ever witnessed. Countless Apocalypses, tragedies that would make 9/11 look like a child knocking down a toy, and I saw...I saw you die. Many, many times. They realized it caused the strongest reaction in me and kept using it.

In their hands I witnessed horrors that give me nightmares to this day. I saw things that sickened me and took away and naivety or innocence I may have held onto. Demons ran in fear of what they made me endure, and after time I lost all hope I would ever get out. I had not only failed Earth, but more importantly I failed you.

I can still see you crashing in to rescue me after all these years. So strong and brave as you barrel in and tried to kill Moon. At that moment I knew you really were my angel. For some reason a higher power had sent you to me and for that I was unbelievably grateful. I still envision you so clearly after all these years supporting me on your shoulder and staring at me with so much concern. "Come on, Q. It'll be alright." You whispered, and I believed you. You were my angel, Helen, and angels did not lie.

When you peeled the mask off my face, I expected rejection. Instead I was greeted with acceptance, joy, and -God damn me for even daring to write this- love in your eyes. In that moment I fell utterly, hopelessly, borderline delusional in love with you. Really. Never had someone done something so selfless for me-much less someone so damned beautiful. I had it bad, but it was alright. You cared about me as well; I could see it on your eyes. Together we would beat the odds and finally you would be mine, mine, mine.

Or so I thought.

We almost kissed. I doubt you remember it, but I do. We almost kissed and we would have if Superidiot hadn't interrupted us. Not that it mattered. After he left you excused yourself for a date with Roger and left me alone. It didn't bother me too much; after all, I was convinced you were infatuated with me and wanted me like I wanted you. Hell, maybe I wasn't as awful with women as I thought. For the first time in a long time I had hope, foolish hope, but hope nonetheless.

Weeks passed. I healed as much as I ever would and while doing this had quite a lot of time to think. Though mostly my thoughts revolved around Luthor, Cadmus, and how this all affected the Conspiracy you were prominent in my mind quite often. During this time I made a decision-I needed to tell you how I really felt about you.

Remember the day I brought you roses (while researching ways to win over women this suggestion came up quite often)? Doubtful, and why? In your mind it is known as the day Roger proposed to you. So stupid, Helen. I was so damned stupid it hurts to think about it. I walked up your steps and knocked on your door so very scared yet foolishly hopeful. You answered me with a blinding smile, throwing your arms around my neck and gushing about how good it was to see me.

That was yet another one of the many mistakes I made when it came to confessing to you: thinking your joy about him was towards me. But you were smiling at me and looking so happy I was distracted. Hand wrapping around mine, you tugged me inside your apartment chattering away. 'Look at how happy you make her,' I had mused to myself. 'She has to care about me. She has to.' Laughing, you shoved you hand in front of my face and giggled in announcement that Roger had proposed to you and you two were getting married.

I think a part of me died that day.

But I ignored the cracks in my heart and plastered a false smile on my face. Told you that I was happy for you. You asked me curiously what the roses were for and I yet again lied saying I had already known and they were an engagement present. Everything hurt so badly. The walls seemed to close down on me and I left telling you some pitiful excuse I am unable to recall.

When your wedding day came I was the best man. Suppose it should have been considered an honor, but damn it I wanted to be the groom! Yet I held my tongue knowing you deserved something good in your life and obediently stood at the end of the aisle. As I caught sight of you slowly beginning your stroll down the aisle, my mouth went drier than the desert. Though in my mind you were infinitely more beautiful when you saved me, you looked stunning. Such perfection, such flawlessness wrapped in warm mocha skin and it was all for me.

At least I pretended it was. Between thoughts of Cadmus still keeping me up at night and losing you along with my sanity, it was too hard. I envisioned us lying in a bed together, nude and exploring. I thought of you on my lap as I worked. I contemplated coming home from work and finding you lying in my bed in my shirt, curled up with a book and hidden safely from the world. I thought about anything other than the Hell of the reality I was going to have to live in. I just needed you to look at me, damn it, just one little look to let me know that maybe you wished it was me you were agreeing to spend your life with.

You never did look at me.

You said your vows. I looked away as you kissed and stared at my shoes as though they were fascinating. Why? Why was this all happening? What had I done to deserve this? We danced that night and I held you close against my body. Our connection was so strong I could barely take it. What the hell was wrong with you! Why couldn't you feel it? You rested your head on my shoulder as I curled an arm around your waist, and to this day I have never felt more comfortable and at home then I did with you in my arms.

Your decision to marry Roger was utterly painful. Rich, handsome, perfect, Italian Roger. I asked you if he made you happy, a selfish part of me hoping you would admit that he didn't and that you married him because I was unavailable. But instead your face lit up in a warm smile and you nodded eagerly saying that he made you happier than you had ever felt in your entire life. It hurt knowing you didn't care for me the way I loved you, and though Dinah tried to block my escape I ran out of that building so fast Wallace West would have been jealous.

Something that I suppose I need to confess is that over the years I have turned to alcohol as a source to ease my pain. It was always there for me and made me feel better, like my drugs did in college. When there was no Helen to kiss me goodnight, I let the bottle ease against my lips and welcomed the liquor into my throat. That night in particular I needed a drink, badly. As I drank away and chased off a hooker, my memory left me and the next thing I knew I was waking up in a familiar bed next to my ex-girlfriend, Myra.

Ah, Myra. Sweet, kind Myra. As of now you have not met her, but believe me when I say if you ever do you'll love her. She offered me comfort that night and for the next three months. But as amazing as Myra was, I couldn't get you out of my mind and in result of it we ended our relationship. It saddened me greatly, but not seeing you for so long hurt much worse. With that in mind, I went out to see you again.

When I learned of your pregnancy I was shocked to say the least. Getting married already surpassed my imagination of domestic things I thought you would do, but children? What would posses you to so much think of them? I suppose that even if you could have gotten rid of it you wouldn't; the child was yours and you were going to love it no matter what. That posed as a problem for me. See, I loved you and thought of the child as yet another guarantee that we would never be. I resented it and feared I would hate it upon its arrival onto this planet.

I lied and told you I was happy for you. Your smile did nothing but assure me that I had done the right thing. I did my best to try and be a better man about it and even so far as held your hand and told you to push during labor since Roger was out of town. Our son-My apologies, I still think of him as that when I remember this-Your son was so small, so precious in your arms. In my mind it was without a doubt our son, my child to protect. I still felt a few pangs of regret that it wasn't really ours. We would have made such beautiful children together. Though I imagine one of them would have had red hair like mine.

You dubbed me the Godfather and gave him my first name: Charles. I was honored and by that time had gotten over my resentment. Your son was handsome and every inch of him screamed Bertinelli as far as appearance went. How could I ever hate something that was not only a part of you but resembled you so strongly? The simple answer was that I couldn't. However, once Roger arrived my cheerful illusion was brushed away by reality and I could no longer stay in that damned room. You asked me to stay, but it wasn't my place. We weren't truly family after all.

Years passed. You bore two more children; Christopher and Nichole. You confided to me that you actually hated the name of your youngest daughter, Nichole, but had been constantly squabbling with your husband and didn't want another fight. Aside from silly lover's spats your marriage was a happy one. While I was slowly drowning myself in liquor to wash away my pain, I could at least take comfort that you were happy and living a good life. Well, at least until that bastard hurt you.

After you found a lacy red thong in your suitcase you began to be suspicious that he was cheating on you. Who could blame you? It was incriminating evidence. You confided me about it and together we went on stakeout to observe the man while he was at work to see how loyal he was. After coming up with nothing you left, but I stayed. I often wonder what would have happened if I tagged along with you. Would you two still be together? Would his cheating have come out one way or another?

I like to think so.

For no particular reason save instinct I stuck around and waited after you left. Depending on your perspective, I thankfully decided to follow him as he got into his car and tailed him undetected into the Suicide Slums. His destination merely strengthened my suspicions of him playing dirty. Roger, as it soon became painstakingly clear, had gone to such a dreary neighborhood on a business trip for the Mafia and to be friendly with a common prostitute. Bastard. After chumming it up with his colleagues he went to his boss: the notorious Steven Mandragora aka the murderer of the Bertinelli family.

When I deduced exactly what was going on here, I was enraged. How dare he do this to you! Didn't he have a clue how infinitely precious you are? How rare your love was? Did he have any idea how there was another man on the side who would have given his life to you? I doubt it. Once I made sure facts were facts, I gathered all my information and wits in preparation to confront him about what I had learned. Not too long after his meeting had ended I found him fiddling with his keys in front of his car and took the opportunity to jump him.

Can't quite recall exactly what I said, but whatever it was I'm glad I said it. Roger had no idea who I was at first and pulled a gun, but after disarming him and beating him to a pulp he sure as hell knew it was me. We traded blows until he finally demanded that I told him what I had been yelling about. After shouting at him what he had done he offered a pitiful excuse about needing money and trying to put food on the table. I asked him if he had any idea how lucky he was to call you his and that I'd kill for someone like you to love me.

I have never forgotten his response.

"Aw, that's just it, isn't it, Viccy?" Roger laughed, "Do you think I'm blind? I see you making puppy-dog eyes at my wife every time you're around her! You always act so polite and when she gives you a freak'n hug goodbye you get this look on your face like you're getting a damned handjob! I got news for you, buddy! Helena's mine! I don't know why the hell you still seem to think that you've got a chance but you don't!"

His words felt like a slap in the face. I always thought I had been so careful about hiding my feelings, but he had known all along."You're like a homeless puppy with no family to call your own so you hang around mine! Do you honestly think Helena doesn't know you have feelings for her?" He asked me."She thinks you're a freak! A loon! You think she actually likes hanging out with you? Every time she comes home after going on patrol or spending even a minute around you she complains about how clingy of a guy you are and how paranoid you make her. She always goes on and on about how lonely you must be but if you'd just stop being so crazy people might actually like hanging around you!"

But what hurt most of all was: "The only reason Helena hangs out with you is because she knows you like her. She thinks it's cute, like a school boy having a crush on his teacher, but she knows you don't really have a chance. Hell if you didn't babysit for free when she asked she would have dropped you long ago!"

How-How could you think that? Use me like that? Say something so awful? Even if we weren't lovers I had believed we were friends, but friends didn't bash on other friends so harshly like you did. My mind raced as I tried to come up with an excuse for you to voice such hurtful thoughts, but I couldn't think of one. Then I remembered the bastard didn't even know you were Huntress. Obviously he didn't know you as well as he thought.

After our little verbal smack-down, I headed to your house with my mind deeply immersed in thoughts about you. Telling you this had to be done, but I dreaded it like a child getting a shot. I sat you down and broke the news as gently as I could, but no matter how hard I tried it was still terrible and you asked me to leave your home as your eyes filled with tears.

Much like I had taken to doing when upset, you went out to a bar for a few drinks to dull the pain. Alcohol is a fantastic anesthetic as we both know, and when I approached you in the bar you were drunk out of your mind. I told the man attempting to pick you up to beat it and after some struggle managed to get you home. A small part of me wished in your drunken haze that you would make a move to seduce me like you had so many years ago in an alley, but a much stronger part simply wanted you to sleep and forget your troubles.

We managed to stumble into your apartment before you made a beeline for the bathroom to go vomit. After handing you a few pills to take to prevent you from getting a hangover I told you that getting drunk was stupid. It led to you to yelling at me and somehow calling for me in your bed to join you. I sat down by your side and before I could quite register what was happening you threw your arms around my neck and burst into tears. Frozen, I did my best to comfort you by rubbing your back and trying to think of words of encouragement. Still wonder if it made you feel better.

Somehow we ended up tangled up in the sheets together, the two of us lying side by side as you slept. I pulled your body close to mine and felt pleased as you rested your head on my chest. As we laid there I couldn't help but speculate on how perfect our bodies fit against each other, as though they were designed that way. We truly were made for each other.

As we laid in the quietness and darkness of your bedroom, I absently began to stroke your hair. You looked so small and vulnerable in my arms and at that moment I wanted us to stay like that forever. I was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of despair as I looked at you. Why didn't you love me too? I loved you so damned much but you couldn't even bear to think of me as more than a friend. What was wrong with me? Don't perceive me as a fool; I knew it was a lot of things. I was crazy, socially challenged, forgetful, annoying, clingy, paranoid, unpleasant, creepy, bad with women, unhygienic, poor as hell, without a family, unattractive, depressing, and so very fucked up.

But...I wanted to believe you would look past that and accept me as a lover. I found myself whispering my question into the dull silence of your bedroom, my hand grasping yours as though my life depended on it. Once that gate was open multiple things began pouring out of my mouth uncontrollably. That I loved you and always had; how beautiful I thought you were; my loneliness; how good it felt to hold, touch, and kiss you; that we would be perfect together; about our children on another world.

Ah yes, it appears I forgot to mention that. While studying separate Earths I found one identical to ours up until we met at the docks. From there, they split off. On it we had four beautiful children, and you were so wonderfully mine. But enough about that.

Telling you everything even though I know you couldn't hear me cleansed me. I felt redeemed after I had finished. And after I whispered that I loved you and kissed your cheek tenderly, you smiled in your sleep and scooted even closer to me.

It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

In the morning Roger barged in and ruined our safe little world we'd created in your bed. We fought with him and lied that we were now lovers. Hell, a few months later in court we pretended to be together going so far as to make pretend we were having sex when your asshole ex (I do enjoy calling him your EX-husband) decided to follow us. Being pressed against you so intimately and personally felt fantastic. I can only hope one day it occurs for real if it already hasn't.

While in bed together in the 'aftermath' I couldn't help but...pop up. Sorry, but you're unbelievably gorgeous and being so close to you in a bed was too difficult for even one with so much discipline myself. My awkwardness was pathetic as I shuffled out of your room in shame. In the morning, however, I was rewarded. You approached me asking about my scars and I told you all about Cadmus. Even now there are things I left out in regard to my torture, but some things are better left a mystery.

Not too long after you invited me with you to a little cafe. Hardly my type of place, but I complied nonetheless. You convinced me to try a coffee that was surprisingly good, but still undoubtedly evil. As we chatted a small slip of your lips caused a questionable comment to be voiced about French kisses, and I excused myself to use the restroom out of sheer awkwardness.

We have kissed before. I don't know if you remember it, but every single time we have ever shared a kiss it has been burned into my mind. The first time was after your bridal shower. You were drunk out of your mind as we stumbled out the door into an alleyway and in the middle of our conversation you threw your arms around me and kissed me softly. I allowed you to for a total of six seconds before pushing you away and saying we couldn't continue.

Yet again you kissed me, this time more ferociously while shoving me against a wall. My resolve crumbled instantly as you wildly covered your lips with my own, and even if some had remained when your hand slipped into my pants it would have vanished. We almost made love that night. Well, actually it would have been drunken fucking, but still. We made it all the way to your living room sharing passionate kisses and caresses before I stopped us from going too far.

Why would I do this? Simple. I didn't want to take advantage of you. Bottom line was I respected you too much to do it, and though I'm ashamed it got that far I did enjoy it. Flash forward a few years and our next embrace was in my bed. This time it was I who initiated it while stuck in my apartment with a cold; a cold being the only reason I got away with it. Kissing you for revenge with Roger was enjoyable as well, but it wasn't what I wanted.

Just once, just one damn time, I want to be able to kiss you sober and tell you I love you. Just once. Why is something that should be so simple so damned hard? We would have been so, so, so good together, Love. There is so much compatibility between us I wonder how you can't see it. We both are vigilante's; neither of us fit in with other heroes; we're both orphans; we know what it's like to be considered insane; we are both outcasts, the list is endless.

Why don't you think so as well?

Actually, I'm beginning to suspect you do. While at that cafe I previously mentioned you were (dare I say) jealous about another woman showing interest in me. I can feel something that wasn't there before present. We act differently. The line between good friends and something more has become blurred.

Hope it's not all in my head, but I doubt it. There is too much sexual attraction to be ignored between us. Perhaps we truly did get together before my passing. I hope so. If we didn't, then let these words be my last.

I love you Helena, so very much. I've loved you for over fifteen years and through marriage and children have remained faithful to my emotions. My longing for you never subsided nor did I cave to reason and lose hope. You are my angel, my face when I have none. You are my confident and my friend, but above all things you are my soul mate.

I think you're beautiful in every way. Even when you sass me and I want to wring your neck I still love you. I have for years and will never be able to stop. Currently, I have no idea how our story ends. Did we get together before I passed and you found this letter on my hard drive? I hope so. Did we never become more than friends? Well, at least I was able to call you my good partner.

Please don't think I wrote this letter to make you feel guilty or to complain about how awful my life was. I typed this up simply to tell you something I've wanted to for years. Now that is finally is off my chest and you know my secret, I can rest in peace. Perhaps if there truly is an afterlife we will be joined in it and remain together for all eternity.

Do not mourn me. Do not waste your time wishing I was still with you. Live your life and be happy. I wish it was me making you happy, but a happy Helena no matter what is a good thing. Don't cry over our love; celebrate it. I love you, I always have and will. Even in death it won't change. Being with you even when we were nothing more than friends made me not only more positive but a better person. Out of every person I have ever met, you are the most special of them all, My Helena. Knowing you was the experience of my lifetime. Take care of yourself, my beautiful angel. I'll always be with you in spirit.

Yours forever,

Vic

PS- Don't forget about what I told you about Microsoft. I don't need you to join me in death because you caved to them. Also, if you don't love me back, that's okay. But it doesn't mean I'll stop loving you. Ever.

Eyelashes caressed with tears like dewdrops on the morning grass, Helena quietly closed the laptop and tried to hold back the waterfall threatening to pour from her eyes. God, how had she never noticed? How could she have been friends for so many years with this man and never realize he loved her? What type of cold-hearted bitch didn't pick up on something like that?

Helena had loved him as well. She lacked the courage to say it before but no more. She loved Vic Sage like she had never loved another human being. Quirky, eccentric, sweet Q who had told her she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and that he loved her more than she would ever know. Vic, who had offered on more than one occasion to let her stay with him if needed and take care of her, she had been so cruel to, even if it was indirectly.

Helen, unable to hold back, burst out weeping and collapsed onto his bed, burying her face in his pillow to soak up her tears.

No, no, no! It couldn't end this way! Yes, she told him she loved him, but God! It wasn't fair! Vic didn't deserve to die; he deserved to wake up with her in bed and have her cook him breakfast.

Her heart felt as though someone took a hammer to it and shattered it into a trillion pieces. No more sharing Chinese and discussing insane theories; no more sharing late-night talks while on patrol; no more fighting side-by-side and feeling that victory when they won. No more anything.

No more Vic.

Helena wasn't sure if she could take it.

'Did we get together?' he had asked in his memoir. Helen didn't know. Sure, they weren't getting married or anything, but in the last few moments of his life they had confessed their love and shared a kiss like no other. That had to count for something.

Knowing that Vic would never call her up in a tizzy at three in the morning to rant about his latest theory again filled her with an emptiness she hadn't felt since the untimely death of her own parents. How much loss could a soul take? How many times could ones heart be broken before it was unable to be fixed?

Helena had no idea.

Vic's last few requests in his letter echoed in her mind. He said he wanted her to be happy and live life to its fullest extent. Q had wanted her to go on living when he was gone, to avoid what Bruce Wayne had done when he lost his parents and to get over it. He knew it would be hard at first and tare her to pieces, but in the end all Vic had asked from her was to keep living life.

It seemed impossible at the moment.

Deep down Helena knew she was too strong to break and never be fixed. A part of her had grown to accept that tragedies such as this would only make her stronger in the long run. One day, she would be better. Never completely healed, but better.

That day was a long, long time away. Right now Helena was content to remained snuggled deep within her love's sheets and reminisce about the strangest and most wonderful human being she had ever met. She loved Vic Sage plain and simple; that would never go away. Even on her deathbed Helen would think of the redhead who had been not just the true love of her life but her greatest friend.

Through everything, Vic had remained right about one thing. No matter what they had gone through, nothing could have changed the single thought that could have been reality if Fate allowed it. They were great on their own, but together…

Together, they would have been incredible.

End

A/N This story was so different from others I have written in the past. It focused much more on lust, love, and angst than anything I have previously written and I personally am immensely proud of it.

I originally wrote this last chapter you just read as a one-shot back in March. After some debate I decided I had enough to make it a multi-chapter fic and now one almost year later have finished it. I think I'll grab a margarita, sit back, and go watch The Dark Knight to celebrate.

Thanks so much to everyone who stuck with this little work of fiction. I love it so much when I hear back from you guys and have come to realize I have the best readers and reviews in this archive:) For that, I am very grateful. So thanks again and as always, let me know what you thought of this ending and review.