Chapter 34: Man Down

Gotham City, Wayne Industries

Part 1

Diana had given herself two weeks to prepare for this moment. Watching as Steve entered her office and take a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, Diana realized fourteen days hadn't nearly been enough. The shock and mortification of having almost killed the man still weighed heavily on her conscience. As did the anger she'd felt at knowing her friend had violated their friendship in such a way that the betrayal of it had ceased to burn in her heart.

But Diana was an understanding woman, as well as a forgiving one. And until three months ago, Steve Trevor had never given her reason to doubt his friendship and loyalty. Even now, looking into his sorrowful, shamed face, Diana still did not question his loyalty. But a true friend would never do what he did.

That was the thought that refused to be ignored or overridden by memories of late night business talks and companionable lunches in her office. Or the fact that Steve had given up his post as an FBI agent to come and work for her. Because he believed in my cause or because that was his way of being close to me?

Diana sighed, wishing, not for the first time, that things did not always have to change. But life, as she well knew, was nothing but a series of changes, small to large seismic shifts that defined everyone's life.

"Thank you for seeing me."

"Thank you for coming."

Those were the first words they'd spoken since the morning after what an unsmiling Phillipus had referred to as, "Trevor's royal clusterfuck."

Having no desire to discuss the night's event with her Head of Security, Diana had called Steve on his cell and informed him he was overdue for a vacation. Knowing Diana as well as he did, Steve did not argue with the informal administrative leave she'd commanded him to take. Nor did she wait for the apology she heard him begin. Hanging up on the man was the only thing that had prevented Diana from firing him outright, without benefit of a cooling off and thinking period. For us both.

Two weeks later, they had had that, and now was the moment of truth. For both their sakes', Diana hoped Steve had a good explanation.

"I, umm, I wouldn't blame you if you decided to end my contract."

"That thought had occurred to me." Diana reached for the crystal glass to her right, lifting it to her lips and drinking the chilled water within. Placing the glass back on the coaster, she eyed Steve to see his reaction to her statement. There was a nearly imperceptible wince, then a nod.

"Why haven't you?"

Good question. Clark thought she should; although, he would never presume to tell her how to handle her business or personal affairs. But he'd made his opinion clear. "You can't trust a jealous man, Diana. He's liable to say or do anything to get what he wants."

Phillipus, however, never one to mince words, had echoed much of what Diana had been feeling. "I've never known Steve Trevor to do something so stupid before. He's normally so level-headed, the go-to-guy with the moral standards of an ancient, honorable soldier, but sometimes, my friend, even the most honorable of soldiers turn rogue when someone stands between them and their heart's desire."

While Diana would never refer to herself as Steve's "heart's desire," she would have to be a fool to no longer see the depth of Steve's feelings for her. She wished she had noticed earlier. Perhaps then she could have put an end to them before they'd fully developed. But hindsight, as they say, is twenty-twenty, and all Diana and Steve could do was address the here and now.

"Because you were there for me when I was too weak and vulnerable to be there for myself," she said, answering his question as honestly as she could. "You offered me protection when I was afraid to death those men would return, perhaps hurting Martha in their attempt to get to me."

And he had been a bulwark when Diana was most in need. For that alone, Diana had known she couldn't just dismiss Steve without benefit of a face-to-face conversation. He deserved much more from her than that, even if today they decided it was best for them to part ways.

But Diana was no longer that fragile shadow of a woman she'd been when they'd first met in the hospital three years ago. She was much stronger now—physically and emotionally.

"I grew to respect and like you – a valuable friend."

"Friend," he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue as if the taste was bitter fruit. "Are you positive that's all I am to you, Diana, just a trusted, valued friend?"

After what had happened in her hotel room, the question had to cost him. If nothing, Steve Trevor was a proud man, one too smart not to know when a battle had been lost. Yet here he sat, on an emotional battlefield with bodies of truth surrounding him, gun empty but bravely . . . hopelessly trying to take the hill. A hill that would never, could never be his for the taking, the claiming.

"I can never be more than your friend, Steve. And after what happened two weeks ago, I even question that."

"I didn't mean. I never meant . . ." He struggled for the right words; his face reddening with what Diana assumed was embarrassment, perhaps even frustration. "You know how I feel about you visiting Metropolis. That's Luthor's lair. You being in his town would make it so much easier from him to get to you, a mouse in a snake's pit."

And that was one of the problems with their relationship. Steve still thought of her as a helpless "mouse," to be devoured whole by the big bads of the world.

"Like I told Phillipus, I wanted to see for myself that you were all right."

"I was with my general, which should've been enough to reassure you. There was no need for you to travel to Metropolis when a phone call would've sufficed."

This was getting them nowhere. If she allowed, Steve would rationalize away his actions, hiding them behind his position as Head of Wayne Security.

"Your natural overprotective nature may have led you to drive to the hotel."

Diana crossed her legs and considered the man who, despite everything, still held a special place in her heart. He was handsome, brave and would make any woman a fine mate, a faithful and loving husband. And someday Diana hoped he would find the woman to share his life with. A woman he could love and who would love him in return, giving him children and many years of wedded bliss. But that woman isn't me. Will never be me.

"But it was the man, not the bodyguard who entered my bedroom without permission. Who knelt on my bed and touched my shoulder."

And the fear that one touch evoked had permeated her entire being, dredging up bodily memories and setting off her fight-or-flight response. Diana had decided to fight. And almost shot and killed the remorseful man before me.

"I could have killed you."

He looked down at his lap then back to Diana. "I know. I'm sorry to have put you in that situation. I know I was wrong for going into your room. I heard a sound and thought you were having one of your nightmares. I just wanted to wake you, to shake you from your bad dream. That was all, Diana. I promise. It was nothing more than that. You were dreaming, mumbling in your sleep."

They'd shared enough hotel rooms for Steve to know of her nightmares. Yet he'd never once tried to wake her. Then again, maybe he had. Whenever Diana slept, she always locked her door. But lately, with Phillipus, she'd begun to simply close the door instead, trusting her general as much as she trusted Dinah, with her safety. So perhaps Steve had tried on other occasions to enter her room to only find her door locked. Yet it hadn't been locked that night two weeks ago.

"I thought I heard something coming from your room, so I went to the door. I tried the knob and it turned. You were crying in your sleep. I hated to see you that way. Phillipus was on door duty, waiting for Manny to return from the lobby. I just wanted to wake you, Diana. That was all. I know I've been acting like a jealous jerk lately. And I won't pretend that I think you would be better off with me instead of Kent. But I would never do anything to harm you. I . . ."

Steve's eyes held Diana's, the sentence unfinished but the message clear. He loved her. She wished he didn't.

Diana also wished she didn't feel as if her friend, her Head of Security had just lied to her. But she did, and the thought caused her deep pain.

She wanted to push further, to have him swear that his words were truthful. But there was no point to either. People lied all the time and for various reasons, and Steve Trevor was as prone to telling a lie as any other. He was not an infallible man, and didn't deserve the pedestal Diana had obviously placed him upon. He was but a man. Men make mistakes. And how many men easily admitted to his mistakes? Not many.

And did it really matter as long as Steve understood that they could never be anything more than colleagues and friends? Diana's mind told her his lie meant a great deal, but her soft heart reminded her that true friends forgave. Yet another conflict Diana could do without.

"So, ah, should I go to my office and pack my things?"

Contrition did not suit Steve Trevor, although he deserved every bit of penance. And more, if Clark had his way.

"Friend or not, Steve, I'll not have another incident. I need to be able to trust my friends."

"You can trust me."

Oh, how she ached to believe him. Yet time was always the great tester of trust.

Diana pointed to a flash drive to Steve's left. "The drive contains Talia's recent comings and goings, including pictures and cell phone logs. Go through the information and let me know if you find anything interesting."

Steve picked up the flash drive, fisting it in his large hand then stood, his shoulders straighter than they'd been when he'd first entered Diana's office.

"Thank you."

She didn't want his thanks. All Diana had ever wanted from him was his trust, his loyalty. Steve had hers, yet Diana was no longer sure if she had his.

"Come back when you're done."

He smiled and nodded. "Will do. Maybe we could have lunch? My treat."

This was the Steve she knew, the Steve who could make her smile by giving her one of his own. Perhaps it had been all a misunderstanding. If Diana had learned anything from Clark these past weeks, it was that hope was not a futile endeavor and that faith often prevailed.

"Mexican?" She asked.

"Mexican it is then. See you around noon."

The door closed behind Steve Trevor.

Diana stood and walked to the large window that overlooked the Gotham skyline. She looked out but saw nothing before her, nothing but foreboding darkness where morning sunshine should be.

Hand going to the sudden pain in her stomach, Diana turned and stumbled to her desk. Something was very wrong.

Horribly.

Horribly.

Wrong.

Part 2

Metropolis, Clark Kent Residence

Balancing two grocery bags in one hand, Clark unlocked the door to his house and entered. Flipping the bolt lock then the lock on the door, Clark carried one bag in each hand and walked from the foyer, down a short hall and into his kitchen.

In five minutes, the bags were unpacked. He had all the ingredients for a homemade meal. All he needed were flowers, soft music, and his best and only girl.

While the food was cooking, Clark would run down the street and pick up a nice flower arrangement, and the music was already taken care of. He smiled. Clark had been wanting to cook for Diana for the longest time. Normally they went out or ordered in, but tonight he wanted to remind her of his great cooking skills. And he'd learned so many new dishes since he'd last cooked for her, integrating Kryptonian dishes into his repertoire.

Clark washed his hands, thinking on the past two weeks. They had been wonderful. The only thing that would've made them better was Diana confessing her love to him. And Steve being around for me to knock his block off. But Diana had sent the man away on a forced vacation. And Clark couldn't help but speculate if she did that to keep Clark from "going alpha," as she called it.

Even Steve, however, couldn't spoil Clark's good mood. No matter Diana's claim, all that was missing from their physical relationship was intercourse. When she had allowed Clark to orally pleasure her, the only thing he could think of to prevent them both from crying and dwelling on what had happened to her, he had made love to her with his mouth. Them not having intercourse was a hair Diana was finely splitting.

And her moaning, writhing response to his probing tongue and fingers weren't that of a woman emotionally detached from the man doing the pleasuring. Nor was the way she moved against his mouth or ran her fingers through his hair, shifting his head just where she wanted him. And neither was the way she cried out her release, and then tasting herself on his lips and tongue when she pulled him up her body for a drawn-out, thankful kiss.

Then they had fallen asleep, Clark once again holding her, keeping Diana's demons away. And when it was time for her to get up and dress for her outing with his mother, her kiss goodbye felt more like she was welcoming him home.

They'd seen each other only twice since that morning, Diana coming to Metropolis both times, visiting with Martha and C.J. Thankfully, there had been no other "beyond the grave" messages. C.J. had been his normal five-year-old self, and he and Diana had spent time together talking and playing video games. Which, to Clark's surprise, Diana knew an amazing amount about, which, she assured him, came with being "Aunt Di" to John and Mari's daughter.

Knowing he had hours before Diana was due at his place, Clark decided to get in a couple of hours of writing. He was only halfway through the Wayne biography, and really needed to set up a couple of more interviews with Martha Kent. I should call her while it's on my mind.

Opening the door to his office, Clark went inside. He booted up his computer, sat down, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed Wayne Manor. After a brief conversation with Mr. Pennyworth, Martha was promptly put on the line.

As they spoke, Clark swore he heard something downstairs. Glancing at the time on his laptop, Clark knew it was too early for his mother to visit. Besides, she normally called before dropping by.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Mrs. Wayne asked. "You suddenly went quiet. Is everything okay with you?"

Clark had indeed gone silent. He could've sworn he heard footsteps.

"Hold on Mrs. Wayne. I think my mother or ex-wife has paid me an unexpected visit."

"Of course, dear. I'll be here when you return."

Phone still in hand, Clark crept to his office door, staying as silent as he could, questioning the probability that Martha or Lois would stop by unannounced on a Thursday morning when they were all due to have dinner together tomorrow night, in celebration of Lois signing a popular science fiction writer.

Backing away from the door, Clark held the phone to his mouth, speaking as low as possible. "Listen to me very carefully, Mrs. Wayne. I believe there's an intruder in my home. I need you to call the Metropolis Police Department." He rattled off his address to the shocked older woman.

"Oh my lord, I should call Diana."

The last thing he wanted was for Diana to know some creep had broken into his home. Clark was just thankful it was during the day while C.J. was at camp instead of at night when the boy would be asleep in his bed.

"Fine. Just tell her I'm fine and not to worry." As if she would believe that. She'll probably have one of those hulking Wayne guys here within the hour, less if she uses her helicopter.

"Be careful, Clark. Please be careful."

He would.

Sliding his phone into his pants pocket, Clark looked around his office for a weapon. Grabbing the only thing that could possibly be used for protection, Clark lifted a T-ball bat he'd told C.J. a thousand times to keep out of his office.

It was sturdy and better than nothing.

Knowing he should lock himself in his office and wait for the police to arrive, Clark did something he knew he shouldn't.

He stepped into the hall.

And heard the sound again.

Louder.

Closer.

He turned toward the steps.

A man in a black mask stood on the top landing.

Knife in hand.

Beady eyes stared at Clark, gray and with intent that had nothing to do with a quick grab and retreat. The man had something else in mind.

Gripping the bat, and knowing there was nowhere Clark could go to get away from the masked man, he prepared himself to do what he must.

The masked man laughed, his bulky frame and flabby gut hung over his belt, shook with something only he found funny.

Clark didn't move.

In a blink of an eye, the masked man attacked. Running toward Clark faster than he thought possible, the man slammed into him, sending Clark hard to the floor. The bat dropped from his hand, spinning across the wooden floor.

The masked man rose above Clark and plunged the knife into Clark's shoulder, laughing when Clark screamed from the pain. Removing it, the man, clearly intent on killing him, lunged for Clark again, his throat this time.

Clark blocked it with his forearm, the knife cutting deep.

More blood.

No scream this time.

Just anger . . . and the need to defend.

Swinging with the uninjured arm, Clark punched the man in his nose. The masked man's hands went to his nose, the knife still in his right hand and far too close to Clark.

But Clark wasn't about to let the asshole have another go at him. Swinging again, Clark landed another blow, his right ear this time.

The man growled and swore.

Clark struck again, jabbing the man in what he hoped was his kidney.

Then again.

And again.

Until the man began punching him back, trying to ward off Clark's blows with those of his own.

Using all the strength in him, Clark twisted his body and pushed the man off him and to the hardwood floor. Then, with hands he used to hug his soon goodbye this morning, Clark began pounding the masked man, hitting him with all that he had.

His anger.

His fear.

His desperation.

A sharp pain exploded in his stomach, ripping him open.

This wasn't a fight of fists, a fight between equally armed pugilists. It was a fight to the death. The knife jammed into Clark's stomach was testament to that.

The masked man pulled the knife out, his laughter back, but not as loud and confident as before. No, now it held an edge of anger, of frustration.

"I'm going to cut you up into nice little pieces and send it to your girlfriend." He pushed Clark off him and down to the cool floor. "Maybe a finger." He ran the point of the knife up his thigh and to his crotch. "Or maybe something a bit more cocky. Do you think she'd like that? Her very own dildo to play with on those cold and lonely nights." The point of the knife dug into Clark's thigh. "Too bad she won't know where to find the rest of you."

The masked man levered himself above Clark. There was no laugher this time, just those murderous eyes of his staring down at Clark.

Clark closed his eyes; replaying his life in those soul searching seconds it took the man to raise his knife.

Hugging Jonathan and Martha Clark.

Proposing to Diana.

Holding C.J. for the first time.

Finding his birth parents.

Telling Diana he loved her.

Having Diana trust him enough to reveal her deepest pain, her most fragile self.

The whirlpool of memories could not be stopped and neither could the desire to not leave his family. Not like this. Not another scar for C.J. and Diana. I can't leave Ma.

Then the T-ball bat was there, in his hand and swinging forcefully at the masked man's head.

Connecting.

Falling.

Then it too dropped, thudding to the ground and rolling away.

Clark was cold, so very cold . . . and tired. So tired. Maybe I'll just close my eyes and rest for a while.

So he did.

Clark closed his eyes and drifted off, his battered body lying in a pool of crimson.

And all he could see before the darkness took him was a dark haired, blue-eyed beauty standing over his grave, tears in her eyes, hate and hopelessness in her heart.

TO BE CONTINUED