I own nothing.


Bruce tells her about Rex when she's already half-asleep; Diana feels the warmth of his breath through her hair before the sounds coalesce into meaning.

His arms tighten around her and she lets her fingers steal up to cover the wide plane of wrist and forearm. Even here in his bed, perhaps especially in his bed, she has learnt to be slow and cautious. Even now, he is more at ease if she can't watch his face while he speaks.

"Shayera knows?"

"No."

"John hasn't told her?"

"I don't think so," he answers, haltingly.

She turns her head just enough to press her lips to his arm, resisting the temptation to try and catch the expression on his face.

"She ought to know, Bruce."

"There are risks."

"Yes," she says simply. She doesn't let herself delve, as Bruce does, into concerns about muddled timelines and paradoxes. "But there's no way of knowing what you've already changed just by being there. Even Apollo rarely offers certainty." She had been given free reign of the temples, after all, god-favored child that she was. How often she had watched the oracles at work, a thousand interconnected points of light spread about them, flickering with each choice made, lines brightening and dimming on the strength of a word unsaid.

"You think I should tell her."

"I think John should tell her."

"And who's going to tell him that? Damn stubborn marine."

"I'll talk to him," she offers.

"You don't have to -"

"I will," she says firmly. "Though you knew I would."

"I thought you might."

"If we-," she pauses. "Would you have told me?"

His heartbeat doesn't change. There is the faintest murmur behind the steady rhythm, a softening of the brisk staccato she swears she can feel under her own skin. "I'll never lie to you, princess," he says.

The holoboard in the conference room was a mess of symbols and lines, meaningless scrawl to anyone who hadn't spent the day drawing up battle formations. Diana felt the beginnings of a headache brewing behind her eyes.

"Alright," said John, shuffling the screens into some semblance of order. "So we've got some basic drills and formations, and about a million or so field maneuvers that we can adapt according to team and objective."

"Let's keep the groupings broad, then. Offense, defense, rescue, and recon?"

"Add this to the bylaws and we've got ourselves a nice little playbook." John dragged his hands over his face. "Now they just gotta learn 'em."

"Hera," said Diana. "If you'd put this in front of me when I first arrived, I would have flown back to Themyscira, Man's World be damned."

"Bullshit. You would have ripped it in half and gone right on back to punching."

She laughed. "Yes, because I didn't need a book! Phillipus had me reciting battle plans before I knew my multiplication tables."

"Was it all, 'hit first, ask questions later'?"

"...only my favorites."

"Can we import an Amazon or two to train them? Or better yet, let's just send them there for boot camp."

"The idea has merit," mused Diana. "They haven't had any new recruits to torture in ages."

"I think we'd need to get them all back alive."

"I won't make you a promise I can't keep, John," she laughed. "Hang on," she said, as the comm beeped in her ear. "Wonder Woman."

"Alfred wants to know if you'll make it down for dinner."

She looked at the marked up sheets in front of her, and glanced at John, who was shuffling papers with the utmost deliberation. "Doubtful, we've still got a few more hours of work left, I'll just grab something here."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Don't wait."

"Goodnight, then."

"Be careful. On patrol, that is."

"You don't want an excuse to rescue me?"

She could feel her face grow hot; John continued to look pointedly in the opposite direction.

"I don't think you'd care for my methods," Diana said lightly.

"I'll be the judge of that."

He was smirking, she was sure of it, but he cut the connection before she could respond.

"John!"

"Di?"

"I need coffee."

They wandered back in companionable silence, sugar and caffeine cutting through the haze of exhaustion.

"So," said John, tone deceptively casual. "Why haven't you asked me about Warhawk?"

Diana caught his eye and grinned. "You talk more when you're tired. I was going to give you another ten minutes before I launched an attack."

"Offensive or recon?"

"Now, John," she chided. "You know I favor a direct approach. But now that we've conveniently broached the topic..."

"Your boyfriend's idea of pillowtalk leaves a lot to be desired."

"You expected sonnets?"

"A haiku, at least."

"I think Wally wrote me one of those."

"I know. The first drafts are still on the locker room wall."

"Plural? Flattering. Now stop changing the subject."

"I have a son. Or I might. There's a kid somewhere out there with my shoulders and her wings, and there isn't enough scotch in the world."

"He sounds beautiful," she said softly.

"He's a miracle. He's strong and he's smart, and I think I hate her more for this than I do for the invasion."

"Do you hate her?"

"Don't you?'

"Yes. No. I'm too tired to hate but I'm too angry to forgive. Would that my goddesses had given me more heart than spleen."

"But then where would Bruce be?"

She shrugged. "In his cave."

"There are easier options, Di."

"How's that working for you?" she countered.

John turned up his palms, a rueful gesture. "I could love Mari. You could love someone else."

"I don't burn for anyone else."

"Maybe that's better. Maybe you ought to make sure there's something of you left over."

"Who are we punishing, John?"

"We're superheroes, Diana. We punish ourselves all the time."

"I want to forgive her."

"Is that why you want me to tell her about Rex? As punishment?"

That stung, all the more for the sliver of truth in it, that rose up to choke her with its bitterness. "Is that why you won't? Too much like revenge?"

He looked away. "I'm afraid of the part of me that wants to draw blood."

"No matter that we do the cutting, John. We still bleed."