Part One (Friends), Chapter Six
He followed her onto the balcony adjacent to the hall's lobby. She'd been standing at the railing, gazing out over the gardens, considering whether to acknowledge the man she expected to soon join her.
He lingered near the doorway, both making himself known and conceding his willingness to await her notice.
A moment passed. And then another. And then several more.
She shifted, sighed - and finally condescended.
"Any rite that seeks to bind souls in perpetuity ought be based in coequality, ought comprise gestures that convey balance, reciprocity," she mused, her back still turned to him. "And yet, this culture that imagines itself so superior, so above the antiquated doctrines and mores of other so-called civilizations, cleaves to traditions that revel in disparity, chauvinism.
"Women veiled; women paraded about and handed over as if property; women coveting the forfeit of their identities. Your compatriots may think such indignities slight in comparison to the atrocities visited upon the feminine in other parts of this world. But to argue degrees of subjection is to entirely miss the point: Evil is still evil - no matter how subtle and seemingly benign."
Her gambit may have confounded someone less acquainted with her principles and manners. However, he, who knew her well enough to appreciate that she didn't talk small, didn't mince words, perfectly understood her. By the substance of her thoughts, she'd conveyed not only that which she was disposed to discuss, but also that which she was not. Both stipulations troubled him, but while the latter roused his anger, the former incited his concern. She was displeased, and, no matter their discord, he wished her to be otherwise.
"The groom agrees with the bride's aversion to a veil, given what it suggests," he accordingly said, in an effort to allay the woman's qualms. "He, too, is being accompanied down the aisle. Neither of them is being given away. And she isn't changing her name, nor did he ever expect her to… But then, Kent would've assured you of all that and much more long ago. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so much as attending the ceremony - to say nothing of playing a supporting role in it. I presume, then, that you oppose the manner of my 'compatriots'' nuptials in general, not the present proceedings in particular."
The hostility that'd tinged his concluding remark wasn't lost on her. "Compatriots" - it was a term that alluded as much to his fellow citizens as to the sex to which he was born; and he resented her reminder of the difference, the distance keeping him from her. Nonetheless, she thought with both gratification and regret, he couldn't be unfeeling when it came to her. He couldn't but convey solace when met with her discontent.
Still, she betrayed no hint of having been affected by either his reassurances or his disdain. And as she'd done as much as she was inclined to - deigning to recognize the fact of his presence, although refusing to address its purpose - she remained silent, looking out over the greenery before her and leaving it to him to continue the conversation in which she still wanted no part.
Again, he understood her. Again, he was vexed. But, determined to gain some response from her, he stepped forward a bit and asked after the gift he'd had delivered to her rooms upon her arrival to the hotel.
She hesitated, thinking of the dress she'd hung in her closet without trying on. Months before, Lois and Clark had given their wedding party the freedom to wear formal attire of their own choosing to the eventual ceremony and reception, provided that that attire complement the style and palette they'd chosen for their wedding's décor. The best man, however, had still been loath to trouble herself with finding an appropriate outfit. She casually mentioned as much to Clark, only to learn weeks later that he, unable to resist meddling, passed along her sentiments to the man presently drawing nearer to her. Not surprisingly, that man had then taken it upon himself to commission an ensemble for her. The result was a flawless, floor-sweeping gown made entirely of silk, as he was mindful that she wore only natural fibers.
The gesture was not unfelt. All the same, her ultimate response to his question was curt: "It is lovely. You have my thanks."
"If the fit isn't quite right, there's an especially gifted seamstress around. I could ask her to make the alterations," he rejoined, angling to goad her by alluding to the woman she never openly discussed.
She scoffed at the notion, and replied, "I should not think that would be necessary. Unless you doubt your recollection of my dimensions."
At last, he'd elicited a reaction - a slight, though not insignificant, wavering in her equanimity. But his victory was fleeting, as her retort stirred his memories of days and nights past, and he instinctively lowered his gaze to regard her.
She was a shapely, statuesque woman with wavy, hip-length hair. Her olive complexion marked her Mediterranean extraction, just as her sinewy physique distinguished her warrior lineage. And although she appeared to be in her mid-thirties, her serenity and grace bespoke her thousands of years. Without doubt, hers was an ethereal beauty - one that, unbeknownst to him, had been conjured, not conceived.
His captivation with her had begun at first sight and had only deepened as they grew close. However, despite his grasp of both what initially and what continually drew him to her, he had no more insight into the basis of the mutual passion she'd developed for him than he had into the reasons for her having set that passion aside.
As he came upon her immediate area, a breeze kicked up, flowing through her raven tresses and drifting toward him. He allowed himself a single intake of breath, but found himself regretting even that slight indulgence when the painfully familiar notes of her scent triggered his desire to reach out and embrace her as she'd not permitted him to in far too long. Nevertheless, he knew that even if she were of a mind to grant him such license, she wouldn't do so at present, for she never abided the casual touch of a man, never suffered any open display of his physical affections. She deemed it possessive, and she would be possessed by no man of the world her people had transcended.
And yet, even so immutable a conviction had an exception in the person of one Clark Kent. Where he was concerned, she had no misgivings about exhibiting their bond in the presence of others. He was free to take her hand, wrap his arm around her, hold her for as long as he pleased, which were liberties that Bruce Wayne, no matter the profoundness of his connection to Diana Prince, had never enjoyed.
The thought exasperated him, consuming him with his grievances. And as he reached the railing at which she stood, taking his eyes from her and turning around to face the balcony's entryway, he dryly stated, "You look well, Diana. Your visits home always agree with you."
"I should imagine so." She could sense his anger brimming by the tone of his voice and by his broaching the subject on which she'd never allowed him more than general knowledge.
His arms crossed, thus restraining his hands from committing an offense she would not forgive, he pressed on, "And how is your mother?"
"She thrives, as always."
"Kent speaks highly of her. I take it they formed a rapport."
With a smirk, she broke off a piece of the bar the groom had given her and slid the morsel past her lips. "Indeed, they did. She is fond of him."
He turned his head to direct his gaze at her profile, pausing for a moment before saying in earnest, "I should like to meet her for myself someday."
"She never leaves Themyscira. And scarcely ever are any but innocents permitted into the realm."
Her reply, detached and matter-of-fact, stung him. She'd given him the same explanation over a year ago, when he first began asking for a more complete picture of who she was and where she was from. But she'd made clear that just as the trauma he'd endured at so early an age precluded his admittance into her homeland, the weaknesses to which his gender disposed him rendered her unwilling to accord him a full understanding of that domain itself.
Biting back the frustration he felt, he went on to ask, "Will you invite Kent along with you for the winter solstice as well?"
"More than likely. Not that he needs to be accompanied by a native any more."
"And why is that?"
"The High Coven has granted him a standing right of entry. He may come and go as he pleases when the season is correct and the gateway is open. At any other time, he will require an appropriate escort."
His chest constricted. His jaw clenched. And as he looked away from her once more, he said with no small degree of contempt, "The two of you have grown closer still, it seems."
"Jealousy does not become you, Bruce," she casually stated, pinching off another piece of her bar.
"Am I wrong for wishing a similar intimacy with you?"
"Those of my world would certainly think so."
"They consider Kent a natural match for you, I suppose."
"As it happens, they do not. For unlike your brethren, Kal desires what he has - nothing else. My sisters esteem such integrity; they would never imagine anything for him but the happiness he has chosen."
Provoked by her further allusion to the population with which she associated him and by which she defined him, he returned, "In all fairness, though, the happiness he's chosen… Well, she is exceptional, isn't she?"
Diana, refusing to be goaded, let out a small, wry chuckle, and said, "As we speak of companions, how is your Richard?"
"He's well," Bruce brusquely replied. "Much like your Ms. Trevor, though, he chose to remain home. He sends you his regards, naturally."
"That poor man. His sensibilities are not Stevie's. He endures the terms of your arrangement, whereas she relishes the terms of ours. In time, however, he will come to grips with his need for a more conventional understanding - when he will ask for exactly that which you are incapable of giving."
"Grayson has never been unaware of my limitations or of those of our partnership. Should he someday find himself dissatisfied, then so be it. He is as free to stay as he is to go."
Her comportment changed just slightly, though not imperceptibly. She paused for a moment, shifting, taking a breath; becoming more contemplative, more solemn. Then, in a voice that signified a mind diverted, she mused, "Nothing is so simple where attachments have become investments… He will never leave you. You will never let him go."
Her alteration couldn't but affect him. Thus squaring himself to her side, he stepped forward just a little and set aside his aggression. "Am I to presume that you are above such mortal, such masculine failings?" he asked.
She stiffened and said nothing.
Sharply exhaling, he unfolded his arms and turned to grip the handrail. He was at a loss - past the point of civility, but not so imprudent as to give himself over to spite. It grieved him to have her so near and yet so far, to be in her life and yet apart from it. But to say as much was beyond him. He could, therefore, only bring himself to speak as directly as possible to the state of their affairs, without articulating so much as a word about the effect that state was having on him.
"It's been months, Diana," he said, training his eyes on her profile yet again. "You haven't visited; you won't take my calls. I see you at summits, in the news, or not at all. If you want nothing more to do with me, then I'll respect that. But regardless of whether you intend to make your mind known, at least help me to understand this estrangement. Have I said something? Have I done something?… Or have you simply gone off me?"
Even had she not sensed the person who was approaching the balcony's doorway from inside the lobby, she wouldn't have answered his questions. She'd granted him enough of her notice. She was done talking.
From her continued silence, he grasped her refusal to tolerate him any longer. But as she turned to depart his company, he stepped into her path, obstructing her. She stopped, tensed. And after a moment, he quietly told her, "Despite everything, I had hoped you would come to me last night."
As he'd made his confession, the person she'd sensed appeared in the doorway, but progressed no farther upon distinguishing the twosome standing off on the opposite side of the balcony. For a moment, Diana caught the shrewd eye of the individual who Bruce was too focused on her to notice. Still, she did not scruple to finally look upon him and to make a reply as piercing as her gray-eyed gaze:
"The more fool you."
With that, she quit his side.
He didn't turn to watch her go. He'd borne all the scorn that he was prepared to for the time being.
Besides, his eyes were soon drawn down to the balcony railing, where he found exactly half of her baked confection centered atop a napkin.
Left behind, perhaps.
Left for him, more likely.