Wayne Manor was nestled in the lush green outskirts of Gotham, barely visible from her vantage point on the gently winding road. Diana clutched the steering wheel as she drove; eyes deliberately poised forward, foot pressed at the brake. Her seatbelt was probably too tight on her torso—her own lasso would not wind this tight! —but precautions were always best. She had learned how to drive a short time ago, and she still avoided it whenever possible.
If it were up to her, she would continue riding horses, but there weren't enough to use nowadays. How she missed Themyscira and its many conveniences. She passed acres of rolling green hills, dotted with trees and shrubs, the lawn carefully manicured. Was this truly the home of a hero? The home of Batman?
His invitation had been abrupt, yet she accepted out of curiosity. She remembered his e-mail, her stunned silence at the photograph appearing on her computer screen—an ancient relic in the digital world. It haunted her like a ghost, the faces of her comrades in World War I. Her own face, a face light with hope and anticipation, one that had not yet been weighed down by humanity's struggles. And, most of all, the face that still haunted her every night, that made her dreams whole and her waking empty. She stared at Steve's face for what felt like hours, before she typed her response:
Thank you for bringing him back to me.
Diana snapped back to attention, stopping her convertible just before the arched gates of Wayne Manor. She pulled the window down and squinted at the intercom before her. No matter how many things she learned—typing had been easier than anticipated, and computers were still a mystery she unraveled more of each day—there was always something new to discover. Humans were ingenious at their inventions.
She pressed the brightest thing she could find on the intercom—the red buzzer—and smiled as she saw that it worked.
"I am here to see Bruce Wayne."
Without any reply, the gate swung open. Diana shifted the gear into drive and pulled into the manor's curved driveway. She walked a flight of stairs through heavy, double doors that were surprisingly opened. Cautiously, she reached into her trench coat and felt the hilt of her blade, her heels clacking loudly against the marble floors.
She realized she had walked straight into a room.
"Bruce Wayne." Her voice ricocheted from the hollow walls, lost in the empty spaces and high ceilings. The room was enormous, and dimly lit. It reminded her of a cave. A hodgepodge of antique furniture was scattered about; brightly colored loveseats, gothic style floor lamps, a large oak table, a grandfather clock flanked by huge wooden dressers. She touched the lasso at her side instinctively, expecting a bear to come stampeding through the front door.
"In the flesh." Bruce's voice echoed as he emerged from the shadows of a nearby hall, wearing a polo shirt and slacks. His hands were in his pockets—he appeared every bit the entrepreneur, without a single shred of evidence he was a superhero.
Puzzled, Diana cocked her head, "Are we not all in the flesh?"
Bruce paused for a moment, a slight smile forming on his lips. She realized it was some kind of slang, a saying as they called it. He nodded, to humor her, "I suppose that goes without saying. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the loveseat at her right. She glanced warily at it, an elaborate piece of upholstery with red leather cushions.
"I would much prefer to stand."
Bruce nodded, crossing his arms. "Fair enough."
They stood as competitors in a ring, arms crossed, eyeing one another. It reminded her of better days, standing in the open fields of Themyscira, the wind billowing in her hair; her eyes squinting from sunlight and wary precision, sizing up the warrior across from her. Her greatest worry back then had been the poise of her stance, the quickness of her feet; where her blade would land, what her lasso could hook at such a short distance.
She took a step towards him, her head raised, "You do not look like Batman. Not even your mannerisms. You hide yourself well."
His smile was genuine, then—rows of pearly white teeth, followed by a chuckle. She could see women finding him handsome.
"I suppose I do my job well, then. It isn't easy owning Gotham during the day, and defending it at night."
He sat down on the red loveseat next to her, then patted the empty spot. Diana hesitated for a moment, before deciding he was no threat. She sat beside him, poised toward the corner.
"You live here alone?" The question was meant to be open-ended; wives? Girlfriends? Children?
He nodded briskly, "If you don't count Alfred. I prefer it. Being alone suits me, don't you think?" Another charming smile.
She shook her head. "I find it odd that attractive men do not have a woman for pleasure, or do not procreate."
"Well, that is quite blunt of you, isn't it?"
It was Diana's turn to smirk. "Unfortunately, after years of being around your people, I still have not grown accustomed to jokes and sarcasm."
"But you have fooled many people by blending in, Diana. I found that very fascinating. And…even more fascinating?"
There it was, pulled from his pants pocket: the black and white, tattered photo that brought both tears to her eyes and warmth to her heart. Gingerly, she reached out to grab it from his hands. As if to taunt her, Bruce pulled it away, keeping it in her line of vision:
"I want to know."
Diana nodded, clasping her hands in her lap. Fair enough.
"You wanted me to tell you my story. Well, here it is."
She told him of Zeus and Ares, of the endless power of the gods and of her mother, Hippolyta; the Great Plains of Themyscira, the beauty of its nature and the beauty of its Amazons. She told him with an aching heart and trembling voice the day the plane fell into the ocean, and she saved the man who held her heart in his hands, only to crush it with his death. She told him, in great detail, her struggle to end the first World War, the battle with Ares, the discovery that she, too, was a god.
"But Ares was not the cause of the war," She murmured, and she found herself pulling the photo from her pocket and gazing at herself, 100 years ago. "The humans were the fuel to his fire. Although I killed Ares, World War II, the evil of Hitler...still happened."
Her words ended abruptly, consumed by an emptiness that wrapped her soul within its long limbs.
Bruce pierced the silence like a bullet. "It sounds like you haven't fought for some time. Like you haven't fought since you helped us fight Lex Luthor and Doomsday."
"I haven't," she responded, "Not for quite some time. I don't even keep track of these…years." The word still felt alien to her tongue. Her eyes focused on the grandfather clock in the corner, a brilliant mahogany framework that looked as sculpted as a Grecian statue, "Time has no meaning for me. Time passes, it ebbs and flows, yet humanity continues to kill itself. Ares has been long dead, and yet the evil grows. It is a weed, a root that is embedded deep within civilization. I don't know how to stop it. I have searched for the answer since Steve's death, and I am none the wiser."
Bruce studied her for a moment. Appearing as if he made up his mind, he stood up and dropped the picture onto his vacated seat. Diana grabbed it as Bruce strolled over to a nearby dresser, pulling a bottle of whiskey from a glass cabinet. He poured himself a generous amount, then gestured to Diana, who raised a hand in polite refusal.
"Diana," he spoke between sips, "Do you know the story of Adam and Eve? You have told me the legends of the Gods, let me tell you of this legend of the human race."
"Adam and Eve," she repeated, fingers absently stroking the time worn photo. Diana's eyes gazed intently at Steve's, enough to burn holes through his once brilliant blue irises. Again, the tightening in her throat—Ares be damned—and she looked back up at Bruce.
"So be it, Bruce Wayne. Tell me of your legend of Adam and Eve."
He told her of God creating the first human, Adam, and fashioning Eve from his rib, of the devil's temptation in the Tree of Knowledge, of Eve's desire to be godlike, to be all-knowing, of her first mortal sin. He told her of the shame they felt to know they were suddenly naked, how God punished and banished them to Earth.
"Humans are flawed," He spoke slowly, "Since Eve's time, they have sinned. They make countless mistakes, they live and die, they bleed and kill. They suffer…and they feel pain." Diana's eyes wandered back to the loveseat, the bright cushion a fluorescent red under the dim lights. She refused to let him see the tears building in her eyes.
"If they are so flawed," She retorted, "Why do we defend them?"
"Because we hope that there are more good ones than bad," His response was swift, earnest—he met her gaze again, and to her surprise, his hand swept forward to grasp hers. At first, Diana instinctively went to swat it away, yet she allowed him to hold it. He squeezed, hard.
"I have been fighting for the people of Gotham for decades, Diana. I have seen the most innocent of people become corrupt, but more than this, I have seen innocent women and children die at the hands of murderers. I have seen people get robbed and raped and disemboweled at the hands of other human beings. Not gods, but humans. But there are good people out there. They continue to outnumber the bad. And as horrible as it is, this devastation and crime and endless death-" He trailed off and she found herself staring intently at him.
"It is worth every day of suffering, if I could save one more innocent life."
He clasped her hand between both of his, voice lowering to a whisper, "Because I believe, even if it seems impossible, that humans are good at their core. I believe that we must protect this goodness, as flawed as they are. There is a light, Diana, and that is our job. We must protect the light; we must keep the darkness from destroying it. There was a purpose to Steve's death, and It was to keep humanity safe. To keep humanity pure."
Diana stared at Bruce, and it seemed as if she truly saw him for the first time. The dim light bounced off his time-worn gaze, a face that had seen far too much violence, too much death. Wrinkles etched into his skin, crow's feet beneath his eyes, a line of gray stubble across his jawline. He took great care of himself, took pride in his façade as the impeccable businessman—yet it was there, in plain sight.
If you looked hard enough, you could see the eyes of Batman behind Bruce Wayne; the weary, war-torn eyes. Eyes that shone of sacrifice and strength—a strength that still burned bright to this day, inevitably dimmed by the passage of time.
"Strange, how you haven't aged in hundreds of years."
Bruce's gaze was still on her, admiring her. Despite this, she refused to look away. If Diana had learned one successful thing about human civilization, it was that eye contact meant dominance.
"Bruce," She nearly hissed, "What is this about? Why did you bring me here, besides asking me to tell you my story, and giving me this photo?"
The billionaire broke his stare, appearing self-conscious of his actions.
"I wanted to see you in person again. And I wanted to ask you to come to light and show yourself to humans as you really are: not just as Diana Price, but as their hero."
Diana scoffed. A smile played on her lips as she looked back down at the crumpled photo, then up at Bruce. His glass of whiskey was almost empty—she could smell it on him.
"I once defended humanity for the sake of Steve." Her eyes softened as she spoke, and she felt her fingers tremble, "He taught me that humanity still has goodness in it. Perhaps…I can begin again. But to be known by all of your Gotham, and every other city? I once took down an entire battalion in the first World War, and the village knew me. They thanked me. They honored me. I... I felt like a god, like a true hero."
Bruce raised her hand, brought it between the two of them, as if he were making a pact.
"Then you can join me again, Diana. Join us. Join us in spreading justice. In upholding peace."
Bruce's eyes turned blue before her, his face warping into a different person. His touch was warm, like the touch of the man she loved a century ago. She recalled the first time he held her, the first time his lips touched hers, in the middle of nowhere, a village they had saved together from the ravages of war. She remembered how he stroked her face, how he confessed his love for her…how she felt truly godlike, in his arms, to be loved and prized and treated like a perfect being. She felt godlike, yet she felt human, too. Love had been so fragile, so precious, yet so breakable. And in there was the nature of humanity; to love, to prosper, to simultaneously suffer and decay. She observed it in every person she had met in her life—every fallible boy and girl, with their own dreams and desires, whittled away by old age and mortality. She even saw it in Bruce; in his strong guise, marred by time.
Was this worth defending? This feeble human nature?
Yes.
That fragility was precisely what made it precious—the fact it was so fleeting, so fragile. Her love for Steve, a love that continued to burn after one hundred years, remained even though his body had not. And as long as his spirit, as long as his love remained inside of her, she would fight. She would fight for this race, she would protect the innocent, she would defend as she was taught in Themyscira; as she was taught by Steve.
"Yes."
"Yes?"
"I will defend this world. I will join you. Together, we will defend the human race, as I did before with World War 1, and 2, and many other battles. For I am Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyta, and daughter of Zeus."
Bruce's smile looked young again. The firelight flickered in his eyes with delight; a passion she had only seen on the battlefield.
"We would be honored to have you, Diana of Themyscira. Welcome to the Justice League."