Author's note: It's been a while, I know, I've been dealing with some personal stuff. I do hope you guys are excited about the soon-to-begin filming of the second film, and in the meantime - please dig in!
Gotham, 2017
"A leaking gas tank, my ass," Bruce muttered under his breath as he hung up his phone, his jaw set tight and frustration radiating off of him in waves.
For a moment, Steve was certain that he would chuck it against the wall in frustration. Instead, Bruce stuffed it angrily into the pocket of his pants, his expression disgusted and dark.
"They had to come up with something," Clark said, not sounding very surprised, even though his brows were creased ever so slightly. "Something that the public would buy. It's not like the cars blow up on the streets of Metropolis every night."
"How does that help?" Bruce demanded and shook his head. He turned to Diana. "Are you okay?"
"Never better, thanks for asking," Steve replied from where he was sitting on the couch with his head tipped back as the late afternoon sun spilling through the glass wall, bathing the room in warm light that did nothing for his raging headache.
Between a sizeable bruise on his shoulder, a black eye, and a cut on his forehead where his head met the pavement, he could pinpoint at least a hundred spots on his body that weren't supposed to hurt but did. Which, admittedly, was a small price for not being inside the car when it was torn to pieces and went up in flames, but he decided to hold off his gratitude for when he could think straight without feeling like he was on the verge of throwing up with every breath.
The 'walking MRI' Cyborg had already told him that he had a concussion, and suspecting it somehow felt slightly less nauseating – no pun intended – than knowing it for a fact. Wasn't the first time. Wasn't the worst thing that had happened to him. Steve still hated it with a passion.
Bruce ignored him, his gaze barely leaving Diana ever since they walked through the door several hours earlier after Clark came to pick them up and drive them back to Gotham, for lack of other options.
"If it wasn't a leaking tank, then what was it?" Barry asked, his eyes darting from Diana to Bruce to Clark to Steve, eager and inquisitive as Victor, Arthur and Alfred watched them solemnly.
"Perhaps, we've walked into something we should've stayed away from," Steve answered, rubbing his eyes, when the others remained silent.
"No shit," Bruce muttered.
"They could've been after you," Barry told him with a shrug.
"Then it would've exploded in my backyard," Bruce countered rather unkindly.
"Bruce," Diana started with a warning, but he shook his head and walked out of the room without another word as if being around them all was too much to bear.
She followed him to his study, pausing in the doorway, anger simmering beneath her skin.
"Are you done?" She asked coolly.
"Are you done, Diana?"
"If this is about the car-"
"It's not about the car," Bruce interjected. He strode over to the liquor cart and poured himself a generous drink, the line of his shoulders stiff and painful to even look at. "I don't care about the car. You could have died."
Diana folded her arms over her chest. "I seriously doubt it."
"You know better than to be so dismissive about that," he said. "If you were ten feet closer. If you were inside the car. If your boyfriend is so brilliant, should he have seen it coming?"
Her mouth dropped. "You're unbelievable. Steve was the one who got hurt, and you have the audacity to keep acting like it was all his fault. Do you even hear yourself?"
He took a sip, winced as it burned its way down his throat, and finally turned to her. "And what happens when it's not a Jaguar that's at stake but something bigger?"
Her lips pursed into a thin line. "If you want to say something to me, just say it."
"The last time I did, you punched me into a wall," he reminded her.
The memory flared up in her mind the way she'd rather it didn't, hot and furious. "I thought you were done rubbing my loss in my face."
Bruce snickered, his gaze hard. "Is it really a loss when someone doesn't want to be found?"
"This is none of your business, Bruce." Her voice grew cold, bordering on dangerous.
"It was none of my business when the team wasn't involved," he objected. "Tell me, if the sky starts falling down, who are you going to help – the world or Steve Trevor? Who are you going to save when you can't save everyone?"
She stared at him, properly angry and disbelieving. "Are you questioning my ability to make the right decisions for the team?"
"I'm saying that there's no knowing what you'll sacrifice for the man who doesn't even want to be here," he said, his eyes never leaving hers, throwing a dare at her. "You didn't want him here, either. What changed?"
She stepped toward him, and he tensed visibly but didn't move, watching her approach until there was no space left between them.
"And you did," Diana reminded him, each word measured but her voice quivering ever so slightly with barely contained rage nonetheless. "What changed for you?"
"We all make mistakes," Bruce responded. "Ask your Captain Trevor. I bet he's got a few under his belt."
The implication felt like a slap.
"It's not about the team, is it?" She asked quietly, having to put a great deal of effort into not lashing out at him, somewhat certain that it was exactly what he was waiting for. "It's about you and me."
"Is he going to risk his life for yours? After walking away from you?" Bruce watched her eyes grow dark. "I'm not the one who did that. And I'm also not the one who spent decades looking for a picture. Tell me, whose judgement is clouded here."
"Is this what you really think?"
His jaw clenched. "How long are you going to hold on to something that's not there? That hasn't been there for at least half a century? You can't possibly still be-"
"Don't," she stopped him. "Don't say something that we won't be able to walk away from."
"You mean the truth?" He snickered.
And just like that, they were dangerously close to the line that neither could afford to cross if they wanted their partnership to survive, one way or another.
"I understand your concerns about the League, and I can assure you that I would never do anything to put any of them in danger. But this? This is my life. Stay out of it, Bruce," Diana said coldly in a voice that allowed no room for argument.
He wasn't scared of her, never had been, and in the past, she took it for standing on equal ground – something that she appreciated more than anything else in the world where she was either too much as a hero, or occasionally not enough as a woman. But right now she wished that he was. Wished that he knew better that to keep pushing her boundaries because there was only so far he could go before there was no coming back for both of them.
A knock on the door burst the ice bubble of tension between them.
"Perhaps… tea is not the best idea," Alfred noted from the doorway, his gaze shifting between the two of them.
"Perhaps not," Bruce finished his drink in one gulp and put the glass down on the table so forcefully that it made the pens rattle in the holder and stepped away from her without so much as a parting glance, which, quite frankly, she was grateful for.
When he left, choosing to take the stairs to the Batcave rather than wait all of three seconds for the elevator, Diana let out a long breath and rubbed the corners of her eyes.
"You know, I've been through with making excuses for him for a very long time now," Alfred spoke, catching her by surprise. Diana was certain he'd left already. "And if you walk out of this house right now and never come back, I won't blame you."
She raised her eyes to him. "But?"
Alfred looked past her at the lake beyond the glass wall. "Master Wayne is scared of change more than anything. We all have our own kryptonite, Ms. Prince. We all do and say things we shouldn't when we're scared, and Master Wayne has had a bad track record with losing people he cares about."
"I care about him too, Alfred, but I can't give him what he wants," she said softly.
The feeling of loss was suddenly so overwhelming that she could barely breathe. There was no Steve anymore, his presence but a ghost of what they used to have. Her friendship with Bruce was splitting at the seams because, she was starting to realize, there was no common ground for them here, in this situation. If by any chance the League fell apart, for whatever reason, it would be like having her world knocked off balance once more, and she wondered how many times she could raise from every such fall.
"I know, and he knows it too." Alfred said, his expression softening. "But knowing and accepting are two different things. The latter takes time." He paused, and then added, "Captain Trevor is a good man and he obviously cares for you deeply."
Diana shook her head. "It's been over between us for a very long time."
"Has it, though?" He smiled, a little sad, a little wistful. "If it was, you wouldn't care about what Master Wayne thinks." He hesitated before asking, "May I tell you something?"
She nodded.
"In that woman's office a few weeks ago, when Captain Trevor walked in… there was a moment when your face lit up like nothing I've ever seen," he said. "I believe that the things between you are complicated, but over is not the word I'd use. It is none of my business, Ms. Prince, but if you'll allow me—if he didn't want to be here, I'm certain that he'd have left a long time ago."
She didn't saying anything, just let his words wash over her.
Alfred checked his watch.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I might want to start dinner."
"Alfred," Diana called after him. He turned to her. "Thank you."
When she returned to the lounge, Clark was the only one there, messing with the arrangement of china figurines on the chest by the wall, probably because Bruce didn't appreciate people touching them.
"Where is everyone?" Diana asked.
Clark looked up, leaving the decorations alone. "Steve went to nurse his concussion hoping, and I quote here, that it will kill him before the nausea does." He smiled. "The rest of them decided to get out of the crossfire."
"Bruce was upset," she noted, trying and mostly failing to keep the edge out of her voice.
"He'll get over it," Clark hummed. He studied her. "Are you okay?" And added when a silent question appeared in her eyes, "I tried to ask Lois but there's a girl code apparently, and breaking it is the worst crime of all."
She smiled. "Lois is a very good friend."
"And you're good at doing this," he countered.
"What?"
"Deflecting."
Diana shook her head. "Only because I don't know what to say."
"How about starting from the beginning?" He offered, not prying but giving her an opening that she could take if she ever chose to do so.
"It's a very long story," she admitted.
"The middle is fine."
"I don't know where that is."
Clark's lips quirked. "What about the end?"
Diana looked away, studying the bookshelf and the rows of volumes on it because it was easier than to look in Clark's eye and see the things she wasn't ready to deal with. "Bruce thinks I can't be objective when Steve is involved."
"Bruce thinks many things, it doesn't make them true," Clark shrugged dismissively. "What matters is what you think, Diana."
She turned to him, searching his face although she wasn't quite sure what for. "When the car exploded," she said at last, "Steve tried to shield me. He knows better than anyone in this world that I am the last person to ever need it, and he still—" she bit her lip. "Because it's what he does. It's what he is."
"We all do dumb things on impulse," Clarks agreed, and she laughed, feeling the tension leave her body.
Diana loved that about Clark, the easiness to him that made her feel lighter. He knew better than the rest of them what it was like to be different, if only because it was the only thing they both had ever known. Would she have missed being like everyone else if she knew what it was like?
As for Clark, she wondered sometimes if he was the same person now as before his death, if there was any big revelation to getting a second chance to do things right and fix the mistakes, but she didn't know how to ask, fearful of being intrusive.
"Steve seems like a great guy," he added when she didn't speak. "And smart. He knows just about everything there is to know about the jets. And mechanics. And physics."
"He was a pilot in the Great War," Diana explained. "Not so much afterwards, though. Not after…" She trailed off, the words jamming themselves in her throat. There were, perhaps, losses bigger than time, things that one couldn't get over no matter how much of it had passed. "There was an accident."
Which was one way to put it.
She still dreamed of his plane soaring up into the ink-black sky, the only hope they all had taking away the dreams she had managed to weave the night before. She still woke up in the middle of the night with such emptiness inside of her that her whole body ached. It was always one or the other – save the one person she held most dear, or millions of others. How could they have chosen otherwise? But even after he came back to her, after she'd found him again, the fear remained. The very same one that lived with her still. Sometimes, it felt like she kept losing him every day since the moment they met, even after he stopped being hers.
Clark was watching her, waiting, and it occurred to Diana then that in a century, Steve was the only person who ever knew the whole story, the only one who saw the real her. Before she was the savior and the beacon, as Bruce called her once. She came close to sharing it once, a long time ago, but the weight of the truth seemed like too high a price to pay for the promises she couldn't make and knew they both wouldn't keep. It didn't seem fair, and it also felt odd, too. Too personal to let someone else in.
She wasn't ready. Not then and not now, but Clark was there, and he was willing to listen, and of them all, he was the one who could truly understand because there was no way out for them both. They chose to live fully in this world over staying in the shadows, and there was no knowing if it was the right decision or not, except for the sense of belonging that it gave them, however frail it felt at times.
And so she gave him the abridged version, bare facts devoid of feelings and everything that used to make her blood flow faster. Funny how you could distill a hundred of years to a few sentences that sounded detached, almost flat, when in reality the story behind them was blooming and breathing, alive in its own way.
Clark stayed quiet when she finished, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window unseeingly, seemingly not noticing a picket fence of forest several hundred yards away from the house and a stretch of grass leading toward it.
"His heart beats faster when he looks at you," he said at last. "Or when he hears your voice." He turned to Diana. "I'm not—I wasn't eavesdropping, but sometimes I can't help it," his smile was sheepish, apologetic, although not pitying as she feared.
She dropped her gaze, remembering suddenly that she never even asked Steve if maybe he was with someone else now. If maybe all of this was a minor kink in his life.
"I'm not the one who left him," she said softly.
"You know, I wasn't really dead," he started, faltering, trying to find the words, to pull his thoughts together. "It was like sleeping, only I couldn't wake up. Couldn't remember myself either. Like my life force was alive in its purest form." Clark shook his head, uncertain if he was making any sense and there was something akin awe in his voice over having felt something so profoundly other-earthly. "I was dreaming, of the things I couldn't have but wanted so desperately." His face grew somber. "I remember wanting to live more than anything, even though I didn't quite know what it meant. I still remember that feeling so clearly sometimes."
Diana's brows knitted together as she took in his story.
"All I'm saying is," he finished when her expression remained puzzled, "that some things are not always what they seem on the surface."
"He knew where to find me," she whispered, old hurt creeping into her voice.
"People change, circumstances change. Sometimes you need to step away from something to see the full picture, and sometimes taking that step forward again is the hardest thing." Clark shrugged, and she knew that it was a very simple truth that was often impossible to accept. Did he know that Lois said almost the exact same thing? "I'm not taking any sides, Diana, and if I were, I'd take yours. You're my friend. As is it, though, this whole situation has nothing to do with me, but… I can't imagine a scenario in which a man whose pulse goes crazy around you would want to shield someone else from a bomb. I bet he wouldn't try to shield me."
"You don't need it," she told him.
"Not the point."
"You don't know Steve," she added, feeling warmth blossom in her stomach. "He might have done it still."
He smiled and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants. "You know him well enough to have this argument."
She had never felt more cornered even though she had no idea what he had cornered her into. Believing, perhaps. Back to square one because wasn't that where it all started in the first place? She believed in saving the world, enough to leave Themyscira with Steve, and he believed in her.
A very unsavoury curse appeared on the tip of her tongue. She clenched her jaw to keep it from slipping out.
In the end, Clark shook his head, chuckling. "Wanna come over for dinner sometime this week?" He asked, stirring their conversation back towards neutral ground. "I'm on cooking duty. We could have a Taco Thursday or something. I hear the food is in short supply here. At least when Barry is around." Which was never a secret.
"I think it's called Taco Tuesday."
"Who cares?" He chuckled. "I could even go big and leave you and Lois alone with bottle of wine to talk about everything that I'm genetically unable to understand."
Diana laughed. "Don't sell yourself short, Clark."
"So, what do you think?"
"It sounds good," she promised. "Very good. Thank you. I'll let you know."
He nodded, then glanced toward the hallway, and back at her. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Yes," she said. Somehow. Someday. "I am."
xoox
He hated bloody concussions, Steve thought, lying sprawled on his bed like a starfish and feeling the room sway around him. He squeezed his eyes shut but it didn't help. If nothing else, his stomach twisted again, and he snapped them wide open, choosing to focus on the chandelier over his head the way sailors were advised to focus on the horizon line to reduce sea sickness.
It didn't help.
Now, broken bones he could understand but a slightly bruised brain was an awful inconvenience that didn't even hurt, strictly speaking. It was merely a nuisance that was a pain to deal with.
Last night in Metropolis, he came to with his head cradled in Diana's hands and the acrid smell of burning plastic and paint, and the heat from the fire licking at his skin. Her face hovering over his was pale, her eyes wide and frightened, glistening in the light of raging flames.
It reminded him, oddly, of the day she pulled him out of the water on Themyscira in what felt like a different lifetime now, so maybe there was some truth to how history tended to repeat itself in the strangest ways. Except it was dark, and cold, and Diana's expression was a little panicked instead of curious. The warmth of her touch to his cheeks made him shiver.
"Steve." She smiled, and it was watery and weak, and he loved it more than anything.
They were far enough away from the car to avoid being hurt, however after getting unnecessarily familiar with the wall earlier, his skull did not appreciate being smacked into the asphalt. It was perhaps a miracle that he ended up with a mild concussion and not a brain hemorrhage, even if it was a total bitch nonetheless.
Steve remembered the sirens of the firetrucks, the demands of the police for everyone to stay back. Remembered Diana hauling him up to his feet and the earth swaying a little beneath him as she wrapped her arm around his waist and put her hand on his shoulder, the fire reflecting in her eyes when he looked at her. Remembered needing to throw up but managing to avoid it, somehow, even though the blinking lights and the wailing around them was making his stomach coil. She smelled good, that was the one thing that anchored itself clearly in Steve's mind, and felt reassuringly warm standing near him in the chilly night.
She had to call Clark to ask him to come and get them before texting Bruce or someone else from the League to tell them what happened. Bruce called her when they were on the way back to Gotham, with Steve sprawled in the back on Clark's car, trying really hard not to die as the mouth of all headaches tried to pound its way out of his skull. He couldn't hear what she was saying, only the sound of her voice in the periphery of his attention as they swam in and out of headlights on the highway.
He remembered her reaching between the seats to squeeze his hand, briefly. Or maybe he dreamed it, seeing as how the world felt soft around the edges, fading out at times.
Steve rubbed his forehead as if it could chase the headache away and winced. He'd been awake for close to 30 hours now, exhausted beyond comprehension, but he felt too wired to sleep. He pushed up to sit with a grimace and reached for the suit jacket hanging on the back of the chair. Found the flash drive and plugged it into his laptop.
A knock on the door startled him, and he looked up just as the door opened a crack, and then wider when Alfred saw him sitting at the desk.
"Thought you might appreciate this," he said, setting a cup of tea and a glass of water before Steve and then pulling a bottle of Tylenol out of the pocket of his vest and placing it next to them.
"You're a marvel, Alfred," Steve smiled weakly, reaching for the pills.
"I'll put it on my resume," Alfred noted. "Shouldn't you be resting, Captain?" He asked, his gaze flickering briefly toward the laptop.
"Can't," Steve shook his head. "I don't think I'm supposed to, either. Besides…" He gestured vaguely toward the laptop. "Thanks for that program, by the way."
"Did you find anything?"
"Not sure yet," Steve admitted. "Diana might work it out, though. I think. I'm not quite sure what we were after, to be honest. The art… it's her domain, not mine."
A shadow passed over Alfred's face. "Can I ask you something, Captain?"
"Sure." Steve nodded, and decided to never ever do that again.
Alfred's frown deepened. "Do you have any idea what happened there?"
"No. Your guess is as good as mine." He paused. "But it wasn't a gas tank."
The older man nodded. "Of course, not." His jaw worked for a moment as if he was going to add something else, but reconsidered the last moment. "Well, you should get some rest, Captain," he said, turning to leave. "It will do you good."
"Thank you," Steve called after him.
The idea seemed ludicrous, though. Somehow, the adrenaline rush was still making his hands shake just a little – the feeling all too familiar to brush it off like it was nothing. He shook two Tylenol pills out of a bottle and washed them down with water before turning back to the screen. He tried to remember the people they saw, the people they talked to, but the previous night was a blur in his head.
Maybe later, when the fog had lifted, he'd be able to remember something useful.
Steve rubbed his eyes and let out a weary sigh.
It took him a good couple of hours to go through every file on the flash drive, but most of them meant nothing to him. They might have as well been in Swahili so foreign the legalese looked to him. There were many of them though, some - he figured – were transaction records, others looked like assessment reports but the items, if they were about art pieces at all, were coded. The numbers and figures might be referring to anything. For all Steve knew, this was all useless.
He knew that Diana would pursue the retrieval of the painting, but chances were that it would be the only thing to come out of their trip.
He closed all windows, feeling a new kind of headache blossoming behind his eyes, the one that was rooted in frustration, and stood up. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a thought he didn't quite seem to grasp, yet unable shake it off, either.
That, or maybe it was an exhaustion- and concussion-induced paranoia.
He needed to give the flash drive to Diana. She would know what to make of it, perhaps. This was her world after all, not his.
Steve grimaced a little. He'd spent the past few hours trying not to think of her going after Bruce this afternoon. Trying not to think of kissing her in Darrell Quinn's office last night, the taste of her so imprinted on his mouth he could feel it even now. Did she tell Bruce Wayne about it? Or about him seeing her half-naked in Lois's apartment? Christ, he just needed to give the man another reason to dislike him.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly too tired to care. It wasn't personal, he knew that. None of that was. She only took him with her for lack of better options. There was no use in pretending otherwise.
Steve crossed the room and yanked the door open to go find Diana—
-only to see her standing on the other side, about to knock.
She lowered her hand and offered him a hesitant smile. "Hi."
"Hey," he echoed, caught suddenly off guard.
She had showered and changed since the last time he saw her. He could smell something sweet on her, and her hair was still slightly damp and falling down her shoulders in heavy coils. Could she hear his heart beating? All this time, and he never learned how to be around her without feeling like he could hardly breathe.
"Is… everything okay?" His brows knitted together as he braced himself for the crisis du jour, unable to think of any other reason for her appearance.
"Yes. Yes, it is," Diana assured him. "I just… I wanted to see if you were okay."
"Oh." Speak of unexpected. "I'm good." He nodded for emphasis and regretted it immediately. Again. "Alfred gave me something for the… uh, headache. So I'm… fine. Great. Never better."
"Never?" Her eyebrow arched, a tiny smile making its return.
Steve felt the tension seep out of his body.
"Okay, maybe not never," he admitted after a moment.
It wasn't Diana's fault that he was here, that he had no idea what he was doing. That he couldn't quite cope with the fact that she'd moved on when he very obviously hadn't. She didn't ask for it and he couldn't continue punishing her for trying to live her life – something that he wanted her to do more than anything.
Steve cleared his throat. "I was actually—I was going to find you."
"Me?" She looked surprised.
In the quiet hallway, their voices sounded oddly loud and out of place and he couldn't help but drop his a notch. For a moment, he watched the thin fabric of her shirt move as she breathed, which got him thinking about her chest rising and falling against his as she kissed him. Which got him thinking—
He really needed that sleep.
"Yeah, I-" Steve practically shoved the flash drive into her hand. "I wanted to give you this." God bless conversation pieces. "Thought maybe what's on it would make more sense to you." He cleared his throat again and wondered if she was going to ask whether he also had a cold in addition to a concussion. God help him…
Diana took it, her forehead creasing thoughtfully. "Did you find anything?" She asked.
"I wasn't really sure what to look for," he said, a hesitant frown appearing between his brows.
"What is it, Steve?"
"Nothing, probably," he shook his head. "I don't know." He let out a breath. "LexCorp was mentioned quite a few times, but it might not mean anything. Some of the documents have no time stamp on them so it's hard to tell how far back they date. And… you said that Lex Luthor was involved with charities and art and whatnot."
Her fingers closed around it. "Thank you. I will have a look."
"Thank you," he said. "For getting it."
She nodded. "Of course." Her eyes rose to the band aid covering the cut on his forehead, just below the hairline. "Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?"
She'd asked him that already. And so did Clark, and so did Alfred. And Barry, whose exact words were Dude, this is so sick! Are you gonna die? And it did sound like admiration of sorts but Steve wasn't entirely sure.
"Been worse," he shrugged dismissively.
"I seem to remember that," she breathed.
"They can't tell me anything I don't already know," he added.
She nodded again.
The pause settled between them, not uncomfortable but very present. His fingers itched to rake through her hair, he wanted to taste her again.
Bruce appeared at the end of the hallway, pausing when he spotted them, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set tautly. Looking past Diana's shoulder, Steve held his gaze, lips pursed tight, reminded once again that he was a barely wanted guest here, having no claim on the woman before him.
She had to have told him about the kiss, and everything else. Diana was anything but dishonest. And now the Batman was probably after his head.
Great.
Not that he cared. He wasn't trying to—he wouldn't-
After a second, Bruce stepped into his bedroom, and Steve let out a shuddered breath.
"Steve?" A concerned frown was back on Diana's face as she watched him, her head tilted quizzically. She glanced over her shoulder, but the hallway was empty and dark.
He dragged his gaze back to hers, suddenly very aware of how close she was. It took all of his willpower not to take a step back, knowing that she'd see right through it, and that she'd be hurt, and she was not to blame for his petty jealousy that he had no right to own.
"Sorry," he muttered, running a hand over his hair. "I'm a bit tired, I guess. It's been a long day… two days, actually. Maybe we need to sleep."
Not 'we' together. Did she hear it that way? Just stop talking.
His face flushed, the heat creeping up his neck. What the hell was his problem? It was entirely and utterly unfair that while the other people living here possessed super strength or super speed or super everything, his one and only superpower seemed to be ending up with his foot in his mouth with enviable regularity. He needed to get the hell out of this house.
How did she manage to move on? And why couldn't he?
Steve grimaced a little, but Diana didn't seem at all concerned about his linguistic fails.
"Of course." She paused. "And if you need anything…"
"Yeah, thanks. So I'll probably…" He wasn't sure where he was going with this while he tried not to think of where Diana was going to spend the next undefined period of time. Bruce's room, most likely. Now that definitely wasn't a mental image he needed. "Nothing some rest won't fix."
Christ, he sounded like a bumper sticker.
"Okay, well…"
"Goodnight, Diana," he breathed, stepping back into his room.
"Goodnight," she echoed softly – the last thing he heard as he closed the door.
xoox
The only other picture that Diana had of Steve, aside from the prized photograph taken in Veld in 1918 that was too fragile for travel and that stayed indefinitely in Paris, was a snapshot taken by a street photographer in Florence on a gloomy day in the late 1940's during their trip to Italy.
The wind was harsh and unforgiving, tugging at their hair and clothes, turning their cheeks pink. The day was promising more rain as they walked up the narrow streets to Piazzale Michelangelo overlooking the expanse of the city, hands clasped together and fingers entwined for warmth and comfort. There, among the replicas of works of the famous sculptor, Steve took pity on the lone photographer who chose the wrong time to come looking for clientele, shivering in the too-thin coat.
On the photo, they were supposed to be looking at the camera, frozen near the railing running in semi-circle around the small, picturesque square. However, just as the shutter went off, a flock of birds took off into the sky, startled by something, and Diana turned after them, distracted, leaving them with the image of her with her face upturned to the birds soaring toward the low grey clouds and Steve looking at her with a small, tender smile, his expression wondrous. Like he couldn't believe that the moment they shared was real.
She remembered that trip with striking clarity. Not the places they had visited or the things they had seen – even though she fell in love with the Pantheon and decided that she could wander endless halls of museums for hours on end, never tiring of them – so much as the feeling of deep, infinite contentment. Lazy mornings and slow days, the smell of the ocean and cries of seagulls, cold hands and the taste of bitter coffee. Steve's laughter. Kisses that stole their breaths away. She had never been happier.
Diana forgot all about this photograph. She assumed that Steve had it. After all, back then it seemed to her that they didn't need to bottle up those moments for later; that they would have each other for as long as they lived. She found it again in one of Steve's books when she was packing for London to start her job at the British Museum.
It was old and faded now, frayed a little around the edges from being carried in her books or purses for close to half a century, the grey sky above their heads yellowed from time. And yet she was still looking up with the same marvelous expression, and Steve was still gazing at her like she was the finest creation ever to exist.
Alone in her room, she pulled it out. Her finger traced his form, frozen in time.
It had been a while since she'd looked at it, choosing not to cut the old wounds open just as they started to scar. The solace of owning it was enough.
Studying it now, she tried to read their faces, see beyond the easy smiles, beyond the simplicity of the moment. Could they have known back then how this story was going to end? She wanted him gone now, her chest caving in every time he'd look away from her, or step out of her way as if he was scared to touch her for fear of being burned. And yet she couldn't bear the thought of it, of the final goodbye. There was never supposed to be one.
These days, she could no longer read him as easily as she used to before, and she was wondering now if she simply forgot how to, or if Steve grew a whole new armour to keep her away. He fit, though. He fit with the League; everyone– maybe short of Bruce – was fascinated by him. Even Arthur who was the hardest one to impress. Even Alfred whose loyalty to Bruce always dictated his allegiances.
He fit in her life, too. In small ways. She liked hearing the sound of his voice in the kitchen talking to Alfred or bickering half-heartedly with Barry, or humming something under his breath, or deflecting Victor's quips. It was easy and familiar, and her heart ached for more. For his smile that didn't feel plastic, for the easy conversations they used to have without dancing around the words that never seemed quite right anymore.
She missed kissing him the way she did last night, without thinking, without caring. Missed having his hands on her body, sure and possessive in just the way she liked, knowing exactly where to touch her. Missed having what they had, and a part of her wanted nothing more than to crawl into his arms and make him promise her over and over again that he would never leave her.
She wanted their dreams back, but she didn't want to get hurt anymore.
Diana sighed and put the photograph away. It wasn't even Steve's choice to be here, Bruce was right about that. If it wasn't for Amanda Waller, he wouldn't be, and that seemed like a flimsy bridge to put her heart on. He'd made his decision nearly 70 years ago. She only wished she knew how to live with it.
She booted her laptop and plugged the flash drive into it.
Three folders that copied from Quinn's laptop were financial statements and income forms, some balance sheets regarding the hotel, a few letters she dismissed because they had nothing to do with his charity work or art collection. Among them were appraisal reports and purchase forms but cracking the codes that stood for individual items – a rather common practice used on the off-chance that they fall into wrong hands – might take some time.
She rubbed her forehead, feeling exhaustion of the day catch up with her as the adrenaline rush that carried her through the past twelve hours dissolved into nothing.
And then her gaze snatched a familiar name from the list before her. Diana's brows pulled together, frustration rising inside of her in tidal waves.
She pushed up to stand, pacing the room as she tried to fit the pieces of puzzle together, albeit with little success.
For that, she was going to need something stronger than Google.
She grabbed her phone, pushing a speed-dial button as she headed out of the door and toward the elevator to the Batcave.
Lois picked up after the second ring.
"Hi," Diana breathed into the receiver, prepared for the onslaught of questions to pour into her ear. And smiled when it did. "Yes, I'm fine. We're fine, thank you." She looked around the quiet house, her eyes darting toward the end of the hallway and the door to Steve's room but she looked away just as quickly. "You have a minute?"
xoox
Themyscira, 1945
In the pale moonlight, the sand looked silver and sort, melting into the ocean as they made their way down the path leading from the cliffs. It was a different beach, not the one where Diana had dragged him out of the water and so many of her sisters lost their lives. This one was on the other side of the island, a quiet bay where the waves were tame and the currents less vicious.
"What do you think?" Diana asked, letting go of his hand as they stepped onto the sand.
Steve watched her chest rise as she inhaled the fresh, cool air.
He glanced up at the sky dotted with brilliant stars, so much brighter here than he'd ever seen, framing the halo of the half-moon beaconing them to the horizon.
"Depends," he said, revelling in the breeze coming from the sea after a stifling hot day. "What do you have in mind?"
Without a word, Diana reached down to untie the straps of her sandals that were snaking up her calves and dropped them to the sand. He glanced at him over her shoulder and undid the clasps that held her armour in place.
Steve's mouth went dry.
"You can't-" he started hoarsely, his gaze drawn momentarily to the cliffs above them, certain that he was about to see the night guards there, but the white rocks remained empty, towering silently over them.
When he turned to Diana, her armour was already lying on top of her sandals. She wasn't looking at him, but Steve had a distinct suspicion that she took special care of shimming out of her undergarment for his benefit as his eyes followed the lines of her lithe body.
"Yeah, I guess you can do that…" he mumbled, watching thin fabric fall to her feet.
She raised her eyes to meet his, and he swallowed soundly, allowing his gaze to dip down her body before he lifted it to hers again, all to find a wicked smile and every promise he'd ever want to see painted across her face.
Desire crazed through him like a strike of lightning, his mouth opening to protest when she turned around and started toward the water. She paused when her toes touched the waves and glanced over her shoulder.
"Steve?"
He took a breath and willed a smile into existence.
"I don't have my swimwear on me."
She grinned. "Good thing you don't need it."
He watched her wander into the ocean, and by the time the water reached her thighs, he was hopping on a spot as he tried to pull his shoes off, far less graceful that Diana could ever be. She never once looked back, assuming that he would follow, and Steve had no intention to prove her wrong. He pulled off his shirt, hesitating for another moment before parting with the rest of his clothes, unable to stop glancing at the cliffs as if half expecting someone to shoot an arrow at him before he so much as touched the Queen's daughter.
His indecisiveness was short lived, though. If that was how he was going to die, then so be it. He couldn't think of a better way to go.
The water was pleasantly cool, rising goosebumps along his skin as he waded into it, allowing it to hug his ankles, his claves, his thighs. In the blackness all around them, not disturbed by the city lights he was so used to, it looked like the sea was melting into the sky. The waves enveloped his chest and Steve pushed away from the sandy bottom, allowing them to cradle his body.
"Diana?" He looked around, but saw nothing but the gentle sway of the ocean. "Diana!" The only sounds around him were the whisper of the trees up on the cliffs and the lapping of the waves against the shore. "Come on…." He muttered.
She appeared out of the water right before him, startling him and making his heart slam against his ribcage. He didn't move though, his eyes glued to hers. She smiled and smoothed her hands over her hair, slicking it back from her face. With the droplets glistening on her eyelashes and that self-indulgent smile that he knew so well, she looked every bit the goddess that she was. So beautiful it almost hurt.
"Feels good, yes?" She asked, tilting her head just the slightest bit and placing her hands on his shoulders to keep them close.
"Mm-hm," Steve hummed noncommittally.
She laughed softly. "The water."
His arms slid around her waist. "Yeah, that too." Steve looked at the cliffs again. "What if someone sees us?"
"Then they will pretend that they didn't," Diana whispered.
"Oh boy," he breathed out. It had been two weeks, and so far the reaction to his appearance was mostly curiosity mixed with amusement, primarily over his surprise regarding their ways. But half the time he still waited to be dragged back to the caves, the memory of it stronger than he ever thought it could be.
With her finger on his chin, Diana turned his face to her. "It's just us, Steve."
"I can see that." His gaze dropped to her slightly parted lips, heat careening through him with a new force. "Just don't want to get in trouble for doing this." He dipped his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the side of her throat, sucking hard. He smiled when her breath hitched and her nails dug into his skin.
"You won't," Diana murmured, weaving her arms around his neck.
"Or this." His mouth moved to the spot behind her ear.
She muttered something under her breath, in Greek if he wasn't mistaken.
"You were saying?" He whispered, kissing the water off her skin.
Weightless in the sea, she wrapped her long legs around his hips, and Steve lost track of his explorations as well as his breathing. Her hand moved to his cheek, tipping his face to her, watching his eyes grow dark with want.
"Diana."
She smiled, her thumb running over his cheekbone. God, I want you so much, Steve thought.
"I've always wanted to do this," she confessed.
He blinked. "Do what?"
His grip on her tightened, her gaze dipping to his mouth, her hand gripping the hair on the nape of his neck. "This," she repeated.
Steve's eyes widened, his need for her pulsing in his veins like it had a life of its own. He knew that she was perfectly aware of what she was saying, what she was doing to him. She seemed to be enjoying herself quite a bit, too. And he was more than willing to let her. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.
Had there been a whole Amazon army somewhere above them, with their arrows pointed at him, it wouldn't be enough to make him pull away from her in this moment.
"Goddammit," Steve swore before crashing his mouth to hers and taking her under the water with him.
xoox
Gotham, 2017
In his several weeks in Gotham, Steve wondered if the people here had to sell their souls for a glimpse of the sun, and now that it was shining bright in the cold October sky, so piercing blue that it hurt to look, he couldn't quite believe it. He stepped out of a café in the business centre of Gotham, a cup of coffee in his hand, and squinted in the sunlight, shivering a little. It was not cold so much as it was windy, the chilly gusts snaking under his jacket and raising goosebumps along his spine.
All the same, it was a good day to get out of the house.
He paused in his tracks when he spotted a black car parked near his bike at the curb, so clean and shiny that it was hard to believe that someone drove it here across the gritty city without getting so much as a puddle splash on it. The very same car that wasn't there five minutes ago.
Amanda Waller was leaning against its polished hood, her hands stuck into the pockets of her thick cashmere coat, watching him walk down the steps toward her. Steve's stomach tightened with half-foreboding and half-frustration.
If only he knew that the key to finding her was not trying to, he'd done it a long time ago.
He slowed down, his steps measured as he approached her.
Waller straightened up and gave him a once-over, seemingly interested in the not quite faded shiner under his left eye.
"Captain Trevor," she said flatly. "I heard you were looking for me."
Yeah, two weeks ago.
"I heard you were hard to find," Steve responded in kind, the smell of his coffee suddenly not in the least appetizing.
"I've been busy," she noted, either not noticing his irritation, or choosing to ignore it. "Anything I can help you with?"
"You lied to me," he said, only barely keeping his voice in check. It would probably do him no good to yell at a government agent in the middle of the street, but there was also a chance that he might stop caring about it very soon.
Waller arched her eyebrows at him. "About what?"
"When you offered me a deal, you knew… you knew about-"
"Your ex-girlfriend?" She offered. "I didn't lie about it, Captain Trevor. I merely never mentioned it."
"A lie by omission is still a lie."
"And no, I didn't know about you," she continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I suspected and a suspicious doesn't amount to much these days. It's not like Diana Prince bares her soul on every corner, you should know that." Her gaze was sharp, certain.
Steve stared at her.
She tilted her head, studying him for a long moment, and then turned on her heel and headed toward the square across the street, teeming with pigeons and businessmen on their lunch break, both equally disappointed by how deceiving the sun was, offering the light but none of the warmth.
"Walk with me," Waller said over her shoulder, and for a second, Steve contemplated hopping on his bike and speeding the hell away from here. If she needed him, she could damn well try to chase after him for once. And then he shook his head, dumped his untouched coffee into the trash bin and hurried after her.
"I want out," he said, falling into step with her. She wasn't walking fast, but he couldn't help but feel that there was a destination she had in mind. That, or maybe she always walked like she was on a mission.
"Out of what?" She asked, and Steve grimaced.
She knew damn well what he meant. They both did, and he was tired of her games.
"Out of Bruce Wayne's house, for one thing," he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket as well and pulling his head into the collar when the wind greeted him in earnest. "You want something from me, come up with something else. Justice League is not working out… for anyone."
"No," Waller said simply, and that one word made his hackles stand on end. "I need accountability and cooperation from them. They prefer Diana Prince as the leader, but she doesn't live here, therefore the Batman is the one I have to work with, whether I want it or not. He wanted meta humans. You're one, it's that simple. Besides, he doesn't seem to have a problem with this deal."
"Oh, come on," Steve let out a short, humorless bark of a laugh, and added softer. "The man hates me."
"He lacks interpersonal skills," she shrugged matter-of-factly.
"Which is not my problem."
"Well, it is mine, Captain." Waller glanced at him, her voice impassive. "I'm trying to keep this city in check and I can't do it when a bunch of people who can tear it apart without breaking a sweat hop from rooftop to rooftop as they please, causing more damage than helping."
"Is that what you said when your gang of criminals went rogue?" Maybe if he pissed her off enough, she wouldn't want to deal with him.
Waller pursed her lips, and that was perhaps the first emotion Steve saw her express today. "That is exactly why I need to know what the hell is happening with Justice League," she said tightly. He could hear the notes of frustration in her voice.
Steve stared at the square before them, at the toddlers chasing the birds and office clerks picking at their food with plastic forks.
"And what if I just leave? Pack up my stuff and go? It's a risky thing to have a person as a bargaining chip, Agent Waller, and I know damn well how to make sure we would never see each other again."
"Then you won't get what you came here for," she reminded him evenly.
"Well, I can always just wait for what, 50-60 years? And then it won't really matter anymore, will it?"
She seemed to have expected that answer.
"I could also make sure that your new friends end up in the S.T.A.R. Labs so we could figure out how exactly Barry Allen runs as fast as he does, and how Victor Stone functions at all."
Steve's chest tightened at her implication, his breath hitching momentarily. She wouldn't—wouldn't do it after everything they'd done to keep the world, would she?
Would she really risk destroying the League, or at the very least forever severing a thread of possibility for peaceful coexistence with them for this kind of petty tantrum? Was not being in control of them worse than not having them at all? Steve thought that she was probably bluffing, had to be. Where would she be if it wasn't for them? But she was scared of them, and maybe she also hated them a little bit for the trust that the public put in them whereas she often faced nothing but contempt. It was a dangerous combination, indeed.
"I don't even know those people," he said as impassively as he could master.
Waller stopped, forcing him to pause as well, her gaze hard and uncompromising. If she and Bruce Wayne were put in a staring context, one of them would surely explode.
"Then leave," she said dismissively.
Steve stared back at her, willing himself not to look away first.
"I don't understand what is it that you want from me."
"From you? Nothing. You are merely a convenience, Captain, even though I have to admit that your longevity intrigues me greatly." She turned to follow a group of middle school kids who walked past them with her eyes, laughing so loudly they spooked a flock of hungry pigeons off the vacated benches. "All's fair in love and war." She looked at Steve again. "I'm sure you're familiar with the notion."
"We are not at war," he said.
"Maybe yet," she noted. "You just never see them coming."
"What is A.R.G.U.S.?" He asked because what the hell?
She smiled thinly. "All in due time, Captain. Have a good afternoon."
With that, she turned on her heel and started toward her car while Steve remained frozen to the spot, his mind racing. Having his life on the line didn't bother him as much. After all, it was how he lived for over half of his life. But the other people—
Would she really turn them into lab rats? He didn't trust her not to.
Ten feet away from him, Waller suddenly stopped and turned to him again, making Steve raise his head.
"To be honest, I don't really care where you live."
To be continued...
A/N: Thank you for your patience :) Feedback is always much appreciated!