Chapter 3 – Christmas is Coming

In the spatial living room of the Trevors, the TV was on. A blonde reporter spoke to the viewer:

"As a shining example of extreme turnaround from corruption, Mayor Yindel is pleased to announce that Gotham City will send three ambassadors to participate in this year's World Security Council. These three ambassadors will share with the Council the civil tactics that helped Gotham City end decades of crime . . ."

Steve Trevor chuckled as he watched the TV. "And what am I supposed to tell the WSC? 'Get yourself a Batman. That's how we ended crime and corruption in Gotham.'"

Diana groaned as she balanced herself on a kitchen stool. "Dammit, Steve, would you turn that off? I'm trying to work."

"I'm watching it, Di," said Steve. "What? You don't want to listen to Vicki Vale talk about how wonderful Gotham City is?"

"Steve, its hard enough to hang Christmas lights on a tree without having to hear distractions."

Steve turned the T.V. off. "Sorry Di, I thought I should watch, considering I'm one of the ambassadors going later this month."

Ding! The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," said Steve. He walked to the front door.

Diana, meanwhile, did her best to get a bauble around the Christmas tree. It was an infuriating task, because the Christmas tree's leaves were fragile, and they could not support the weight of the bauble.

"Just have to find the sweet spot," said Diana to herself. She tipped more of her weight forward on the chair. "Almost there . . ."

Someone slammed the front door shut and shouted: "Oh wow, a tree!"

Diana lost her balance and fell face forward into the tree. The bauble shattered loudly on the tile floor.

"Oh shit—I mean, sorry, Mom," said Emma Trevor. She walked forward with her big hazel eyes glowingly on the tree. "I didn't know we were still doing Christmas this year."

"We're trying to keep things normal, in spite of all the chaos going on in the city," hissed Diana, lying partly in the tree. "God, why do these leaves itch so much?"

Emma held her hand out to her Mom. "Why didn't you say you needed help decorating?"

Diana eyed the hand suspiciously. "Where were you, Emma?"

Emma kept her hand out, her expression neutral. "I was out, Mom. In case you haven't noticed. I am an adult."

"That doesn't mean you can just disappear without letting anyone know, Emma."

Emma let her hand fall back to her side. " I can't talk to you like this, Mom. We've been over this. I'm old enough to make my own decisions. And I can help you—"

"NO!"

A stunned silence ripped through the room. Steve poked his out from a corner.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Everything is fine, Dad," said Emma. Then she vanished up the stairs.

Steve went over to Diana. "Di, babe. Why do you push her like that?"

"'Push' her? I don't 'push' her, Steve," said Diana. "I'm trying to protect her."

Steve held his arm out for Diana. "Maybe you're confusing protection with suffocation, Di."

Diana helped herself with Steve's arm. She dusted the tree leaves off of her arms and legs. "Emma is our daughter, Steve. She's family. Family is all that we have in this world. If I have to annoy her a little bit to keep her safe, then I will. I would die to keep my children safe."

"But that's the point, Di. Didn't you ever read Sleeping Beauty? Emma doesn't want to be locked away in a castle waiting to be rescued. She wants to do the rescuing. She wants to fight the dragon!"

"Wait," said Diana suspiciously. "Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?"

Steve grew a shade paler. "Hey, I'm not saying bring her to the fights. I'm just saying that you make her feel part of the team. Send her to beat up some muggers or something. Make her feel useful—"

"Absolutely not," said Diana. "I can't believe you're saying that, Steve. You're her father. We're supposed to take care of our children, not send them off to danger."

"I am taking care of our children," said Steve, sounding a bit angry. "And that's the pain of being a parent, Di. Listen, you can't protect them from everything, Di. When they were little, maybe you could. But they're not little anymore. They're adults. And they don't want you to die for them –they want to help you so you don't have to die for them. You understand?"

For a moment it looked like Diana might concede to Steve's words. It was one of the things she loved about him: his optimism, his kindness in spite of danger. But then something deep in her eyes flared up, that maternal instinct more powerful than fire, a power sharpened by the hand of evolution itself: protect your offspring, at all costs.

Steve saw what was coming and tried to intervene. "Di, I know you feel guilty about what happened to William. But he's going to be alright. Lucius and I have almost found a cure, and as long as Will keeps taking his injections—"

"They're my children, Steve," snapped Diana. "And I'll be damned if I allow someone—anyone—to hurt them again."

Steve wanted to try again, but even he knew there was no dousing that flame burning within her. He just looked away from her.

"Okay, Di," he said, sounding disappointed. "I'll be outside putting on the Christmas lights on the roof if you need me."

He grabbed a dusty box from the table and walked outside. Diana did not look at him the entire time. They were fighting more than usual, which was starting to concern her. Nothing had ever really threatened their marriage, but ever since her son William had been captured by Roland, she had been more severe with her family than ever.

Diana pulled out her phone and dialed her son's phone number.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"This is Officer Trevor's line," answered William's voicemail. He sounded disinterested and far away. "You know what to do."

"Will, baby," said Diana into the phone. "I just wanted to say that I love you. I hope you remembered to take your . . . 'medication' today. And I hope that you come home on time tonight for dinner. Please be careful, and drive safe. And remember you can call me for anything. I love you—"

A robotic tone on the phone cut Diana off. "I'm sorry, your message has gone over the limit of this voice mailbox. Please call and leave your message again, thank yo—"

She hung up the line.

"What am I going to do?" she said to herself. She felt terrible as a mother. Her daughter hated her, and her son didn't talk to her. How did things get like this?

Suddenly, her phone rang again. Caller-ID: Lucius.

"Lucius," she said. "What news?"

"Mrs. Trevor," greeted Lucius's baritone voice. "I have the reconstructed supply routes for Roland's chemical line, as you requested."

Diana's mood suddenly swung upwards. This was it. The break in the case.

"Hold on, Lucius," said Diana. "Let me get to the computer."

"Just one thing, Mrs. Trevor," said Lucius in a hesitant voice. "I need the hard drives on Miss Trevor's wrist computer to finalize the results."

"So download them from her computer," said Diana. "You have the security clearance."

Lucius coughed his throat. "Yes, well. Miss Trevor de-activated the virtual uplink on her computer a few days ago. I believe she was worried about an outside party stealing her information."

"'Outside party,'" repeated Diana. "You mean she's worried I'll steal her intel?"

"That would seem to be the case, Mrs. Trevor."

"Smart girl," said Diana. "Hold on, Lucius. I'm going to steal my daughter's intel."

Diana ran up the stairs to the second floor. She paused outside Emma's room and put her ear to the door: the sound of the showerhead running.

"What luck," muttered Diana underneath her breath. She slipped through the door and closed it silently behind her. Now her daughter's bedroom lay before her. A perfectly ordinary room, in all respects: a bed, nightstand, a dresser, and a walk-in closet. No posters, plants, or pictures hung up on the walls. Everything perfectly ordinary.

But Emma Trevor was not an ordinary girl. She was Diana of Themyscira's daughter, the adopted daughter of Steve Trevor, and, perhaps most dangerously, the daughter of one of the best escape artists of the 21st century—Bruce Wayne.

Diana walked to the dresser and pulled it away from the wall, which exposed a small hidden compartment in the wall. It would have been harder to detect if it weren't for the skid marks on the floor from moving the dresser so much.

"That's what happens when you hate sweeping your room," said Diana. To her left, Emma was still in the shower. Diana opened the compartment door.

Inside was a cowl, a cape, body armor, and a utility belt. A few vials of smoke grenades and flash bangs. And about a dozen shurikens cut in the mold of a Bat.

A flash of pride surged through Diana. Her daughter was irritable, true, but she was also a fighter. She was trying to take on the world. Any parent in the world would be proud to call her their daughter.

Suddenly the showerhead stopped running. From the bathroom came the sound of Emma opening the shower glass door.

The flash of pride vanished. Diana hurriedly grabbed the wrist computer and ejected the data chip. With that in hand, Diana closed the compartment and lifted the dresser back into place. She was out of her daughter's bedroom within ten seconds.

Diana walked out the hallway. She was almost to the stairs when Emma's bedroom door opened up.

"Hey!" said Emma's indignant voice. "Were you in my room?"

Diana deftly hid the datachip in the palm of her hand just as she turned to face her daughter. "I wanted to come up and invite you to dinner. It's almost ready."

Emma, who was wrapped in a bathrobe, continued to glare at Diana suspiciously. "Right."

"And," said Diana. "I wanted to apologize, for early. I shouldn't have screamed at you."

This caught Emma off guard, and her face softened.

"I realize you are trying to help," continued Diana. "And I realize that you are adult now and can make your own decisions. It's just . . . one day, when you have a family of your own, you might understand what I'm trying to say. I'll do anything to keep my family safe."

Emma bit her lip. She looked confused, like she didn't know if she should be angry or contrite.

"It's okay, Mom. I've only spent my entire life with you. I know how you can get."

The cellphone in Diana's pocket rang again. Diana looked at the caller-id: Lucius.

"Who is it?" asked Emma.

"Your father," said Diana. "Needs help with the Christmas lights. Go get dressed. We'll see you for dinner."

Diana went downstairs, leaving her confused daughter behind her. A small wad of guilt irritated Diana about deceiving her daughter, but that guilt was nothing compared to the enormous relief that she felt now that she had a lead on Roland's whereabouts.

"Lucius," said Diana. "I'm on my way to the basement computer. I'm uploading the files into my wrist computer."

Diana went to her basement. Before, the basement was a proud example of suburban living: old clothes, Halloween decorations, cleaning supplies, and bicycles. But after Roland had unleashed his army against Gotham, and destroyed Wayne Enterprises, Diana had turned her once proud haven of domesticity into a temporary base of operations.

Diana turned on the computer. A virtual 3D map of Gotham City lay before her on the monitor. And Lucius was rendering it in realtime.

"You know," said Lucius as they waited for the map to render, "I think it would be a good idea if you were to tell Emma that you knew about her nocturnal activities."

"Oh really," said Diana. "You think that's a good idea."

"I just mean that she worries about lying to you. She's a good kid, Diana. And she's already proven herself useful, considering the fact that we are using the data she has collected on her runs."

"I know," said Diana. "But I'm more concerned with keeping her safe than making her feel better. Are you still steering her away from unsafe enviroments?"

"Yes," answered Lucius in a slightly glum tone. "All we've done is observe and report. Nothing she can't handle."

"Good," said Diana. "And I want you to keep it that way. Don't let her know that I know—and that's an order from your CEO, Lucius."

"Yes, ma'am," said Lucius stiffly. "Okay. Rendering is complete. It looks like Roland has kept his manufacturing process on the run, and we've been able to isolate three frequent locations using all of the data Miss Trevor has collected. Of those three, a pattern emerges. He moves all of his serum every week. And if the pattern holds true, then that means he will be at . . ."

Lucius enlarged a large building on the northwest coast of Gotham City. "S.T.A.R. Labs."

"I know that place," said a friendly voice behind her.

"Gods, Clark," snapped Diana. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

The handsome face of Clark Kent appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm sorry, Di. Lucius called me as soon as he had any lead on Roland."

"I thought Mr. Kent would want to know," said Lucius.

"You thought right." Clark folded his arms on his wide chest and beheld the computer monitor. The lights from the computer danced along his handsome features. "S.T.A.R. Labs, huh? I didn't know they had a branch in Gotham City."

"What do they make?" asked Diana.

"They're your typical biotech company," said Clark. He typed into the computer. "This branch specializes in chemical engineering . . . yeah, it looks like a perfect place for Roland to make his chemicals."

"We found the majority of their serum supply," said Lucius. "Can't ask for a better opportunity."

"Good," said Diana. "We'll hit them tonight. Tomorrow, nobody will even remember the name Roland."

She moved over to the leftside of the basement where her equipment was stashed in a security closet. Without saying a word, she removed all of her clothing and began to get ready.

Clark turned his eyes away from Diana. She was nearly naked, but he was more disturbed by the cold conviction in Diana's words.

"Don't you think we should make a plan of attack, Di?" asked Clark. "Or maybe wait for some backup?"

"Backup," laughed Diana. "What do you mean—the police? No, Clark. We have no backup."

"Pardon the interruption," said Lucius. "But I think you underestimate the utility of your own family, Mrs. Trevor. Emma is a hero as strong as you, and William now has contacts on the GCPD. If we were to include both of them into our operations, then we'd have a much better chance of defeating Roland."

"I agree," said Clark. "We can win this if we all work together."

Diana sheathed her sword on the scabbard across her back. "No."

It was a simple answer: she didn't shout, she didn't put any anger into it. And somehow that single word, that single syllable, cut deeper than any sword could.

"We're taking him down tonight," said Diana in a steady, matter-of-fact tone. "No more playing nice, Clark. We hit him hard, we hit him fast, and put him into the ground."

"Di," said Clark. "We don't kill—"

"And we won't," said Diana. "But we don't have to save him either, Kal-el."

"What does that mean, Di?" asked Clark, some concern and a little fear on his face.

"It means that we fight fire with fire," she said. "He destroyed my building. I'll destroy his. And if he doesn't get out of the way, then as saying goes: he dug his own grave."

Diana caught a glimpse of herself in the glass of the security closet: a proud warrior equipped with sword and shield. Tonight, all that mattered was her enemy, defeated.

"Di," began Clark. "We can't just destroy a building. It's not right. We have to—"

"Lucius," said Diana into the computer. "I need you to order some dinner for tonight. I won't have time to make it."

"And what do I tell your husband, your kids, about where you are?"

Diana started walking up the steps. "Tell them the truth."

The disappointment was loud in Lucius's voice. "And what's that, Mrs. Trevor?"

"I'm going to take care of an errand."