A/N: Just wanted to briefly say thank you to those who've stopped by to read, reviewed, or added to your fave and alerts. You guys are awesome! Thank you!
| 2 |
The day after the melee.
PARIS, FRANCE| A soft thump awakened her from sleep. Her hand immediately gripped the hilt of a spear point blade she kept concealed under her pillow as she sprung up, tossing the covers from over her head.
The fading vestiges of sleep made her sight blurry, but she could just make out the shape of the intruder standing at the very end of her bed. She knew the silhouette, and though typically seeing this person on a normal day brought joy, this morning, Diana could sense her energy was of the disapproving kind.
This wasn't going to be an amiable visit.
She rubbed the sleep out of her eye so she could better focus on her guest.
The woman's short black hair was styled in finger waves that framed an oval shaped face that was without cosmetics. She was model pretty with arched brows over a pair of eyes the color of a jasper stone, full lips, a strong nose with wide nostrils, and an angular jaw. Draped on her dark brown skin was an oversized white button down T-shirt dress belted at the waist, the collar popped to draw attention to her dainty neck and the multicolored beaded necklace that adorned it. Her long toned legs were bare and on her feet were a pair of black suede ankle boots. Her sister Hessia always had great style and sucky timing.
Stifling a groan, Diana slid her blade back under her pillow and braced her weight against her padded headboard. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it," she said without preamble.
"Oh, so that isn't you on the front page of every newspaper that exists? You mean, someone managed to steal Themysciran armor, and fought beside two men to bring down a beast that looked as if it had been spit straight out of the lowest depths of Hades' arse?"
Diana glanced at the newspaper that had been slapped on her duvet. It was a grainy image taken from a distance and at an awkward angle. She read the headline and though her lips or cheeks never twitched, there was a tiny part of Diana who was amused.
"I guess this means you've decided then. No more living your life as an ordinary human woman."
"Is that judgement I hear in your voice, Hessia? Or concern?"
"Hear whatever you like, Diana. I just want you to think very carefully on what your next move is going to be, because it will be one that will define you for years to come."
"It would be nice," she began while peeling the covers away and getting to her feet, "if I could have a moment to reorient myself."
"You've had a hundred years to do that. Why now, Diana? Is it because of him?"
Diana looked at Hessia with a quizzical brow. "Steve?"
"No. The one with the red cape. Superman. Or the one in black?"
Stifling a laugh, Diana padded across her soft carpet to her in-suite bathroom to wash her face. She would not share with Hessia that a part of her heart thrilled at the mention of Superman. "My decision to reenter the world as a warrior has nothing to do with those men in particular, and everything to do with the fact I am an Amazon." Yes, that sounded good, she inwardly sniffed. "I had a duty to protect this world, a duty," she turned on the faucet, "I had forgotten and abandoned when…" bending, Diana filled her hands with water and splashed it on her face.
Hessia didn't need her to fill in the blanks. She knew the story quite well. She waited as Diana splashed water on her immortal face five more times before shutting the tap off and reaching for a fluffy white towel.
"You're an Amazon, too," Diana reminded to which she received Hessia's signature blank stare.
"Adoptive Amazon," she corrected. "In my heart I am still Kushite. You know, after you left, a small number were beginning to wonder if it was time for us to return to the world of man and do what we had been created to do. We had abandoned the world and the gods abandoned us. I had to leave because I needed to know for myself just how bad, the same, or changed the world had gotten in our absence."
"And you've seen that world. You know what it needs. Hessia, we could do this together."
The dark-skinned woman shook her head. "I'm needed in the operating and classroom. That's where I'm making my mark…Besides, I think there's someone else better suited to write the world's wrongs beside you. Someone tall, handsome, and pulls off blue spandex quite well," Hessia gave her a pointed look.
To which Diana pretended to remove an eyelash out of her eye in order to conceal the fact her cheeks were a telltale pink.
Sighing, Hessia braced her back against the doorjamb a little proud she made the princess uncomfortable with her observation. She continued, "We both know, even your mother knows, you're the true champion of the Amazons. Even if you lost your way for a while. You were meant for bigger things whereas I'm needed right where I am."
Diana frowned and dried her hands. She thought about the first time she saw Hessia in Man's World, the joy she experienced in coming across one of her sisters. They had been inseparable for several days until Hessia had to return to her duties as a surgeon in Washington, D.C. That was some twenty years ago.
Diana retraced her steps to her bed where she made it up with professional proficiency, tucking the top sheet under the mattress, flattening out any and all wrinkles, and piling her numerous pillows atop the duvet. Yet she flung herself on it a minute later partially ruining all her hard work. Hessia joined her, lying flat on her back as well. The two stared up at the ceiling.
"So…what was it like?" Hessia broke the silence.
Diana didn't even need her to clarify what she meant. She intrinsically knew and spoke frankly, "It was like breaking out of a chrysalis. I haven't felt anything like it since I fought Ares. Fire, Hessia, that's what I felt running through my veins, my body, waking me up from a long slumber and stretching muscles that had atrophied."
Unbeknownst to Hessia she was grinning, having her own encounter of a memory from the past that she shared. "Reminds me of the first time I even touched a sword. It was like I knew that wielding it was exactly what I was supposed to do. Becoming an extension of who I was." Too bad for a while she had lost her identity in that sword.
"Yes, it was exactly like that." Diana reached for a decorative pillow and stuffed it over her face and groaned, "I need that feeling again."
"Don't worry. You'll get it. You will definitely get it."
Diana pulled the pillow off her face and looked to her friend.
"If you run into Superman, give him my number."
"Hessia!"
|2|
Six days later…
NEW YORK, N.Y.| Pinned up, buttoned down. She stood poised on the edge of the curb waiting for the light to turn green. Takeout cup of an overly priced coffee in her hand, she once again found her eyes going up. From an aerial vantage point, she was a speck, a tiny piece in a large organism known as humanity. A drop in the bucket, a grain of sand, a star in an endless galaxy.
Shares, likes, and retweets she had gone viral. No one knew her name, her history, her life. They knew nothing besides what they could gleam from a grainy image mass produced for consumption, and ten seconds of video footage.
Words Hessia had said to her before they parted ways came rushing back to Diana.
"…they are going to write a narrative about you that isn't true. The only way to stem the tide, to get ahead of things, is to tell the story yourself. I may have my issues with the Amazons, but the one thing we stand for is, is truth."
The temptation to hover in the sky and scream that she was Diana of Themyscira was so potent, she nearly popped a blood vessel. However, that was not the la petit mort she had in mind. So her feet, for now, remained planted firmly on the ground.
The heat of battle, it still sang in her ears, quickened her blood. As her dearly departed friend Etta Candy would say, her cork had been popped.
The light turned, people moved, and she did not. Her legs worked just fine, her feet were okay in spite of the heeled boots, but they just weren't moving. Naturally, her immobility was not appreciated by those crossing the asphalt sea. Expletives and epithets soured the ear if you weren't used to it, but to the natives it was nothing more than terms of endearment. Nevertheless, their words bounced off her with the subtlety of a bubble bursting on the skin.
She was in New York City, the mitochondria of America. Her third favorite city but the worst place to be timid. She had a full schedule of events to get through beginning with a conference, followed by a luncheon, then a meeting, a small break to catch up on email, dinner, and finally concluding the day with an afterparty. Whoever said being in the business of antiquities was boring got their facts completely wrong. Yes, there were moments where the mundanity could make you want to jump off a cliff, but that could be said about any profession. She made the most of her work, traveling, meeting strangers who would quickly become friends, and uncovering hidden gems.
That had been enough…for a time.
Periodically she felt the twitch. It would start in her fingers and move down to her feet urging her to unearth what she had buried away. And like clockwork she would squash the feeling and return to her routine, to her new normal. Yet…
…that sensation to intervene, do what she had been born and trained to do never escaped her.
It would whisper in her ear whenever she heard about natural disasters, about children and women going missing, about countless acts of genocidal violence, about those in matrimony with corruption holding political office. It was never-ending; but she buried her head in the sand, continued on with her life, doing small acts of kindness when the occasion arose. Unfortunately, it changed nothing. Not on a big scale.
And then one day she saw something she and others never imagined they would. A being in red and blue flying through the sky. Had one of her gods stepped out of Olympus to show himself? Admittedly, Diana had all but forgotten about her gods. A new fervor rose up in her as image after image of this man…this Superman began multiplying on her TV screen.
Guilt intensified. She could be helping him. She could have been doing what he was doing for years, and yet she never took the step to leave her past in the past and get on with life. While she contemplated if now was the time to make her splash back into the world, there came whispers about another costumed figure. This one hailed a vigilante and not a hero like the one in red and blue. This one had criminals scared and yet their fear didn't cease their lust for taking from others.
Now they, along with herself, had combined their strength to fight something that looked like it escaped from Doom's Doorway on her island. Superman had been brutally injured yet they had won.
Was this to be the return of the age of heroes?
"You're gorgeous but move the fuck out of the way, lady!" a bike messenger yelled as he zipped by.
Guess not.
Diana bristled at the crude remark and her eyes narrowed, but it was the spark that got her feet moving again.
Her phone started vibrating somewhere in her tote bag. Huffing because she knew she couldn't blow it off this time, she started digging for it.
That's when she felt it. A sharp tingle of awareness where her consciousness seemed to detach from her body, and she could see the future unfolding. The sirens to anyone else's ears would appear far off but as far as Diana was concerned, they were blaring right next to her. There were too many people around, many taking a chance and crossing the streets with a literal second left before the lights changed and motorists, uncaring if someone was still crossing, blazed forward treating the road like their own personal drag strip. She could taste the sweat of the one behind the wheel as they pressed their heavy foot harder on the gas, swerving in and out of lanes going fifty above the posted speed limit. She could smell the burn of tires against the asphalt, and yes, she could hear the pursuing officers barking into their radios about the situation.
If she stood there and went about her business, so many people stood to get hurt, some would probably die.
Her takeout coffee cup fell from her hand as she pivoted in her heels, spinning as fast as a cyclone, taking passerby's, by surprise. A few people screamed but if they had to testify in court as to what made them scream, they wouldn't have been able to answer definitively.
Those standing the closest saw nothing but a bright blur and was knocked almost backwards from the force of Diana bending her knees and shooting off into the sky.
Intervening in this way when she had spent the last century turning a blind eye to the horrors of the mortal world would make a profound statement. But what exactly would the statement be, plagued Diana's thoughts as she soared through the sky, a streak reminiscent of that notorious and famous red and blue. She could ponder on that for the next millennium but for now, she had a criminal to stop.
"Haaaaaaaaa!" was her battle cry as she flew straight towards the vehicle the cops were in hot pursuit of. She reached for her sword, and like an eagle, she swooped down.
| Interlude – The short criminal life of James Morgan |
A driver's clammy hands curled tightly around the steering wheel while their foot pressed the petal to the ground. There really was no such thing as a high-speed chase in Manhattan, but James Morgan was giving it a spectacular effort. Now, it might seem that he cared nothing about human life or even his own, driving at such ridiculous speeds through some of the nation's most congested streets. That might be…partially true. You see, he was a man who felt he had been pushed too far to the edge and had no option but to go over it. That was the law of gravity and its effect on the human body when not supported by the ground. Out of work, the threat of eviction looming over his head, feuding with his family for unpaid loans, bad business moves, health issues that left him in serious debt, it was more than a trifecta at work here. He was a man pushed to the limit and the two choices were: break or bend.
He broke.
It was too easy to get a gun—in Virginia. Even simpler to march to the local bodega and rob one of the businesses that gave New York its reputation, but was also threatened by gentrification with each passing year. The first time it happened, the adrenaline, the nerves made James dizzy with fear and high with the possibility of success. Honestly, dancing along the precipice of life and death, he took a chance because the bodega owner could have been packing heat that would make his .22 pistol look like a toy.
Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for the bodega worker who had been a seventeen-year-old girl, she had complied with his nervous and shaky threat, and emptied the cash register with steely resolve. James tried not to think about the hate, but also the fear he saw in the girl's eyes. It wasn't personal and he had no intentions of hurting her, but it took next to nothing for things to go left.
That robbery had only gained him four hundred bucks. Better than nothing, he surmised. So, he refined his plans. Watched carefully which bodegas got decent foot traffic and the kind of clientele, and the best time to charge in.
The dividends started to increase. $700. $1300. $2000.
Naturally, this made James want more. It was time to expand. The fastest way to get caught was by becoming predictable, and there were other boroughs to reap from.
And so James did, working as methodical and meticulous as he could. Hitting the businesses in the areas no one paid any attention to until something tragic happened. The news had caught on and he had earned himself a spot on the six o'clock news for a few weeks straight. But the attention span was a fleeting thing and James took a slight break just for the heat to die down. He might have taken a bit of "vacation", his debts knocked on his door every day.
So that drove him to get back into the grind of taking from those who couldn't afford to have any more stolen from them. Unfortunately, James had moved too soon, chose the wrong place, which led him here, speeding through Midtown on a sunny Tuesday morning.
Before his first robbery he had planned his exit strategy. No way would it be him ending up in Rikers for the rest of his life because circumstances beyond his control led him to committing crime. Who were the real criminals? It was going to end on his terms, the one element he could control. God forgive me if I take others with me, was his prayer.
James closed his eyes not needing to see the inevitable as he hurtled toward gridlock traffic. Nothing moved more than an inch a minute in all four directions. This was going to be bad.
Forty feet until the front of his car met the back of a Nissan.
Thirty-one feet.
Twenty-two…
Fifteen…
Ten…
Four…
Everything happened within the pulse of a heartbeat.
James couldn't explain the sound if you gave him the entire dictionary to use. It wasn't exactly metal on metal, or a knife being sharpened on stone. Maybe perhaps an amalgam of the two, but shriller than that. He couldn't help it. His eyes snapped open; he saw sparks. The hood of his car wasn't flying up or crunching inward like an accordion, but it was…it was being sliced in two? His teeth cut into his tongue as he mustered up the air necessary to scream. Those screams were cut off once the airbag deployed.
Being punched in the face at such a close range, felt exactly what it sounded like. A bone crunching boom. Dazed and with a possible broken nose, James tried to find his bearings. He was still alive despite the ringing of his bell. Sirens, those were still pretty close, in fact they sounded like they were parked right behind him. It hurt to turn his head, but he gave it the old college try, and sure enough it was a sea of flashing lights. I could make it, James thought, I could make it on foot, get lost in the crowd, hop on the train…
Those plans were eviscerated when the driver side door was wrenched clean off.
"Fu—"
"I've heard enough of that word today."
James blinked at the accentuated voice, and before he could even grasp what was happening, the collar of his shirt was fisted, and he was jerked out of the car.
"Let me the hell go!" His feet dangled off the ground as he squirmed to free himself.
"I can't do that."
James stopped his squirming and finally took stock of who was holding him like a rag doll. He lost feeling in his arms and legs, jaw went slack, and he thought for sure he was hallucinating because no woman on Earth was that damn beautiful. She couldn't…she couldn't possibly be real. Had he died and this was heaven? Was possible because he couldn't feel anything—er, well one part of him was showing signs of life.
Diana lowered her quarry to the ground. Slowly, she caught sight of the approaching officers, their weapons drawn, spectators gawking on the sidewalks as they fumbled for their smartphones, drivers incessantly honking their honks, impatient at the cops backing up traffic even more.
"Ma'am," one middle-aged officer edged closer, his gun trained on them, "I'm gonna need you to put your hands up and step away. Slowly."
"Whatever you say. I leave it in your hands," Diana braced her feet on the pavement accidentally cracking it as she took off for the sky.
|2|
Diana brushed dust off the sleeve of her jacket as she crossed 34th Street. She was over an hour late, had about a dozen missed calls and texts, and she was just barely managing to keep her feet on the ground.
By the motherfreaking gods! she repressed a shiver. The adrenaline had returned ten-fold and she knew she needed it to simmer down or otherwise she would levitate and seek out the next crime to stop, the next person to help. So, Diana began to tune her ear to the sounds around her. The tip-tap of shoes plodding across cracked sidewalks, the screaming engines of planes flying overhead, the klaxon of horns, the chatter. The excitement of earlier began to ebb and she was back in the moment falling in step with the looping gait of bodies streaming down the avenue.
Soon a glass and steel structure that offered eight hundred thousand square feet of exhibit space loomed ahead.
The Jacob K. Javits Convention Center was a hive of activity.
There fretting by the door, cell clasped between her hands was her assistant of the last two years, Martine Marchand. The middle child of a working-class family of five, born in the coastal town of Christiansted, St. Croix, she moved to London after completing her studies at the University of Florida, and made the jump to Paris when the job opportunity with Diana's company presented itself. Five feet and seven inches of chestnut limbs, she spoke three languages fluently: English, French, and panic.
"The presentation…the presentation, Diana is set to start in less than fifteen minutes, and we haven't been able to do anything! We're so far behind. Mr. Reiss is expecting big results with the expo and if we can't drum up funding, well I don't need to tell you about the domino effect that will cost."
"Martine, breathe. Has Dev arrived?"
Martine vigorously nodded her head. "Yes. He's setting up now, but I don't know if he'll be ready by the time our segment is set to start. He and his assistant got a bit lost on their way here. Understandable because it's freaking New York. That seems to be the theme of today."
"Well, I'm here now and we'll get things on track."
"Ooh! And there's been some excitement that might actually buy us some time. She made another appearance," Martine could barely contain her squeal. "Stopped a high-speed chase without knocking a strand of hair out of place."
"Sounds talented," Diana remarked dryly.
"I don't know who she is, but I would kill to be that cool."
Diana tossed her arm around Martine's shoulder, "You're much cooler than she is. Trust me."
"Ah, but you should have seen it, Diana. The footage was much better, higher quality than when she kicked that monster's ass. It was amazing. She held a grown man up by the scruff of his neck like he weighed two pounds. Totally kept her composure as the cops drew in. If it had been me, I would have pissed myself."
A couple of heads turned at that colorful statement. Martine, partially oblivious kept right on prattling.
"I was hoping that Superman might show up and the two of them could tag-team it again, but no dice. He must be busy on the other side of the world, but I imagine he's probably kicking himself for missing the opportunity of see her again. Oh, if she's here in Manhattan do you think this is her turf?"
"Martine, we can talk about the wonderful flying woman some other time. Right now, we have work to do, so it's best to get on with it."
Blushing, Martine dipped her head and hurried her steps along.
METROPOLIS, N.Y.| He heard Perry coming but still had to act surprised when the tall, burly man materialized right outside of his cubicle.
"Kent, get your ass in a taxi and book it to Midtown. She's been spotted again."
Eyes big as saucers, his left cheek poked out since he had just taken a bite of his Rueben sub. "Midtown?" he mumbled. The unbridled image of a million ants swarming to a discarded lollipop filled his head at the mere thought of taking a taxi to Midtown in the afternoon with any word ending in the letters d-a-y. Traffic would be horrendous. Of course he had a more efficient way to get there. Yet that didn't account for why he suddenly felt…the earth freaking move. She was that close?
Clark was up and on his feet, grabbing his stuff. "Got it, boss." And like the wind he was gone.
Clark would plead the 5th that he rushed home first to take care of his oral hygiene, brushing away any unflattering bits of corned beef that might be conspicuously wedged between is teeth. Or that he changed his green plaid shirt for a white button down and tie. Or that he might have put on aftershave. It was imperative that he put his best foot forward just in the off-chance the lady now known as Wonder Woman was still hanging around. Wouldn't want to offend her with any offensive smells.
Ripping open a fresh pack of pens, and almost upending his desk looking for that new pack of mini memo pads wedged in a deep corner, he snapped on his press pass and hightailed it out of his apartment window nearly tripping on the curtains in his haste.
He touched down on the roof of One 57 in Midtown Manhattan observing the scene a thousand feet below.
He had two options. He could go down there as Clark or he could insert himself as Superman. A third option arose, one he utilized many times since he began his career. He could do both. But perhaps he should do this the old-fashioned way, and get statements and info as Clark. Plus, he didn't want to make it seem as if he was checking behind her work like he was her supervisor.
He moved with lightning quickness becoming barely a blip to anyone's perceptiveness though some paused and glanced up having felt they saw something streaking like a comet to the ground. He landed in a trusty and blissfully empty alley that reeked of urine, spoiled food, and exhaust, and emerged on the congested streets heading straight for the epicenter.
The corner of his jaw throbbed as he saw several reporters speaking with eyewitnesses. Gently pushing himself up to the line of demarcation where the scene of the crime was roped off, he flashed his press pass, and looked around for any officer he had interviewed in the past that he could get a quote or two from. In the meantime, he hastily wrote down what he saw.
A 2012 Chevrolet Malibu was…Clark's eyes narrowed, yep it was definitely sliced clean down the middle at least to the rear seats. Currently, the totaled vehicle was being loaded onto a flatbed tow truck. The suspect was handcuffed and seated in a police cruiser. Officers stood around conversing and/or directing traffic.
Footage that had been captured via cell phones and already sold to the highest bidder was playing out on the mega screens.
Finally, he spotted an officer he had spoken with in the past. His right arm shot up and Clark gesticulated like a wild man.
"Officer Ragland! Officer Ragland! Clark Kent of the Daily Planet! Can I have a word?"
He saw the officer sigh despite his handlebar mustache. He could be Tom Selleck's twin that's how much he resembled the Magnum P.I. star. "What do you want, Kent? You know I can't comment too much on an ongoing investigation."
"Just need some background. Who's the perp?"
"We're not releasing his name at this time."
"I'm sure the street sleuths have already uncovered his social media footprint. Moving along, judging by what's happened, were there any fatalities or injuries?"
"The perp is pretty banged up. Other than that…"
"Was the perp acting alone?"
"Do criminals ever act alone?"
Clark could discern Ragland was purposely trying to wind him up. Wouldn't be the first time, but it chafed his patience, nonetheless. "Did you speak with the woman who essentially gave the NYPD an assist?" he carried on with his questioning.
That comment certainly struck a nerve if that vein which popped out on the side of Ragland's temple was anything to go by.
"No, I didn't speak with her. She was already gone by the time I arrived on the scene. She did make a…guess you could say statement to a couple of other officers before flying off. And before you ask me what she said, I don't know."
"I heard what she said," spoke a wizened voice from somewhere to his left.
Clark dropped his questioning of Officer Ragland who quickly beat a hasty retreat, and redirected his energy to a slight woman of approximately fifty years. Everything about her was almost one color. From skin to clothes to hair, they were merely varying shades of wet sand. She possessed a face that was marked with lines around her mouth and such intense dark brown eyes it was like looking into the heart of a volcano. Her nose was long and thin that matched a set of tiny lips painted in bright, tangerine colored lipstick while her cheeks were dotted with freckles. Despite her dowdy appearance to the superficial eye, there was something about her that was, in a word, striking.
Clark ushered over to her, "You heard what she said to the officers, ma'am?"
The woman nodded once, "I did but that's not nearly as important as what she is."
A divot formed between Clark's brows, "What she is?"
She nodded again, long wet sand colored hair bouncing slightly, "She is much more than what she seems."
"Obviously but, ma'am…?" Clark hoped he wasn't visibly salivating because he could feel he was right on the cusp of a major revelation.
The woman, to Clark's surprise and disbelief, turned and walked away, getting lost in the crowd but he heard her as perfect and clear as if she were talking directly into his ear, "Why, dear fool, she's a daughter of the old gods. She is an Amazon."
A/N: Thank you again for reading! I know there wasn't any SMWW interaction but it's coming. I promise. It's coming.