Disclaimer: Don't own the characters and this is a non-profit undertaking. So…don't sue.

Author's Note: I just want to wish the readers a very happy holiday season. Enjoy this time with your family, friends, loved ones.

Chapter Nine

Two Men And A Woman

"What?"

Two pairs of wide eyes stared at him in disbelief as both his parents exclaimed in unison with Jonathan coughing into his coffee as his son relayed the shocking event of the previous night during breakfast.

"Like I said…she---"

"I flipped him over." She finished Clark's sentence effortlessly, the wide and innocent blue eyes looking through the steam from her coffee mug as she prepared to sip.

"And…why would you do that, dear?" Jonathan had to ask while stifling the urge to laugh.

"He grabbed my behind."

"Oh! The nerve of that man." Martha shook her head but was silently thankful that all Bruce Wayne got was a pulled muscle and a very sore butt instead of the permanent disability to further his family heritage. "Being wealthy doesn't give him the right to sexually assault any female he likes." Not that Diana is just any kind of female.

"Sweetheart, Bruce Wayne is not exactly known for being a gentleman." Jonathan smiled at his wife. "And, you must admit, most of the females do not exactly react…the same way."

"And I think some even welcome his advances," Clark added before a generous slice of buttered toast disappeared into his mouth.

"He is that popular with females?" She remembered her own unwanted and surprising reaction towards him last night. There was certainly something…fascinating about that man, an intangible quality that captured her interest.

"Yes. Money, charm and, not to mention, the good looks can definitely make him the most sought after bachelor." It was Martha who answered. "And he might have set his sights on someone we know…" The last sentence was deliberately left hanging.

Clark considered his mother's statement, trying to maintain a detached perspective, while sipping on his coffee. "Well, the good thing is…he's probably used to that kind of treatment from women that I don't think he'll press charges." Clark looked to his left. "And may I ask that you lessen your intake of that. Too much coffee is not good for you."

"This is just my second cup," she answered while trying her best to slice a stubborn piece of sausage on her plate. Finally giving up, she just stabbed the juicy meat with her fork and took a hearty bite.

For some strange reason, he cringed inwardly at the sight of what she just did. "And that will be your last," he reminded her.

"Anyway…" Martha spoke after buttering a piece of lightly browned, very crispy bread. "Is that Bruce Wayne handsome? As he is on the magazines or television?"

"Yes."

"I don---" Clark cut off his statement and looked again to his left with a raised brow. "Really? You find him…attractive?"

"Yes," she answered truthfully.

"I did not know he is your type."

"Type?"

"I mean…you like that sort of---"

"I did not say I like him, I just said he is attractive."

"What's the difference?"

She considered his inquiry for a while and, at the same time, Jonathan was clearing his throat and Martha was smiling to herself, noticing that their son was acting a little differently.

It was Martha who interrupted the argument "But I bet Clark's more handsome, isn't he Diana?"

"Mom…"

Diana was about to reply when the loud, buzzing sound of a helicopter flying low interrupted.

"Is that a chopper?" Jonathan asked.

"I think so." Clark stood up and followed his father to the living room.

When the two men disappeared to the patio to investigate what was going on outside the usually quiet farm, the women continued with their breakfast.

"I met some of Clark's friends," she mentioned to Martha after finishing the hotdog and sunny side up. "He has many friends."

"Yes…he's a very likeable person."

"I am not."

Martha was surprised at the admission. "Why do you say that?"

She put down her fork and remembered the mostly cold reception she got from his acquaintances. "I feel that most of them don't like me. With the exception of Bruce Wayne of course."

"Honey…" Martha spoke in a motherly way. "Don't mind them. Let's just say…it's not everyday they get to see someone like you."

"Like an Amazon?"

"No." A comforting hand reached out and tapped hers, instincts dictating that the touch was needed to offer an amount of reassurance. "A very beautiful woman."

It was not hard to be warmed by the affectionate gesture, something that came easy with Martha. "Clark is very different from all of them," she commented, watching the older woman stand up. "He is a good man. You've raised a good son."

Martha beamed, holding the coffeepot. "Thank you. Want another cup?"

She laughed. "As much as I want to…I made a promise so I have to decline."

Martha was about to ask if she was really not capable of deceit when Clark returned. "You wouldn't believe who is outside talking to dad at this precise moment."

Martha tried to take a peek through the windows but the bright yellow drapes hindered her view. She returned her questioning gaze to her son after an unsuccessful attempt. "Who?"

He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his worn out jeans, casting a long look at Diana who appeared to be busy trying to read the morning paper. Then he turned his attention back to the inquiring eyes of his mother, reaching out with his hand to softly urge Martha to turn away from Diana's view. "Bruce Wayne."

"But…how did he know the…address?" Martha whispered, the ceramic dishes uttering a small complaint, a faint clang, after they were deposited on the nearby sink.

"I don't know," he whispered back.

"Why do you think he's here?"

"No idea," he shrugged. "Maybe its best that you…keep Diana out of sight."

"I don't hide from a battle."

He finally turned around and looked at her sitting form. "Well…this is not a battle."

"Then why the need to hide?" She was neatly folding the newspaper back in place.

"I just don't want a rematch of the previous encounter you had."

Martha smirked. "For a while there…I thought you were beginning to be jealous."

He tried to appear incredulous. "Why would I be…jealous?"

"Do you have to ask?" Martha winked before wiping her hands on a towel. "Diana…I want to show you something."

"What?"

"Have you ever seen…Clark's baby pictures?"

Her blue eyes went from simple curiosity to sudden excitement. Because of her newfound appreciation for pictures, she stood abruptly from the chair, toting the half full coffee mug in her right hand. She followed closely behind Martha, casting a smug expression as she passed by Clark who was protesting to his mother, albeit in vain.

Once in the bedroom the familiar scent reminded her of last night, eliciting a warm smile on her face at the memory of him lying on the floor, hands behind his head, with only a pillow and a blanket for comfort while she snugly occupied his bed.

They barely slept that night. There were too much to stories to talk about, valuable knowledge to impart, valued memories to share. And it felt as if they were trying to condense their life stories and experiences into the very limited time they were allowed because they both knew they would never be blessed with the chance once more.

A weak sound of a hinge in need of a little lubrication broke her reverie when at the other side of the room Martha was extracting an old and tattered brown box from the cabinet and she assisted by placing the package on the bed. It was like a rusty treasure trove that contained precious jewels that came in the form of old albums that contained a number of pictures, priceless reminders of times gone by. And slowly, image-by-image, Martha took her back in time, proudly showing her the early childhood photographs of the adopted son that they came to love as their own.

It was another heartfelt bonding time for the two women as they shared recollections from the past and laughed at the candid pictures of young Clark as they sat on the bed. And every once in a while she found herself taking quick glimpses of Martha's beaming countenance as if trying to imprint the image into her mind as her own version of a picture, a picture that would never tear at the edges. Then she felt a soft tug deep in her heart that was tinted with the slightest amount of sadness and regret at the very thought of the truth that she would have to leave this wonderful family, this home the next morning.

But that was still tomorrow. She still had a whole day left to belong.

It was a little while before Clark made his presence felt starting with a soft knock on his own door. And as he approached his face registered an alarmed expression when his eyes fell upon a particular picture that managed to find its way in the middle of the bed. He walked over and snatched a naked snapshot of him when he was a toddler.

"Clark…it's nothing we haven't seen before."

"Mom…" He could feel the color on his cheeks as both women looked at him with amusement while tidying up. "Anyway, if you must know, Bruce Wayne has left." It was a subtle attempt, though very painfully obvious, to divert the topic from him.

"What did he want?" Martha asked.

He sat on the edge of the bed near to Diana. "I got my…interview."

"Even after I injured him last night?"

"He'll live, for sure."

Martha noticed something was amiss. "Why don't you look happy with it?"

"He…" How could he say the he got Diana in some sort of a…predicament? "He…asked for something in return."

"What did he ask?" Martha's hand stilled for a while.

He chanced a sidelong glance at the woman beside him. "He wants to have dinner with…Diana."

"Dinner?"

"You don't have to say yes---"

"I would like to have dinner with him." Her reply came out faster than intended.

Both mother and son were stunned. "What?" His brow rose.

Last night, she was ready to clean the dance floor with Bruce Wayne's expensive suit. Now, she seemed only too eager to go out on a date with the same man.

He was starting to be confused with her.

He was also worried, even for the playboy.

And, to be honest, he was a little…just the slightest…

"I said I would like to have dinner with him." She stood up and assisted Martha with the box.

"And why may I ask?" He was right behind her wearing a certain expression that did not escape the eyes of his mother.

Martha just shook her head when she heard the faint note of jealousy creeping up her son's voice again.

"I'm doing this for you."

"Oh…" He sounded surprised. "You don't have to."

"If you are worried I might hurt him again…don't."

Martha smirked at him once more. "Yes, Clark…don't worry too much. I'm beginning to think you are really jea---"

"I'm not."

"If you say so." Martha gave an affectionate pinch on the slightly pink cheek before turning to Diana. "Well…after we have lunch, we'll see what dress you can wear to dinner." And just before they stepped out of his room, Martha turned. "And Clark…instead of going into denial, fix your room, will you honey?"

He caught a pillow that his mother threw at him. "Just don't…make her wear that red dress…" His voice trailed off when the door closed.

He was left staring at the door again and it was beginning to be a habit lately. He shook his head with a smile and started cleaning up the mess that once was his bedroom.

And then his eyes caught sight of his pillow and his bed…the bed she slept on last night.

She probably did not know…but when she finally slept after they laughed and shared stories, he did not sleep at all. No, he did not sleep a wink.

It was too magical a moment to pass up.

He was too awake and busy…watching her peaceful, very beautiful and enchanting face as she slept.

It was almost seven in the evening when a private helicopter momentarily interrupted the quiet atmosphere, disturbing the cornfield, to pick her up. And once they were airborne, she recalled the numerous reminders of her friend about behaving properly during dinner, and most importantly, not inflicting bodily harm to the host.

She lost track of time as she gazed at the dark scenery before her as they flew. Soon the helicopter landed softly and a limousine was waiting at the heliport to take her to the mansion. It was a short drive and as the car finally pulled up in front of the manor, a friendly looking older man waited by the patio to open the door for her.

She gracefully got off the vehicle and remembered Clark's reminder about manners. "Thank you." She offered the butler a polite smile.

"You're most welcome, Miss," Alfred almost lost his voice and greeted her a second later than usual.

For a moment, as he looked at the face, he noticed in awe that, even with just the subtle yellow glow of the patio lights and the addition of soft moonlight, her face had a certain glow, a warmth. She, undoubtedly, was the most beautiful woman Bruce had ever invited to the manor.

Well…beautiful was putting it mildly. She was a goddess.

He made a curt bow as if to acknowledge the fact. "May I introduce myself, I'm Alfred Pennyworth, Master Bruce's loyal butler."

"Diana," she answered.

Her eyes are mesmerizingly blue, Alfred thought and checked himself. "Well Miss Diana, shall we? Master Bruce instructed me to show you inside." He stepped forward and opened the ornate door for her.

She fell a step behind Alfred, feeling free to roam her gaze appreciatively around the earth hued passage. "It's a…beautiful house," she remarked as they walked the length of the carpeted hallway.

"It has been the ancestral home of the Wayne's for generations." Alfred boasted as they walked towards the living room, leading her inside. "Can I offer you some beverage while you wait for Master Bruce?"

She wanted to ask for coffee. But again, with a smile, Clark's voice interrupted her thoughts. Too much coffee is bad for you. "No…thank you, Mr. Pennyworth. I'll just wait."

She had a magical smile. "Just Alfred, Miss." He smiled in return. "What about some cookies?"

I've never had cookies before. "I have to dec---"

"I've just baked a fresh batch made from the finest quality butter."

A piece would not hurt. "Well…if you insist."

"Yes, I insist." With a smile and a curt bow the butler left.

Well, she certainly is not like most of the women Bruce had dated through the years, Alfred thought as he carefully placed several pieces of round, rich yellow cookies on a plate beside a dainty teapot, a matching teacup and saucer on a silver tray. There is something…regal about her, he added thoughtfully. Finishing touches were a silver teaspoon and a small, porcelain vase where he happily placed a single but elegant white rose.

Alfred was short of humming a tune as he walked back. He was excited about impressing the guest. And he did not get excited that easy.

For Bruce's sake, he hoped she was the one.

"Here we are." He set the tray on the wooden center table.

"Oh, thank you." She noticed the flower. "You did not need to go through all the trouble."

"Believe me, Miss. It's my pleasure." Alfred smiled. "Well then, make yourself comfortable. He'll probably be here in a few minutes. I must depart momentarily to attend to dinner." Alfred curtly nodded and left.

Left alone in the large room, her eyes went to what Alfred had prepared when the rich aroma called to her. Approaching the low table, she picked up a small piece of the pastry and gingerly took a small bite. The creamy, buttery taste was very pleasing and the remaining piece immediately disappeared into her mouth. She picked up another while surveying the room.

It was a spacious room, a lot larger than the Kent's living room, with a high ceiling. On the center is an ornate table, surrounded by matching antique chairs. On the sides of the room were display cabinets that stored more priceless adornments while one side was occupied by a fireplace.

Walking across the room to the cabinet with footsteps muted by the Persian rug underneath her feet, she gave careful attention to the antique décor. He must really be wealthy to obtain such rare works of art. Too engrossed in the artwork, she was unable to detect a presence nearby.

At the same time, Bruce was about to walk through entrance of the room, after attending to a business call, when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

A few feet away she stood, with her profile to him, admiring one of the antique vases. While munching on a piece of Alfred's cookies.

And to him, time stopped for a while. Again.

In slow motion, her left hand raised and her long and slender fingers tucked some wayward strands of hair that managed to free themselves from a piece of white ribbon that secured her long, dark tresses.

Then his eyes noticed that she was wearing a simple, sleeveless white dress, with a low hemline that extended inches below her knee.

She could wear a sack and still be enchanting.

He smiled when she finished the cookie.

At the same time she turned and stepped away, with her back to him, to look at a painting hung above the fireplace that faced the entrance. And with admiring eyes he noted, with a sly grin, that the dress, though conservative he initially thought it was, clung to her very figure embracing the hourglass silhouette and the firm, perfect shape of her…

He stepped into the room. "For a moment, I thought you would not accept my invitation."

She turned to him and he was suddenly reminded once more how enchanting she was. "It was the least I could do after what I did last night." Her face and voice were serious. "But I am not sorry."

He smiled. "I deserve that. Though you almost broke my arm."

"You mean I did not?" Her brows rose in question but she did not wait for a response. "I am also doing this for my friend, as a favor."

"Kent?"

"In exchange for the interview you granted him."

He could see she was nowhere near delighted to be here because her voice did not even disguise her true feelings. "I can see we're off to another bad start." He did not want her to wipe the floor again with him. "Let me reintroduce myself. Bruce Wayne."

"Diana." She placed her hand in the right that he extended.

"Just Diana?" He refrained from kissing her hand because of the way she was strangely looking at what he was going to do with it. Instead, he shook hands with her. What a grip. "Okay."

"Are they your parents?" It was a sudden question.

"Yes."

She looked at him then looked back at the painting as if searching for a resemblance.

"They are dead. Killed by a lowlife…a mugger when I was just a kid."

She was surprised but was probably the first who did not take pity nor make a compulsory apology for a crime she did not commit. He admired her for that.

"Let's sit down, shall we."

She almost answered that she preferred standing but she had to remember that she was, after all, a guest in the house and it would be rude if she contradicted the host. And all the sixty minutes of Clark's lecture regarding rudeness would be wasted if she did not follow. She sat opposite him, knees together, hands on her lap.

"What about you, where are your parents?"

"Around here, I consider the Kent's…my family." It was mentioned matter-of-factly. Though she felt a certain warmness at her own admission.

She truly experienced being a part of a beautiful family.

On his part of the room, he was busy analyzing. Family…that meant she and the Kent guy were close. And the thought that they might be engaged made him feel an unwelcome hint of something he did not want to admit.

"And what is your relationship, exactly, with Clark Kent?" He just could not help but ask even if he knew he was sticking his nose into somebody else's business.

And that made her more on guard, more wary because there was a truth that she could and should not tell him. "My relationship with Clark…is none of your concern."

Funny, he was just thinking that. And he also thought that if she were any other woman, she probably would have put on the charms by now, or be all over him already. But instead she was only sending him one signal. Coldness.

"You're not from around here, aren't you?" Definitely not.

"No."

Where in the world could that place be? Where my name and my reputation are unheard of? "Where then?"

"Would you believe if I told you?" Her voice was flat.

"Try me."

"Paradise island."

He almost laughed. But her dead serious expression prevented his lips from curving into the slightest of grins. "Well, that's certainly not from around here." But he just could not resist injecting humor into his voice. "What are you doing out of the island?"

"Am I supposed to answer that for your amusement?"

"I'm sorry." He searched for more appropriate words. "Let me re-phrase it. What brings you to this part of the world?"

"A mission." There was no hesitation in her reply.

"Oh." He leaned on the soft cushion as he observed her. It was either she was telling the truth, or she was a very good and experienced liar. Or…she was nutty as a fruitcake. "What mission?"

"To return a book we…borrowed from your city."

He could not believe the recent turn of events.

Stranger things had happened in a few days, like the ancient book being returned after missing for a few days. But more odd was the truth that the elusive thief in question was probably the woman who sat in front of him now, the same woman who had so caught his attention last night that he had to search all around for her.

Her eyes were blue, mystifyingly blue, not green as he initially thought they were that night.

And he was even more surprised by her answer. That meant she was not lying, she was even admitting to an event that really happened, that even he was a part of. And her response also eliminated the possibility of her being a nutcase. It made him feel…relieved, somehow. But a greater part of him was now suspicious.

The Bruce Wayne persona was starting to fade as another took its place.

"That's a subtle way of putting it." Remembering how she flew from the scene, how inordinarily strong she was, made him think that there was some truth in her claim that she was not from around here. "Why did you steal it?"

"Stealing implies there is no intention of returning. We, or for that matter, I returned the book." She did not flinch but instead looked straight into his eyes. And in doing so, her enhanced senses caught a faint change in his breathing, a sudden tenseness, and there was this invisible veil that suddenly fell on his eyes, as if trying hard to conceal something in them.

What is he hiding?

"What is really your mission? And what do the Kent's and Gotham have to do with it?"

The deep voice, his voice. And the tone. It was all too familiar and there was no mistaking it. It was the same as that of the man in the mask that night. "I assure you that our interest is only a quest for knowledge."

"About?"

"Your city owns the oldest book of English translation of our ancient language." A thought occurred to her and her tone suddenly changed from the flat to an interested voice. "Actually, I even met one concerned citizen who seemed to be guarding your museum at night." Her eyes never left his. "Silly mortal. I could've crushed his skull. I remember wounding him."

Her eyes went to his right arm but it was protected by a long sleeved shirt from her view.

He almost covered his injured arm but checked himself.

The way her expression changed, how she was suddenly seeing him differently made him realize the mistake of suddenly being too serious, too wary. He slowly relaxed into being Bruce Wayne again. "Why do you need to learn another language? Your people don't exactly socialize."

"Must there always be an ulterior, a sinister motive?" A perfect brow arched in a rhetorical question. "Sorry to be of a disappointment but we have no plans of conquering this part of your world. If you've ever been to Themyscira you will understand that we don't need to interfere with the affairs outside of our home. Though you'll be dead the moment my sisters see you." Her voice spoke of a certain pride. "My queen mother is right. Men are not so very trusting."

"Trust is built over a period of time."

"Then I am sorry if you can't trust me." There was a hint of a satisfied smile in her face. "But I give you my word anyway that your…secret is very safe with me."

Deny it! Somewhere in his mind a voice shouted. But, there was something in her that kept him. A part of him considered the possibility that he could trust her. A part of him wanted her to know who he was.

She waited for him to react and tell her that she was mistaken. But when the precious seconds passed, when his face showed no emotion, when his lips did not move to utter another word, she knew he had no intention of lying to her. And the fact that he did not try to lie and hide his other identity made her feel a certain amount of respect for this man, this mere mortal, who, by his lonesome, was trying to make a change.

"You have my word that no other soul here or any other place will know of the gallant efforts you've made to protect your city. I admire you for that, thus I will carry the secret with me when I depart for my home tomorrow." She stood up. "Now if that was all you need from me, then I bid my farewell."

He stood up but still remained quiet, considering his options. He could let her go and lose her forever. Or make her stay and tell her the truth.

"It was…an honor meeting you." She made a curtsy in respect for a fellow warrior before turning away.

"That wasn't…what I wanted from you." He said behind her back.

She turned. And somehow, she felt that she wanted to stay a while. "What then?"

"Dinner. I asked you to have dinner, didn't I?" His voice was soft, and there was a faint smile in his face.

Her eyes still held a question. "I thought you just wanted to find out about my being here."

He finally smiled as a thought occurred. I planned on seducing you but then you turned out to be an Amazon. "Believe me, my motive was totally different. But then, when you admitted to who you are, it's not everyday that I have an Amazon for a guest and I immediately jumped on the defense just in case you have other plans of your own."

"Plans?"

"Lets just say that I am well known for being a…" He searched for the appropriate term that she would understand.

"A womanizing pig?"

He was surprised at her choice of words but as he looked at how innocent her blue eyes were he just had to grin. "More or less. And you being an Amazon with your hate for men…"

She smiled.

For the first time, she smiled warmly at him. And he felt his heart stop for a while.

"It is a great disguise," she had to acknowledge. "No one would ever suspect that a…"

"Womanizing pig?" He finished for her.

"Yes…" She smiled again and he felt something stir within him. "…Would care for the people the way you really do. And hate is such a strong word. Lets just say that I have reservations."

He did not want her to have reservations about him. Not her.

He knew what to do. And he was sure about it. "I want you to know…who I am. I want to explain."

"You don't have to."

"But I want to."