Because of the nature of their jobs, weeks can sometimes pass without Bruce and Diana ever laying eyes on each other. For that reason, Bruce gives Diana access to the BatCave, so she can continue their search without him or Alfred having to let her in. It helps, having her continue the search when he can't. She's stumbled on a few promising leads when alone.

He doesn't give away access to his sanctuary readily, but...he trusts Diana. They've been searching for Metas for months now and God help him, he trusts her. He knows she won't use his tech for bad, won't fry his computers, won't steal from him. (Well...he had stolen from Lex first.)

Despite the darkness and the cold breeze in the Cave, so different from her home, Diana doesn't mind being there. She likes all the computers and monitors, likes learning how to use them. She likes Bruce's training set up (even if she has had to replace a punching bag or two). When she's not in Metropolis, she likes sitting in the Cave, looking at a different city, from a different perspective.

On more than one occasion, Diana has glimpsed a blur of black on one of the monitors. The Bat of Gotham protecting his city.

She can't help herself; she watches. He is near silent and so agile for such a hulking mortal. Diana knows she is 6 feet tall, but Bruce has a few inches on her. Just enough that she is eye level with his lips.

A smirk plays on her lips tonight as she watches Bruce send a Batarang whizzing just to the left of a criminal's head. He shows off sometimes. Whether it is because he knows she is watching or for his own amusement, she's not sure. If she had to guess, Diana would say it was for Bruce's own amusement.

Bruce, she has learned, has a peculiar sense of humor.

She rolls her eyes at the trembling coward of a criminal on the screen and reaches down to adjust the Ace bandage wrapped around her ankle. Earlier in Metropolis, she had shattered it, the bone snapping in pieces. That was part of the reason she was in the BatCave tonight. Rather than going to a hospital she had come to see if Alfred would patch her up. The ankle would heal quickly, it just needed immobilizing.

(Alfred had been happy to see her, fetching her tea and some cookies before he reset and wrapped the injury.

"I'm sorry to inconvenience you, Alfred," she had said, testing her weight on the ankle. It hurt, but held up.

He'd waved off her concern with a polite snort, "I've seen much worse from Master Bruce, Miss Diana. And you are much more agreeable than he is when it comes to tending to wounds."

Diana had laughed, because of course Bruce hated to be patched up.)

Diana's attention is sidetracked for a little bit, catching on a different monitor. She leans forward, putting just too much pressure on her shattered ankle and furiously prays to her gods that they have just gotten a break on Curry or Stone's location. No, she slumps back in the seat, dejected, just a bank robbery in progress.

She debates ignoring her ankle and suiting up to help Bruce, but she knows he will be furious with her. That had been a condition. Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince could be seen in public together or Batman and Wonder Woman could. He hadn't wanted any villains out there to wonder why the Bat was suddenly working with another superhero after decades alone.

She had chosen the former, figuring it would be easier.

And for the most part it is. Their real identities overlap considerably in the posh circle Bruce is forced to frequent.

And then sometimes she thinks she's chosen wrong, that she should be out there helping him. Tonight is one of those nights.

She winces as a bullet slams into his Kevlar suit. Her heart thuds once, twice, three times in her chest when a grenade lights up the screen. During minutes that pass like hours while the dust and debris clear, it feels like her stomach is in knots. Her fingers white knuckle the arm rests, only loosening when Bruce's dark figure appears on screen.

"Hera," she snaps, a hand over head heart. Stupid man.

Stupid Diana for her overreaction to this man.

She tells herself it is because she needs help in searching for the Metas, help to understand what is coming next, that her heart isn't pounding because he could have died.

Diana tells herself a lot of things.

Once she's sure Bruce is okay, she forces herself to look away from the screens that Batman pops up on. She settles comfortably into the chair and watches the screens lazily. The night is quiet after the foiled bank robbery.

She falls asleep.


Bruce is already peeling off his cowl before he's properly in the BatCave. He makes a half-hearted effort to smash down the inevitable cowl-hair that occurs at the end of each patrol. It doesn't work, as usual, and he catches a glimpse of his reflection, scowling at the hair that sticks up at odd angles. He's tired and sore and really just wants to sleep before he has to get up at an ungodly hour to be at Wayne Enterprises.

He's stripped down to his pants and a grey t-shirt when he sees her.

Diana, curled up in a chair with her black hair tied up in a loose ponytail, fast asleep and, Bruce almost grins, snoring. One hand is tucked under her cheek and the other has a loose grip on the armrest. Both of her legs are tucked under her.

He quietly swaps out his boots for a pair of sneakers and cautiously steps over to Diana and her chair. Bruce has no qualms about waking Diana up from a nap. He's done it what feels like a million times before. And now that he knows how to wake her up without getting thrown clear across the room, he really doesn't mind the task. But before he can say her name and rest a hand on her shoulder, he catches sight of her wrapped ankle, the bruise that travels up her shin and calf.

Bruce knows the Amazonian needs more sleep when she's working to heal an injury. He shouldn't wake her. And that's the only reason why he gently, so very gently, hooks an arm under her knees and around her back to cradle her to his chest. She smells like the ocean and metal and something that Bruce can't quite place.

She must be tired since she doesn't immediately wake and punch him in the face. Bruce considers it a minor victory. He carries her through the Cave, regulating his own breathing so she doesn't feel the hitch in his breath when she stirs.

"Bruce?" she murmurs, still in a state of half-sleep. He can feel her muscles tensing under his grip, ready to attack.

"Yeah," he replies quietly, his voice still gravelly. "You fell asleep. I'm putting you in one of the guest rooms."

"You'd better," she threatens, eyes still shut.

"I'm not Kent, but I would never put a woman in my bed unless she wanted to be there," Bruce says firmly, strangely hurt that she might think so little of him.

She yawns and curls into his chest. His pants, already tight, grow even more uncomfortable.

"Good," she sighs, lazily patting his chest, "because I could kill you, if I wanted."

Bruce grins.


A/N: Wow! Thank you so much for the awesome response to the first chapter! I'm super grateful! I decided to turn this into a sort of mini series of moments between Bruce and Diana between BvS and JL.

I'm sure they're still a little OOC, but I've been brushing up on my Bats and Wondy characterization :)

Let me know what you all think! :)