A Road Paved In Gold

by Nadin4400

Steve Trevor doesn't die in the sky in Belgium, but survival comes with the price he couldn't ever imagine. Angst. Wondertrev, Post-movie

15. Chapter 15

Author's note: Hey guys, guess who is back :) I cannot believe it took me this long to update this story, but it is very much not abandoned or discontinued, so fear not! In fact, I more or less had the first draft done sometime before Christmas I've been tinkering with it on and off since.

A few things before we begin:

1. First of all, I'd like to thank each and every single one of you who's been following this story for the past year and a half, and especially those of you who will stay around for the following 10 parts. Your support and patience mean the world to me!

2. A special THANK YOU and a massive shoutout to bakajb/b who heroically betaed all the new stuff and who's been helping me polish the already posted stuff to make it more presentable and neat :) (so feel free to read from the start!) This story wouldn't have been what it is now without my wonderful beta and friend.

3. Since this fic is more or less done, minus some fixes here and there, I hope to avoid having breaks this long again :) Also I've been sort of, half-heartedly working on something new and I cannot wait to share it as well, so this one definitely must get out of the way before I can do that. Fingers crossed?

Okay, dig in and I hope you'll enjoy it!

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The mud in the trenches was ankle-deep and so frigid that his feet felt stiff as stones; his boots weren't warm enough for this cold. He had to keep moving, though. He had to keep running because if he didn't—

The night was so dark that Steve could barely see more than two feet ahead of him, angry rain slapping against his face like a million needles digging into his skin. He was out of breath, his lungs burning, his muscles aching so badly that he didn't know if each step would be his last one. He glanced over his shoulder at the piercing blackness all around him, punctuated sporadically by the muzzle flashes of blasting firearms somewhere on the other side of the field, his stomach sinking with each outburst of rapid staccato of field artillery.

He could picture the bombs and bullets flying towards him, exploding in the air over his head and putting an end to this wild rat race, knowing that some deep, wretched part of him would welcome it, gladly.

Steve gulped the air, feeling like he was drowning. Another step, and his foot caught on something, and he was flying down and into the mud. A root perhaps, or a rock, he thought, until he tried to pull himself up to his feet only to realize that it was a body of someone less lucky than himself he had tripped over. The body that wasn't the only one there. All around him, was a sea of dead, drowning in the trench that he couldn't get out of, in this hole in the ground that had turned into a mass grave.

There was no one left alive, he realized, turning around and around in a circle until he couldn't tell where he had come from and where he was meant to go.

Once again, he was fighting a losing battle.

And then a hand grabbed him by the ankle, and unseeing eyes stared at his face. They didn't want to let him go, and Steve realized with striking clarity that he had always been one of them. All of them nothing but cannon fodder. He had known that all along, even though he had refused to accept it until now.

They had all been dead long before they stopped breathing-

He jolted awake with a start, gasping, his heart beating so fast he could barely inhale and the remnants of the dream still clinging to his brain like a thin film, making it impossible to separate it from reality. His hand moved to his chest as if to calm his frenzied heartbeat as he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling watching the dance of the shadows from the tree outside of Diana's room in Bruce Wayne's house, eerie and ominous in the dead of the night.

He tried to take a breath, but it was as if an invisible hand had closed around his lungs, refusing to let go.

Beside him, Diana stirred. "Steve?" Her voice was soft and laced with sleep.

Without looking at her, he pushed up to sit, the sheet pooling around him, soaked with sweat. He buried his face in his shaking hands, running his fingers through his hair and trying to find his bearings. A breath, and then another one, followed by a slow exhale as he attempted to start counting in his mind like they were taught, still paralyzed with fear.

Dead.

Like those men.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest too full and somehow hollow, all at once.

He felt Diana move beside him, her hand on the base of his spine. A touch that made Steve go rigid as if it burned him. His breath caught in his throat once more and he waited for her to pull away, relieved when she didn't.

She brushed her lips to his bare shoulder. "What is it, my love?"

He could feel the warmth of her skin close to him, reassurance and comfort seeping through her hands and into him, chasing away the chill that had found a home in his chest.

Was this how it was for her, he wondered. When she dreamed of his life, was this what she saw, too? Did she feel his shame and disgust and self-loathing? God, how could he have done this to her…

Steve felt bile rising up in his throat. He swallowed hard, his hands curling into tight fists just so he wouldn't scream. And then the same invisible hand squeezed around his throat, pushing all air out of his lungs, and his mind spiralled into a bottomless abyss of fear. He dropped his head, struggling to inhale, but his windpipe was shut, his body frozen. Even in the dark, there were black spots dancing before his eyes, the blood rush in his ears rendering him deaf.

Dead.

He did not remember dying. Not when his plane went up in flames. Not when the Germans dropped that final bomb on Paris and he just happened to be in its way. There was no light, no golden gates, no angels singing on the other side.

He was not a religious man even though his mother had been for as long as Steve could remember. Yet, even despite his cynicism, he used to harbour a certain hope for something that went beyond the heartbeats. For redemption of sorts, if you please. Did this mean that he had gotten none of it? Or did it mean that there was nothing after one's final breath, just blackness and nothingness and the void the likes of which his kind couldn't even begin to imagine? And how would he know the difference when his time came?

Diana pressed a kiss to his temple and then took his face in her hands and turned it to hers, her eyes dark and worried and confused. He saw her lips moving but it took him a moment to figure out what she was saying.

"Breathe, Steve. Please, breathe," she was repeating, her hands stroking his cheeks, his hair.

Did she see what he'd seen? Did she know all those things, see all that death?

How could she even look at him, knowing what she knew? How could she bear to touch him, be with him?

His windpipe constricted, his heart lodging itself in his throat. Steve's fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white. Her voice kept fading in and out, and he didn't know if he wanted to hold on to it or to let go.

He was going to be sick—

"I'm here," Diana whispered, pressing her lips gently against his forehead before resting their heads together. "Breathe, Steve. It's over, you're safe. You need to breathe."

He inhaled with a shudder that reverberated into her body, his eyes drifting shut, giving in to the soothing comfort of her touch. He swallowed, the queasiness in his stomach ebbing slowly.

The dream got it all wrong. It always did. Those men were dead - Steve had seen them and chose to look past them more times than he could count - but so should be he, and they all knew it. They wanted him with them, and Steve feared that they would keep coming back until he joined their lifeless army, so they could stare at the pitch-black sky for the rest of eternity together.

"I'm sorry," he breathed soundlessly, not trusting his voice. Not trusting himself to touch her, his hands clenched tightly around the sheet and his skin slick with cold sweat. "I'm sorry, Diana. I'm sorry…"

"Shh," Diana breathed out. She stroked her hand through his hair, her palm curling over his jaw to tilt his face up, her gaze searching his features.

Steve wondered what she was seeing, what she could unearth that he never dared to look for. The darkest parts of him that he knew no one could love struggled to get out and take over, and it terrified him beyond anything he'd ever experienced. He couldn't lose her, couldn't keep losing her, couldn't—

His shoulders sagged under a weight that he couldn't see, couldn't even put into words, and she gathered him to her, whispering words that didn't matter as much as the tone of her voice and the circle of her arms around his body. It wasn't until the steadiness of her closed around him that Steve realized how badly he was shaking, tremors running through him in waves as if he was still drowning in the mud under a merciless October rain. Like he had never really come back.

How would he know otherwise?

"I will never let anything happen to you," Diana murmured, cradling him to her, holding him so tight that Steve wasn't sure where he ended and she began. Her skin was smooth and warm against his, her heartbeat even and steady beneath his cheek.

"Diana," he breathed, needing the sound of her name to anchor him. To make her real.

It had been a while since this had happened. So long, in fact, that Steve had managed to forget the all-consuming desire to crawl out of his own skin that tended to accompany this sort of state of his mind, all so he could stop feeling this dread and self-hatred. So he could shake off the worst parts of himself and start anew.

Funny how it could never work that way, no matter what he did or how much he tried.

He wanted to pull away, then. To put some space between them lest he taint her with everything that he so despised about himself, but Diana held on tight, and he had never been more grateful for it. Steve curled his arms around her, revelling in the feeling of her fingers combing absently through his hair, her lips brushing against his skin every now and then as if she needed the reassurance as much as he did. Her chest was rising and falling slowly beneath his cheek as she breathed, and despite everything, despite the storm raging inside of him, Steve had never felt more at home.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Diana asked, softly, when his breathing evened out and his body relaxed into hers, so much so that his vision started to cloud with the blur of exhaustion.

Steve's grip on her flexed, his gaze trained on the wall across from them, white and bare. He stared at it until his eyes began to hurt.

"Why did I get to live and they didn't?" he whispered, thinking of all the death he had seen. Villages torn apart. Women, children, the elderly. Lifeless bodies looking like shapeless ragdolls when his troops marched past the carnage, averting their eyes because it was the only way for them to keep on moving. The innocent who didn't care for the games that put an end to their lives. "Who decides that?"

"Steve…"

"Does this ever feel unnatural to you, knowing that you'll outlive everyone you'll ever know?"

"Don't do this to yourself, my love," she murmured. "Please, don't."

He allowed his eyes to drift shut, but his mind kept fighting, trying to avoid slipping back into the place from which there was no return.

"What if it was a mistake? What if I was supposed to-"

"No." Diana buried her face into his hair, whispering into the crown of his head, "No, Steve, how can you say that?"

"I've done things," he rasped. "And if you knew, if I told you-"

"—I would still love you, because and in spite of them. I will always, always, love you."

"You don't know that, Diana."

"I do." There was a certainty in her voice that made his breath catch. "You don't get to pick and choose the parts of someone that you love, and I would never do it, even if I could. I love them all, the good ones and the ones that torment you so, for they are what make you who you are. All of you." Her fingers were moving idly through the hair at the nape of his neck. "There is nothing you can tell me, and nothing you can do that would make me love you any less than I do now." There was a smile in her voice when she added, "Gods brought you to me, Steve Trevor. You can't argue with gods."

Steve felt his own lips twitch ever so slightly. "Now, I'm not an expert in the history of your people, but isn't most of the Greek mythology focused on exactly that? Defying the will of gods?"

"And it is also about the devotion that can transcend time and space and everything in between. Even death. It burns bright and passionate for eternity, and it is a blessing and a curse, but it is real and it's bigger than anything else in all of creation. It is the force that drives us, that drives everyone."

"Do you think…" he started and faltered, searching for words and struggling to put them together. "Do you think I love you less because… because I'm not… like you?"

"No." Her response was immediate and decisive. "No, Steve. Don't you see? There is no more, and no less. You love with all that you have and it's enough, it always will be enough. It's not about winning or losing or proving anything to one another. It's about giving the best of yourself, and I have never met anyone who loves as fiercely as you do. So how could I ever think that?"

"I have failed them, Diana," he said, quietly. "I have failed them all."

He didn't know exactly who he was talking about – the people who had died from his hand, the people he couldn't save, or the people he had loved and left behind because it was easier that way, even though it was the hardest decision he'd ever made. Knew that Diana didn't know, either. The line was so blurred that half the time he couldn't even begin to understand it himself. What he knew was that for every good deed he'd done, there were a dozen acts of cruelty that he would never be able to redeem, and that was something that Steve didn't know how to live with, more often than not.

His own mistakes were a heavy enough burden, but those that cost other people their lives were something else entirely. He'd wondered sometimes if he was so adamant to fix the messes of others because he was searching for redemption for his own sins, and if that reasoning was faulted to the point where he was only making it worse.

When the words came, he didn't stop them even though his voice kept catching and faltering and trailing off. The things that he had sworn to never speak of, and that he had never told to another person kept pouring out of his mouth, coming out so fast they got lodged in his throat, tripping over one another, and he had to work around it, to keep pushing forward.

He told Diana everything he had done, every ugly and vile and horrible thing that had haunted him for a hundred years. Everything he had done and who he had done it to. Every order he had followed blindly because he didn't know any better. Everything he could have stopped but didn't because it was easier and simpler and less complicated to look the other way. Everything that was done to him when he was too powerless to put an end to it, and the war was too cruel a place to keep trying. There was no forgetting and no running away from something that was etched into his very being for the rest of his existence, and the more he tried, the more it felt like a permanent mark meant to stay with him as a reminder of how wretched his soul was.

Steve talked until his throat felt raw and the images flashing through his mind grew too much to bear, and his thoughts started running in circles and getting all mixed up and he could no longer tell the real memories apart from the nightmares that kept coming back. Until his body started to shake and his fingers curled around a fistful of Diana's shirt in need to hold on to something that was real.

She didn't interrupt him once, but when he fell silent at last, she turned her head a little to press a kiss to his hairline, and the small act of acceptance made his eyes start to sting. There was more, he wanted to add, but thinking about the past had drained him. There was more, and he didn't know how long it might take to live through each horrific detail all over again, but what he shared was enough. Enough for her to see, and to decide for herself if he was still worth saving. If he was still worth the effort—

"You're a good man, Steve," Diana whispered, cutting in through the jumbled mess of his thoughts. "Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Sometimes good people make the wrong choice, but no blame should be assigned blindly. You taught me that. You taught me that no one man should be faulted for the things that mankind inflicts on itself."

"No innocent should be punished for crimes they didn't commit," he breathed out. "I am not innocent, Diana. I just told you-"

He half-expected her to argue with his words, but she didn't. She said something else instead. "You saved millions of lives. I have been there. I saw it. How can you think that those things don't count?"

Did it cancel out his wrong-doings, though? Was there anything that could? There was a part of him that wanted to know if maybe he kept sabotaging his own happiness over and over again because he never believed that he truly deserved it. It did sound about right, even if Steve wasn't sure that he wanted to admit it, not even to himself.

"They did," he admitted. "I'm just not sure that they are enough."

"We can't save everyone," she repeated the words that he had told her a hundred years ago, and the pointlessness of them made him flinch.

"You have."

"I've tried," Diana corrected him. "But even I didn't always succeed. No one should carry the burden of a responsibility this grand."

Doesn't stop you, he thought, but when he tried to say out loud, no words came out.

Steve closes his eyes, the wounds he was certain had long healed bleeding again where he couldn't stop them. He had lived for one hundred and thirty-seven years, but he had never allowed himself to be this exposed, so vulnerable and open and at the mercy of another person. He didn't doubt that Diana carried enough forgiveness and grace in her heart to see past the broken parts of him, but it wasn't until her arms wrapped tighter around him that he realized that he had been waiting for her rejection all along.

It never came, and the relief that filled him was all-consuming.

"I love you," she murmured into his skin after a moment. "I always will. There is nothing, not even death, that could stop me from loving you. It means something, yes?"

His thumb running circles over her ribs through the thin fabric of her shirt, Steve took a shaky, unsteady breath. "It means everything."

"Then we can start there," she said, softly. "Sleep."

He wanted to protest, scared beyond comprehension of going back to that place inside of his own mind that he knew would one day claim him and never let go, but turning his very heart inside out had left him worn to the bones. So much so that he could no longer keep his eyes open, his thoughts bumping around aimlessly in his skull.

And before he knew it, he drifted off.

Steve woke up a few hours later when the grey dawn started to creep into the room through the glass wall. He blinked sleepily, nowhere near as rested as he wanted to be after their midnight snack encounter with Barry and his brain turning on him out of nowhere. Yet, his mind was oddly wired and awake, like someone had flipped a switch.

The memories of the previous night wafted into his mind, but he pushed them away, choosing to focus on the fact that it was over.

It had been a while since something like this happened, and it threw him off more than Steve was willing to admit even to himself. Time, as it turned out, didn't heal all wounds. It merely made it easier to pretend that they weren't there.

He distinctly remembered falling asleep with his face tucked into the curve of Diana's neck, breathing in the sweet smell of her skin that he couldn't seem to be able to get enough of, but sometime during the night they must have shifted, and now it was he who was wrapped around her, his heart beating into her back and his arm draped heavily over her waist. It was early then, Steve thought absently. She was usually the first one awake and up – much to his dismay. Aside from those days when neither of them felt like leaving the bed at all, perhaps.

Still, something was different, and he tried to put his finger on it.

His heart was beating evenly, and his breath was deep and steady, and when he nuzzled into her hair, the thought crossed his mind – he had never been more content than he was in that moment.

It wasn't that, then. Not the heaviness of his guilt and shame that still lingered in the back of his mind, subdued by Diana's kindness.

Steve kissed her shoulder and then disentangled himself carefully from her, mindful of not disturbing her, before slipping out of the bed. He padded across the room and toward the glass wall behind which the snow was falling in dime-sized flakes, so thick he could barely see the steel-coloured water of the lake fifteen yards away.

He stared at it for the longest time, mesmerized and so transfixed that it felt hypnotic.

And then there was a rustling of sheets behind his back, and a few moments later, Diana was slipping her arms around his waist, the length of her body pressed to the length of his – the only thing Steve wanted to feel for as long as he breathed.

"Good morning," she whispered, kissing the back of his neck.

His fingers cured over one of her wrists clasped on his stomach, his thumb running over her skin.

"It's snowing," he said, watching the dance of the fat snowflakes, his lips tugging upwards at the corners.

He reached his other hand out and pressed it, palm-flat, against the glass that fogged up around his fingertips instantly, nearly ice-cold to the touch. And when he pulled it away, it looked for a moment like the snow was falling right onto his open hand.

"It won't stay," Diana said. "It's too early in the season for that. Too warm."

"Even so," Steve echoed. "It's been a while."

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"Are you alright?" she asked, and even though her voice was soft and tender, her words were laced with concern.

Steve took a breath. It was too bright for there to be a decent reflection of them in the glass, but he found her face nonetheless, both of them translucent and pale and looking like ghosts. He smiled, watching her smile back.

"I am," he responded after a moment. "Thank you. For last night. For everything."

She nodded, her hair falling down her shoulders in thick waves that tickled his shoulder blades as she did so, and then murmured something in Greek, so softly Steve barely caught it.

"Whatever it was, I like the sound of it," he responded with a small chuckle.

"I will never leave you," Diana repeated, in English. "It's early," she murmured, then. "Come back to bed."

He shook his head, grimacing a little. "You go. I don't think I can sleep."

She kissed the spot under his ear. "We don't have to sleep."

That caught his attention alright, and Steve's heart stuttered momentarily. He turned around and found her mouth with his. She sighed against his lips and kissed him back, pressing her body to his – a demand and a promise all at once – as her arms wound around his neck.

I want you. I love you. I missed you.

It was the easiest decision he'd ever have to make – to allow her to pull him close, to unbutton the shirt she had never took off last night in search for her skin, and to shed the few items of clothing they wore between the two of them. To let his hands fly over her body that responded to the slightest of his touches before her mind knew to do it. To follow her back to bed and love her over and over again until the world fell away around them and there was nothing left but the words of affection whispered into flushed skin and between breathless kisses.

He couldn't undo his mistakes, Steve thought as he started to drift off afterwards with Diana's body wrapped around him and their chests rising and falling in unison, his fingers threading idly through her hair. But he could make it right this time around. Maybe she was right and having all the time in the world could feel like a curse, but, perhaps, being together was their salvation.

When Steve woke up again, the bed – and the room, for that matter – was empty, and the morning was in full swing. Diana's cell phone was sitting on the nightstand, plugged in to charge, but her laptop was gone and their clothes were no longer strewn all over the floor. She wasn't in the shower, then. He grimaced and ran a hand over his face before climbing out of bed, surprisingly more rested than he could have hoped to be after a nearly sleepless night and an… eventful morning.

Outside, the snow had stopped, and just as Diana had said, it had already started to melt, revealing black patches of ice-cold dirt and tufts of frozen grass underneath.

He thought back over the things that he spent several lifetimes trying to keep hidden, but that his mind unearthed as easily as if it was only yesterday that he had been crawling along trenches filled with blood and death and despair. And how different the snow looked then. He wished, once again, that in trying to make up for all the pain he had caused and his search for redemption that there would be a way for him to find peace with himself.

There is nothing, not even death, that could stop me from loving you, Diana had said last night. Her grace and acceptance still felt like a miracle, like every prayer answered.

He wondered if it was enough for him to forgive himself. Perhaps, it was good enough place to start.

The steam that smelled of Diana's body wash still lingered in the shower. It couldn't have been long since she'd taken hers, Steve thought as he stepped under the hot spray of water, his pleasantly sore body welcoming the sensation. He didn't realize that he was smiling the whole time until he wiped the condensation off the mirror afterwards and saw a man who was no longer running from himself looking back at him.

Much to Steve's dismay, Diana was not in the kitchen, as he expected, or the study, and the house was particularly quiet, especially for a morning. He did find Barry in the lounge though, engrossed in daytime TV that would undoubtedly make anyone else's brain hurt. When Steve appeared in his line of sight, however, the young man stopped chewing on his Lucky Charms and even dropped the spoon into the bowl for good measure as his eyes grew comically wide.

"Hey," Steve said, smiling.

Barry swallowed visibly, and Steve remembered how Diana said that because of his abilities he would sometimes look like he was practically vibrating with excess energy. Like he was ready to bolt off and run a marathon, should one come up without notice. Steve could see it now.

"I'm sorry," Barry sputtered. "About last night. I swear I didn't mean to—I didn't hear you guys there, or I would never-" He looked around nervously before his gaze fixed on Steve again. "I wasn't… I wasn't spying or anything."

For a second, Steve merely stared at him, trying to piece the words falling out of his mouth together until the realization dawned on him. Another memory from the previous night that didn't sit quite right with him, although after everything that followed it felt like something that happened a million light years ago.

He shook his head. "You don't need to apologize. I was actually…" He had planned on talking to the kid either way, might as well do it now. Steve sighed and lowered down on the coffee table in front of Barry. "I was actually going to say sorry. It wasn't like—we thought that everyone was asleep."

"Yeah, I figured," Barry muttered, having a considerably difficult time looking directly at Steve.

"We weren't doing anything," Steve pressed.

"You were kissing," the speedster pointed out.

"Yeah…" Steve winced, feeling the colour creeping up the back of his neck. "That. But nothing else. We've never done anything else."

"Never ever?" Barry's eyebrow crept up in slight amusement, and the next second his face turned scarlet. "I didn't mean it like-"

"Nothing outside of Diana's room," Steve amended quickly, which only made it worse. He rubbed his eyes and let out a sigh, feeling like he was sinking in quicksand. He felt his cheeks flush as well. So much for making it better. "Look, we didn't mean to scare you-"

"You didn't."

"—or startle you."

"Maybe a little," he admitted.

"Sorry about that," Steve repeated. "And it won't happen again."

Barry nodded, only half convinced by the looks of it, but Steve chose not to press or push the matter any further. God knew, it wasn't going to end well if he tried.

"So," he cleared his throat, going for a change of subject. "Diana said you have a girlfriend-"

At that, Barry leapt to his feet. "Nope," he shook his head, starting toward the kitchen – at a human speed, although Steve still had to practically jog after him to keep up. "No, no. No, she's not—it's not—we're not-" He shoved his bowl into the sink and turned on the water. "She's… just there. And I'm here."

Steve watched him for a few moments as he rinsed the bowl, his hands moving nervously and a tad erratically like he was trying to get a grip on himself but never quite getting there. Diana mentioned that Barry could be shy, but she never said that he was endearingly so.

At last, Barry put the bowl on the rack to dry and shrugged without turning to Steve.

"Besides, she kinda doesn't really know that I exist," he added with feigned nonchalance. "I mean, she sort of does, but not like that, not like-"

He stopped abruptly, a puzzled frown creasing his brows. Steve was certain that Barry didn't mean to look quite so wistful, and he had to press his lips around a smile. How the whole League got under his skin when he wasn't looking he had no idea.

"You could talk to her," Steve offered, leaning against the counter, the marble cool against his elbows through the cotton of his shirt. "You know, maybe ask her out."

Barry snorted and rolled his eyes for good measure like he'd never in his life heard anything that ridiculous.

"What?" Steve asked. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"She could hear me."

Steve stared at him.

Barry sighed. "A Friends joke? No?" Steve's brows furrowed. "Never mind… You're aware of pop-culture, right?" he asked as an afterthought. "I mean you're old…ish," he caught himself. "Old-ish, not old. Older than some people, but younger than … some other people."

"What other people?"

"Dead people," Barry mumbled, looking away.

Steve cleared his throat. "Just… be yourself."

Barry looked up and stared at him for a long moment. "That is actually the stupidest advice ever," he said at last, shaking his head. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Steve had to bite his lip so as not to burst out laughing.

"Because that's exactly what Clark said," the young man went on. "I mean, how is that relevant when Clark's self is so much different from my self? How am I supposed to know that all selves function the same way? He's Superman," he added emphatically, as though anyone could ever forget that.

"I don't think that's how it works," Steve tried to cut in.

"And don't get me started on Bruce," Barry went on, ignoring him. Seemingly unable to stay still, he grabbed a cup from the shelf and marched over to the coffee maker to fill it to the brim. (Steve didn't have the heart to point out that maybe he should steer clear of caffeine.) "He's got looks, and money, and he doesn't have anxiety. Have you seen the women he is going out with?"

Better not, Steve thought. Seeing as how my girlfriend had a chance of joining their ranks.

The thought made him wince a little, and then look around the kitchen as if Bruce might be hiding in one of the cupboards, listening to his thoughts. There was some semblance of a truce between them, it seemed. It wasn't Steve's fault that Diana chose him. Or that she never chose Bruce, to begin with. Her decisions were not up to him - and yet there still was the feeling in the air like something was about to go off every time he and Bruce were in the same room for too long.

"You're up," Diana's voice pulled him back to the present.

Steve snapped his head up, breaking into a smile when she stepped into the kitchen.

"Where've you been?"

"Hey, Di," Barry muttered from behind his mug.

She was wearing a loose-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt and leggings, her hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Running, he figured. It helped her relax, she'd told him the first time he spotted her on the path across the lake, manoeuvring between the trees. When the physical needs of her body prevailed over everything else, it was easier to switch her mind off.

Back when he was in bootcamp, Steve was sometimes so tired he could feel it deep in his bones. When that happened, he was incapable of thinking either, his body moving and functioning purely on autopilot. Later, when the war came, not thinking hadn't been an option, and he wondered then, if maybe this was why he felt so world-weary by the end of it.

This was a new development for her, something she'd picked up when he was out of the picture, and Steve was keeping a mental list of those, if somewhat unintentionally. She liked different music now, too. Different food, and not just because of its expanded variety. She held herself differently from when he'd last been around her. There wasn't a person on this planet that he knew better than Diana – not even his friends, long gone – and yet, even with her, he kept peeling off layer after layer only to discover new ones underneath.

She smiled back and stepped toward him, but stopped with her hand hovering a few inches away from Steve's cheek, as she seemed to have reconsidered touching him lest they give Barry a stroke. He was already looking very pointedly at anything but the two of them.

Instead, she leaned against the counter next to Steve – close enough for their shoulders to touch, but most definitely not in any way that could've been seen as intimate. Not in an offensive way, at least.

Steve was starting to wish he'd gotten some coffee as well.

"What are you two up to?" she asked, her hand reaching to pick a plump strawberry from the bowl in the middle of the kitchen island.

"Steve's teaching me how to charm a girl," Barry answered eagerly, and Steve groaned.

"Is he, now?" Diana turned to him, an eyebrow arched.

"Well, he should know," Barry gestured toward her, and then his face flushed. "I didn't mean it like…" he added quickly.

"What makes you think that it wasn't me who—what did you call it? Charm?" she tested the word on her tongue. "That I didn't charm him?"

"That is too much information," Barry declared. "On top of too much other information…" His cheeks reddened even more.

"I'm sorry about last night," Diana leaned towards him across the counter, her smile kind and apologetic.

"No, no," Barry shook his head vigorously, unable to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"We shouldn't have-"

"It's cool!"

"Barry…"

"Look, you're sorry, I'm sorry, everyone is sorry," he sputtered, staring into his cup. "Let's not talk about that ever again, k?"

"Very well," Diana agreed. She straightened up and glanced at Steve who was about as beetroot-red as the Flash, and smirked.

He scowled at her, and turned to Barry. "She's right. She did it."

"You know what," Barry picked up his coffee. "I think I'm gonna take this elsewhere."

"Barry," Diana turned after him.

"See ya," he waved without looking at them once.

"I think that went well," Steve muttered.

Diana hummed, and he smiled and moved to her, his arm slipping around her waist and bridging the distance between them, his fingers anchored at the base of her spine as he did so.

"Hi," she murmured, turning to him.

God, he loved her smile.

"Hi," he echoed, kissing her.

"Is he okay?" Diana asked, her glance darting over her shoulder when she pulled back.

Steve sighed. "I think so, yeah." He grimaced. "We might consider not leaving your room half-dressed from now on, though," he added.

She smirked. "What did you tell him?"

"That we were hungry."

"No," she shook her head. "About-"

"Oh, about charming you?" he drawled, offering her a self-indulgent lopsided grin.

Diana arched her eyebrows. "You said you did it?"

"No, actually I remember you doing all the heavy-lifting," he said. "Literally. You know, when you dragged me out of the water. After that, I stood no chance."

Her arms slid around his waist, her eyes searching his face. "What else do you remember?" she asked softly, smiling in that secret way that made him forget how to breathe.

"That I spent an obscene amount of time thinking of taking your clothes off," Steve admitted before he could stop himself. It was almost as if she had her Lasso wrapped around him, it was so hard to keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

Diana laughed.

He dipped his head to her ear. "And some other things."

"I'm sure you did," she said, amused.

Steve's smile slipped. "I'm sorry, about…"

"Don't," she shook her head and drew back to look at him. She cupped his cheek with her hand, her thumb running over the shadow of his stubble. "Don't say that, Steve."

"I scared you."

"I wasn't scared. I was worried," she corrected him. He dropped his gaze but she leaned close until he had no choice but to meet her eyes. "There is nothing you can't tell me. And when the time comes… if it comes," she added, "I will listen, and I will love you more than I ever have before."

He didn't say anything, just looked at her until his world shifted back to its proper axis. His hands on her hips, he drew her close until there was no space between them, and then dropped his head into the crook of her neck. She smelled faintly of her shower gel and the winter, and underneath it all, of him, of them.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She turned her head to press a kiss to his temple.

"Always."

"Miss Prince?" Alfred's voice behind them made Steve raise his head and pull back.

Diana turned around.

"Miss Lane," Alfred handed her a cordless phone. "She said she couldn't reach you on your cell phone."

Dianan stepped out of Steve's arms. "I left it in my room. Thank you, Alfred. I'm sorry for the trouble."

"None at all," he assured her.

Alfred and Steve watched her circle the kitchen island, heading for the coffee machine, her side of the conversation consisting mostly of Yes, Of course, I see, and Hm, repeated in no particular order.

"I booked you on the same flight to Paris as Miss Prince, Captain," Alfred said after a moment, turning to Steve. "You should receive an electronic confirmation soon."

"Oh." Steve looked at him, caught off-guard for a moment. "You didn't have to, Alfred. I would've done it."

The butler shrugged dismissively. "Miss Prince mentioned it. It took no time at all."

"Thank you," Steve nodded.

"You know, we're very fond of Miss Prince," Alfred started.

Steve smiled a little. "Is that your way of saying that you'll smother me in my sleep if I hurt her?"

Alfred cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I wouldn't put it that way," he noted diplomatically.

"I would," Steve said. "And I wouldn't blame you for it, trust me."

"Good." Alfred's features softened, his expression going rueful. "Miss Prince has spent a long time taking care of the world, even when it didn't think it needed it. I think it's about time for her to not have to do it on her own."

"Thank you, Alfred," Steve repeated.

"As I said, it was no trouble."

Steve shook his head. "No, not for the tickets."

Alfred offered him a small smile. "You're welcome, Captain."

He left with a cup of tea for Bruce, which, Steve thought, was a nice change from Bruce's usual diet of whiskey and insomnia.

Diana finished her conversation, leaving the phone on the counter, and turned to him, a mug clasped between her palms. God help him, he could spend the next lifetime and a half just looking at her.

"Everything okay?" he asked, eyes darting towards the phone.

"Everything's alright." She leaned against the kitchen island, propped on her elbows, and took a sip of her coffee. "I've been meaning to ask… The other day, Clark invited us to join him and Lois for dinner sometime. Would you like to do that?"

Steve leaned forward, too. "So your friend can lynch me?" he clarified, only half-joking.

Diana laughed. "She's not going to-" She shook her head. "Clark is a very good cook."

"Well, if that's the case," Steve drawled.

She reached across the marble surface and covered one of his hands with hers. "After Paris, yes?"

Steve turned his hand, curling his palm around her fingers, his thumb running over her knuckles. "After Paris."

Arthur left the next day, taking the snow that had fallen the previous morning as a sign – his job in Gotham was done, and his people needed him more than anyone else. Now was the best time to leave before the weather got so foul that half of the flights were permanently cancelled.

Diana knew that there was nothing that she could do about it, nothing that she wanted to do about it, for that matter, if she was being honest with herself. It was comforting to know that whatever they were doing here, whatever the League was for them all, it wasn't the centre of their lives. That while she felt like she belonged here more than anywhere else, and while she loved them dearly, there still was another place in the world for them all. Would never have wanted it otherwise.

She didn't like goodbyes, though. The wistful nostalgia that they carried never sat well with her, a reminder of how many of them in her life had been permanent and irreversible, even when they were not meant to be. The losses that she couldn't forgive herself for, and the words that never got to be said still living deep inside of her.

Diana thought back to the years she had spent… not alone, exactly, but not quite belonging either, and she hoped with all her heart that none one of her new friends and teammates would ever have to feel the depth of this kind of loneliness. The very same sensation that could feel like a blessing and a curse at once. If you never allowed yourself to get attached to anything, then nothing could hurt you - while that was true, was the emptiness in one's heart worth it?

From her spot near the kitchen door, arms folded on her chest, she watched Steve laugh at something that Victor said, already so immersed in her world that she wouldn't be able to claw him out even if she wanted to. Watched Arthur slap Barry on the back with enough enthusiasm to nearly send the Flash flying across the hallway except Bruce broke Barry's impending fall, his jacket already on, ready to take Arthur to the airport. Watched Alfred repeat for the third time that if they didn't leave right this moment, Arthur was going to miss his flight, and whose fault would that be?

She watched them all, thinking that she didn't want to belong anywhere else.

And then Steve looked up at her and grinned, and it was like pure sunshine exploded in her chest, the glint in his blue eyes making her breath catch. She'd known him for nearly a century, and yet he never failed to make her heart skip a beat and her mind go blank for just a moment, too busy capturing and bottling up the image so she could hold it close for as long as she lived.

There was no telling what was waiting for them on the other side of this journey. Next week, or tomorrow even. In a few days, they were going to go to Paris and she would take him to her favourite places. She would draw a whole new map of the city just for the two of them and erase the past. She would hold his hand as they walked crowded streets and promise him time and time again that she would love him until her last breath and seep in the warmth of his skin and the wonder living in his eyes. She would bring him back to the world of her own and share it with him until there was nothing left unsaid and undone between them.

Eventually, she hoped, she would stop waiting for him to slip through her fingers again when she least expected it.

But tonight… tonight she was going to kiss all sense and reason out of him. She was going to love him until they forgot themselves. She would promise him time and time again that she was his, that there was no one ever but him for her as the night exploded in all colours of the universe around them.

And she would stop being afraid.

"You know that he's coming back, right?" Bruce said, stepping towards her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants.

Diana's gaze darted to Steve, a pang of panic jolting through her for the brief moment that it took her to realize that Bruce was talking not about Steve but about Arthur who, at that moment, let out a bellowing laugh that bounced off the walls around them.

"I know," she breathed, thinking that it would be a while before she got used to having Steve back. Truly got used to it. And that she would miss Arthur.

"As much as I wish he didn't have to," Bruce added under his breath, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"You know it's hardly possible," she murmured. "We might never stop needing them. The world might never stop needing them."

Not tonight, though. And hopefully not tomorrow, but another crisis was somewhere around the corner, she was certain of it. With what had happened in the S.T.A.R. Labs and Waller breathing down their necks, Diana was more than a little certain that they would meet again soon enough. Certainly long before they would get a chance to start missing one another. There was no way around that.

"One could only dream," Bruce muttered and headed toward the door before they were at risk of being stuck in traffic.

Diana tried to pretend she didn't notice the ominous tone of his voice that crept under her skin and found home in the pit of her stomach – heavy and cold and uncomfortable.

It was only a few hours later, when her head was resting on Steve's sternum and his fingers were threading absently through her hair and their breathing had yet to even out, that she had finally allowed her mind to drift off, lulled by the warmth of his body and the pleasantly sated state of her own being, her skin still humming with the memory of his touch. There was no need for her to think of anything else tonight.

Quietly, he spoke of the time he had spent in Egypt in the '80s, more by coincidence than on purpose, his voice soft and laced with fondness and good humour.

(There were still so many gaps to fill, and she was hungry for every morsel.)

She drifted off in the middle of a story about a camel that ate his hat.

Pierre Girard was as professional as he was frantic for as long as Diana had known him.

Of all the assistants she had worked with, first at the British Museum and then at the Louvre, he was, without a doubt, the best she'd ever had. In his mid-30's, with an Arts degree under his belt and at least a decade of experience, he was diligent, scrupulous, and as tenacious as one in their line of work could be. He had an excellent work ethic and a flair for perfectionism, and ninety percent of the time, Diana trusted him beyond measure to take good care of the department in her absence.

Today, however, the other ten percent resurfaced with flying colours.

From the moment when she opened her eyes a little after dawn until almost noon, she had received at least a dozen texts and about as many emails from him of varying degrees of urgency. There were issues with the collection that was meant to arrive from Zurich – half of it was missing (Not missing, Pierre, she typed patiently. Delayed. I spoke with them. It will be there on time) and one of the vases in the shipment that did arrive had a crack on the side that he couldn't find any documentation on, meaning that it was going to be blamed on them if he didn't confirm its legitimate and historical nature.

He didn't seem particularly consoled by her reassurances though, even after she had explained that it was Friday and there was nothing that could be done until Monday regardless, and by then, she would be there to deal with those matters in person. For a moment, Diana debated the professionalism of suggesting he have a glass of wine to calm down, but decided against it. Zeus only knew how he'd take it.

There was paperwork waiting for her, an exhibition that needed to be packed and stored away, and a new one arranged, and the normalcy of it all caught her unaware while she wasn't paying attention. With everything that had happened in the past few weeks, she craved the simplicity of her routines more and more with each passing moment, and was adamant to reclaim her balance, at last.

However, to get back to it, they might need to actually get to Paris first. And to do so, leaving the house might be a good start.

Diana's phone dinged again. Another text. She chose to ignore it until after they got to the airport and got through passport control. If she had to serve as a mediator between Pierre and another department or one of the assessors who could no longer stand being hassled for nothing, she and Steve were never going to leave at all.

Her gaze swept around the room one last time to make sure she didn't forget anything before she stepped through the door and closed it behind her. Inexplicably, it felt like a silent goodbye, but she chose not to dwell on it, eager to leave the past few weeks behind and move forward.

With Steve.

However, it wasn't Steve who she found in the hallway but Bruce with the travel bag and car keys in his hand. He looked up when she approached, a flicker of something that Diana couldn't quite put her finger on flashing briefly across his features, disappearing before she was even sure it had been there at all.

Her gaze lingered for a moment on the bag sitting on the floor at his feet.

"You're leaving?"

Bruce checked his watch and shrugged. "So are you."

She studied him for a moment, taking in the weariness that she didn't know what to make of - the exhaustion that she'd seen before but chose to look past for it was never her place to have a say in his lifestyle and habits and choices. She doubted that now was the right time to start doing it. There was an odd undercurrent of tension between them lately and she didn't want to make it worse. They had never been together but at times, it felt like Steve's reappearance in her life had severed whatever bond she used to share with Bruce, making him draw back into his shell, and she didn't know how to feel about it.

To be completely honest, Diana couldn't envision many scenarios in which they could go back to the way they were.

She still cared about him, though. Always had, despite their conflicts, and seeing him like this left her with a pang of sadness in her chest.

"Just a trip to New York," he explained, his voice softening. "Business, not the League."

Diana nodded. "You don't sleep well," she noted quietly.

"Been busy," he brushed her off with pointed nonchalance, and she decided not to press the subject.

"Bruce."

He sighed. "Look, we're on it. The system in the S.T.A.R. Labs was scrapped, but not completely. Victor managed to extract the backup files but they've been encrypted. Smart move, but an obvious inconvenience for us. Your-" he stopped himself and cleared his throat. "Steve has been working on running them through a decryption program. It might take a while, but as soon as we have something, I'll let you know. I promise."

She nodded again. "Very well."

There was another pregnant pause between them.

"What about Waller?" Diana asked after a moment.

"What about her?"

Her brows pulled together. "Do you think she's behind it?"

He considered her question for a few seconds. "I wouldn't put it past her," Bruce admitted. "But, even if she is, she's smart enough to walk out of this mess unscathed and leave no trace behind. She knows better than anyone how badly it would affect her if she's caught."

"Be careful with her, Bruce."

He smirked. "She's not as scary as she thinks."

Waller might not have been scary, but she was not as reckless as he thought, either, and Diana was about to remind him not to underestimate her when Steve stepped out of the lounge. He paused when he saw her and Bruce, unsure as to whether his interruption was welcome – the same way as he didn't quite know what to do with himself when the three of them were in the same room.

Diana wondered if either of them was aware of it.

His gaze darted toward Bruce's travel bag, a silent question in his eyes.

Diana smiled – all the encouragement that he needed to cross the distance between them. Her glance flicked toward Bruce whose lips flattened into a thin line. Recently, she had noticed, he and Steve had mastered the art of looking at one another without actually looking at one another – something that intrigued her greatly.

As soon as Steve was close enough, Diana reached for his hand, weaving her fingers through his – a gesture as easy as breathing. Instantly, she felt the tension leave his body as he moved to stand closer to her.

"We need to get going if we want to make it," Steve said, running his thumb over her knuckles.

Diana nodded and turned to Bruce. "Are you coming with us?"

"Hm?" He looked up from his phone and then lifted his car keys. "No, I need to make a detour first. Alfred will take you." He picked up his bag and reached for the door. Then hesitated and looked at Diana. "Have a safe trip." It didn't escape her attention that he was addressing her alone. "I'll see you-"

"Soon," she promised smoothly.

"Is everything okay?" Steve asked when the door closed behind Bruce and his steps faded away as he circled the house heading toward the garage.

Diana looked up at him, the concerned lines crowding her expression for the past few minutes smoothing out. She smiled and leaned forward to kiss him.

Bruce knew where to find her. He knew that she would come back immediately if they needed her, but until then… Until then it was just her and Steve, and she couldn't wait to put the rest of the world behind them for as long as they could make it last.

"It is," she said. "Are you ready?"

Paris, 2017

The first time Steve set his foot in Paris was back in 1916, a year before the US troops were sent to support the British. Back then, the war was nothing but an adventure on the other side of the pond; one full of victories and excitement, not yet laced with blood and death and despair. Steve was one of a few - a select group to be trained the art and intricacies of espionage - sent to infiltrate occupied France and Belgium to gather the intelligence no one else could obtain otherwise.

Dressed in a German uniform that felt stiff and foreign on his body, he had walked the streets of what used to be considered the most beautiful city in all of Europe and felt his stomach twist at the sight of torn-down buildings and poverty and misery. That was the Paris that he was all too familiar with - the underbelly of the enemy, as ugly as it could ever be. He wished for victory, for the surrender, for the end of this all, but more than anything, he used to wish for people to stop being so vile to one another. He wished he could unsee or forget the unimaginable things happening all around him. The war, he had learned, left an imprint on you long before you saw blood.

The Paris of the 21st century was something so drastically different from his first memory that it all but stole Steve's breath away. Yes, they had lived here briefly after the Second World War, before he oh so carelessly ripped the life they created to shreds. Yes, he had been here a handful of times afterwards. Yes, the essence of it remained the same – he could still very easily find his way to the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe or the Tuileries Garden. But after running into Diana at the Louvre a decade and a half ago, he had avoided this city for fear of finding his way to her once again and not being able to leave.

As it turned out, Paris had grown and flourished into something unbelievable since then.

From the cab that they took from the airport, he watched the streets that were both achingly familiar and also as different from what he remembered as they could be. Even this late in the year, when the weather was as terrible as it often was in London, when the rain would beat down on the streets like ice-cold needles most days and the winds would blow in from the Channel, it looked flashy, sophisticated. The feeling that he had been gone for much longer than fifteen years crept along his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

His head felt heavy from the 8-hour flight and the change of time zones, his mind groggy. Only a late afternoon here, it was past midnight in Gotham and Steve stifled a yawn, choosing to focus instead on the warmth of Diana's hand in his and the smooth texture of her skin against his rougher palm while the cab driver navigated the labyrinth of busy streets.

But that was an hour ago. Between then and now, they had reached her place and were greeted by a doorman whose whole face broke into the brightest smile that Steve had ever seen on a man at the sight of Mademoiselle Prince – something that Steve found very hard not to smile at as Diana introduced him as her guest who would be staying with her. The elderly doorman whose name on a tiny plate sewed to his jacket read Marcel, nodded eagerly, his eyes barely leaving Diana.

Steve suspected that given a chance, the man would kiss the ground she walked on.

"They do worship you here as the goddess that you are," he said when the elevator door closed behind them, stepping closer to her.

Diana pulled him the rest of the distance by the lapels of his jacket to kiss him deeply and slowly, all the way up to the top floor.

"Thank you," she whispered, smoothing her palms over his chest. Her eyes found his, relief and gratitude in her gaze. "For being here."

I'd follow you to the edge of the Earth, Steve thought, but before the words found their way out of his throat, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open with a soft ding, spitting them out into the hallway with four doors and potted plants sitting between them.

Diana led him through the one straight ahead, turning on the lights as she walked in.

The building was old and beautiful, located stark in the heart of what was known as Old Paris – a mere block away from the Seine and a 15-minute walk from the museum where she worked, as Diana had told him. He took in the marble floors and chandeliers on the walls in the foyer and in the lobby outside her door, his mind jumping for a second to their old apartment in a slightly less fancy neighbourhood that looked nothing like this. Not by a long shot.

She had excellent taste, Steve thought absently, following Diana across the hallway, past the kitchen and into the living room as she pointed to the doors leading to her office and the bedroom with the bathroom down the hall. The building had to be at least two hundred years old, or even older than that, he figured. Inside, the cozy, antique furniture and original moulding and the fireplace the original purpose of which was to keep the place warm in the winter were living side by side with the state-of-the-art appliances in the kitchen and an expensive entertainment and security system. The windows were large, letting the early evening light spill in, breaking it into a pattern of shadows on the parquet floor and flooding the space with a golden glow.

Something told him that it wasn't a designer that picked out the rugs and curtains and the art hanging on the walls. Everything about the place felt like it had Diana's touch to it.

It looked…. It looked like home. Like a place where she belonged. Elegant and chic, but warm and welcoming, too.

Her world.

Steve's heartbeat stuttered for a fraction of a second as he took in his surroundings. While he had spent the past half of a century trying to push the world away as best he could, severing any strings that had him attached to people and places without thinking twice, she had built a life for herself that was stretching before his eyes now, right here at his fingertips and yet out of his reach.

It left him longing once more for everything he had missed.

Diana took off her jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. She put her phone on top of it, and turned to Steve before his mind had a chance to wander off even further towards the regrets he had no way to amend. She moved to him and wove her arms around his neck.

Steve's pulse tripped over itself again, but for a different reason now as his hands reached for her hips.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, glancing behind her shoulder for a moment, and there was a slight note of uncertainty in her voice that left Steve completely and entirely bewildered.

Did she really think he might not like it? That it would make a difference to him?

Steve tugged her closer and nuzzled into her temple.

"I think that I'm crazy about you," he murmured, feeling her smile.

"Come with me," Diana whispered, pulling at his hand.

Steve followed her to the bedroom, dim in the fading November light and crowded with shadows. He allowed his gaze to wander, taking note of a vanity table and the two nightstands framing the bed that was taking up most of the space, a small desk near the floor-to-ceiling window and a built-in wardrobe with brass handles, all drenched in the final light of the setting sun.

His eyes drifted back to the bed as Diana turned to him and he reached for her, unable not to.

"Yes, I like this idea," Steve said softly.

He drew her closer, but when he dipped his head to kiss her, she placed a palm on his chest, holding him effortlessly right where he was.

"You need to sleep, Steve," she said gently.

He blinked, confused, and shook his head. "I'm fine."

He attempted to pull her close again but to no avail, annoyed by her obvious enjoyment over his struggles.

"You're exhausted."

"Am not," he protested without missing one beat.

Diana pressed her lips together around a smile. "You can barely keep your eyes open," she murmured.

"I don't need to keep them open," Steve promised reverently and trailed off when she tilted her head, one eyebrow quirked curiously, waiting for him to elaborate. He considered her expression for a moment or two, and then exhaled, giving up what obviously was a losing battle. "Okay, you have a point."

There was a yawn crawling out of his throat that he did his best to hold back nonetheless. It was a bloody long flight, though, and his body felt stiff and out of sorts after spending most of the time crammed into a narrow seat. It was a first-class seat, mind you, and he was not the one to complain. But Diana was right. He was tired to his bones, and they had barely slept the previous night, too, caught up in still getting used to having each other again.

Her features softened and as soon as Steve's grip on her eased. She closed what little distance was still left between them, her fingers trailing along his cheek before she leaned in to give him a lingering kiss.

"We have time," she promised, pulling back.

Her hands moved swiftly as she pushed Steve's jacket down his shoulders while he looked at her, taking note of the light caught in her hair and an easiness about her that he had he only seen before in the moments when they were making love, when all her guards were down.

She missed her home, Steve realized, and his heart filled with bittersweet longing. All this time of Earth, and he didn't have a corner to call his own. Diana was and always had been the only home he'd known for as long as he could remember.

The realization – something that he knew for a very long time but never put into words – left his mind reeling. He allowed her to usher him under the patterned quilt, his body singing in relief when he finally got to stretch out on the mattress, his eyelids lead-heavy.

Steve wrapped his arm around one of the pillows as Diana lowered down to sit next to him.

"See?" he muttered, inhaling the smell of detergent and her from the pillowcase. Everything here smelled like her, god help him. It was like heaven. "All good."

She smiled. "Rest."

"Not tired," he repeated stubbornly even though they both knew that he was basically keeling over.

The nervous energy that had been coursing through his system ever since they had left the lake house seemed to have drained completely out of him, leaving nothing by heavy exhaustion behind.

Diana laughed, and the warmth of it jolted through him, intoxicating.

"Just because you say so doesn't make it true, Steve."

"Stay with me," he asked, twining his fingers through hers and kissing her fingertips, his eyes already drooping.

She stroked his hair tenderly until he gave in, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

"Sleep," Diana repeated, leaning close to kiss him on the forehead.

"Stay," he breathed, a moment before he dozed off.

When Steve woke up a few hours later, the room was dark. Behind the window, Paris was gleaming with hundreds of thousands of lights stretching all the way to the point where the horizon was melting into the ink-black sky. If he didn't look too closely, it was hard to tell which one was which.

It took him a moment to figure out where he was and how he got there, the sleep clinging to his mind like a thin cobweb. He rubbed his eyes, pushing the fog out of his head and looked around, noticing pale light streaming in from the hallway. He noted that the reading lamp on the nightstand was turned on now. It wasn't when he'd drifted off.

On top of that, he distinctly did not remember getting rid of his clothes, but now he was stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, although he wasn't going to question it.

And then the hallway light went off and Diana appeared in the doorway. She smiled when she saw that he was awake, that soft, content curve of her lips that Steve loved more than life itself.

"You should be asleep," she whispered, crossing the room, changed into a tank top and pyjama shorts.

Steve stifled a yawn. "What time is it?"

"A little past midnight."

His eyebrows pulled together. "Why are you still up?"

"I'm not."

She turned off the lamp and slipped under the covers.

Steve reached for her, gathering her to him until their bodies were fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, all curves and angles tucked into one another. He nuzzled into her neck, breathing her in, warm and solid and there.

"Hi."

"Hi," Diana murmured, kissing him.

"Did you take my clothes off?" he asked.

"Couldn't stop myself," she responded with a grin.

"Figures," he murmured "You should've woken me. I could've helped you."

She settled into him, relaxing into his body lulled by the comforting warmth of his skin against hers. Still barely awake, Steve traced the length of her spine, very aware of the way she responded to the smallest of touches by shifting even closer to him. It never ceased to amaze him - and never would - that a century later, she was still as attuned to him as she had been in their first days together when everything was fresh and new between them. Still as insatiable as they both were then, too.

"Sleep," Diana breathed, draping her arm across his abdomen. "I'll exhaust you soon enough."

"Promise?" Steve smiled, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger.

"Yes." She pressed a kiss to his chin and rested her head on his chest. "I promise."

As far as morning people went, Diana was a poster child of one. Having grown up on Themyscira and lived through Antiope's merciless training regimes, there had been no idleness or boredom in her life for as long as she remembered, the minutes and hours of her existence stitched together into a canvas that stretched across the world as she knew it.

In all the time she had spent in man's world, Diana rarely broke that habit. There had always been something to do, somewhere to be, something to take care of. If it wasn't mankind falling prey to its own vices, then it was her job, and it if wasn't that, the world never stopped spinning, always throwing something or other at her. She could count on one hand how many times she'd allowed herself to stay in bed past sunrise even when there was nothing calling for her attention.

Today though, it was different. The cold November sun had crept over the horizon over an hour ago, flooding the city outside the bedroom window with soft, inviting light. Yet, she didn't so much as move, watching Steve's chest rise and fall slowly as he breathed, her gaze gliding slowly over his features, taking note of the curve of his mouth that she never wanted to stop kissing and the line of his nose and the way his eyes moved beneath his eyelids as he dreamed.

Still barely changed after all these years.

There was a very fine net of lines around his eyes – from smiling with his whole face when he thought that no one was watching. The chiselled cheekbones and a strong jawline, shadowed with stubble. He did need a haircut, she mused, barely resisting the urge to stroke her hand through his hair, feel its smoothness between the fingers, but reluctant to disturb him.

She still couldn't believe that this was happening, that Steve was here, back with her again.

For however long they could make it last, it was just the two of them. No members of the League knocking on her door at any time of day and night; no Bruce still pointedly avoiding her gaze while they tried to rebuild a relationship devoid of what-ifs; no imminent crisis that needed to be dealt with that very moment. Her heart had stopped squeezing fiercely every time Steve was out of her sight for more than an hour. Now, there were only minutes stretching before them that Diana couldn't wait to fill with whatever he wanted to do, wherever he wanted to go.

"You know that I can feel you staring at me, right?" Steve muttered groggily, his voice thick, as he blinked his eyes open slowly.

Lying beside him with her temple propped against the heel of her hand, Diana smiled. "I remember you saying last night that you weren't tired," she reminded him coyly. "Insisting, even."

He chuckled. "Must've overestimated myself," he noted, his voice light.

This time, she didn't resist reaching for him, brushing his hair back from his forehead. Steve caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, making her pulse stammer against his lips. Diana grew up listening to the stories of the greatest love known to the world, seeping in the tales with her very skin, but never once did she think that one could love the way she loved him – to the point of aching in her chest, the feeling so consuming it all but swallowed her whole.

"What day is it?" Steve asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He glanced toward the window and grimaced in the too-bright light.

"Sunday."

"What happened to Saturday?" he frowned.

Diana hummed and leaned over to brush a light kiss to his lips.

"I have something for you."

Steve's eyebrows arched, his gaze swiping unashamedly over her body. "Something good, I hope?"

Heat flared up inside of her, her memory helpfully offering up the promise she'd made last night, the one that she fully intended to keep. Time and time again, perhaps. She could, Diana thought with a smile, pencil a few days of nothing but alone time for them into her planner should they decide so.

But later. Right now, she had something else she needed to take care of.

Ignoring his attempt to slide his arm around her and pull her to him, she rolled over and opened the top drawer on the nightstand by the bed. Her fingers closed around his watch, its strap even more worn now after all the time that she wore it on her own wrist after he was gone. The only tangible proof that she had of his existence when the memories that she cherished the most felt like nothing but a dream.

Diana turned around and opened her hand.

Steve's smile slipped, his eyes growing wide at the sight of it in her palm as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Like a ghost from the past. Another one. She was all too familiar with the feeling.

"You have it," he said after a moment, reaching for the watch gingerly – like he was scared that it would turn to dust in his hands. Diana watched him trace his fingers along the strap, over the glass covering the face. Over a hundred years of history contained within one small object. "You've had it all this time. I thought I'd lost it," he muttered under his breath.

She shook her head. "You left it behind." And then, "I should have told you sooner."

Steve looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "No, no. I just—I can't believe you kept it."

"Of course, I did." Tenderness filled her chest at the sight of his small wondrous smile. "I would've… I would've sent it to you if I knew where to find you." She couldn't help smiling a little too when he chuckled.

"I do remember asking you to take care of it," he murmured.

"It was all I had left of you," she said softly, ignoring the pang of sadness in the pit of her stomach.

She debated mentioning the photograph that Bruce had found, but it wasn't as personal as the watch. He might not even remember it being taken at all, for all she knew. With everything that had happened prior to that, and everything that had followed, those few seconds were such a small moment in time that she would never have faulted him for pushing it out of his mind.

She could take him to the Louvre for a tour next week and show it to him. It would make a good surprise.

"Still ticking," Steve breathed out, glancing down, and then at her once more. "Thank you."

He put the watch on the pillow between them and reached for Diana, his hand slipping around her neck and burrowing into her hair as he drew her to him. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, slowly. It was laced with need and desire and everything that he had trouble putting into words; and gratitude more than anything else. Not for the watch, per se, she figured, but for holding on to him, even after all this time.

Diana pulled away and rested her forehead against his, a smile on her lips, her nails scratching gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. "You're welcome."

Steve swept his thumb over her cheek.

"I wrote to you, you know?"

Surprised, she drew back to look at him. "You did?"

"Yeah." He traced his finger along the line of her collarbone, and then glanced down. She watched a small smile appear on his lips that he tried to distil with a dismissive shake of his head. "Something like two dozen letters over the years. I never sent them, of course."

"What did you write about?" Diana asked, curious.

He made a face and looked past her, a little amused and a little self-conscious about the admittance. She was thrilled by his confession, but even more so by the fact that even a century later, she could still make the colour rise up his cheeks. Could leave him flustered about nothing.

He didn't have to say that. If Diana never knew about the letters it would've made no difference, but it never ceased to amaze her how willingly Steve would give himself to her, baring his soul without being asked. She knew it was a no easy feat for him, never had been - his life had left enough scars on him to make sure of that - and she loved him all the more for trying.

"Everything I wanted to tell you but couldn't," Steve said, at last, still not looking at her. "Everything I never got a chance to say. Apologies. Some things about my life. Where I'd been, what I'd done. And how much I love you."

Propped up on the elbow and facing him, Diana watched him study her room for a long moment, her gaze following the line of his profile.

"Do you still have them?"

Steve turned to her. "Yeah. Yes, I think I do. But not with me."

"Tell me then," she asked.

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "All of it is old news, I'm afraid."

"Doesn't matter," she insisted, smiling. "I want to know."

He was looking at her somewhat skeptically, uncertain whether she was serious or not, his brows furrowed ever so slightly. Diana could barely resist the impulse to smooth them out with her fingers, to kiss the playful doubt from his face.

She was tempted – so very tempted – to bridge what little space was between them and seal the idea of spending the rest of the day in bed, finding ways to coax those written words out of him that he wouldn't be able to resist. But he was going to get hungry soon - if he wasn't already, and he needed sustenance if she planned to keep working them both as hard as she had up to this moment.

Besides, some sunlight would do them both good, she figured.

"Over breakfast, yes?" she pressed, an eyebrow arched.

"Breakfast," Steve echoed, visibly enthused by the idea.

"But first – shower." Diana kicked off the covers and slid out of the bed, only pausing in the doorway to glance over her shoulder, her hand resting briefly on the doorframe. "You coming?"

He didn't need to be asked twice.

As it turned out, after several weeks spent in Gotham, her fridge was painfully and utterly empty, save for a few bottles of condiments that were of little use with nothing to put them on, and a few sorry-looking carrots that looked equally useless. Diana's eyes swept the shelves as she made a mental list of the items to be shopped for later, or so Steve assumed as he watched her, not even bothering to try and contain his smile.

He suspected that this was, perhaps, the first time she had allowed herself this kind of oversight, and he was pleased with the distraction that he had caused. Stupidly pleased, if he was completely honest.

When she suggested finding something outside, Steve merely nodded.

"I know just the place," Diana said, pulling him out the door.

Truth be told, if she'd asked him to follow her to the gates of hell itself, Steve still wouldn't have hesitated for a second. He'd walk after her without much care for the plan for the day - or the rest of their lives, for that matter - just as long as she was with him.

After the doom and gloom of Gotham, Paris, with its late autumn sunlight – a pleasant surprise after the rain that fell the previous day - and the smell of fallen leaves and roasting chestnuts felt like a breath of fresh air. The breeze from the river was chilly, though, tugging at their clothes and snaking under their jackets, making the occasional passers-by tuck their faces deeper into the scarves and collars of their coats. Yet, Steve enjoyed it. Enjoyed it far more than he was willing to let on, not sure if it was the change of scenery or the chance to not think about Amanda Waller and S.T.A.R. Labs for a little while.

He wrapped his arm around Diana as they walked and she wound both of hers around him, their legs bumping awkwardly together every now and then. It was hardly practical or particularly comfortable, but he couldn't care less, revelling in the closeness of her. The freedom, the distance from the ever-present company of the other members of the League, felt enthralling. Like they were suddenly living in an entirely different world.

He knew that Diana's life was bound to catch up with them sooner rather than later, but right now, this morning, it was just them and her laughter and the smile that he would die for without hesitation if he had to. And just being.

It turned out that she did, in fact, know where to take him - Le Petit Chef, a small café a couple of blocks from her place that Steve was quite certain was already operating when he last lived in Paris in the 1950s. Back in the day, it probably aimed for sophistication, but following the new trends, it now teetered between vintage and hipster, what with its mismatched chairs around old tables and a couch and a wide bookshelf lining the back wall.

This close to the Latin Quarter, the place was packed, even on a lazy Sunday morning – mostly students with laptops and yawning tourists, too restless to sleep in when they had so much to see and do. Steve's eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the easy normalcy of the lives of people who never knew any different – a little wistful, a little relieved. Contrary to popular belief, there was no glory in watching people die en masse. All things considered, he was more than a little happy to know that at least two generations had no idea what it was like to live stark in the middle of a war.

They found a place out on the patio – a little less crowded than the inside of the café. The day was cool but the sun was glorious and it would've been a shame to miss it.

"Since when do we have twenty breakfast options?" Steve muttered, studying the menu, not oblivious to how Diana had to press her lips together so she wouldn't burst out laughing. He looked up, baffled by the variety of choices.

He could still remember the days when they had exactly two of them – eggs, scrambled or sunny-side up. And you had to be either grateful for them, or get out.

He frowned when his gaze snatched an unfamiliar item. "What the hell in an acai bowl?"

Biting back her smile, Diana ordered for both of them when the waitress came with their coffees, upon Steve's request and permission. Not the mysterious bowl, he hoped, but it also didn't really matter, come to think of it. Whatever it was, he'd had it worse - that he knew for a fact. Besides, it was such a small thing now. Diana was here, with him, smiling at him every time their eyes met across the table and making him grin like a complete fool. A lovesick fool. The food options were so far down his list of priorities that Steve couldn't even see them.

The waitress returned with their food, placing the plates before them. (Nothing he didn't recognize, thank god.)

"Tell me," Diana asked again, stirring her coffee with a spoon when the girl left.

And so he did, trying to recollect the words that came so much easier when he was putting them on paper rather than trying to say them aloud. Words that he could whisper in the dark but that felt odd and raw in his throat in the light of day. His regrets and apologies and small things that made waking up in the morning and moving forward worth it. How he wanted to come looking for her but never had the courage to do it, fearful of being turned down. How it was tearing him apart that he missed her to the point of an ache all the way in his bone marrow.

Steve filled in the gaps in the stories he had already told her, remembering details along the way that he had long forgotten, certain that Diana had noticed the slight tremor in his voice as he spoke and grateful to her for not drawing attention to it.

It had been so long, and yet there were things that he could recall so clearly he could hardly believe it. Places and people and moments resurfacing in his mind like images on developing film.

About reading a book a wondering what she'd think about it, and if she'd read it, too.

About meeting the people who reminded Steve of his friends, gone by then.

About waking up with Diana's name on his lips, like a prayer, and the tight feeling in the centre of his chest when he'd habitually reach over only to find the spot next to him cold and empty. And the day when that happened for the hundredth time, the longing never growing any easier.

A million small things he could only tell Diana. Memories and thoughts no one else understood.

He only noticed how badly his hands were shaking when he fell silent, after a long while, the buzz of life around them slowly making its way into the periphery pf his attention.

"What are you thinking?" Steve asked her after a minute went by.

Her chin resting on the heel of her hand, Diana was watching him from across the table with contemplative amusement that did little to hide the storm of emotions in her eyes.

"That I can't wait to take your clothes off," she responded, tossing his own words from a few days ago at him and breaking the spell that old memories cast upon him.

Steve sputtered, choking on his coffee that had gone cold by now, and coughed, bright colour rising up his cheeks. He glanced around but the only other occupied table on the patio had an elderly couple sitting at it, their heads bent over the map of Paris and their focus nowhere near his conversation with Diana.

He turned to her to find her grinning at him, knowing that she'd done it on purpose and appreciative of the distraction that made tight tension leave his body. Knowing that she'd meant it, too. Far be it from her to say something she didn't mean. That, and the time they had spent in bed recently, as well as a while back, was enough of an indication of her sincerity. Another kind of heat jolted through his belly. They were close enough to her place to make it happen again in under fifteen minutes…

"What are you really thinking?" Steve asked instead, noticing something troublesome lurking behind her eyes.

She arched an eyebrow suggestively, but the moment had passed and her smile slipped.

"That I wish you'd sent them," Diana said, quietly.

Steve's gaze drifted away from her. Part of him wished he'd done it, too, but he couldn't see what good would've come out of it. Not when the wounds that he had inflicted on them both were still open and tender to the touch.

He didn't say that, though, just turned to her again.

"And?"

This time she allowed her forehead to crease in a slight frown.

"Whatever is happening in Gotham, with S.T.A.R. Labs and… everything," she glanced away, her eyes following the stream of people and cars moving up and down the street only a few feet away from them. "It's not over."

This sobered him in two seconds flat. "I know," Steve breathed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Diana looked at him again. "But it will be," she said with certainty, determined. "And when it is… Would you like to come live here with me?"

He blinked at her, surprised, the shift from the playfulness of their earlier conversation to the reality they'd left behind for the time being to this so sudden that it left him with a sense of vertigo.

"You don't have to," she added quickly, mistaking his confusion for refusal. "If you'd rather not, I don't want to assume…" She trailed off. "I wouldn't expect you to-"

"Diana." He stopped her.

She met his eyes, a little hesitant.

Steve reached across the table and took her hand. He turned it over, his thumb running over the centre of her palm, where her skin was warm against his touch. He smiled, watching her features relax under his gaze. A moment passed, and then another one. He could spend a thousand years just looking at her, and that alone would have been enough to live for.

It was simple to slip back into their old patterns, the things they'd done before that never quite aged, but this was still new, he realized. Their lives different from what they'd been before. They still needed to find a proper way to fit them together, somehow. And he wanted desperately to do it right this time. He wanted that more than anything.

Diana's lips curled up at the corners, forming into a smile, and something warm and glowing all but burst in his chest.

There was only so much he could do not to lean across the table and kiss her doubts away.

"I want to be with you," Steve said quietly, his eyes flicking between hers. "For as long as you'll have me, I want nothing more than to be with you."

She squeezed his hand back. "That might be a very long time."

"Good. If you're sure-"

"I'm sure," she stopped him, decisively.

He leaned over and lifted her hand to press a quick kiss to her fingers, and then let go of it when the waitress came to clear their plates and leave the check. Steve squinted in the sunlight, his gaze darting towards a vintage car that cruised down the street. One of the early models that he might have owned at some point that was now considered the peak of luxury, its age and history considered.

"What about Amanda Waller?" he asked.

"What about her?"

"She might have different plans for… the League. For me."

It didn't bother him much. The woman was hardly a threat, no matter what she thought of herself but god only knew how much trouble she could cause to the rest of them. It unnerved him that she had managed to dig her way this deep into his life.

Diana shook her head. "I will never let her come anywhere near you, Steve."

"I'm not scared of her, if that's what you think," he let out a sigh. "And I don't need you to fight my battles for me." His voice was firm, but not defensive. It wasn't his pride or ego, but merely a confirmation of the fact that they both knew – he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Diana nodded. "I know. I'm not trying to, but I'm not going to lose you when I finally found you again. Not to that woman, nor to anything or anyone else."

He didn't doubt that she meant it.

"You're not going to lose me," Steve promised, his voice earnest. "I swear to god, I'm not going anywhere."

"Not very far, at least," she hummed, and he couldn't help but smile. She stood up and offered him her hand. "Come."

"Where are we going?" Steve asked, weaving his fingers through hers as he followed her between the empty tables and back out on to the street.

"Does it matter?"

He shook his head, smiling. "No."

He refused to think about Gotham or Amanda Waller for the rest of the day, following Diana down the street and into narrow alleys, her voice pouring in his ears, the words that washed over him and travelled right through him. An idle conversation about nothing in particular that he still wanted to bottle up and remember for a thousand lifetimes.

He'd forgotten how much he loved this place, the history seeping through the walls and rising into the air, the charm and easy sophistication that came here naturally somehow, without anyone trying. They stopped for lunch when they got hungry. They bought a loaf of bread in the bakery to feed lazy ducks in the park. They picked up groceries, and the simplicity of something this easy and comfortable left Steve's mind reeling. He'd forgotten that, too. Belonging rather than drifting.

Watching Diana pick produce and debate between brands of milk, he felt his chest ache with how much he wanted this, all of this, no matter the cost. Surely, they deserved their happiness. She did. He knew that she did, and if he was the one who could give it to her, he would do so willingly and gladly and for as long as she'd let him.

Later that night, when the night was still and quiet outside and Diana was nestled into the curve of his body, Steve's lips stretching into a smile with a will of their own. "Did you really think of taking my clothes off when we were at that café, earlier today?" he asked.

Diana made an amused sound in the back of her throat and brushed a kiss to his chest. "I think about that a lot," she confessed.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "Good. Because I think about that a lot, too."

---

A/N: So... what do you think?

I've been sort of indulging my fluff-craving self ever since Steve and Diana got back together but we're going to have some plot, too, I promise! I mean, there's like 150k more material so you probably won't be bored.

In the meantime, comments, thoughts and general yelling are very much appreciated :)