Chapter 7

Diana waited in the shadow of the front door to her home. She saw the black Bentley rolling confidently through the cul-de-sac, making its way up the hill. The sun shone brilliantly in the tinted windows, and the engine hummed kindly as the Bentley pulled into the driveway. The driver, a tall tanned woman in a suit and cap, stepped out and opened the backseat door: a wooden cane stomped out onto the pavement, followed closely by a handsomely polished shoe and tailored pantleg. From the car emerged a tall, lanky old man in a conservative suit jacket and tie. His skin was pink and wrinkly, and as he stepped out onto the driveway, his left hand instinctively shielded his eyes. With the other hand, he supported himself on a wooden cane.

"Always forget how bloody sunny it is here."

"Alfred Pennyworth," she called out. "Is that a new cane or are you just happy to see me?"

Alfred looked for a moment for the source of the voice. He split into a smile.

"Diana, my dear. How very good to see you."

The teasing flirtation evaporated once Alfred began walking. He shuffled along at a painfully slow rate, and his face winced with every step. Diana felt her heart sink.

"Are you alright, Alfred?" She rushed over and took him by the arm. "Here, let me help you inside."

"Actually, dear, I was hoping I could trouble you with my luggage? My hip is murder right now."

Diana started for the trunk of the car, but the tanned driver of the Bentley was already pulling out the luggage and closing the trunk. "Already on it, ma'am," said the woman in a thick British accent. "I can take it up to whatever room you'd like."

"Are you sure?" said Diana. The luggage looked rather heavy.

The driver pulled out the handlestrap from the luggage. "We offer a first-class service, ma'am. Where would you like this luggage?"

"The living room is fine, thank you."

"Of course, Ma'am." The driver dragged the rolling luggage and a carry-on through the front door. Diana watched with a puzzled expression, because the driver happened to be exceptionally beautiful—much too beautiful to be a chauffeur.

"I know," said Alfred. He looked at the woman fondly. "Say what you will about these American ride-share companies. They know presentation."

"Alfred, you are a pig."

"Guilty as charged," he returned with a smile.

They headed inside the home. It was peaceful and serene inside: the sun shone like a prism through the stained-glass windows, covering the entrance room in a beautiful palette of shades. They walked to the living room.

"I can order something if you'd like to eat," said Diana. "Maybe you want to sleep upstairs?"

"Eventually," said Alfred. "But first I'd like to hear all about the family. Where is Emma? I was expecting her at the airport."

"She got into a car accident on the freeway an hour ago—she's completely fine, don't worry. But she didn't speak to me when she got home. I think she went running."

"And Master William?"

"Working."

She helped Alfred into a handsome arm chair by the fireplace. He sat down and leaned his cane against the armrest. He looked absolutely exhausted.

"You rest easy now, Alfred. I'll be right back with some tea. Two sugars and milk?"

Alfred groaned in relief. "That sounds heavenly right now, Diana. First-class notwithstanding, American Air travel has not yet mastered the delicacy of a proper cup of Earl Grey."

"I'll be right back."

Alfred fibbed with his cane. "And pour yourself a cup as well, Diana. I want to hear all about the mischief these children are causing."

Diana missed a step while walking. "What mischief?"

"Don't look so horrified, my dear. In all families exists tension between the children and the parents. You mustn't be hard on yourself."

Diana sighed. "I know, I'm not complaining. I just want your return to be as peaceful as possible."

"I've had nothing but peace for the past decade back in London. I could use a little excitement in my life."

Diana set out a ceramic kettle to boil in the kitchen. She had an instant brewer in a cabinet, but she wanted to make it the old-fashioned way for Alfred. For a few minutes it was silent in the house, and then Alfred called out from the living room.

"How is Steve? And your newest son, David?"

Diana put two mugs on the counter. "David is with Steve. I think they went out to get some supplies for the party."

"Must be nice, to have a little one again."

"By 'nice' do you mean tiring and time-consuming?" laughed Diana.

"How are the siblings taking it?"

"Emma loves her baby brother, whereas William is, well . . ."

"Moody?" offered Alfred.

What came to Diana's mind was 'annoying,' but she very well couldn't say that about her son. It made her feel shameful.

"He's a mad scientist," said Diana finally. It was something Steve had once said about William. "He's a genius, but he's hard on people."

The kettle started to whistle. Diana poured the hot water into two mugs.

"And how is the family taking to his newest profession?"

She brought back two steaming mugs into the living room. She placed one mug on the stand beside Alfred, and she took the other one in her own hand. The mug was mildly hot, and it felt good in her palms.

Alfred bowed his head. "Thank you, my dear."

For a moment they were politely sipping. Alfred slowly set his mug down on a nightstand and said. "Well?"

Diana frowned. "Well what?"

"You didn't answer the question."

"Yes, I did."

Alfred's smile had too much understanding in it.

"I'm very proud of him," she said quickly. It sounded defensive and rehearsed.

He shifted slightly in his seat, like he was careful with his wording. Diana had forgotten how perceptive he was.

"You're his mother, it's only natural you're concerned, Diana. A police officer is a dangerous career, no matter how safe Gotham is now. And he's not special like his sister, is he?"

"William is a wonderful son, Alfred," she said. There was some heat in her voice. "I wouldn't want him any other way."

Alfred did not hide the hurt in his eyes. "Of course, dear. I meant no offense. But it is not lost on me that William chose a profession that could get him killed, whereas his sister, the superhuman, took the safe desk job. You must feel uneasy with that fact—that they're their own people now."

Diana lowered her tea mug onto the saucer. The gravity of Alfred's words slowly sunk in.

That sense of forebodingness from the morning followed her throughout the day, no matter how much she threw herself into the party's preparations. Her mind was on children, they were her greatest source of pride and worry. And Alfred had put into words her general sense of unease and displeasure.

"It is difficult," she admitted. "But I want them to lead the lives they want to live. As long as they are safe."

"You can't always protect them, Diana. It's foolish to think otherwise."

She brought her teacup into its saucer with a little too force. "I can protect them from anything in the world, Alfred. I'm their mother."

Alfred looked at her quietly. He looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it.

Suddenly the front door opened and closed. Steve Trevor appeared, and he had baby David attached to his chest on a baby bjorn. They were both wearing sunglasses: Steve with a larger set of aviators, David wearing a smaller pair on his face.

Steve was carrying several pallets of grass. He was stained in soot and sweat.

"Alfred!" boomed Steve. "I'm glad to see you made it here in one piece."

Alfred's face split into a smile. "Captain Trevor, always a pleasure. And young David Trevor—a green thumb, I see."

Steve sniffed himself and grinned. "I was doing some gardening out back. The tomatoes needed pruning. And David likes watching me while I work."

"I'm sure he does," said Diana. She was not smiling.

Steve looked down at the dirty soot on his clothes. He was looking at himself with a slightly guilty expression. "There are muddy patches in the garden from the sprinkler system. I thought we agreed to fix that?"

"We did. But was it the best idea to fix that today? And even more—to take little David to a lumber store? Those places are a toxic heap, Steve. With all the manure and chemicals and sawdust in the air."

Diana stood up and carefully removed the sunglasses off of David, exposing the blue watery eyes underneath. David suddenly began to cry.

"He's hungry," said Steve. He unstrapped David from the bjorn.

"He's irritated," corrected Diana. "His eyes hurt from all that sawdust."

She took David into her arms and inspected him all over. He was filthy with soot and sweat.

"He needs to nap and take a bath. Which is really great because you know how hard it is to get him to sleep after a shower, Steve."

Steve picked up the grass pallets. "I think I'll just finish up the back."

"The guests will be here in two hours. That gives you an hour to finish up your 'project' in the back, Steve."

Steve started walking to the backyard, but his boots left large mudprints on the floor. He froze.

"Just go," said Diana. David was still crying in her arms. She was rocking him. "I'll clean up after you."

Steve ducked out without another word.

"Sometimes I think I have two little boys, Alfred," sighed Diana.

"There are worse things in the world," said Alfred.

Alfred struggled off his seat. David was starting to quiet down; his blue eyes, red from the crying, were curious and large on Alfred's person. Alfred laughed.

"A handsome boy you have here, Diana."

Diana rocked her baby in her arms. David's eyelids were now drooping. He would soon fall asleep.

"Maybe I'll shower him after his nap," said Diana. "Although I hate having him sleep in filth."

Together, they walked up the stairs. Diana supported Alfred's lower back while Alfred staggered up each step with his cane. Diana suddenly realized just how thin Alfred had become. It made her feel uneasy, but she made no mention of it. She didn't want to dwell on any more ill omens. She was already nervous enough.

The hill upon which the Trevor family lived stood over a wide area of unruly woodlands that narrowed down to a small gorge. These woodlands were steep and brambly and discouraged the average pedestrians from strolling through the area. On any given day, the area was isolated, empty, and totally off-putting.

It was the perfect place for Emma Trevor—one of the rare places she could go to be alone, and which she could flex a portion of her mighty strength.

She began at the bottom of the gorge, at the neck of the river, and started her circuit. The first thing was three miles of swimming against the current. After twenty minutes of pushing hard against the cold, aching water, she emerged at the foot of the switchbacks. This was a ten mile trek. She pounded the grassy earth with her wet soles while her arms pumped like well-oiled pistons and her cool forehead broke against the wind. The wetness from the swimming gave her focus. And she relished in the ferocity of her attack while she ran back and forth across the belly of the hill. She ran at full speed sprint – no jogging or pacekeeping. Now she was starting to feel the biting pain in her throat with every inhalation of breath.

Once she finished the switchbacks there was only one thing left: the craggy rimrock. She climbed up this exterior with only her forearms and legs, and it was though because the swimming and the sprinting had depleted her. Her legs would shake when she extended herself across the rock, and her forearms ached. She loved it.

She summited the rimrock while the sun was dipping further and further west. It felt good to sit there on the sheer drop; the sun was on her left side, warming her up, and her right side was cool with the dampness of her clothing. And it was perfectly quiet. There was nobody. She wanted to stay there for a long time, but she knew she couldn't risk the ire of her mother. Not for a third time in one day. Emma walked back home. Her clothes were damp with sweat, and her feet felt sore. It felt good.

Emma entered her home. In the living room were several cases of luggage: Alfred had already arrived. She immediately felt a pang of guilt, and she thought about racing up the stairs and apologizing to Alfred, but she figured he was resting up from the flight. Instead, she headed to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle. The kitchen connected to the backyard patio by a sliding glass door. Emma leaned against the kitchen counter and took a long pull of water. It was nice on her throat. She watched the backyard for a moment: there were soft lights hanging from banisters; the stereo system hung hidden in the garden; trays were laid out on a banquet table and a cocktail bar sat in the corner of the patio.

Dad came around the side of the patio. He was pushing a wheelbarrow. And he was filthy with dirt. Emma opened the sliding door.

"Hey Dad, what's up with the wheelbarrow?"

Steve's face split into a smile when he saw his daughter. He pulled out a shovel from the wheelbarrow.

"Hey babe, back from running?"

Emma came to the edge of the patio.

"What are you doing?"

"Just some last-minute thing for the party. The sprinklers flooded this morning, which made the grass muddy. I thought it might dry out by the evening, but evidently not."

Steve drove the blade of the shovel into the ground. He brought out a huge chunk of muddy soil and tossed it into the wheelbarrow. Then he grabbed a bag of soil and poured it into the ground. Now there was a patch of dry, uneven soil. He grabbed a pallet of grass and set it down over the new soil.

"You do realize that the party starts in forty minutes, right Dad?"

Steve wiped his hand on his shirt. He was sweaty and filthy. "Yeah, I'm almost done."

Emma looked at the dozen pallets of grass lying next to the wheelbarrow. She laughed. "No, you're really not."

She went to the woodshed and found the other shovel. She didn't bother with gloves because her clothes were already filthy. She stood next to her dad and struck the shovel into the ground and pulled. She hardly made a sound.

"I'll dig, you lay down the new soil and grass. Deal?"

"You should start getting ready, babe," said Steve. But his conspiratorial eyes were alive and moving. He stopped shoveling and did as she told.

Emma worked down the line with her shovel while Steve came up beside her, pouring dry soil into the gaping trench she left behind.

"So how was work, babe?"

"Fascinating." She uprooted a swampy mesh of root and sediment and dumped it into the wheelbarrow. "We talked about interest loans, I think."

Steve poured the soil in measuredly. "You know I may not know as many languages as your mother, but I am fluent in sarcasm."

Emma dug into the ground again. "I'm just not supposed to be behind a desk, is all I'm saying, Dad. You're in the Airforce, you know what I mean."

"I haven't flown in years, Emma. I've ridden a desk ever since you and your brother were born." He wiped his forehead. He opened another bag of soil.

"Right now," said Steve, as he poured in the soil, "you're young, and you're in a hurry to figure it out. But the world isn't supposed to be figured out. There's something you can't understand until you've lived – and that just takes time, Emma."

"So am I supposed to just wait and waste these years of my life?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'waste,' doesn't it?"

They put the shovels and wheelbarrow to the side. They started laying down the pallets of grass. "When I was your age, all I thought about was my career. I thought I was going to break all the company records. But then your mother came along, and then you and your brother. And then flying wasn't as nearly as important to me as you guys were. I wanted to watch you grow. I wanted to take you guys on roadtrips and all that."

Emma snorted. "The last time we took a family trip, William was sick from the plane, the boat, and the high altitude. I don't think we even made it a quarter way up Machu Pichu."

Steve patted down the grass fondly. "And you nearly fell of the side of the mountain, didn't you? Nearly gave your mom a heart attack."

"I would have been fine," said Emma.

Steve went to get another pallet of grass. "Yeah, you would have."

They did the rest of the work quickly and cleanly. Emma stomped on the grass pallets with the flat end of the shovel. The two of them stepped back to admire their work. The grass was smooth.

"So you're saying I should get a family? A husband?"

Steve shook his head. "No. I'm not saying that. Hell, stay single forever, as long as it makes you happy."

"What if what makes me happy doesn't make you guys happy? What if I want to be like Mom?"

Steve put the shovel into the wheelbarrow. He was smiling when he turned back to Emma. "I'll tell it to you how my drill sergeant once told me: there's no point in joining the navy if there's no sea. Look around here, Emma: does it looks like there's a war going on?"

"There's a lot still wrong out there, Dad. The homeless reform, the poverty rate, the crime—"

"I didn't say that there aren't bad things happening—but you, Emma Trevor, the CEO extraordinare, could fix those things. Gotham City doesn't need the daughter of Wonder Woman."

Emma wanted to reply, but before she could the screen door opened again. William stood at the threshold. His hair was wet from a shower. He was in slacks and shirt.

"I didn't know you guys were back here."

He stepped out and looked at their work. He had his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Will." Steve waved a hand. "Don't worry about us. We're already finished here."

William wore an expression of disapproval as he looked at the two of them. "Clark and Lois are on their way."

This made Emma conscious of how dirty she and her father were, and how quickly they needed to get going. Steve came to the same conclusion.

"Will, can you clean up out here while your sister and I get ready? Just take the wheelbarrow around the side of the house. I'll empty it in the morning."

"Sure," said William. He eyed the wheelbarrow. It was filthy, and he was wearing his newest clothes. He tested the newly sodded grass with his shoes, as if he was afraid he might fall in.

"You'll be fine," teased Emma. "Are you scared of ruining your good looks?"

"Okay, Emma," said William in his neutral tone. He tried lifting the wheelbarrow and it did not budge. He planted his feet a little more securely on the grass and tried again: the barrel slowly moved, and William pushed with his entire body, his face contorting with effort, until the barrel started moving with movement.

"Let's go, babe," said Steve to Emma. "We got five minutes to get ready. The fastest showers of our lives, alright?"

Emma watched her brother struggling with the wheelbarrow. Steve was waiting for her at the screen door. He kicked off his shoes.

"You'll mom will kill us if we leave tracks," explained Steve. He stepped into the kitchen and beckoned to Emma again. "C'mon, Emma. We gotta go. Leave your shoes by the door. Have Will take them to the shed before Mom sees."

Emma felt very unsure about leaving her filthy, sweaty, smelly shoes for William to take to the woodshed. It felt demeaning. But then her mother appeared at the bottom of the stairs: she wore a midnight gown and her hair pulled back. Diana leaned into a hallway mirror to do some last minute make up but then she caught the reflection of Emma straddling the patio threshold.

"Emma Trevor, get your ass in the shower!" said Diana, whirling around. "Clark and Lois are pulling into the driveway!"

Emma hastily threw off her shoes. She raced past her mother without making eye contact- but she could feel her mother's eyes on her. Emma rounded the corner of the stairs and caught sight of the patio-threshold: William was picking up the pairs of muddy shoes. Evidently, he had heard. He looked murderous.

An hour later, the backyard patio was alive with familiar, happy faces. There were military officials from Steve's government office; industry leaders from the Wayne Enterprises board, and sprinkled about were a few of Emma's old college friends. Unsurprisingly, there was nobody from William side of things. This went unnoticed by everyone except Diana.

"Did you remember to invite your friends?" she asked William.

William sipped his water. "Oh yeah, Mom. I invited all of them."

It was difficult to know when William was telling the truth – his preferred manner of speaking was a bored scorn. Diana wanted to press the issue: she wanted to ask why her son, one of the more brilliant people at the party—arguably the most brilliant—could not see the sense in enjoying a party with friends?

But Diana knew better than to antagonize her son. He was like a prickly cat – he simply couldn't be bothered. So she let him have his moment of angst. He was safe, he was at the party, and for Diana, that was more than enough.

Diana hooked her arm around her son. "Thank you for letting me throw a party for you, my son."

William looked at her a little strange. "Let? Mom, I didn't let you—"

"You know what I mean." She squeezed him. "Thank you."

William's features softened, and, for a moment, there appeared the careless, endlessly curious boy he was in his childhood. He looked down at his shoes.

"I am grateful, Mom. I know how lucky I am. I just don't see the point in celebrating something I had no control over. I didn't do anything to earn a birthday. Anyone can have a birthday – not everyone can earn a degree or build a company."

"But you aren't anyone, Will. You are my son, and my son gets a birthday party."

"But do you understand what I mean?"

Diana nodded. "I do"

Emma suddenly appeared with a glass of wine in her hand. She was smiling radiantly, wearing a violet shoulder-less dress and matching heels. There was a faint tine of purple on her lips in her smile. William watched her guardedly.

"So, how is my favorite gumshoe?" said Emma. She was smirking at William.

"I'm a trainee still, Sis. Detective is still a long way out."

"I noticed you didn't invite anyone, Will."

"Maybe you should be the Detective, then."

William left the two of them with a scowl on his face.

"Was that really necessary, Emma?" asked Diana/

Emma gleefully sipped her wine. "When are you going to get it that William isn't like us—like you, me, and Dad. He probably wishes he could be back at work."

"Speaking of work, I got a call from the office around midday. Apparently you left a meeting early after an incident with a table?"

Emma's face lost all of its glee.

"Emma, how many times do I have to tell you? You can't show people what you can do."

Emma looked ready to launch into a fiery argument, but instead she took a long sip of her wine, and placed the glass on a nearby table. Her face was thoughtful as she did this.

"You didn't, Mom," said Emma, then she turned and walked away.

"Emma, wait. I didn't mean—"

But she was gone. Both children were gone. And her third child, David, was upstairs in his crib. Diana pulled out her phone and consulted the baby-camera: she saw David's sleeping, perfect form.

So all three of her children were safe. The two eldest children hated her, but she could live with that. They were safe. That's all that mattered.

Diana picked up Emma's glass – there was still wine in it. Meanwhile the jazz music permeated the night air, as did the chorus of laughter from the guests. She drank the rest of Emma's wine: Diana was going to enjoy herself tonight.

Diana headed over to her husband. He was busy talking with a familiar couple. The woman had a large summer dress with her hand wrapped around her swollen belly; the man wore a loosely fitted jacket and trousers to cover his large frame. And he wore glasses that served absolutely no purpose.

They were listening patiently as Steve finished a joke.

". . . so the man throws down a hundred dollar bill in the toilet and says: "for twenty bucks, I won't put my hands down there. But for one-hundred and twenty bucks, I will."

All three of them erupted into laughter. Diana came around Steve's shoulder.

"Is he telling you that the joke about the contractor in the port-a-potty?"

Clark Kent, the man with the glasses and loose jacket, laughed. "Yeah, I'm guessing you've heard it before?"

"A thousand times," said Diana dully.

Lois Kent, the woman with the swollen belly, fidgeted in place. "A bit vulgar, isn't it?"

Steve shrugged. "Those are the only jokes if you're enlisted, Lois."

Diana kissed Lois and Clark on the cheeks. "Thank you both for coming. It's been so long."

"We've been busy," said Clark. He had a gentle hand around Lois. "The doctor's appointments, the parenting classes. And I've been baby-proofing the house."

"You can't baby-proof the world," said Steve. "Just remember that—it'll save you a headache."

"That's why you need to supervise children," said Diana. "Always be near them."

"Certainly not always," laughed Lois. She patted her belly. "You can't play mother hen forever."

"When are you expecting?" asked Steve.

"Next month. Although chances are it'll be premature—it runs in my family."

"We'll be prepared, either way," said Clark. "That's what the classes are for."

Lois looked up at Clark with a soft, tender smile. Clark returned the look. And for a moment, the couple was transported from the party.

"What do you mean?" said Diana in a high, sweet voice.

The suddenness of Diana's question broke the enamored spell. Lois looked away from Clark.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"What do you mean by 'you can't play mother hen'?"

It was clear from the puzzlement on Lois's face, and on Clark's face, that they had no idea what Diana was talking about.

But Steve remembered, and he looked at Diana with surprise and disappointment.

"I'm sorry—I had a brain freeze," said Diana all-of-a-sudden. Her tone regained its friendliness. "It was the wine."

But the damage was done. Lois's expression was working to remember the conversation. Clark's lips were moving silently. And suddenly, almost simultaneously, the two of them remembered.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it, Di," said Lois. "It's just something my mom used to say."

"She still says it," said Clark, backing up his wife. "We were there a few weeks ago. That's probably why it's fresh on your mind, Lois."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," said Diana. She was trying to return things back to normal. "I must have blanked out."

"It's alright, Di. You don't have to apologize."

But it was clear that something had shifted in Lois's demeanor. She was no longer participant in the conversation but a spectator. She was watching Diana from a distance. Diana felt absolutely miserable, but they were all saved from further embarrassment by the sudden warbling of Lois's belly.

"Oh," said Lois. She touched her belly. "I think someone is hungry."

"It's the calm before the storm," said Diana amusedly. "I remember those days."

"I'm sorry," said Lois earnestly. "It happens so suddenly, the cravings."

"What are you apologizing for?" said Steve. He gently took Lois by the arm. "That's what all this food is for. We have prime rib, fillet de sole, tofu, and all the mashed potatoes, green beans, and pasta salad you can eat."

Lois's eyes glazed. "God, that all sounds delicious."

"I'll bring over a fresh beer, Clark?" said Steve.

Clark nodded gratefully. Steve and Lois walked away. Diana and Clark were quiet for a second.

"You've got a beautiful family, Di," said Clark. He was looking at Steve. "I'm happy for you."

Diana knew that Clark was deliberately ignoring her outburst. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Clark. For earlier."

"Sorry for what?"

"Clark, c'mon."

He chuckled. "There's nothing to forgive, Di. Don't worry."

"I'm sorry. It's just I've been so stressed lately."

"This party took some serious work, Di."

"No, it isn't that. Well, the party didn't help. But it's something else."

"What?"

"I—"

Thoughts about the past rose up like corpses in a river. And there they stayed, turning and rolling over themselves with the humor of the current. It must have been visible on her face, because Clark's expression sobered up and he was looking at the floor.

"I've been thinking about him, too."

Diana watched the party. Steve was piling food onto a plate for Lois. Emma was speaking to some college friends. William was sitting alone at a table. Drinking a glass of water.

"Do you think about him often?" said Clark. He was watching the party, too.

"Not often," she said honestly. "To be honest, I haven't thought about him in years. It's only today. This week, really."

"It makes sense. It's been all over the news. Twenty years, you know."

"What is it about the number 'twenty' that is so psychologically pleasing?"

"I don't know. Maybe twenty years is how long a child needs to become an adult."

"Is that all? Twenty years isn't enough, Clark."

"You would know," he mumbled.

She realized what he meant by that. She hugged her friend.

"You're going to be a great father, Clark. Don't worry."

Clark exhaled deeply, like a man about to jump off a cliff. She felt his chest expand.

"Any advice, Di?"

She had hundreds of pieces of advice: don't worry so much; make sure you worry enough; don't let them stay up too late; don't give them sugar after 7pm; carry baby wipes in a backpack; always carry a snack. It was overwhelming, and she did not want to cripple her friend.

"Enjoy the little moments," she said. "It passes by so quickly, you know."

Clark nodded. He kept looking around the party. "You ever think we're doing the right thing?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, although she knew perfectly well what he meant.

"The world still has crime, still has bad people, and here we are, doing nothing."

"Raising a family is not 'nothing,' Clark."

"I know," he said lowly. "It's just feels like a great big joke. A great big insult to everyone who died."

"They died so we could have a life, Clark. A real life."

"And I'm useless at a desk, Di. Running around the city, chasing leads. It feels like a job for somebody else."

"It's not," said Diana. She dropped the hug and straightened up. "It's your job now."

"I know, but sometimes I—

"They outlawed superheroes, Clark," she said in a final, cutting tone. "And they were right to do it, after everything that happened."

At the sound of her tone, Clark became very quiet, like a child admonished. Diana knew she had gone too far.

The party suddenly echoed with laughter: Emma was trying to pull William onto the dance floor, and William, suddenly animated like a frightened cat, was fighting with all his might to escape.

"I'm sorry again, Clark," she said after a few moments. "I swear, my emotions are so uncontrollable lately that I've—"

Without speaking, Clark took her hand and squeezed. They held that silence for a few moments, watching the party unfold. They never looked at one another.

"When you have children, everything changes. And I can't lose this. Not after everything we've already lost."

"I think I understand, Di. I do."

"Here comes Steve with your beer."

Steve was walking with two beers in his hand. He knew immediately something was off. He looked like he was going to raise a question, but Diana shook her head, and Steve understood tacitly. He put on his cheery smile and handed the beer to Clark.

"Thank you, Steve," said Clark. He flicked the cap off the bottle with a thumb.

Steve came over to Diana. "It's nearly nine, Di. Let's cut the cake?"

"Let's get some pictures with it first."

Clark quickly put his beer down. "That reminds me."

"Where are you going, Clark?"

He walked away with a mysterious smile. "To the car. I have to get something. Don't start without me, though!"