Author's note: This was supposed to be a filler chapter, merely a transition between the previous and the next one, and yet it turned out to be the longest one yet. Go figure...
Thank you guys for the amazing feedback and for sticking around! You're awesome and I can't thank you enough :)
And on that happy note, allow me to ruin everything...
Themyscira, 1945
"Am I human?" Steve asked Hippolyta before she'd finished their conversation and left him alone in the cavernous room, the words tasting odd in his mouth and the concept so wild he couldn't believe he'd even thought of it.
"Of course, you are," she responded, surprised. "What else would you be?"
What else?
He was mulling over her question now, sitting on the sand a few hours later and watching the sun sink into the ocean, bright orange, making the water rippling beneath it look black. Arms resting on the propped-up knees and toes digging into the soft white sand, he stared at the blinding sliver of light until it started to feel like he might go blind. Until it disappeared completely, and the dusk settled around him, turning the sky pale-blue near the water and deep indigo above his head, and inside him, there was emptiness the likes of which Steve never knew before.
What else… He was on the island surrounded by women thousands of years old; women who might have witnessed the creation of the world as he knew it, strong and vigorous, possessing the qualities beyond anything Steve could ever imagine. Beyond anything he could understand even now, even after all this time. He was in love with a demi-goddess capable of bending the laws of life and death to her will, a surge of power coursing beneath her skin every time he touched her. Was it really that wild to assume that he might be more than what he always thought he was?
Did he want to be more?
"There you are."
Diana's voice pulled him to the surface before the vortex of thoughts threatening to suck him into the void from which there was no way out accomplished doing just that.
Steve looked up and saw her walk toward him across the strip of sand, smiling that soft smile of hers that was making his heart squeeze in his chest every single time without fail, like some kind of Pavlovian reflex, no less. There was no sword in her hand, no shield behind her back, her step easy, relaxed. A warrior still, but more than just that, too.
"I've been looking everywhere for you. Thought you'd escaped," she teased him, lowering down to sit next to him, the light breeze tugging at the wisps of hair that unraveled from her braid and that were fluttering around her cheeks.
From this close, he could smell scented oil, grass, and something sweet on her skin, feel her warmth in the pleasantly cool evening that was a nice reward for making it through the stifling heat and humidity of the sunny afternoon, and mixed together, they were entirely intoxicating, making everything inside him ache.
"That'd be a very long swim," Steve noted, turning to her, feeling the wind push his hair back from his forehead and snake through his shirt. "I just needed to…" He started and trailed off.
It was dark enough now that her face was almost completely obscured, the light from the town not reaching this far back and the whisper of the surf swallowing all sounds save for the breath of the trees that rustled gently nearby and the whoosh of the waves lapping against the sand echoing in nooks and crevices of the cliffs towering above them. How on earth she knew where to look for him Steve had no idea. He could barely navigate this place even in proper daylight.
"Escape?" Diana offered, amused.
He chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, I guess."
It was easier that way, when she couldn't see him, when the night could hide the secrets that he knew his face would betray. The key here was to continue breathing like nothing had changed.
For a few moments, they simply sat there, looking at the waves that were nothing but a mass of black fringed with foam. And then she leaned closed to him and rested her chin on his shoulder, her hand curling around his bicep, warm through the sleeve of his shirt.
"What have you been up to today?" Diana asked softly, her words nearly drowning in the voice of the ocean and her breath warm on his cheek.
"Not much," Steve muttered, the things that he was planning to tell her, everything that Hippolyta revealed to him – because she needed to know, had the right to know even more so than he, perhaps – choking him, lodged in his throat.
"I knew you'd get bored here," she noted. He could hear her smile.
"Not by a long shot, I promise you."
She brushed her hand through his hair, her fingers skimming lightly over the shadow of stubble on his cheek. "Is everything okay, Steve?"
He nodded slowly, and then once again, with more enthusiasm. It was so easy to forget sometimes how effortlessly she could read him, if only because there wasn't often any need for it, his thoughts, his life an open book; at least with her.
"Yes." He placed his hand on top of hers.
"Then what is it?"
"How did you leave this place?" Steve whispered, his gaze skimming over the barely visible stretch of the ocean, its whisper lulling him into thinking that all was right in the world. He turned to her again. "It's peaceful. Safe. You can have everything here. You're happy." He paused, his thumb running in circles over her knuckles. "I can't imagine you wanting to leave again."
Diana moved closed. Her lips brushed lightly to his chin before touching his mouth, feather-light. She leaned her forehead against him temple. "I can."
xoox
Italy, 1945
Peace, as it turned out, was a fleeting and fragile thing. They might have stopped dropping bombs on one another, but at times it felt like the war had never ended. Like it merely paused to give him a moment to catch their breaths. At times, it felt like the world would never stop needing to be saved. The conflict was not as open anymore, but no less intense nonetheless, all under a cloak of secrecy and darkness, hiding in plain sight but always there.
In an attempt to escape this never-ending battle for something or other, for what was good and right, Steve took her to Italy, and while Diana didn't see any particular romance in riding gondolas, claiming that if there was any love to dark, murky waters of the channels, she didn't want to have anything to do with it, they immensely enjoyed strolling along narrow, foggy streets of Venice, watching the swans from the bridges that seemingly kept the place together, stopping the houses from floating away.
There was beauty in simplicity, to living in the moment - something that neither of them was used to. It turned out that being sucked into the war and waiting for one for centuries wasn't that much different after all. And not having to deal with either felt pretty damn incredible.
Steve bought bread from tiny bakeries tucked away narrow alleys, and they fed it pigeons and seagulls on St. Mark's Square until their cheeks turned pink from the cold. There was peace to wandering around the place they knew nothing about, where every turn of the street held nothing but anticipation of something new.
They ate gelato despite chilly November wind and drank hot chocolate sitting in tiny cafes that were half-empty because of the foul weather. They held hands to keep them warm and talked about nothing, the sound of their voices somehow more important than the words that were being said. He kissed her cold fingers and smiled because she was smiling at him, uncertain how a person could contain so much hove within them without their heart bursting from this fullness.
And in her smile, he found his salvation.
They drove southward where the fog was less persistent, and the green of olive groves remained intact even though the trees were mostly bare this late in the year, and rented a house for several nights from an old woman who scolded them grimly for the absence of wedding rings. Ever a charmer, Steve smiled and offered her a few compliments while Diana struggled not to burst out laughing, standing next to him, and the key traveled from the woman's hand and into his. He could almost feel her judgement, her frown somehow making it all the more exhilarating.
"What was that about?" Diana asked him later when the door to the guest house, one of many scattered along the seaside, closed and he crouched in front of a fireplace to start the fire to warm the place up, poking at the logs until the spark caught on while she shrugged off her coat and draped over the back of an armchair.
"We're not married, see," he chuckled and shook his head. "In these parts, it's frowned upon… for an unmarried man and woman to spend the night together, I'm guessing."
Diana's eyebrow crept all the way up to her hairline. "Is this why you called her divine and enticing?"
Steve stood up and pulled her to him for a lingering, thorough kiss that left them both breathless, her hand curled over a fistful of his shirt.
"I figured you wouldn't want to sleep in the car," he muttered.
Diana draped her arms around his neck. "If memory serves me right, this was exactly why you didn't want to sleep with me on the boat that night when we left Themyscira," she noted nonchalantly.
Steve groaned. "It wasn't that I didn't want to," he started and stopped himself, very aware of the fact that his cheeks grew hot, and knowing that Diana noticed it, too, undoubtedly enjoying it. "I was trying to be respectful. The lack of wanting had nothing to do with it. Because I did, I wanted to-" He took a breath and looked up, studying the white ceiling. "I need to stop taking now."
He tried to step away from her, not quite certain what it was what was making him so flustered. It wasn't like he hadn't see all of her so many times he'd long lost count, and his desire was barely ever a secret.
"Now I feel bad about taking advantage of your virtue," Diana sighed dramatically, tightening her hold on him just enough to keep him where he was, although it was her words that got Steve to cock his head, his eyebrow quirked – challenge accepted.
"My virtue?" He echoed, mock-appalled, his hand running absently over the small of her back.
"Don't you remember? I had to practically beg you to share a pile of blankets with me," she pointed out.
"Beg? Well, if that's what you want to believe," he made a dramatic pause, for emphasis and all that. "And I'm sorry, but if memory serves me right, I was the one-"
"Not to mention that night in Veld," she continued.
"What about it?" Steve frowned, alarmed. "Because once again, no begging was required."
"You really want to talk about who did what?" She interjected with a giggle, and he pointedly clamped his mouth shut.
For a long moment, Steve simply looked at her, taking note of a mischievous glint in her eyes, the playful curve of her mouth, and a very obvious enjoyment radiating off her, and then he cleared his throat. "No, this is literally the last thing I want to discuss." Diana laughed, and he felt his lips quirk in response, finding it hard to hold back his own smile. "You just made it sound like I was some innocent maiden. Which is not a bad thing," he added diplomatically. "I just… wasn't."
"I know that," she leaned in, rubbing her nose into his cheek before finding his mouth with hers in a slow, sensual kiss. Her hand moved up from his neck and tangled in his hair, her back arching into him. "I know all about that."
"You want me to show you again?" He murmured against her mouth and she silenced him with her lips.
Blindly, Steve reached for the wall to turn off the lights, plunging the whole place into complete darkness, the stillness of the night only interrupted by the rustling of the wind in the trees outside and the sound of their clothes falling on the floor.
There was no way of knowing what tomorrow held, or the day after that, or the day after that one. They couldn't, he'd learned a long time ago, rewrite history. But they could make it, and tonight Diana was his, her hands in his hair, everywhere on his body, her lips hot against his skin, and her whisper making him shiver in the best way imaginable. Nothing else mattered.
Sometimes, rather often, Steve couldn't remember the life before her.
xoox
"What are you running away from, Trevor?" Billy, a skinny kid with the face so freckled he looked perpetually tan, asked Steve one night when they were granted a few rare and precious hours of free time before the drills were to resume the following morning, and the whole base decided to drown in beer, catching up on the nights that didn't belong to them.
"Dunno what you're talking about," Steve snorted, taking a swig from his bottle and allowing the lukewarm drink to pour down his throat and settle heavily in his stomach in anticipation of the pleasant buzz in his head and the warmth that would make his limbs heavy, his muscles relaxed in that way that no longer felt familiar.
The normally half-empty cafeteria was packed, every recruit who managed to drag his sorry ass from the hangars and sleeping quarters crammed in a space meant for half this number of people, and the conversations were punctuated with outbursts of laughter and an occasional curse when someone spilled his drink or tripped over someone else's outstretched legs. Not exactly Steve's idea of a night off, but he didn't mind, feeling oddly alive and relaxed. In the months that had passed since he'd first arrived here, he'd learned to appreciate the small things and moments of freedom like never before.
Billy shrugged and downed the rest of his own drink – and Steve wondered which one it was, the kid's eyes already glazed over. Not the first one for certain. Normally, at least five were needed to warrant small talk about something more personal than 'Got a sig?'
"You're like a Devil in the sky," the words came out a little slurred, almost swallowed by the buzz and the clinking of the glass. "Or like you have one chasing you. What is it?"
Steve's mouth twisted into a smirk, "Your dirty socks, for one thing." He stood up, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor. He jerked his chin toward his mate's empty bottle. "Want another one?"
He thought about Billy's question that night, lying on a narrow cot in one of the barracks, unsure if it was the heat that was keeping him awake or his mind that wouldn't shut up. The truth was that it wasn't about the from so much as about the toward, although toward what Steve wasn't sure even now, after he'd lived several lifetimes in his rather brief time on earth, and yet the answer was still nowhere to be found. Happiness, perhaps. A sense of purpose that remained evasive for as long as he was alive. He'd long lost the naïve delusion about making a difference in the world, about his actions amounting to anything that truly counted - the wars made sure to strip him of that - but the sense of longing for something big never went away, although it dulled just enough for Steve to ignore it now and then.
Sometimes, lying next to Diana at night as she slept, his gaze trained on the ceiling, he could still feel the echo of this old yearning for something he couldn't put into words resonate deep inside him, but with her, it had ebbed, like she was taking the edge off it. Like she was the where, albeit not as constant or static as Steve ever expected it to be.
Other times, the pull was stronger, the sensation of still being on the run burning through him, hotter than fire. The thing that pushed him to chase the sky in the first place still simmering under his skin.
He found her one morning curled up in an old armchair, a quilt wrapped around her shoulders against the drafts of an old house. Her gaze was glued to the flames dancing in the fireplace, her hair spilling down her back. It was so early the room was almost dark still, the small window overlooking the sea keeping the tentative light of a new day away. There was no surprise here though, she rarely slept past dawn - old habits and all that.
After a failed attempt to coax her into coming back with him for another few hours of rest, Steve squeezed into a tiny space next to her, earning peals of boisterous laughter in response and ignoring her feigned fight for more room until their limbs were tangled, and it impossible to tell what belonged to whom.
"I don't like sleeping without you," he said softly, tucking the quilt around them and wiggling underneath it to cajole another smile out of her. "The bed feels too big."
"But no one is stealing the covers," she pointed out.
"I'm used to fighting for them," he countered eagerly.
"And your pillow," Diana added.
He shrugged, "I don't mind sharing."
"No one is kicking you under the blankets," she was struggling to keep her smile at bay, her head resting against the back of the armchair, watching him not without amusement.
"I've had worse things to wake up to," Steve shook his head dismissively, and arched an eyebrow expectantly, brushing her hair from her cheek.
Diana offered him a small, wry smile. "You were snoring."
Steve's jaw dropped comically. "I was not!" He protested, appalled and defensive, his chest puffing at the audacity of this accusation.
"You were, too," she insisted.
"Are you sure it was me and not you?"
She traced her finger along his jawline. He could see the firelight reflecting in her eyes as he watched her in silence, trying to hear the things she wasn't saying. She was awfully easy to read sometimes, the amount of openness catching him off-guard now and then, what with his own life being so tangled in lies and secrets that he often didn't know where to find the ends to unravel them. Not that he wanted to. Sometimes, being someone else was easier. Knowing that Diana could see him for who and what he was seemed to be enough.
There was a small frown lodged between her eyebrows, but before he could pry for more, Diana dropped her forehead on his shoulder, her hand curling around his. She laced her finger through his.
"Are you okay, really?" Steve asked, brushing a kiss to the crown of her head, his voice less playful, very soft.
"Sometimes, I dream of my lasso snapping and my shield breaking," she murmured into his skin. "After the sword that I thought could defeat a god of war himself turned to dust in my hands, nothing feels strong enough anymore." A pause. "The time… it runs differently here. It is not as infinite as I'm used to. It will take a while before I can forget—some things." She lifted her head to find his gaze again. "It will take some getting used to."
He could see that she wanted to add something else, but instead Diana merely leaned into him. Steve's arm curled around her as he pushed the questions swarming in his mind away.
He called her fearless once, only half-joking, if only because she was so much more. Surely, their petty, trivial concerns weren't of any interest to her. The things he'd seen her do left little doubt regarding the extent of her bravery.
"No one is completely fearless," Diana responded then with a small shake of her head.
"What are you scared of?" Steve asked, watching her closely.
She looked up from the book she was reading and put it away, a shadow of something he couldn't quite grasp before it was gone crossed her features. Something so achingly sad that it splintered his heart in half a second that he saw it.
"Of losing you," Diana said after a short hesitation. "I have never seen death until Antiope bled out in my arms. Not a person's death… it's different when it's just a story, isn't it?" Her voice cracked ever so slightly. "She was the closest friend I had, a second mother, someone I trusted to be alive forever." She looked away from him, breaking the eye contact as if holding Steve's gaze was suddenly too much to bear, and rubbed her forehead. "And then you—in that plane… I'm scared of losing everyone that I love. Of being too late the next time something bad happens."
Steve crossed the room, walking over to the couch where she was sitting, and offered her his hand. Diana raised her glance and took it, and he pulled her up to her feet, his blue eye darting between hers, willing her worry away as if he could fix it with the power of his mind. He looped her hair around her ear, trailing his fingertips down her cheek. He let out an unsteady breath, drawing her to him and wrapping his arms around her – a reassurance that he needed as much as she, if not more.
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised.
"It may not be your decision to make."
"It's not your job to save me," Steve told her, meaning it with everything that he was.
"Maybe so," she didn't argue, leaning into him, "But it doesn't make it any less terrifying."
He was still thinking about that when Diana somehow miraculously dozed off after a while, still crammed into the damned armchair and pressed to him, lulled by the warmth of his body, and Steve watched the fire turn to red embers and die in the hearth as he held her, his cheek resting on the crown of her head. They all feared something, even the gods. Maybe gods more than anyone else, he mused, listening to her even breathing, if only because they'd have to live with those losses for much longer than the rest of them all.
On the morning before they were to leave Italy, they climbed down the steep streets and countless stone steps toward the sea that was steel-grey and moody, the wind throwing sand and sprays of salt water in their faces, and it crystallised on their cheeks whenever they dared to come too close to the surf, the stones lining the thin line of the beach dangerously slippery under their feet.
They were rather close to Themyscira, Steve realized with a start. Closer than anywhere else in Europe, perhaps. Watching Diana watch the angry waves, he wondered if they'd actually be able to see the island from here had it not been hidden from the prying eyes by gods who believed that mankind was not worthy of their protection. At least not enough to know where to look for it.
Her hair was gathered into a braid and the breeze was tugging at the strands that escaped it. She turned to him after a long moment, her face scrunched and her eyes narrowed against the wind. "Do you believe that people can love each other until death?"
Steve brushed a wisp of dark hair from her cheek, his eyes taking in her expression that reflected the stormy sea before them.
"I do."
xoox
London, 1947
London was starting to feel like home.
Steve never expected it to, with its unpredictable weather, grey sky that seemed to be keeping the whole place captive for weeks on end, the smell of seaweed blowing in all way from the English Channel, and the often-stale whiff of the River Thames. Crowded alleys and pubs, the jokes he didn't always understand bouncing along the streets, the beer that tasted differently from what he was used to. A million other things that were alien in the ways Steve couldn't always grasp that made him feel like an outsider.
And yet, it felt more familiar than the rest of the world. Maybe it was because this was where everything had started back in 1918, a new life as he knew it. Or maybe it was because it was so different from everything that he was trying to forget.
"We could go anywhere, you know," he had said to Diana once, soon after they'd returned from Themyscira even though he'd assured her that he'd be happy to stay if she so wished.
There was an old globe sitting on the desk in his living room, once belonging to his father, now an antiquity. Diana raised a quizzical eyebrow at him when he pointed at it.
"Pick a place," Steve shrugged.
She touched it, pushed it with her fingers until it was spinning so fast that the countries were nothing but patches of blurred yellow among the vastness of blue, and then shook her head.
"Belonging… it's not about a place on the map."
Steve didn't object.
What did it matter, really? He doubted there was a corner in this world where he'd manage to forget Hippolyta's words, pretend that they were never said. Pretend that they weren't wrapped around him like a vice, squeezing the life out of him.
It wasn't until Etta retired and chose to move to the south of England, away from the hectic hassle of the city, that their ties to the place began to feel loose, unravelling before their eyes, no longer an anchor so much as a chain keeping them trapped. The stifling air of familiar streets started to feel like it was suffocating them, his restlessness making him want to crawl out of his skin.
He pretended that it was the routine that began to get to him, the things that he'd been stuck with for too long that were wearing him thin now, and that moving away from them was an answer.
He pretended that it wasn't himself that he was trying to get away from in a desperate attempt to forget.
xoox
Brussels, 1948
Steve woke up to Diana crying in her sleep, silently, without waking up, her pillow soaked with tears. Her breathing was shallow, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly – the very thing that pulled Steve out of his slumber while her own mind refused to let go of her, her fingers bunching fistfuls of sheets holding on so tight that her knuckles had turned white.
His heart sank, his stomach coiling instantly.
It scared him when this happened, when there was nothing he could do, nothing he could fix, nothing to make it go away for good, to shield her from the things that were hurting her in a way that no one else could see. When her pain was palpable and so real that seemed to take all the space around them.
Diana had told him once that the most overwhelming grief was never loud. It lacked theatrics and expressiveness. Instead, it was silent, still even, barely betraying itself to the outsiders. Invisible. This was what it looked like now – like she was mourning a loss so deep that she was scared it might tear her apart if she'd let it be known. Like her pain was so strong she needed to physically keep it from spilling out and swallowing her whole.
"Diana," he whispered softly, careful not to startle her, his fingers light on her arm; pressed a kiss to her shoulder when she didn't respond and called her again, "Diana…"
Slowly, unwillingly, her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, disoriented. "What…"
"You were—you were crying," Steve murmured, trailing his thumb over her cheek to wipe away the tears, a hollow pit in his stomach threatening to turn him inside out. "A bad dream."
She blinked in momentary confusion, nearly flinching away from his touch, and took in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."
"Don't. Please don't," he kissed her on the temple, mindful of how her chest was still heaving, how rigid she felt. "Don't say that. It was just a dream, it's over"
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"Steve…"
He smoothed down her hair, his fingers soothing on her face. She was looking at him, and he was suddenly at a loss, uncertain what was there to do, the words felt empty and useless and not enough.
"Let me get you a glass of water," Steve murmured, but Diana shook her head, her fingers curling around his wrist, his own heartbeat too loud, almost intrusive. He moved to her and pulled her closer, folding her into the curve of his body until her warmth was the only thing he could feel, his heart hammering fast against her back and his face pressed into her neck. "Want to tell me about it?" He asked when Diana's breathing evened out, deepening as she'd calmed.
She drew her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself. "I keep losing you," her voice was muffled and so quiet he almost missed it, barely a whisper even in complete silence. "Every time I close my eyes, you die."
"No," he whispered into her skin. "It's not real, never will be. I'm here."
"It feels real. Each time."
Steve closed his eyes, pushing the images away, his grip on her as tight as he could bear.
Hippolyta was right.
He prayed and hoped against all hope that she was mistaken. After all, it wasn't exact science. If anything, it was merely her speculation at the time, or so he wanted to believe, if only because there had never been anyone like Diana before, no point of reference or comparison, Hippolyta said so herself. And for a while, it seemed liked she was wrong.
For a while, everything was good. So good he could hardly believe that this was his life, making him wonder what he'd done to deserve this kind of happiness – all-consuming, blinding, so perfect the enormity of it was equally exhilarating and terrifying.
Until his demons came back the way they always did sooner or later.
Until they sank their teeth and claws into Diana, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"She would do anything to protect you, even from yourself," Hippolyta had told him that day on the balcony overlooking the island before she left Steve standing alone there, the weight of her words so heavy it was suffocating him.
Whatever happened to him on the night when Diana brought him back to life after the explosion of gas pulled him to atoms until there was nothing left of him seemed to have forged the kind of bond between them that went beyond his comprehension. Steve was no scientist, not to the degree that counted, but he knew full well what was supposed to happen to him. He made that decision perfectly aware of the fact that it was meant to be his last one, and it hurt so bad to say goodbye to her, to everything that he'd managed to dream up in the time that had passed since the moment when he'd first kissed her. It was worth it, though. It was supposed to be worth it.
Diana was bigger than this, bigger than all of them, than the world itself. She was meant for something greater than anything he could ever imagine. If all he could do was give her a chance to truly save them all, it wasn't that big of a sacrifice then. After all, he'd never aspired for anything that significant to begin with. And what was his life, really?
Had he known how it would all end, would be do it any differently? He'd asked himself that, more than once, but the answer was nowhere to be found, no matter how hard he looked for it.
It wasn't his memories that plagued her, the way he initially thought it worked, but the darkness simmering within him. All the things he'd done that he wished he could forget about. All the things that filled him with self-resentment so strong he didn't know sometimes how he was supposed to live with them. Everything that made him question the logic of the universe for it made no sense that someone like him was given a second change after the things he'd caused that deserved no forgiveness, be it for the daughter of Zeus or not. The things he'd never told a single soul about, and those who were there to witness them were long dead and buried.
All the things that he hated himself for had transformed into monsters that kept Diana awake for fear of facing them, all because on a deep, molecular level all she wanted to do was to ease his pain.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again into her hair, his chest tight.
He never told her about the conversation he'd had with her mother.
Couldn't.
Didn't know how to.
The words never came, and those that did were coated in denial and shame and fear of losing her, of Diana seeing him for what he really was. He waited, and hoped, and wished desperately for a revelation, a moment of truth that would make everything clear, each second feeling like a missed opportunity that he owed her – for saving him, having him, loving him.
But how was he supposed to keep living like this? How could he not do what was best for her?
There was something that Hippolyta had said to him that Steve hadn't registered at first, but that caught up with him after he'd had enough time to run over their conversation in his head. She'd said that he was supposed to die twice, but the France… Diana told him that he was merely unconscious, and maybe more bruised than he liked, but nothing else. Surely her mother was mistaken, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that there was bigger picture he couldn't see. Had Diana lied to him? She wouldn't… would she? He never brought it up, couldn't, for it would mean coming clear about everything else, but it plagued his mind as he tried desperately to find the answers in the tone of her voice, between the words, in every touch of her hands.
He wondered sometimes if it made any difference, if it made anything worse, knowing that it had to, but refusing to believe it.
Selfish bastard…
"Steve?" She breathed out.
"Hm?"
Diana rolled around to face him, looked up, finding his gaze in the dark, her eyes red-rimmed and something akin panic pooling at the bottom of them. "Make me forget," she whispered.
Steve's pulse stuttered. "I don't…"
She pushed up, moving closer to him, hands on his face, in his hair, and slid into his lap, sweet weight in his arms. He could taste the salt on her mouth, on her cheeks, his own touch welcoming her traitorously, seeking the same comfort in her that she wanted from him. Steve pulled her close, hands skimming over her back and under the thin cotton of her sleeveless shirt, and she shivered, a sigh of appreciation falling from her lips.
His heart was hammering against his breastbone as if trying to break free, half-formed thoughts sparkling alive in his mind and disappearing without a trace before he could get hold of them. Diana pulled just far enough away to tug at the hem of her shirt, slipping it easily over her head. Her palms fell on his chest, her eyes locked with his in the dark gleaming with the want that was coursing through her and into him, eclipsing all reason and logic and everything in-between.
"Diana…" he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in this throat, hand reaching to cup her cheek, thread through the veil of her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.
She leaned down, kissed him again.
"I need you," she whispered, dragging her lips along his cheek, over his jaw, down his throat, her skin hot and electrifying under his touch. "I need to know that you're real."
He was more than willing to make them both forget.
xoox
She fell asleep afterwards, deeply and dreamlessly, curled into him with her arm draped across Steve's chest, fitted to him curve for curve. He, on the other hand, remained wide awake for hours, staring at the sway of shadows on the ceiling, listening to Diana's even breath, his fingers running absently over her hair, drawing soothing patterns on her skin.
Someone was talking very loudly in the apartment upstairs, not loud enough for him to make out the words but the hum of the conversation was a distracting interference, keeping him on the verge of wakefulness. There was music playing somewhere although Steve couldn't tell if it was coming from one of the other units or from the street, the people making the best of their weekend night vivid and alive before his mind's eye.
And none of it was enough to drown his feverish thoughts, the memories of Diana's hands sliding over his body almost frantically, her kisses that were hungry in a way that spoke of fear, and how she was holding on to him like he could disintegrate in her arms if she let go, each whispered word meant to be seared into them for eternity.
And all the while Steve hated himself for making her feel that way, for not being able to offer her any other reassurance than hasty, desperate kisses, and for needing her as much as he did.
When the sky turned pale blue and the shadows started to grow thin, Steve slipped out of her unresisting grasp, bleary-eyed and exhausted, and yet unable to remain still any longer. He was lucky if he managed to doze off for a couple of hours, but he couldn't think about it. He leaned down to brush lips to Diana's hair, careful not to disturb her, but even before he left the room, she'd rolled over to his side, claiming the warmth he'd left behind, still fast asleep.
It was the smell of coffee and bacon sizzling on the skillet that lured her out of the bedroom a few hours later. Wrapped in a thin robe, Diana watched him move between the stove and the counter as he hummed something softly under his breath, his movements precise and effortless, almost graceful. The only thing that was making it look less like a well-rehearsed dance and more like, well, the opposite of it was his comical bedhead, her hands itching to card through his hair – to smooth it down or ruffle it even more Diana wasn't sure.
Steve glanced up from the skillet when she stepped into the kitchen, squinting in the morning sunlight as she pulled her robe tighter around her body and tied the belt – for his benefit, not hers. The first – and last – time she decided to forgo clothing in the kitchen, he had dropped a coffee pot on his foot, and, according to Steve, it was not funny at all, despite what Diana was saying.
The memory made his lips quirk. Not that any of that was his fault, he reminded himself, amused. Who wouldn't forget everything and anything looking at her?
"Hey," Diana smiled, her voice husky from sleep, and ran her hand through her tangled hair, pushing it back from her face. "What are you doing?"
"Breakfast," he announced, grinning. "Are you hungry? I mean, you should be, what with all the appetite we've worked up..."
She snorted and shook her head, looking rather pleased with herself, although the light mood didn't last.
"Look, about last night…" Diana started, leaning against the counter next to him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I'm sorry."
Steve put the spatula down and turned to her. His palm cupped over her face, he dipped his head to kiss her on the forehead. "Don't. Don't say that. It wasn't not your fault, never is."
If anything, it's mine.
"I kept you awake."
"That I didn't mind at all," Steve promised, his thumb running over her cheekbone. "Let's eat."
"Steve…"
His throat closed up. "I dream of it, too. Of losing you."
She shook her head. "Never."
"See?" He offered her a weak, tired smile, his voice dropping. "It goes both ways."
He piled eggs and bacon on the plate and handed it to Diana before pouring two mugs of coffee for them and emptying the rest of the skillet on his own plate, grateful for the simple things that made even their lives feel normal now and then. Like food. Like catching her look at him with that small, secret smile that seemed to be carrying all the truths in the universe.
"Hey, can I… can I ask you something?" Steve started after a while, chasing the food around his plate without much appetite. It turned out that the familiar comfort of making it didn't spread on consuming it.
Diana scooped some eggs with her fork and nodded when he looked up, chewing thoughtfully.
Radiant in the early-morning sunlight, she was so beautiful it hurt to look. He wondered sometimes how much light one must contain within them to see all the death and pain and destruction that she had in her brief time in his world, and still look like she was the sun, her softness, her kindness no less affected by her experience, by the things that would break just about anyone else. They intensified, even, for there was nothing else that could save them all.
Steve cleared his throat, not trusting his voice not to betray him. "If you, um… hypothetically speaking, if you had to choose between doing the right thing, and doing something that makes you happy, which one would you go for?"
An eyebrow arched, she put down the fork and picked up her coffee, watching him over the rim for a long moment. "And doing what makes you happy wouldn't be the right thing?" She seemed intrigued, a smile playing on her face, her head tilted slightly to her shoulder.
"No," he poked his fork at a piece of bacon with unnecessary concentration, all because it allowed him to have an excuse to look away from her. "It's kind of the exact opposite of happiness. In fact, it could actually—be harmful to someone."
She picked her fork again, her shoulders rolling in a half-shrug.
"Then you need to do the right thing. It's simple, no?"
God, of course, it was simple. It was Diana, for heaven's sake. Diana who decided to fight the god of war without thinking twice, all because there was no one else who could do it; who would risk her own life to save someone without expecting anything in return; who would leave her home because the world needed her more; who believed in the goodness of mankind despite everything she'd seen.
He had never known anyone with the heart as big as hers, with the soul so full of love and compassion. She went against gods and armies like it was nothing, all because the peace on the other side of those battles mattered more to her than her own life.
For her, this decision wouldn't be a struggle. It would be no brainer at all.
"Steve, what is it? Why are you asking this?" She prodded when he didn't say anything.
Because I need to know that you will understand.
He stood up and picked up his plate, his food barely touched, to carry it to the sink, still avoiding her gaze.
"It's, uh… nothing. Just a… a book I'm reading." Lame. He hated lying to her. "Something that got me thinking." He exhaled slowly. "It's easy… it's easy to imagine that you would step in front of a bullet or sacrifice yourself for someone else until you have to do it, and then it's—it's not that simple."
He had to tell her, he decided. And yet he knew he couldn't. Not because Diana wouldn't forgive him for keeping something like this from her for years, which Steve knew he would have no right to hold against her, but because he feared that she would. And he didn't deserve it. Not when he lied to her after he'd promised her that he never would. Not after she showed time and time again how much she trusted him with everything that she was, completely, unapologetically.
It was despicable, and he had never been more disgusted with himself.
The legs of her chair scraped against the floor when Diana stood up just as he turned on the water, noticing that his hands were shaking, his breath shallow. He heard the rustling of her robe as she approached him, and then her arms snaked around him from behind and she kissed him on the tender spot where his neck curved into his shoulder.
"You've done it already," she whispered into his skin. "Ran through the bullets. Sacrificed yourself."
"I think it feels different… every time you face something like this," he replied.
"Well, you did all the right things last night," she murmured, and he could hear a smile in her voice, her fingers skimmed playfully over his chest.
Steve turned off the water and turned around, hands framing her face, pushing into her hair, her eyes moving between his, and he wished for nothing more than a hundred years of mornings like this one.
Diana studied him for a long moment, taking in a shadow of stubble on his cheeks and his mussed hair, following the curve of his mouth and fastening on the deep blue of his eyes, stormy in the bright light of the warm morning. He looked tired, jaded in a way she hadn't seen him in a while, and she reached to smooth the lines in the corner of his eye, her palm curling over his cheek for a second before brushing through his hair.
There wasn't a part of his body she didn't know, but his mind was something else entirely, and right now something felt off. Something very fragile, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what was making it seem so.
"What is it, my love?" She asked with a soft smile, her fingers curling around the back of his neck.
She didn't have anyone closer than Steve, and yet there still were things outside her reach - always would be as this was how it worked, and the enormity of everything she would never truly understand about him scared her on a deep, inexplicable level. It wasn't idle curiosity that was fueling her interest though, but the desire to know how to chase away the worry sneaking behind his eyes the nature of which she couldn't grasp.
"I love you, you know that, right?" Steve murmured, tucking a strand of hair around her ear, her expression relaxing momentarily. Whatever it was that was troubling his mind receded to a dim shadow, and she felt the lightness inside her respond in kind. He propped Diana's chin on his knuckle, holding her gaze. "I want you to always know that."
xoox
And so he stalled, unable to tell her the truth because there was no excuse for keeping it from her for so long, and he couldn't walk away because the very idea was making him wish he'd died in that airplane for it would've hurt less.
Late at night, they would lie together in bed, their voices nothing but the softest of whisper as they spoke about nothing in particular, his hands tracing the lines of her face like he needed to memorize the way she felt for the rest of eternity, and in those moments, it was so easy to believe that it was over, that whatever had been plaguing her mind was really and truly gone. That maybe they had both imagined it altogether, and he wanted so fiercely for it to be true.
There were stretches of time – days, weeks, months even - when the demons would retreat and leave them be, and he would start to believe foolishly, desperately, that none of it ever happened at all, that the conversation with the Queen of Amazons was a dream that was meant to start fading any moment now until there was nothing left of it.
And then out of nowhere, it would all come back, and Diana would wake up terrified out of her mind, certain that they were real, unable to break free from the demons haunting her for days on end. It took Steve a few years to figure out that it was his inner turmoil that was at fault, that she was merely reacting to the storms raging inside him whenever his mind would helpfully twist itself into something unrecognizable, triggered by a memory, a smell, a sound. And once that realization had dawned on him, once he knew that it was less about the physical proximity as much as about emotional closeness, he couldn't help but pull away from her. It hurt and confused her, and the questions in her eyes that Diana didn't know how to ask felt like he was stabbed repeatedly in his heart, and in those moments, it would feel like the two of them were living in their own hell, unable to break through to one another.
He was torn between the need for closeness that was giving him solace he so desperately wished for and the desire to shield her from the darkness the he was inadvertently dragging her into. Tried to pretend that Hippolyta's revelation wasn't haunting him, an ever-present reminder of his selfishness; the consuming bliss of being with her, around her, was often dimmed by how fragile and fleeting those moments were, always just out of his reach.
Steve wondered if Diana was feeling the same profound loneliness that filled him whenever he'd put space between them for fear of making everything worse; the same consuming helplessness that coursed through him on the nights the distance between them grew unbearable and he couldn't find a way to cross it.
There was no way out, and he felt helpless, and scared, and he hated himself for doing this to her when he could oh so easily make it stop, trying and failing to find what it was inside him that was triggering those things.
There was no other answer except the one that he already knew.
The thing was, he'd lived in this world without Diana long enough to know that he could do it, easily. If he walked away, right now, right this moment, the sun wouldn't die and the universe wouldn't implode. He knew that after some time he would even learn to breathe without feeling like his lungs were too small, squeezed by an invisible hand. In his 60-odd years on earth, he'd been through much worse than a heartbreak. Steve knew that he would survive losing her.
The only problem here was that without Diana, he couldn't imagine life worth living.
xoox
Veld, 1918
"What else?" Diana asked, quite entertained.
In the fading light of the oil lamp that was mere minutes away from going out, her arm was curled over his chest, her chin resting on the back of her hand as she studied him waiting for the answer. Steve scrunched his face in mock-concentration, and she giggled.
"You think it's so easy," he accused her.
"I want to know," she said with a lazy smile, her fingers carding absently through his hair, tracing the lines of his face, skimming over the faint scruff on his cheeks.
There was lightness to him that was hard to see when Steve was either imprisoned or running through the rain of bullets, the frown between his brows smoothed out, the lines near the corners of his eyes deeper from the perpetual grin tugging at the corners of his lips, bringing up that twinkle in his eyes that she only glimpsed in passing before. She loved it, loved the way he looked at her, the way he was making her heart feel so full she feared it would leap out of her chest.
Steve tucked his arm under his head and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, his lips puckered comically.
"Well, we've already covered breakfasts, and newspapers," he started slowly. "And more food, which actually doesn't make you feel like you've already died." His hand began to trace slow patters on Diana's back. Her smile grew wider at his statement. "I'm not joking," he added, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "That concoction that Chief made the other night was not food, I need you to remember that."
"I will," she agreed. "So, people eat a lot. Noted."
"It's one of our vices." Steve chuckled. "You're cold," he murmured when she shivered a little, pulling the covers over them, tucking Diana closer into his side.
"No." She dipped her head to brush a kiss to a spot right below his collarbone. "I'm many things, but cold is not one of them."
Steve cleared his throat, struggling to keep his thoughts from scattering away – not a small feat when she was doing that. "Well, that's good news for me, I guess."
He brushed her hair from her cheek. His thumb traced along her bottom lip, and Diana leaned into his touch, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand, his eyes growing darker momentarily. It was so easy to get swept away by the pull of her until he didn't know who he even was anymore.
"Tell me more," Diana asked, relaxing into him.
Steve blinked and tried to find his breath again. "We have fairs. Um… carnivals." He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. "A circus."
"What is it?" She perked up with curiosity.
"Ah, it's… like a performance."
"Like theater?" She offered.
"No, more… for fun, I guess." Steve racked his mind for more. "It's flashier. With… glitter. And animals."
"Glitter and animals," Diana echoed, a little skeptical, a little amused. "Sounds interesting."
"And… we travel," he continued. His hand curled around hers; he lifted it, kissed her fingers. "You'd like that. Paris… Paris is beautiful in the spring."
"Where else?" Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Anywhere. Everywhere." Steve paused, studying her for a long moment. And then the light went out, the last drops of oil burned up. In the darkness that descended upon them, everything felt different all of a sudden, his doubts resurfacing. He swallowed. "What's going to happen tomorrow?"
Diana pulled her hand from his grasp and smoothed down his hair. Her palm slid down his cheek and landed on his chest, right where his heart was beating rapidly. She craned her neck and brushed her mouth to his – a bigger promise that any words could convey.
"I will defeat Ares. And then we will go to Paris."
xoox
Paris, 1950
And then all hell broke loose again.
And again.
And again.
Steve no longer had it in him to be surprised. The world was adamant to tear itself apart, it seemed, unable to stop. By then, he'd have seen enough to know that it would never stop for as long as they all lived.
On a sunny morning a few years ago, when the radio in their kitchen came to life with dreadful news, his mind slipped back to the time when he'd first met Diana and how he'd thought that by taking her to the front in Belgium was nothing but indulging her whimsy while he himself was half-curious and half-wary of the woman who wielded a sword like it was nothing. How simple the life was when the evil was the doing of a god, he thought. And how much more complicated it looked when nothing and no one was to blame for the horrible decisions but the people who were making them.
Diana walked over to the radio without looking at him and turned it off, allowing the silence to settle over them, the rumble of the fridge in the corner the only sound hanging between them.
She turned to Steve slowly, her face solemn.
"We don't have to do it," he said quietly from across the kitchen. "You don't have to. You don't owe anything to us."
"It's not the fault of the innocent people that their leaders believe the wrong things," she shook her head and rubbed her forehead, her gaze shifting to the window behind which the sun was rising slowly over the buildings.
It didn't care, Steve thought absently. The sun would still rise even when they all fall to ashes, climbing over the horizon, day after day, and the magnitude of something this permanent was both comforting and deeply terrifying.
"You don't have to come with me," Diana said when she looked at him again.
"I know," he nodded.
Just like he knew that he would. Just like he knew he'd follow her to the gates of hell and back if he had to.
"As long as you'll have me," he'd told her once, a long time ago.
"Always," she'd responded simply.
Steve hadn't questioned it since.
He'd been drawn to her from the moment he saw her on the beach all those years ago, like the planets orbiting the sun were pulled to it. Gravitational force and light, all that she was, and he wondered if he was going to disintegrate without them to hold him together.
Another country, another city, another camp, the same death and destruction, the same loss that was palpable in the air.
"I'm sorry you have to see this," Steve said, the burlap of the tents flapping in front of them in the wind, a sea of khaki green among pale yellow hills, men and women in dusty uniforms darting from one to another as he surveyed the familiar and yet so different landscape. It was hard to remember anymore when his life wasn't about this – hard cots and dry food and hoping he would get to see the light of another day. "It probably looks like tearing each other apart is all there is to us."
Diana slipped her hand into his and squeezed his fingers, her gaze taking in the dreadful view before them. "I know it isn't."
There wasn't much anyone could do. No taking sides, either. Not for Diana when the people who didn't ask for any of this were dying for nothing.
Endless months of tents and dingy apartments, falling asleep and waking up to the sounds of machine guns and the news that Steve wanted to block out of his mind. Endless months of not knowing if they were going to wake up in the morning or if the or village they were at would get wiped off the face of the earth in the middle of the night. Endless months of trusting Diana to come back to him. Endless months of paralyzing fear that with every breath he took, he was chipping away from her strength somehow, putting her in danger by being, well, him – human, fragile, so very mortal, breakable in every sense.
And in the light of that, it was hard to remember sometimes that they were helping people. Truly helping them, saving lives.
He would clean Diana's wounds or help her wash the smell of death off her body when she was too tired to move, and kiss her skin in reassurance, and stroke her hair at night, curled around her as if he could shield her from the world, and all the while he would pray that he wouldn't step on a mine and steal even more from her because while his life was nothing but a grain of sand, she actually mattered - to mankind, to the world.
"Thank you," Diana whispered one night when he was certain that she was already asleep.
"For what?" Steve asked, wrapping the blanket tighter around the two of them.
Her fingers skimmed over his cheek, a touch so light he almost thought he'd imagined it. "For you."
It was hard to tell if anything had changed since France, the question he'd asked Hippolyta before they left Themyscira about whether or not the effect of saving him was irreversible remained unanswered. Used to thinking that she was merely an Amazon, not a daughter of a god, Diana seemed to have noticed no difference in how fast she was healing. If she had, she never mentioned anything to him, and Steve didn't know how to bring it up. Sometimes, not knowing was eating him up on the inside; other times, he was glad to be in the dark.
The day it all came to an end, he felt like something enormous lifted off of him. Like he could breathe at last, his relief so enormous he couldn't believe it and the victory was palpable on their fingertips.
But that was before the rumors came about the US recruiting former scientists that made the war what it was, the ones responsible for thousands, millions of deaths by the weapons they'd designed and the experiments that were conducted on the prisoners of concentration camps, the horrors of which went beyond human perception. Those cruel and insane things he'd seen Isabel Maru do were like a child's play compared to the level that her successors managed to invent.
It was like a blow he never saw coming that knocked all wind out of him and made the ground slip from beneath him. The country he was so proud of, the country he was protecting decided to forgo any moral qualms and close their eyes on the nightmares that countless of people had been put through, all because an easy promise of safety gave them access to the most brilliant minds that cared nothing for innocent lives. He couldn't believe it, refused to accept it, and the disillusionment was so strong it felt like the axis of the world had shifted.
He tried to understand it, see it through the eyes of the people making those decisions – as progress and innovation, and having access to the minds that were decades ahead of their time - but all he could imagine was people being taken apart and put back together, the look of disgust and disbelief on Diana's face when those facts became known to her, the pain he'd seen and done his best to prevent. In his mind, this was siding with the murderers, with the people who cared for nothing, would stop at nothing, and it was making him sick. Everything he'd ever believed in, everything he'd fought for was an illusion, nothing but smoke and mirrors, and what was the point, then?
In the time that had passed since then, Steve tried to recall how he found out about this – did someone tell him? Did he overhear it in a conversation that was meant to remain private? – but his shock and shame and denial blocked it out, blurring his memory of the moment.
All of this made Steve think – cynically and unjustly perhaps – if any of their fights were worth it after all, if putting their lives on the line meant anything when in the end, the world was willing to close its eyes to unspeakable things for cheap reasons. If human lives measured up to nothing at all, why were they all even trying?
"Remember when you told me that mankind was meant to be good? That Zeus created us wise and compassionate and fair?" He asked Diana one night when it was hard to tell who was having whose nightmares, and the shadows lurking in the corners seemed to be hiding the monsters waiting to attack.
"Yes," she responded, her hand tucked under her cheek as she watched him stare up. "Why?"
"Was just wondering where it all went wrong," Steve breathed out.
And then it started again like he always knew it would. Another fight, another thing that needed to be fixed, more death, more blood, humankind tearing at the seams because there was little else they were capable of, or so it felt more often than not.
He couldn't do it, Steve thought with dismay. Couldn't spend god only knew how many years being terrified out of his mind and imagining Diana dying before his eyes, because of him, and the mere concept of it filled him with so much dread and primal, uncontrollable fear he could barely stand it.
"Is this all there'll ever be?" Steve asked wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the mother of all headaches start to build behind his eyes when the news of another tragedy settled in his head, the facts all sorted into their respective slots.
He could see it in her already, could feel the buzz of anticipation coursing through Diana, hear the gears of her mind turn, planning, thinking. Before he'd know it, she would reach for her armour, slipping out of her practical clothes and into a garment of a warrior, her sword sharp, her shield always close by, swift and efficient, ready to save the people from themselves.
And then it hit him, the realization so simple he couldn't believe it never occurred to him before. Emotional closeness, his vulnerability… He was her Achilles' heel, and she was his, and the only way for him to keep her safe was to walk away. That was something that Steve knew for a while now. The problem with that plan had always been his inability to leave because deep down, he knew that she wouldn't want him to, like he wouldn't have given a bloody damn had the tables been reversed. However, his own disillusionment was a powerful and dangerous thing churning inside him like something dark and venomous, and if he could get her to feel that way about him—
Steve swallowed as all pieces of the puzzle fell into place in his mind.
There was only one way to save her from him, and it was through disappointment and resentment, and he knew just the right buttons to push to make it happen.
Diana paused and turned to him, her brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"There will be no end to wars, Diana. People will always find something to fight over, to… be mad about." He shook his head, his heartbeat fast and hollow. "Is this all you want your life to be?"
"And you want to give up? Do nothing?" She asked, incredulous. He didn't have it in him to even turn to her, disgusted with himself for feeling that way.
"Aren't you tired? Don't you want to…" Steve let out a slow breath, and suddenly those few feet between them felt like a bottomless void. "Don't you want to not carry all of this on your shoulders? It's not your job."
When he finally managed to meet her gaze, she was looking at him like she didn't know who he was. Like he was a stranger speaking the language she couldn't understand.
"Do you really expect me to do nothing?" She repeated. "After everything? After we've seen how much suffering people are put through? Innocent people who didn't ask for it, who are not to blame." Diana's frown deepened, disappointment and disbelief radiating off her in waves.
"Well, I didn't ask for it either."
She nearly recoiled from him. "How can you say that, Steve? How can you ask that of me?"
"Because I can't do it anymore," Steve retorted. He shook his head. "Because it's been too long and there has to be an end to this all."
Because you're not invincible. More than most but not entirely.
Because I can't keep thinking of a thousand ways you can die when you're doing the things I can't help you with. Because I can't.
Because I can't sit and imagine you never coming back.
Because I can't watch you wake up in the middle of the night screaming and knowing that I am to blame.
Because it kills me to think that I'm hurting you without being able to stop it.
"Do you really want me to just walk away when I know that I can help?" She asked softly, watching him intensely like she wanted to see all the way inside him, straight through his bullshit.
Part of him feared she might.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Steve pressed his lips together for a moment, his expression hard.
"Maybe we're not meant to save everyone," he muttered.
"Maybe we are not," Diana agreed with a pointed accent on 'we', her arms folded over her chest. "But maybe I am."
He flinched, and her face fell, regret washing over it.
Steve nodded slowly. "Perhaps, you're right."
Her shoulders slumped. "Steve, don't… I didn't mean it like that." She exhaled slowly and rubbed her forehead, visibly conflicted. "If you don't want to come with me, don't. Can we talk about this when I'm back? If it's something that's really bothering you, let's discuss it later."
"And when would that be? And for how long?" He asked. "See, that's the thing with disasters – they never stop coming."
"What is it that you want me to do?" She asked with a hint of frustration, and his heart clenched.
He was looking at her, unwavering, hoping that his lungs wouldn't collapse, his very soul splintering under her gaze. He already missed her so bad that it caused him physical pain, and each word was like a nail in his coffin - about just as final. "Whatever you have to do. Don't let me hold you back."
Diana bristled momentarily. "Why are you twisting my words?"
Because I need to have an excuse to save you from everything that I am.
"Because you're right," he said evenly. "I mean, how long could this fairy tale last?"
"What are you saying?" Her voice cracked – so slightly he'd almost missed it; anyone else would have, except Steve knew it too well– and she went still, watching him like she could no longer recognize him. Truth be told, he could barely recognize himself either.
She'd be better without him, and that realization was the best and the worst one that had ever occurred to him. It would be easier for both of them if she hated him, if she was disappointed in him enough to make ripping this band aid off in one swift move possible. As painless as it could be, considering. If Hippolyta was right, and Steve didn't have a reason not to trust her, he would be making Diana a favour of a lifetime by ending this. Here. Now.
He should have ended it a long time ago.
"Where do you think this was going?" He asked, gesturing at the two of them. "You and I." Steve dropped his gaze, unable to face her shocked expression, and ran his hand through his hair in helpless frustration before dropping his hand to hang at his side. "How do you think this was going to end?"
Diana pursed her lips together, so visibly hurt by his words that he wanted to take them back right there and then, and beg for her forgiveness, and promise her
"I didn't think it would."
"Well, maybe it should." He met her eyes again, willing his voice to remain steady. "Maybe it's better that way."
"Is this what you really want?" She inquired, and nodded slowly when Steve didn't respond. "Then maybe it is."
xoox
Gotham, 2017
Bruce Wayne was not used to not getting what he wanted.
Most material goods could be easily bought if he so wished, and people – well, people tended to want to be associated with him. And women… women rarely ignored his interest. He didn't remember the last time he couldn't obtain an object of his desire, whatever it was.
But not her. Not Diana.
Thanks for bringing him back to me.
He'd spent months turning her words in his head this way and that. That photo must have meant the world to her if she was willing to risk everything to get it from Luthor. There were few people who dared to go against Lex, and Bruce knew them all. Most of them were dead. He could barely imagine anything to be worthy of going through this much trouble, leave alone a memento.
It must have been the man standing next to her, then.
Him, not them. Not the other three.
And it frustrated Bruce more than he was willing to let on. More than he was willing to admit even to himself. Not quite jealousy yet – she was never his to warrant that feeling, but envy of a dead man who had nothing, not even life, and who still had more to offer her than Bruce could ever imagine.
"Enjoying yourself?" Diana asked, appearing next to him.
Bruce had to make an effort not to stare at the silver dress that was hugging her body in all the right places. Her hair was up, gathered into a knot on the back of her head, exposing her neck and making him want to strum his fingers along it. He forced his gaze up to find her gaze.
She arched an eyebrow and took a sip of her champagne, watching him with mild amusement over the rim of her glass.
Truth be told, he was bored, so much so that had she not been here and had this not been her idea in the first place, he'd long snuck out and escaped to a far more comfortable solitude of his home where a smile plastered on his face wasn't a part of the dress code.
However, she rarely graced him with her presence these days, and appearing at this benefit was, technically, the right thing to do. And so he hung back, following her along the room with his gaze for lack of other options and trying not to overthink her offer. He was funding half of it, after all. Might as well show some interest.
"Immensely," Bruce replied, downing his scotch and putting the empty glass on the polished bar counter, a few ice cubes that didn't have a chance to melt clinking softly as he did so.
"I told you it would do you good," Diana smiled, a little entertained, a little condescending.
It irked and excited him that she knew him well enough to be right about something like this.
"You did," he agreed mildly.
She nodded, her eyebrow arched, and suddenly it was too much.
He wanted her too badly for too long. And maybe he had a few drinks too many – god help him, he needed them to make it this far into the evening – but the next thing Bruce knew was that his hand was on the small of Diana's back, turning her to him, his mouth finding hers.
Bruce Wayne was not used to not getting what he wanted. Nor was he used to considering the consequences of his actions.
xoox
In the 60-something years that had passed since that fateful afternoon in the sunlit apartment in Paris when he walked out the door after their conversation and never came back, Steve Trevor saw Diana Prince exactly twice.
The first time was some 15 years ago when life brought him back to the city of love. Thinking nothing of what might have become of her since then, he had an afternoon to spare before his flight to Madrid. It was a sunny but chilly day in April and after grabbing a sandwich and a cup of coffee from a street vendor, Steve found himself heading toward the Louvre, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket that was far too thin for this weather and his shoulders hunched against the wind coming from the river.
It was the first time he came back here, the streets still holding too many memories that he didn't want to dwell on for fear of tearing at the seams if he allowed himself to reminisce of the days long gone.
The pyramids were a new addition, something he hadn't expected to encounter. They fascinated him, the creativity of the idea and the way the light was filtering through numerous glass panes, breaking into infinite rainbows inside the spacious hallway below the entrance even despite their clash with the original architecture of the museum.
There was comfort to being here, to wandering the galleries that felt like a maze, only half-listening to the buzz of conversations in more languages than he could count. It didn't take much effort to tune them out completely, get lost among the strangers that didn't care that he existed.
Steve wasn't sure how long he'd been there before one of the curators hurried past him, a stack of papers in her hands, the heels of her practical shoes clacking on the parquet floor, as she called out, "Madame Prince, attendez, s'il vous plaît!"
Please wait, Steve translated automatically, the name that fell from the woman's lips not registering with him until he heard the voice so deeply etched in his memory he would probably carry it inside him for several lifetimes respond a few moments later.
"Oui, Dominiquie?" It made Steve stop in his tracks, his throat closed up. "Puis-je vous aider?"
Steve turned slowly around so as not to attract any attention to himself, not certain in that excruciatingly long moment if he wanted to be right or wrong. He'd made this mistake before, after all, hearing her voice only to find another person speaking. So many times, in fact, that he'd lost count of them.
However, before he could make a decision as to which scenario he would much rather face, it was too late.
It was her.
Standing some 50 feet away from him by the door marked as Réservé au personnel was Diana. Stylish black pants, a high-neck blouse, black heels, her hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was signing the papers that the woman who just ran past Steve offered her, her eyes scanning the pages before scribbling something at the bottom of each one, her mouth moving as she asked or clarified something but it was too soft for him to hear what she was saying. And he craved it, longed to let the sound of her voice wash over him again.
For a long moment, he simply stared at her like she was an illusion, merely an apparition, taking in her small smile and regal profile, the irony of finding her here, of all places, on this completely random day not lost on him.
Then he turned around and walked away – before she saw him. Before he changed his mind.
And the second time, Steve saw her at the benefit gala in Gotham, on a cold November night. Standing by the bar across the room from him, a champagne flute in her hand, she was a kissing a dark-haired man in a suit that probably cost more than Steve's life, and the five before it, his hand anchored possessively on the small of her bare back and her silver dress shimmering in the light of expensive chandeliers.
It felt like a sucker punch that left him breathless and completely paralyzed. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only stare.
Until he grew unbearable.
"Captain Trevor," Amanda Waller appeared before Steve like a jack from the box just as he reached the bloody door, and before he had a chance to flee this place, this city, this country, his heart quite possibly no longer beating and his insides coiled into a knot. How he ended up here, how he left the ballroom when his legs felt like they weighed a ton each he couldn't recall.
He'd completely forgotten about their meeting by now.
If she noticed his distress that Steve didn't bother to conceal because who the hell cared, she showed no sign of it. Meeting here was her idea. In public – smart move. Although, as she'd put it earlier, he needed to have a look at the 'best and brightest' of Gotham, for his own benefit too, whatever that was supposed to mean.
Steve was not so sure anymore.
Regardless, Waller gave him a pleased once-over and nodded, all business. "I'm glad you've made it here. Follow me, please. I believe we have something to discuss."
To be continued...
A/N: Okay, who saw that coming?
(I wrote this a month ago, long before JL came out, so... Just fyi.)
Feedback, comments, thoughts, yelling are much appreciated.