She was a diamond in the rough. A Gotham girl born and bred, with the Jersey accent and attitude, and a spine of steel. Cut her and she'd bleed, but she'd never stop fighting.
Slade knew all that--it was what had attracted him to her in the first place. Her compassion and caring and innate goodness had kept him hovering, popping into her life when it suited him, annoying and pleasing her with his presence.
Dinah was a good woman, but, like a diamond, she was hard as well, and when events and decisions--wrong or right--pushed between them, she chose the only side she could.
Leaving him out.
He'd watched her rejoin the League, watched her be a mother, watched her marry. Her fight continued.
As did his.
They rarely crossed paths and, when they did, it never ended well.
Diamonds come from coal, from dust, not the other way around, but humans return to what made them, and, as he watched, Dinah aged, and, because she was a warrior, she never stopped fighting.
Inevitably, something took her down and crushed the uncrushable.
Standing over her crumpled body, the blood from the wound in her breast already congealed and turning brown, Slade tried to remember the good times and not think about the bad. Despite knowing it wouldn't have been what she wanted, he vowed to make her killer pay.
And, as he swore that silent oath, a star winked into existence in the sky above him, and he smiled.
Another jewel in the heavens.
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