Chapter 2

Hours Later
New York United Nations Humanitarian Awards Gala

Diana

"And that," I concluded, "is why you don't touch a mysterious alien artifact without latex gloves."

"Latex gloves!" chortled Gil Dorado, leaning back in his seat. "That is pretty funny, Wonder Woman. Such extraordinary adventures-I see I was wise to invite the League if only to liven things up a bit. These events could do with more colorful tales and fewer delegate speeches." He raised his glass of wine and I amiably clinked my glass of wine against his.

To be clear, members of the Justice League get invited to thousands of events each year, the vast majority of which we politely decline. But Gil Dorado was the new Secretary-General of the United Nations. Fifty-four years old and slightly shorter than average, with a graying, leonine mane of hair and a deep, Latin-accented voice, he had the boundless energy of a man half his age. Today was the annual UN Day Humanitarian Awards Gala, and in fairness, the League had been doing a lot of humanitarian work lately.

We were seated at the Secretary-General table, and at $53,000 dollars a plate, the tilapia was the third course of the most expensive meal I'd ever eaten in my life. I looked around at the table, feeling a surreal sense of wonder at the sight of all-well, almost all-of the League's founding members dining in the Marriott and regaling world leaders with our tales. All for a good cause of course. The proceeds would go directly toward a girls' literacy initiative in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Maybe it was a sign of maturity that the League was starting to do more than punch supervillains.

Wally, finishing his fourth order of sirloin, let out a belch loud enough to reach me all the way across the round table. Dorado froze mid-chew. Clark seemed to find something extraordinarily fascinating on his salad fork, and I'm pretty sure John, Shayera, J'onn were blushing the same shade of crimson I was. Only Wally would let one rip right in front of the-

Dorado burst out laughing, deep and rich guffaws now as he dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. "A well-fed man...I love it! Waiter, another course for the Flash here!"

"Uh, sure," Wally agreed. "Not gonna look that gift horse in the mouth."

"You'll probably eat the gift horse too," John Stewart muttered. Which prompted yet another peal of mirth from the Secretary-General. Clearly, his standards for humor were. . .forgiving.

"As I said, I'm a huge fan," Dorado continued, lapsing into far less formal language than one would hear at a General Assembly meeting. "Your costumes-the perfect antidote to the monotony of this black-tie affair. Though I can't help but notice one of you is missing."

By the last count, there were 217 members of the Justice League. Not bad, for an organization that had begun with 7. Of course, since only we founders had received invitations, the no-show could only be Batman. A pity, I thought. His dry wit would have been the perfect salve for a stuffy and self-important affair like this.

"Batman sends his apologies," Clark-Superman- chipped in diplomatically. "Monitor duty. Otherwise, I'm sure he would have loved to be here."

Dorado nodded sagely. "Well. Batman or no Batman, I cannot describe what an honor it is to have you all here. The money your attendance has raised is obviously an enormous boon to our mission."

"That's why we're here," said Shayera, gamely putting up a diplomatic facade that I knew she couldn't feel. But she looked fantastic. Like me, she technically wasn't wearing her League uniform. Instead, she sported a daring two-piece outfit that consisted of a sculpted, chrome-like halter top that rose to her throat in the front and left her back almost completely bare to leave room for her folded wings. A flowy, floor-length skirt that matched the top's emerald-chrome hue completed the stunning ensemble.

John, especially, couldn't seem to keep his eyes away, and I suspected that some part of the uncharacteristic glamor was for his benefit. It was hard not to notice the many furtive little peeks zipping between the two of them throughout the night. Shayera and I were never going to be thick as thieves. But I considered her enough of a friend to hope that whatever misbegotten love triangle was swirling around her, John, and Mari McCabe (John's supermodel girlfriend) ended in her favor.

Hades, at least one of us had an interesting love life.

"By the way," Dorado began, turning back to me, "how are things back on Themyscira?"

Stupidly, I hadn't expected the question during the evening. I was an ambassador, yes, but I wasn't at the gala in my diplomatic role. Somehow, I'd hoped not to have to deal with any of that yet. I hadn't been home in months. Hadn't talked to my mother in nearly as long. Some Ambassador-some daughter -I was. The rush of negative emotions was like a physical thing, freezing my expression in place and quickening my breath.

Dorado seemed to read something in my face and perhaps had the decency (or simple social dexterity) to drop the point. He scooted back, folding his dinner napkin on the table. "Perhaps it's the Latin blood coursing through these old veins, but I feel this venue could do with a bit of livening up. I won't be long-just off to have a chat with the DJ."

Flash, mouth full of five figures' worth of tilapia, looked like he'd just won a date with an entire calendar's worth of pinup models. "The UN has a DJ? "

I didn't have the heart to tell him that Dorado had been joking. Nor did I have the inclination to stay seated for one second longer now that the Secretary-General had wandered off. His question, well-intentioned as it was, had thoroughly soured my mood and I was going to need a stiffer drink than whatever overpriced wine they were pouring for dignitaries here.

So I rose and, with a curt nod to my fellow Leaguers, made a beeline for the bar. I recognized some of the faces I passed. Two celebrities, a widely-beloved former president and his equally-beloved wife, a selfie-obsessed talk show host…

They were like a blur. My head was starting to ache, my breaths coming in more rapid spurts. Great Hera , I thought. if the mention of my homeland is enough to induce a panic attack maybe I should resign on the spot.

Three autographs and one begrudging selfie later, I was at the bar. No delays-one of the 'perks' of being Wonder Woman, I supposed.

The twentysomething behind the bar started to reach for a menu as soon as he saw me. "I uh, wow. It's an honor, Madam Ambassador. We uh, we have a classic selection of cocktails-"

"Do you know how to make a Dark and Stormy, kid?" I tried not to snap but hearing it out loud, I might not have succeeded.

"Uh yes. What kind of-"

"Any rum will do." I retrieved a $100 bill from the discreet money clip at my waist. "And please keep the change."

While he made the drink, I let myself sit back on the barstool and relax. It was just a stupid question. Not Dorado's fault. Not anyone's fault that my mother and I were barely on speaking terms, a fact which I'd neglected to mention to anyone in the League.

No one's fault but my own.

My drink arrived in short order and as I reached for it I noticed a large, male figure beside me. Whoever it was, he smelled nice, like some kind of boutique aftershave that carried the faint sillage of vanilla and cedar. Of course, pleasant or not, I'd encountered this situation enough times in Man's World to know the drill and I was not in the mood. So I plastered a 'get lost' smile on my face as I turned to shoo away-

Bruce!

Bruce Wayne was leaning back against the bar, a sly smile on his lips. "A hundred dollars for a cocktail? Who are you and what have you done with Diana Prince?"

I knew the warmth in his voice- like everything else about Bruce Wayne, playboy extraordinaire- was an act. Taking him in, I didn't much care. His suit was the kind of inky, luxurious black that would never be confused for Secret Service issue. He'd removed his tie and there was just about a day's worth of stubble shading the classically handsome planes of his face.

"Too much time hanging out with billionaire playboys," I riposted, unable to keep from smiling despite myself. "They're a bad influence. Now I just...throw cash around every chance I get."

He mock-tutted. "Well, at least it's all going to a good cause."

Gods, it was good to see him. "I thought you weren't coming," I whispered tersely.

He shrugged. Took a look around to make sure no one else was eavesdropping range before continuing. "Batman might have joined you. Bruce Wayne got the invitation first. He's a regular at this dinner. Makes a matching contribution for every dollar spent."

I nudged him with my elbow as I raised my glass. "So this is really a two hundred dollar cocktail."

He raised his glass in return. "Here's hoping you don't bankrupt me tonight."

I laughed. "Worst I'll do is turn you into a mere millionaire."

We clinked glasses, my ambery drink against his Scotch on the rocks. And our fingers brushed ever-so-slightly in the process. I took my time with the first sip, surprised to find that the nervous bartender could mix a mean cocktail after all. We didn't say anything for a while, and I found myself appreciating that Bruce was one of the few men on the planet who could let a nice moment of silence breathe.

I sighed and set my glass down. "Maybe I didn't overpay after all."

"Something tells me even a good drink wouldn't fix the mood you're in. Want to talk about it?"

I did not. "Or...maybe a dance with Gotham's Most Eligible would do the trick."

He rocked just slightly back on his heels. "Well, not quite so eligible these days."

I snorted. Bruce's perennial bachelorhood was occasionally threatened by a dalliance with a new celebrity girlfriend. The last one had been Silver St. Cloud, an (admittedly gorgeous) tech heiress. The one before that had been a violinist with the Gotham Symphony orchestra. As close as Batman and I were, he rarely discussed the dizzying love life of Bruce Wayne. But it was clear to those in the League who knew him that these relationships were strictly utilitarian. Hard to inquire too deeply into how Bruce Wayne spends his nights when an Oscar-winning actress is on his arm.

"So who's the lucky lady?" I asked solicitously. "I'm going to guess. . . a skier. That would be an interesting change of pace."

"Not a skier, and now you're changing the subject-"

"Another actress?" I crossed my arms in mock disappointment. "Honestly Bruce, the tabloids will get bored eventually."

"Not a skier. Not an actress. No one you would know. And you're still dodging. What's up with the mood?"

I tried for a happy, guileless face. "What makes you think I'm in a mood?"

Without missing a beat, he replied, "Inner corners of your brows drawn, jaw and lower lip protruding, triangulation under the eyes. . .I can keep going."

I rolled my apparently-triangulated eyes. "Okay, you can stop." Served me right for trying to get one past a man who could read microexpressions in his sleep. "Fine. Maybe I haven't had the best day."

His gaze turned serious. "Was it the Bialya mission? I saw Terrific's after-action report. Magical fire projection? That's a new one-"

"Not that. The mission was... honestly a cakewalk. We 'saved the day,' as usual. Though the perp self-combusted before we could find out anything from him."

He nodded. "You still came out tonight. And you looked like you were having a pretty good time during the speeches."

I shrugged. "I was. The invitation was an honor. Honestly, the problem is thousands of miles from here."

His frown deepened. "Themyscira?"

"Things are not well at home," I admitted. "My mother thinks I've become too corrupted by Man's World. She's impatient and wants to see more progress here. The last time we spoke, she warned me the gods were becoming restless." I let out a mirthless laugh. "As if I could just.. remake the world in Themyscira's image overnight. As if I'd even want t o."

Bruce nodded understandingly. "No bilateral trade deals in Themyscira's future, I take it."

Which earned a chuckle from me. "No, not unless a new market for Greco-Roman armor and weaponry pops up. That's pretty much our only valuable export."

The corners of his eyes pinched merrily. "Well, I wouldn't say the only one."

"Oh stop," I said, holding in a chuckle. It was easy to get caught up in the billionaire's effortless charm. Too easy. "Bruce Wayne is so much nicer than the other guy, you know."

His smile faltered just a bit. If not at my words, then at the fact that the two of us were starting to attract a bit of attention. The other bartenders were openly staring, and I could hear some of the muted whispers of dignitaries and other attendees turning their focus on us. No press, thank Hera. Limited socializing between Bruce Wayne and Diana of Themyscira (or Bruce Wayne and any female celebrity) wasn't exactly newsworthy. But if we got too friendly at an event like this, people might just start to wonder about how Bruce Wayne knew Wonder Woman so well.

He took a final swig of his Scotch and stepped toward me, suddenly very close and very much in my personal space "Bruce isn't real," he said, just softly enough so that I could hear him.

I plastered on a smile. "It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Wayne." There were others within earshot so it was back to performing. For both of us.

I reached out to give him a hug and when his lips were just close enough to my ear to raise a goosebump or two, he said, "One more thing; there's a woman at the far table by the emergency exit. She's been watching you like a hawk all evening. I think she's an Amazon."

"What?" I started to pull back.

"Always a pleasure, Madam Ambassador!" He held me at arm's length for a moment and capped off the show with an outrageous wink that prompted a titter from some of the other attendees around. I watched him saunter off. Not a bad view by any stretch of the imagination, but my gaze was already sweeping toward the table he'd indicated. I caught a glimpse of a tall statuesque woman in a crimson gown before another body blocked her from view.

So I took to the air, prompting a chorus of ooohs from the crowd of dignitaries. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the adoration a little, but I wasn't focused on the crowd now. I saw the crimson-garbed woman again, gliding through the distracted crowd. Her garment was backless, revealing the unmistakably striated musculature of a habitual athlete-perhaps an archer. I couldn't see her face, and she was quickly heading toward the main exit. I started to walk after her because Bruce had been spot-on; she was definitely an Amazon. Getting through the gathered crowds, especially without causing an international incident by bowling over the Ghanian ambassador, proved a chore.

By the time I reached the exit, there was no sign of the woman.

I sighed, my heartbeat returning to normal, my adrenaline fading. The other Leaguers were busy keeping Dorado entertained- more power to them. They hadn't been to enough of these functions to be bored of them. My gaze swung to Bruce, now seated at his original table and deep in conversation with a blond woman, perhaps in her early thirties, wearing a well-tailored navy pantsuit. For a moment I wondered if she was Bruce's new girlfriend. She was certainly pretty enough, though with her glasses and the hint of silver in her conservative updo she lacked the bombshell stylings of Bruce Wayne's typical dates.

Not that I should care one way or the other.

I tried and failed to catch his eye. So much for a goodbye. I suddenly wished to be out of this place. The money had been raised, the League had gotten its photo op...It was time to bring the social obligations of the evening to an end and go home.