Author's note: I hope you all had a lovely holiday season, whether or not you celebrate anything :)
I am terribly sorry for taking forever and a half to update. It was supposed to happen a week ago but it turned out that I have grossly overestimated my chances of having any writing done while I was travelling. Road trips and writing don't mesh, primarily because the laptop keep sliding off the dashboard.
(*Okay, I was asked not to joke about it. I was not writing while in the car)
In unrelated news, New Zealand is spectacular!
Anyway... Dig in! Have fun! And let me know what you think :)
Funny how there was no such thing as forgetting. One could push something out of the way, bury the memories in the darkest corner of their mind, shut them out and pretend they didn't exist, but it would not make them disappear. Not ever. They'd lay low, waiting for the moment to come rushing back to the surface, shockingly bright and clear at times, knocking the earth off its axis in their waking like it was nothing.
Funny, Diana thought, how one could never see it coming.
Steve.
He was back, pulling the rug from beneath her feet right when she finally started to believe that it was no longer possible, that she'd seen enough to never be caught by surprise again.
And the memories… They were tricky, too. Stored so far out of her reach, they remained intact despite her desperate attempts to scrub them clear out of her mind. Sunlit mornings, lazy kisses, wind-tousled hair and squinting eyes, the vibration running through his body when he laughed, the eyes so blue they reminded her of the sky over Themyscira – she'd never seen the sky this blue in man's world, and part of her was grateful for it. For keeping a piece of her own world intact, for as long as it lasted.
She remembered the low husk of his whisper, how his chest was rising and falling when he slept stretched on his back beside her, the dreams they'd shared the likes of which she hadn't allowed herself to venture into since. Bliss. Sweet, endless contentment. Her heart nearly bursting with so much joy it almost hurt to feel it as the happiness seeped out of her soul that couldn't contain it.
Then there was an apartment in Paris and the sound of the door closing behind him, so final it was almost like it separated before from now. She remembered walking slowly toward it, somewhat in a haze. Remembered having her palm pressed flat to the worn wood that could use a lick of paint, acutely aware of its warmth and roughness against her skin. Remembered it blurring before her eyes as the tears came, the tightness in her chest growing unbearable as she slid down to the floor, unable to find her breath, a hot lump lodged in her throat.
There were so many ways to lose someone, but this… this one was the cruelest of them all. She could hear the fate laugh at their silly, naïve hopes for something that was never meant to be. Uncertain of how they ended up here, in this hollow, empty place that threatened to turn her inside out with grief, Diana thought of how she'd been taught to fight and to survive and to defeat anything and everything in her way, but no one ever told her that there were more ways to lose a person than she could count, and not a single one to truly accept it.
She remembered Steve's fingers in her hair and the sound of her name on his lips, and she remembered crying until there were no tears left - for everything that was lost, for the emptiness that was yet to come, for impossible decisions, and for everything that should have been but never would be.
All the things that she wished she could forget.
It was those memories that pushed Diana out of her bed at the crack of dawn the morning after he returned while the whole house was still sound asleep, the stillness around them amplified by the silence of the forest and their remote location. If nothing else, she had to give Bruce that.
Diana kicked away the blankets and reached for her jeans draped over the back of the chair, a thin film of sleep clinging to her mind still. She twisted her hair into a sloppy knot as she headed for the door, the hardwood floor cool under her bare feet. Not a single creak.
It was only when she picked up her boots and her hand closed around the knob that it occurred to her that Steve Trevor – the Steve Trevor - was currently somewhere in this house, and the thought made her heart skip a beat before sprinting into a wild race in her chest. This was the closest she'd been to him in nearly seven decades, and her stomach tightened momentarily. Funny how there were things that you simply couldn't get over, no matter how much time had passed.
He might have left already, or not stayed the night at all, she told herself, and the unexpected disappointment at the idea jolted through her, a pang of sadness catching her off-guard. If he had, it would be for the best, Diana thought, but it didn't sit well with her for the reasons she wasn't ready to go into.
Against her better judgement, she hoped that she was wrong, and creeping down the dim hallway now, she wondered which room was assigned to Steve. Unlike the old Wayne mansion that she'd seen a few times but never been to on account of being burned down before her time, there were only a handful of bedrooms here. Enough to accommodate them all, but not enough to get lost in, per se. She tried to catch the movement behind the closed doors even, but everything remained so quiet it was eerie, making her feel like she was the only person alive.
She'd had this dream before, she remembered if a little absently. The one where she was the only survivor after the rest of the world had perished, failing to save it. The one that always left her with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Down in the Batcave – the name still amused Diana even though there was no better one for that place, all things considered – the lights were dimmed, the computers lining one wall switched to a standby mode, and the hum of processors and air vents the only sound filling the cavernous space. And then her footsteps on the grated bridge added to it, echoing under the high ceiling as she stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the nearest workstation.
She booted one of the computers, its screen coming to life, illumination her face, and then typed 'Steve Trevor' into the search engine, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard, only stumbling once. Diana didn't know how Bruce had access to just about any database there was, maybe short of the one belonging to FBI - there were certain things she'd stop thinking about a long time ago - but they sure could come in handy now and then. She wondered then why it never crossed her mind to do that, search for Steve. But then again, she never had a reason to before, if only because it never stopped hurting, and cutting the old wounds open rarely was a good idea.
If there was anything she'd learned in this world, it was this.
However, it was different now. It was not a whim but—
What? Diana shook her head, as if physically pushing away the answer she didn't want to consider. Wasn't she supposed to have moved on already? Wasn't the time supposed to heal?
She leaned in closer when the screen went still.
A handful of results came up, but none of them was her Steve. Not that he was still hers, Diana reminded herself. The thought that she'd had plenty of time to come in terms with, but zero ability apparently. A little disappointed, but not surprised, she narrowed the search down by excluding everyone of the wrong ethnicity and body type, but even that didn't help. He'd spent nearly a century hiding from the overly curious by now, of blending in. She rubbed her forehead, her eyes sore from too little sleep and her mind swimming from too much thinking. Steve would know better than to let himself be found, leave alone by someone like Amanda Waller. Which begged the question—
Which begged a hundred of them, and neither one of them, Diana knew, could be found in this dungeon of a room.
His surprise was genuine. No one could feign the kind of shock she saw on his face – like the world as he knew it shattered before his eyes, like someone kicked solid ground from underneath him – when he first laid his eyes on her not 24 hours ago. It was hard to believe that it had been less than a day – it was starting to feel like a lifetime, the uncertainty seemingly making the time run slower somehow.
She could ask him. Knew he might refuse to answer. Knew she wouldn't actually do it either. After all, what they were now, exactly? Strangers, at best. It hit her then that up until yesterday, she had no way of knowing if he was even alive. All this time, she merely assumed that he was.
The thought knocked all wind out of her.
Diana closed all windows; the screen went black as she pushed away from the table and stood up, not sure how long it had been. It could have been 30 minutes or a few hours, the passage of time entirely warped, stretching and shrinking before her eyes. What she did know was that she'd lose her mind if she stayed here, in this house, so close to—
It occurred to her then that in all the time they'd known each other, their time as something in-between was so brief she could barely remember it. She knew how to be his lover – too well, for her comfort – and she knew how to exist without him, however unbearable that was. But this? The awkward dance they did in Bruce's study last night – it was like crossing No Man's Land all over again, only this time, it was a minefield of unsaid words, or the words that should never have been spoken.
She grabbed her jacket and found the keys to one of Bruce's cars, knowing he wouldn't mind if she borrowed it for a few hours, and then she was speeding away from the glass walls and suffocating memories, her chest feeling less tight with every mile left behind, her grip on the steering wheel loosening eventually.
She needed to escape, the burning desire to be as far away from this house, this city, this moment in time so strong she could barely stand it.
There was a meeting with the sponsors and a collection that needed to be unpacked and sorted out for the upcoming exhibition and a pile of paperwork waiting for her in Paris, the routine of her life suddenly very appealing compared to what was happening here. She needed to change her ticket and head off right away. There was nothing for her to do here, Bruce could deal with Victor and Barry, and Arthur was going home any day now, too. She didn't know where that left Steve, and part of her – the one designed to keep her sane – didn't want to.
She took a sharp turn at the intersection, bypassing the city and heading southwest.
Steve Trevor's life was none of her concern anymore.
"Traitor," Diana said not without accusation a few hours later when Clark opened the door, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the windows behind him.
He flinched and stepped aside, pulling the door open wider to allow her to come in.
"Diana!"
Curled up on the couch, Lois perked up at the sound of her voice, her face lighting up.
She all but leaped from her seat as Clark locked the door and ran his hand over his hair. "In my defence, she saw the message first."
"Because he asked me to check if it was Terry," Lois deflected without missing a beat and pulled Diana into a brief hug, brushing a kiss to her cheek.
"Because I was in the shower," he countered, sheepish at the weak argument.
"Yes, thank you, that makes all the difference," Diana noted dryly, and the tips of Clark's ears turned pink. "Gossiping, Clark, really? Shouldn't you have better things to do?"
"We're journalists, it's what we do," he grinned.
"What happened to fighting for the truth?"
"Is it really him?" Lois interjected before Clark could respond, watching Diana with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "Is it-"
A shadow passed over Diana's face, her smile fading. "Yes."
Clark stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants and cleared his throat. "How many Steve Trevors are there, though?"
"Quite a few," Diana admitted, her mind going back to those search results, "but none of them has his face. Or our memories," she added softly.
That, and she knew that Steve was right the previous night – she didn't need the Lasso of Hestia to know it was him, her heart recognized him before her mind did.
"Are you okay?"
"Hm?"
Lois turned to Clark. "Don't you have that thing to finish that Terry asked you for? That urgent thing?"
He blinked at her. "Huh?" Her eyes darted pointedly toward the bedroom, one eyebrow arched. "Right. That thing. For Terry. I better get back to it."
"You didn't have to do that," Diana said when he patted her on the shoulder before brushing past them and disappearing in the bedroom. The door closed softly behind him.
"Yes, I did," Lois put the book she was still holding on the kitchen island and pulled Diana toward the living room. "Come on."
"He can still hear everything," Diana noted with a faint smirk.
"He is going to pretend that he doesn't," Lois responded.
Well, at the very least, this felt somewhat normal.
"How's it been?" Diana asked, nodding in the direction where Clark disappeared.
"Phenomenal," Lois responded, her eyes inquisitive. "But I'm going to assume that you didn't drive for several hours to talk about me."
"I'm sorry, I should have called."
"That's not what I meant," Lois shook her head, her voice soft. She lowered down on the couch, but Diana kept on moving until she was standing by the window, looking at the street outside, marvelling at how the world kept on spinning when her life was tearing at the seams. "How are you, really?"
"I never thought I'd ever see him again..." Diana trailed off. Until this moment, she didn't realize how much she was still waiting for it, hoping to hear the sound of his voice once again, and somehow, this realization was harder to come in terms with that Steve's return. "It's been so long."
They didn't know. Not everything. Not to a degree that mattered.
Bruce figured out some things because of the photograph, but even he only put together a few scant pieces, not seeing the whole picture. The others were merely aware of something in her past that Diana wasn't fond of discussing. Lois new more than all of them, but not everything. Not the things that were both too dear and too painful to speak of. And how would Diana even put something like this into words? Something like losing the love so great that it tore her apart, and even now, the shattered parts still didn't quite fit the way they were meant to.
Some things were better off left alone, buried where no one could find them. Where she could keep them safe.
Maybe this was why she and Lois clicked so easily. Lois knew loss.
Diana tried to remember how exactly they ended up here, how they took the leap from her standing above Clark's lifeless body and Lois looking up at her with haunted eyes, her face streaked with hears and her pain palpable in the air, to finding understanding where neither one thought to look in the first place, and failed. What she did remember was that Lois didn't want anyone's pity, she didn't need empty words of consolation or meaningless reassurance. She wanted someone to understand.
Something that they all needed now and then.
"So what's the plan now?" Lois asked after Diana filled her in on the basics and fell silent.
"I'm not sure why Bruce agreed… he didn't have to. I mean, Steve-" She cut off and swallowed, his name tasting odd in his mouth, so long it had been since she spoke it, and now suddenly she had to say it for the fifth time in two days. "I don't expect him to want to… to do it." She let out an unsteady breath, not trusting her voice not to crack. "What happened between us… It was because he didn't want to be involved in any of this. In doing what the League does."
"Things change. People change." Lois said diplomatically. "You don't know what happened in—how long has it been?"
"Sixty seven years," Diana muttered. They flew by in a blink, it seemed sometimes. "And yes, I don't."
A part of her didn't want to remember Steve the way she did – his lopsided smile, how he looked at her like she was the finest thing in creation, how he always knew how to make her laugh, the way his hands danced over her skin, sparkling her alive like nothing and no one else could.
Lois studied her for a long moment. "What's he like?"
Diana hesitated.
There was a time when she thought that he knew him better than anyone else, better maybe than he knew himself, yet the last time they spoke, she could barely recognize him, the memory of that day painfully fresh in her mind. Their brief interaction last night gave her nothing. He could barely look at her, his voice strained, so unlike the soft tone she longed for. A stranger wrapped in the skin of someone who used to be her world. He looked odd in the clothes that didn't belong in the 1950's, too, and she probably looked alien to him as well.
"The same. But different." She shook her head. "I'm not sure it makes any sense."
"More than you think," Lois responded with a small smile.
"We didn't have a chance to catch up," Diana added dryly. "And probably never will."
"Do you still-" Lois started and cut off when Diana's expression closed off; she cleared her throat. "Do you want to? Do you want him to stay?"
Diana considered her question – something she didn't quite thought to decide, too caught up in reacting to what was happening rather than trying to see it for what it was and make her own choices.
"I'm not sure he wants to stay," she replied at last.
Lois's features softened. "That's not what I asked."
Diana dropped her gaze, then looked out the window again. "I don't think I want him to, either."
Maybe if she said it enough times, she would actually believe it. Heavens knew she wanted to.
xoox
Bloody Waller with her bloody secrecy, Steve thought, jumping in one spot so as not to lose his balance as he tried to get dressed the way he used to in the army – in under 30 seconds, and impeccably, at that. If there was one downside to a civilian life, it was losing some skills that grew unnecessary and obsolete over time.
It had been some 40 years since there last was a need for him to remember any of the training that Steve used to think was burned into his very soul. Apparently it was not the case at all - even the most finessed skills tended to dull a bit when they were not in use. He wondered sometimes if loving belonged on that list as well.
His bags were still piled in the corner, he'd barely touched them. Whoever it was who packed them did a damn fine job, and Steve tried not to think about it, about some stranger going through his things, never mind that a toothbrush was perhaps the most personal of his possessions at this point. It didn't sit right with him nonetheless, either because it had been a very long time since the other people were making any decisions about his life, or simply because he didn't trust Waller. (That any of this was her doing he had no doubt.)
The initial plan was to get out of here before dawn, before anyone was up. However, he ended up staying awake half of the night, tossing and turning in the bed that was too big and too soft, listening to the sounds of the house, the creaks and sighs as it settled, the branches scraping against the wall somewhere, too loud for comfort. Tried to hear the others, too, half-grateful for not being to. He knew little about Bruce Wayne, almost nothing outside of what everyone else knew, but the man sure knew how to choose the doors, Steve had to give him that. It didn't stop him from imagining things though. From remembering the kiss he'd been oh so unfortunate to witness, or thinking of everything else that was probably happening somewhere in this house. Of Diana-
The idea made him sick.
At some point, he rolled onto his stomach and buried his head under his pillow as if it could soothe his feverish mind. He had no claim on Diana anymore. No right to feel like a lovesick moron. This was supposed to be over a long time ago. He thought it was, believed it was, and yet, one look at her, and it was like nothing had changed, no time had passed at all. And that Steve had no idea how to deal with.
He dozed off when the sky started to turn pale-grey. Through the haze of his slumber, he thought he'd heard footsteps outside his door, a faint creak of the floorboards. They paused, like someone was standing there, but it could have been just the house, or maybe he'd dreamed it. And did it really matter?
Steve woke up with a start a few hours later to the sound of the garage door closing with a metallic clang that made the outer wall vibrate, jolting him awake, remnants of a dream he couldn't quite recall clinging like a cobweb to his brain. Not exactly how this day was supposed to take off.
Walking briskly down the hallway, torn between taking his stuff with him and coming to get it later, after he'd talked to Amanda Waller because there was no way in hell he was going to stay here, Steve wondered if this place was the official headquarters of—what did Waller call it? Justice League? As christened by the reporters in search for an appealing and catchy soundbite – or just some sort of temporary accommodation, offered begrudgingly by Bruce Wayne in the absence of better options.
And then he cursed himself for already getting involved, his curiosity getting the best of him against his better judgement.
Steve paused when he caught the movement in the living room out of the corner of his eye to find Barry Allen sitting cross-legged on the leather couch, chasing something on the TV screen with the black controller, his eyes glued to what looked like a battle scene of sorts.
A video game.
Steve followed the narrative for a few seconds, and then asked, "Who's winning?"
"The bad guys," Barry answered without looking away from the screen, his face scrunched in concentration.
And then suddenly the screen went black, the controller fell on the couch, and Barry was standing right before Steve, the air around them smelling faintly of ozone. Like during the storm. Steve didn't even have a chance to so much as blink. "Vic's better with that stuff," Barry jerked his chin toward the entertainment system. "He can do it with his brain and he always wins. Which is cheating, if you ask me."
Steve stared at the younger man for a long moment, at a loss for words. Yeah, sure, he'd read about Barry, about him being fast, but seeing it for the first time, and having him act like it wasn't a big deal – which to him it probably wasn't, come to think of it – was something else entirely.
"Right," he nodded slowly after a brief pause.
Vic. The cyborg. Playing video games with his mind. Why the hell not?
He wondered then, if a little absently, if there even was such thing as getting used to any of this.
Sure, there was Diana, but she was only one person, and given their history, accepting the reality of everything that she was came naturally to him, all things considered. And she… she looked human. Victor Stone didn't. Steve hadn't quite made up his mind about Arthur Curry yet, although it was quite a relief that Barry at least seemed, well, normal. Most of the time.
And then he reminded himself that he was, technically, one of them. To some degree. And maybe there was no one else to help the world. Maybe this was what being different was about. However, whether it was a curse or a privilege, Steve wasn't sure yet. Something neither of them asked for but what they were responsible for, whether they wanted or not.
He wasn't quite certain if he belonged with them, though.
There also was a chance he might never find out.
"Yeah, it's really impressive. You should see it sometime," Barry carried on as he followed Steve down the hall. "It's out of this world."
"I'm sure it is," Steve muttered, taking in the paintings on the walls and trying not to think of possibly, maybe running into Diana at some point in the next five minutes. Surely, she was still around here somewhere. He assumed.
"So, what's your deal?" Barry asked, falling into step beside him.
"Huh?"
"Well, I'm fast. Arthur's into aquariums, which is lucky because this place looks like one. Bruce has all the cool toys and such," Barry shrugged. "Vic is sorta self-explanatory. I'm sure you now Di's story."
"I don't," Steve murmured, but was completely ignored.
"And you are…?"
"Old," he cleared his throat.
Barry frowned. "And that's useful how?"
"I have no idea," Steve breathed out, just as bewildered, truth be told. "Hey, do you know-"
"Captain Trevor," it was Alfred's voice that cut him off when he and Barry reached the kitchen.
"Oh, breakfast!" Barry lit up at the sight of a pile of pancakes on the countertop, still steaming.
Steve paused in the entryway. The place looked slightly different in the daylight, large and open. It smelled of coffee and toasted bread and freshly squeezed orange juice, and he swept it with a wide glance, taking in an assortment of the state-of-the-art appliances and a table for half a dozen people tucked in the corner. Alfred Pennyworth was pulling butter and a jar of jam out of the fridge and setting them on the counter.
He was hard to form an opinion about, however it was the fact that he could easily keep Bruce Wayne on his toes, never letting him get away with any of his arrogant shit that made Steve like him a fair bit, and respect him a great deal. The man clearly was more than a butler and Batman's sidekick, although what else he couldn't even begin to imagine.
There was no one else around, and in half a second that it took Steve to figure that out, he failed to decide whether he was relieved or profoundly disappointed not to find Diana here. And then the images of her and Bruce Wayne flooded his mind, making even the smell of coffee nauseating.
"Would you like something to eat?" Alfred offered, either not noticing Steve's discomfort, or choosing to ignore it. Frankly, Steve was fine with both. "Or perhaps coffee?"
"Um… no, thank you, I'm good." He glanced around while Barry dug into his food, liberally drowned in syrup. "Do you—is there a way to get a cab here? I mean, I don't know the address…"
"Did you sleep well?"
"What?" Steve blinked. "Yes… great. Thank you. So about that cab-"
"You're welcome to use one of Master Wayne's cars," Alfred suggested, putting a cup of coffee in front of Barry and raising his brows at Steve in a silent question, but the latter only shook his head again.
"That's probably not a good idea," he said.
"That's not a problem," Alfred assured him. "Ms. Prince does it all the time."
Well, Ms. Prince is sleeping with him, which probably makes all the difference, Steve thought, forcing himself not to say those words out loud.
"Also, they're the coolest cars," Barry piped in around a mouthful of bacon and also grinning somehow.
"It's okay, really. I wouldn't want to risk stumbling into… any insurance issues."
Alfred shrugged. "Suit yourself, Captain Trevor."
Barry pointed his fork at him, "You're missing out, man."
Maybe so, Steve thought, but a sliver of dignity was perhaps all he had left, so maybe it was worth holding on to. Also, he wasn't sure that given an opportunity, he wouldn't want to ram one of Bruce's undoubtedly overpriced cars into the first fence he saw.
So really, he was doing them all a favour by calling a cab.
xoox
Suffice it to say that failing for find Waller ended up being a major kink in his otherwise brilliant plan.
"What do you mean, gone?" Steve asked.
Waller's secretary, Charlotte, looked at him over the thin rims of her glasses, not particularly impressed by his impatience, or his presence in the waiting area of Amanda Waller's office in general.
"As in – not here," she responded with pointed patience like he was a 5 years old, or just slow, which made Steve's hackled stand on end. "Did you have an appointment?"
"No, I just needed-"
"I suggest you make an appointment," the woman offered evenly, undoubtedly used to dealing with the people far more intimidating than Steve, he figured. Either that, or working with Waller did the job.
He took a steadying breath. "When is she going to be back?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Charlotte shook her head. "It's a confidential information. I'm sorry, what was your name, again?"
"Trevor. Steve Trevor."
"Would you like me to pencil you in as soon as there's an opening in Agent Waller's calendar, Mr. Trevor?"
"Captain," he corrected her automatically, and cursed in his mind for how irrelevant it was.
"Captain Trevor," she repeated, her voice dripping with condescension. And arched an eyebrow at him expectantly for good measure.
Somehow, even sitting at her desk, she seemed to be two feet taller than him. It was probably her sharp suit, Steve thought. Or the fact that she was in her element, and he very much wasn't. Not since yesterday, at least.
He was starting to hate this city.
"I don't suppose I can get her direct phone number?" He asked, barely holding back his impatience.
His previous contacts with Waller were one-sided at best. Blocked numbers and burner phones, he assumed. She knew how to get a hold of him but never the other way around. It was inconvenient before, but now it had turned into an actual nightmare. He needed to speak to her.
"I'm sorry," Charlotte replied evenly, quite clearly being anything but. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Steve rubbed his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.
In his haste to resolve this issue, it never once occurred to him that Waller might not even be here to hear him out – and how naïve was that, really? - and discuss the matter that she, apparently, decided for them both.
"Would you please ask her to call me?"
"Of course," Charlotte nodded.
He had a distinct suspicion that she wasn't going to.
He nodded still, though, and thanked her before heading for the elevators, out of earshot when Charlotte pressed a button on the intercom.
"Agent Waller? He is gone."
"Good," Waller spoke from behind the heavy door separating her office from the waiting area, her voice cracking with static. "I'm still not here if he returns."
"Yes, ma'am."
xoox
Steve stepped outside and squinted in the bright late-morning sunlight, his mind reeling. Of all the things he'd expected to go wrong, this was not something he even considered, although faced with this damned situation now, he wasn't surprised. He couldn't imagine someone like Amanda Waller sit and wait for someone like him to storm into her office, demanding an explanation. That, and he could bet every last cent that he had that she was there right now.
He ran a frustrated hand over his hair and looked around, at the stream of people moving up and down the street, not one of them caring about him, and there was comfort in knowing that. He was here, but he wasn't. Invisible to the world.
Stuck.
Steve didn't know much about Waller, and what he did know didn't paint a pretty picture. Her reputation preceded her. She was known for being ruthless, determined, unapologetic, and those were her good qualities. He didn't want to jeopardize their agreement by taking the next plane out of this city. He needed her help, and she needed him, apparently, for the reasons he didn't quite understand except that he was a bargaining chip in the game with Bruce Wayne who had some kind of agenda as well, which might or might not be an issue in the long run.
He wondered, if a little absently, if he even wanted to find out anything about that, or if he'd rather get out of this mess as soon as possible and just let them deal with it without him.
Steve turned toward a line of cabs on the other side of the road, and then stopped.
As per his deal with Waller, he was supposed to join a team – which team, she conveniently forgot to mention, and at the time, it didn't matter. So long as she was willing to hold her end of the bargain. However, what that meant for his living arrangements Steve didn't know, but now he would still have to stay at Wayne's house until he spoke with Waller. He wouldn't put it past her to screw him over for something as small as moving to a hotel.
Shit.
In all his years on earth, Steve Trevor prided himself on his ability to adjust. One had to be good at it, he figured, in times of war when nothing was certain, and more importantly, in all the years that followed when life was chaos and his sense of self was nowhere to be found. What others viewed as a handy skill was a matter of survival for him. It helped perhaps that there was no settling for him, no normalcy that could trick him into thinking that his life could be anything but this wild race against the time where there could be no winners.
And all the while he ignored how weary it was making him feel, how bloody tired he was of all this.
However, as it turned out, it was one thing to be used to the change in general, to be adaptable without feeling like the ground was being kicked from under his feet time and time again when he saw said change coming. And something else entirely when his world was turned inside out in a span of a few minutes, leaving Steve suspended in midair, unable to move, to breathe, to think. Not in a million years could he have predicted that his trip to Gotham would end this way.
If he did, he'd never have picked up a call from a private number on that fateful day three weeks ago. Never would have let a woman with a measured voice finish what she was saying.
Steve looked up at the skyscrapers towering over him, the bright sun reflecting off thousands of glass panes. He shivered in the crisp October wind that snaked under his jacket, half-regretting declining that cup of coffee a few hours ago.
Waller wasn't going to avoid him forever. After all, she was just as interested in Steve's cooperation as he was in not being a part of this arrangement. And with any luck, they'd sort this out. One way or another.
His gaze landed on a line of cabs.
Until then, he decided, he might need to get his own car.
He was walking from the main road running through the forest surrounding Bruce Wayne's house after is taxi dropped him off at top of the driveway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and shoulders hunched against the evening chill when a movement near the lake caught his attention, an odd disturbance in the almost unnatural stillness of this place, which was somehow comforting and unsettling all at once.
He could see why Bruce chose the solitude of this place, and also how it might drive a person mad over time.
Steve paused in his tracks, mesmerized, as her watched Arthur Curry emerge from the lake, wisps of fog clinging to the water around him, making him look like a ghost. Like he was a part of this body of water as much as it was a part of him.
After a short hesitation, Steve stepped off the gravel driveway and headed toward Arthur across the lawn.
"How's the swim?" He asked when Arthur was within his earshot.
The other man ran his hand over his hair, pushing it back from his face, dripping wet. Steve took note of his bare feet and intricate writings running up his arms and torso in the language so ancient no one understood it anymore, the ease with which he carried himself, although admittedly, his size alone was perhaps enough to ensure that. At tall as Chief, Steve thought, an old memory jolting through him with a pang of sadness.
"Murky," Arthur responded, unfazed. "But old habits…" He trailed off as if it was supposed to make any sense. "Adjusting?"
"Might as well," Steve said, his gaze skimming over the lake and the dark forest looping around it, and the form of the house to their left, a few windows lit up.
"There are worse places to be," Arthur shrugged and picked up a cotton shirt from the grass, pulling it on over his head.
"Is this why you're doing this?" Steve turned to him, but in the dusk that had started to settle over them, Arthur's face was impossible to read. Still, there was a hint of a smile on his lips, his unnerving pale eyes studying Steve for a long moment. "Because being elsewhere is worse?"
"You were not here when those… things came. The end of the world would've been more merciful than their reign."
"Yeah, Barry caught me up on so of that…" Steve trailed off, remembering a long list of casualties. "I've seen things. Seen people walk away from them, too. Not everyone wants to die in a blaze of glory."
Arthur's lips twitched. He let out a short laugh and shook his head. The man was hard not to like, despite his rough demeanor. Hard not appreciate his blunt honestly. It certainly beat the mind games that just about everyone else seemed to be so much into.
If nothing else, they managed to find the people who cared.
Sometimes, Steve thought, it was an achieving in and of itself.
"A reason as good as any," Arthur said at last, starting toward the house. He paused after a few steps and glanced over his shoulder. "You coming?"
xoox
A glass of scotch found its way onto the desk in front of Bruce. The ice cubes clinked in the amber liquid as Alfred set it down before taking a seat in front of the monitors glowing in the semi-darkness of the Batcave.
"You don't look happy, Master Wayne," he noted. "Not that it's been a frequent occurrence in the past 30 years." Bruce's lips twitched into a humorless smirk. "Anything in particular this time, sir?"
Bruce picked up the glass and took a small sip before setting it down again. His fingers tapped on the desktop, his brows furrowed. "Mistakes."
Alfred followed his gaze to one of the screens that was showing a live feed from the security camera mounted over the porch. The light was on, the door was open, and Steve Trevor was standing with his back to the house, his posture rigid. He looked left, then right, as if trying to see beyond the circle of the light, eyes straining to find the black shadow of the forest on the other side of the house. And then he turned around and stepped into the house.
"Ms. Prince didn't look particularly happy, either." Alfred said. "If his presence bothers you so much, why don't you make him leave?"
"Democracy. Apparently, we have it here now."
"Well, that's what happens when there's more than one person on the team," Alfred noted diplomatically, earning a stink-eye from Bruce.
"My bad," he muttered, earning a raised eyebrow and an impassive look in return. "Why did you vote in favour of him, Alfred?"
The older man leaned back in his chair. He linked his fingers together, rested them on his stomach and glanced at Bruce, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Wasn't this whole thing your idea, Master Wayne?"
Bruce frowned. "How?"
"Bringing the people with special skills together to fight against… whatever comes next. That was the plan, or am I wrong?"
"Steve Trevor has no special skills," Bruce pointed out flatly.
"With all due respect, sir, but if being twice as old as me and looking twice as young is not special, I don't know what is."
"I was just surprised, is all." Bruce rubbed his chin. His gaze flickered to the screen when the porch light went off, its timer running out. "He's a stranger, we know nothing about him."
"They were all strangers two months ago, and look what you've accomplished together." A fact, not even an argument at this point. "It's not like you had to do anything you didn't want to do, Master Wayne. You could have refused"
Bruce's jaw clenched. "Waller."
"And since when is her opinion of any concern to you? It's never been an issue before."
Bruce pressed his lips together before answering, "She doesn't do anything without a reason. I want to know what her game is."
Alfred raised an eyebrow.
"So it's not about the team, then." He paused. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry, sir."
Bruce turned to him, confused. "About your vote?"
Alfred's face softened. "About Ms. Prince." When Bruce didn't respond, he stood up and headed toward the stairs. "The dinner will be ready in forty minutes. It would do you a world of good to leave this place now and then."
xoox
Italy, 1947
He was awoken at dawn by Diana pressing slow, light kisses to his chest, her hair tickling his skin and his body responding to her touch before his mind knew to do it.
"Morning," she whispered, moving her lips up his throat and along his jaw. Steve's breath caught momentarily. He exhaled slowly, savouring the anticipation of immense pleasure building up inside him, flaring up with every touch of her fingers, her lips.
"Have you slept at all?" He asked in a low, groggy voice, amused.
"Mm-hm," Diana hummed noncommittally, her mouth reaching a spot behind his ear that made coherent thinking impossible, her hands trailing over his skin doing something absolutely wonderful, something that was making him forget his own name and everything else in creation. "I dreamed of you," she murmured, shifting to toss her leg over his hips, sweet weight in his arms.
Steve's hands slid up her back, her skin warm and silk-smooth under his touch, pulling her down to him, kissing her properly. "I'm not sure I'm awake yet," he muttered with a small chuckle against her mouth.
She laughed, soft around the edges in the early-morning daze. One eyebrow arched, she framed his face with her hands and caught his gaze. "I beg to differ."
Yeah, well… She was not wrong. A hand of the small of her back, Steve rolled them over, spilling her on the sheets, burying himself in her, capturing a surprised sound that escaped her mouth with his. Deep longing and searing desire ricocheted through him with aching intensity. He nuzzled into her hair, arching into her, meeting her rock for rock.
Diana tilted her head, fitting her mouth to his, carrying him through waves of desperate, blissful pleasure. "I love you," she murmured in Greek, the words he grew to recognize over the years, her habit to slip into the language most familiar to her in the moments when there was no need for control.
It never failed to undo him in the best way, never failed to make his blood boil.
He found her lips with his, kissed along her neck as the sun rose over the horizon, bathing the room in the golden light, and the tide was whispering to them in the oldest language of all. He was not dreaming, but he might as well be.
"Let go, Diana," Steve murmured in her ear as they moved, losing themselves in one another and finding each other again. "Let go."
xoox
Gotham, 2017
Steve's eyes snapped open, the white ceiling above him looking grey in the pre-dawn light, and his breathing short, the remnants of half-dream and half-memory making his heart beat faster and his blood flow like molten lava in his veins. He let out a slow breath, his chest heaving, a thin film of sweat clinging to his skin. Some memories, Steve had learned a long time ago, had a tendency to come back when he least expected them, knocking his carefully constructed world off-balance.
Wistfully, he thought that these days, it was only in the brief moments between dreaming and wakefulness, when the veil between the worlds was thin that he remembered what happiness used to feel like.
He pushed away the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up, waiting for his breathing to even out. Egyptian cotton was smooth and soft against his skin, but his body felt like an exposed nerve, prickling with the energy that hummed beneath his skin, making him want to claw his way out of it.
Steve closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face, pushing his fingers through his tousled hair. Rubbed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Decades of learning to exist in this world anew, and they were all undone in two days, chasing the comfort of whatever normalcy he'd managed to achieve away, his eyes sore from too little sleep and his mind on fire. It had been too long since he had to dance to someone else's tune, and the inability to walk away from this situation frustrated him. Wasn't it what he was fighting for? The freedom to make his own choices?
Then again, he needed to figure out what Waller wanted from him, how she even found him, and maybe this was what he needed, somewhere to start perhaps. Not a place, per se, so much as a break from everything else, a chance to get some answers without raising any suspicion. Maybe he could stop running away. Maybe he would finally get to the point of never having to again.
He could deal with Diana.
He could—
Steve sighed.
Maybe this was not the worst outcome after all.
The place was quiet, the commotion and the easy chat over dinner the previous night that dispersed the stillness of the house nowhere to be found. His steps echoed in the empty hallway as he headed toward the sitting room in hopes of finding Alfred – the only person who seemed to be both informed and also willing to share that information. If Steve was going to be a part of this, whatever it was, he figured he might as well find out what he was being dragged into before it was too late.
It was the sound of the cutlery clattering in the kitchen and the memory of the previous morning that got him to stop in his tracks and the change his course of direction, heading there instead.
It hadn't even occurred to him that it could be someone else other than Alfred there, or maybe Barry, until he saw Diana pull a cup from one of the cupboards as a coffee machine sitting on the counter beeped and turned off, the air around them filled with strong, bitter smell. Strong enough to make his heart run faster before he even took the first sip.
Or maybe it was her.
He paused, uncertain as to what the protocol was, but before he could flee – something that felt like the most natural response – Diana closed the cupboard door and looked up, noticing him in the entryway, seemingly just as taken aback as he was.
"Hey," Steve muttered and cleared his throat.
Diana hesitated, and then nodded. "Good morning." A pause stretched between them, thick and endless. "Coffee?" She offered after a few moments, the first one to snap out of it. She reached for another cup before Steve could respond, and suddenly running away was not an option.
"Yeah... thanks," he murmured, stepping into the kitchen. He didn't need his sanity that much anyway.
After all the years of holding nothing but a memory of her, it was odd to have a real person made of flesh and blood stand before him. No wonder he couldn't help staring at her, half in awe and half in fear that she was going to disappear before his eyes like a billow of smoke.
She nodded as if it wasn't a done deal already, and then handed him the cup – black, no cream, no sugar – without his having to ask for it, making Steve wonder what else she remembered about him. Which, in its turn, made him wonder how many things he knew about her that were so deeply ingrained into his memory he would carry them across several lifetimes. More than he was willing to admit, always lingering in the back of his mind.
Like that she took her coffee with cream and sugar.
Or that she used to like wearing his shirts, claiming it made her feel closer to him.
Or that she loved everything about the ocean.
Or that Steve loved everything about her. Couldn't not to. The past nearly seven decades proved as much.
He took the cup from her, their fingers brushing briefly, causing him to nearly jerk his hand away as if her touch shocked him with a jolt of electric static, his breath catching momentarily. He gripped the cup tight, the drink sloshing inside it.
Steve cleared his throat and muttered, "It's hot," on the off-chance that Diana had noticed.
She didn't seem to.
Instead, she refilled the coffee maker and turned it on again, and then looked at him, her gaze assertive.
"You're still here," she said - a statement (albeit a surprised one), not a question.
He shrugged. "So it seems."
"I thought you'd leave."
"Do did I."
She tapped her fingers on the granite countertop and nodded, glancing away for a moment. He followed gaze to the smooth surface of the lake outside the glass wall.
"There is no paper trail. Nothing on you, no proof that you're still alive," Diana spoke just as he decided that maybe he could just take his coffee and leave; that the conversation had run out of its course. "It's like you don't exist. Haven't for a very long time."
She met his eyes again.
"You looked," Steve said.
"I did."
He nodded, feeling like one of those toys that people put on the dashboards, those that bobbed their heads up and down, unable to stop. Like his neck was unhinged or something. He wondered then if this was the first time she'd done it, or if she tried to find him before. The thought made his heartbeat stutter and trip over itself.
"Is there a question in there somewhere?" He asked.
Diana leaned against the counter, arms folded over her chest. "Idle curiosity."
Steve followed the outline of her regal profile when she glanced out the window again, looking like she was cut out of a piece of marble. She was wearing a plain white tank top, and Steve's fingers itched to trace its straps, skim over the olive skin of her shoulders. From this close, he could smell something floral of her. Perfume maybe, or her shampoo, and it making him ache on the inside.
He took a sip of his coffee to divert his thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere. It was hot, burning his tongue and making it damn hard not to grimace. The taste was excellent though, which wasn't that surprising, considering where he was. Which somehow was all the more frustrating.
It was like his place was too good to be real. State of the art house, the bed so comfortable he couldn't even sleep in it, the food that tasted like it was made for royalty – all belonging to the man who had enough money to buy half of this city but who chose instead to bring justice upon the guilty. It was like Steve was waiting for this bubble to burst.
And Diana…
He met her eyes when she turned to him again.
"I'm a good spy," he offered with a wistful smile as if it explained everything.
And maybe it did. After all, he never particularly wanted to be found.
She nodded. "Always have been," her voice was nothing but a whoosh of breath.
All those years later, and he still couldn't understand the logic behind missing her more when she was standing right in front of him than when they were thousands of miles apart. It was about perspective, he thought absently. Wanting something unattainable was easier than craving what was right before him.
"Are you really doing this?" She asked him, and when he glanced up again, she was studying him like she was trying to see past the layers of the proverbial armour he'd been hiding under ever since he'd carved her out of his life but forgot to fill the gaping hole that she'd left behind.
"Looks like it."
"Because of Amanda Waller?"
The name made Steve flinch inwardly. "Because I need answers," he responded vaguely.
"About what?" She tilted her head, her eyes narrowed quizzically.
"I'm not sure yet," he admitted.
She was shaking her head, "I know all of this must seem like a joke to you-"
"You know me better than that, Diana," he stopped her.
"Do I?"
Her words landed on him like a blow. The one he probably deserved, Steve thought, but knowing that didn't make it hurt any less. They sucked all air out of the room, too, leaving him all but gasping for breath.
"Look, I know this is not the most fortunate turn of—" Steve started and faltered. "I'll find another place to stay. It's just… all of this happened so fast, but I don't want to—well, I don't want to inconvenience anyone here. Like… you. And your-" he thought he'd choke on the word. What was he? A boyfriend? A partner? A lover? Oh boy… It was safer to stick to something safe. "Bruce."
Diana's eyebrow arched. "My Bruce?"
"You know what I mean."
"I'm sure I have no idea."
"Right." Steve cleared his throat. They were not going to have this conversation. He'd honestly rather climb into another airplane stuffed to the brim with explosives than discuss her love life. The one that he wasn't a part of. Just another point on the long list of his mistakes.
"Don't do it on my account," clutching her mug, Diana stepped around him, heading for the door. "Don't move out because of me. I don't live here."
Steve blinked, surprised. "You don't?" His eyebrows pulled together as he turned around after her.
"I don't," she repeated. "I'm going back to Paris."
To be continued...
A/N: More coming soon, stay tuned!