Chapter 2

If anyone took notice of Bruce Wayne departing gala early and leaving the Louvre with two beautiful women, likely they only shook their heads and commented that some things never change. Few would offer their attention long enough to notice that one of the women was employed by the museum, and those that did know Ms. Prince would smile and hope she had a good time without getting her heart broken.

Bruce volunteered to take the ladies to an apartment he owned nearby where they could be assured of privacy. Menalippe regarded him with open distrust, which Bruce couldn't help but appreciate; he in turn had formed few opinions about the other Amazon with so little information available to him. But considering her convenient appearance with a message she had yet to disclose, Bruce was also disinclined to be trusting.

Diana, of course, could not know how to feel. The joy at seeing Menalippe felt eclipsed by the dark circles under her aunt's eyes and the ominous words on her lips. And Bruce, blank and cool on the surface, fairly vibrated with tension next to her.

"I could call a car," he said. "Or we could walk. It's not far." With a practiced eye, he glanced at the feet of his two female companions. Diana had paired her dress with sandals with intricate straps up to her knees, but they were, he noted, blessedly flat. If his gaze lingered, it was because the slit in her gown allowed for the glimpse of her toned leg. Deliberately, he glanced at Menalippe's feet, noting that the woman wore practical ankle boots in the same brownish red as her dress. Both women would be comfortable walking, he guessed. Bruce had a moment to wonder if Menalippe's boots were Themysciran as well before Diana spoke.

"Thank you, Bruce," she said, and her gaze assured him that she meant it. "Let us walk, aunt. Is my mother well?"

Menalippe glanced over at Bruce with unmasked contempt. He stared back, unperturbed.

"You may speak freely in front of him, Menalippe." Diana's voice carried a bite that he rarely heard, the sound of a command thinly-veiled. Menalippe straightened.

"Your mother is well, Diana. Stories of your great acts have reached our ears, through the wildlife. The queen shared them with pride."

Diana considered that, remembering her younger self, always glancing up at her mother and hoping to see pride in her eyes. Antiope had seen that desire for her mother's approval for what it was-a weakness, a chink of self-doubt in the armer she would need.

"Have there been any other invasions?"

Bruce let himself outpace the women, though each could easily keep up if they wished. But he listened.

"No." Menalippe's pause was too long, as if she'd swallowed. "None since your captain fell from the sky and that ship of Germans followed him." Bitter, those words. The invasion that had killed her beloved Antiope, Bruce remembered.

If Diana winced or reacted in anyway behind him, it was not something Bruce could hear. "He did not survive the war," Diana said. "He died a hero, giving his life to save many others."

It was not his fault, Bruce heard under her words. It wasn't quite a censure, he thought.

The princess continued, "Just as Antiope gave her life to save mine. It is a gift I remember every day of my long life, aunt."

No, not a censure. Diana, a warrior ever-brokering peace, had painted Steve Trevor in perhaps the only way Menalippe could approve of him- being like Antiope.

Behind him, Menalippe was silent. Bruce led them around a corner, enjoying the pleasant breeze- chilly but not unbearably so. Both women had donned cloaks on their way out, and he'd never seen Diana shiver, even in her skin-baring armor.

He turned back to the women as he came to a stop. Paris didn't exactly boast too many high-rise buildings for Wayne Enterprise to stamp its name all over, but he did own this building, an old inn remodeled into luxury condos, keeping the fourth and top level for his own use.

He studied the older woman, and noted, with some curiosity, that she was visibly older than Diana. "You are welcome in my home, Menalippe," he said. And again, let his eyes rest on Diana for a moment. He could feel his gaze softening, cursed it vaguely in the back of his head. He nodded at her. "Princess. I realize neither of you need my assurances, but you will be safe here. Follow me."

As they walked up the stairs, Menalippe said, with the barest attempt at whispering, "Who is this man, Diana? How is it that you trust him?"

Amusement brightened Diana's tone. "I have come to trust several men during my time in Patriarch's world. Bruce is one of them. Though perhaps he might not always say the same for me."

Bruce scoffed before he could help it; certainly, he trusted Diana as much as he trusted anyone who wasn't Alfred. And wasn't that alarming. He was opening the door to his rooms as Diana continued.

"Besides, Bruce is a warrior in his own right. I would think twice before you decided him an easy mark."

Bruce cleared his throat, leading them inside and shutting the door behind him and on the part of him that warmed at the compliment. "Ladies," he said. "Make yourself at home."

Diana did so, immediately divesting herself of her cloak and hanging it on the rack near the door. She also bent to remove her shoes, left them under the cloak. He pressed the button that activated his gas fireplace, and smiled when she gasped in delight. She spread herself out on the chez nearest the fireplace, tugging a blanket over herself.

He smirked a little at the sight, mentalling making sure that door was still shut on all the warm feelings. "Now if you were only so attentive to my suggestions in all things!" he said, in a mock serious tone. "I'll get us some refreshments. There are guest bedrooms for you both if you so desire."

With that, Bruce disappeared into the kitchen.

Menalippe narrowed gaze followed him, then settled on her niece.

"Diana." She sighed, letting go of whatever she'd been about to say. "I missed you, child." She followed Diana's example in sliding out of her shoes and hanging her cloak. She kissed Diana's forehead, gripping her hand tightly, before settling on the chair across from her.

Diana huffed, but it was an indulgent sound. "My dear aunt, I was centuries old before I left Themyscira and another century has passed. I'm hardly a child."

Menalippe waved that away. "You may live centuries more, yet always you will be my dear niece, the sweet child who snuck away to her fighting lessons when her mother slept."

If her aunt had placed an odd emphasis on you, it didn't snag her niece's attention. Diana felt the sting, as she always did, when she remembered Antiope. "You knew about that?"

This time, Menalippe laughed warmly. "Of course! Antiope was ever waking me up when she returned to bed, to brag about your progress, vent about some mistake she was trying to drill out of you, or fret about whether or not she should tell your mother."

When Diana looked surprised, Menalippe smiled again. ''Your aunt was a formidable warrior, yes, but she was a woman too, one who loved you and loved her sister. She often wondered if she was doing the right thing, coming between you as she did. But the older you got, the more sure she became. You are without compare, my flower, the greatest of the Amazons."

Diana remembered Clark Kent, thought of Bruce in the next room, of the other meta-humans they would track down together, and wondered if she was that unique after all. Bruce entered during these thoughts, setting a tray of water glasses, cheese, and crackers on the coffee table.

"I'm sure you didn't come here simply to flatter her," he said, sipping from a glass, and gesturing towards the platter with vague welcome. The acerbic bite of his suspicion appealed to Menalippe.

"You would do well to remember who she is, Bruce Wayne," she said.

"I am unlikely to forget," he answered.

Diana rolled her eyes. "You have both fought at my back," she reminded them. "I trust you both. Perhaps you could factor that into your evaluations of one another."

Bruce smirked. It was a very Bruce Wayne expression, yet he didn't seem to be putting on airs. She liked it, liked being in his home. She couldn't be aware that Bruce was trying desperately hard not to enjoy the situation himself, and failing.

"Perhaps you could test his honor with Hestia's golden perfect," Menalippe suggested innocently.

Bruce glanced at Diana.

"I trust Bruce. I trust you, aunt. You can growl at each other later, as you find necessary. Why have you come? What is your message?"

After one more glare at Bruce, Menalippe seemed to settle. She sat up straight, took a deep breath, then decided to stand, pacing a little before she stopped and spoke.

"We have been deceived, Princess, all of us. You may have succeeded in killing Ares, but he did not succeed in killing all of the gods. Our oracle has spoken; Zeus lives, and others. And they are summoning you. That is why I have come."

Diana blinked, feeling her face go blank. Zeus... the legend of her birth was that she'd been sculpted from clay and brought to life by the king of the gods. Yet Ares had told a different story, and she'd never been able to return to Themyscira to demand the truth from her mother. But her thoughts did not stay on her parentage for long.

"But if they can be reborn... what about Ares? Can he return?"

Menalippe shrugged. "Thousands of years passed before any of the pantheon, save Ares, were heard of, and even he stayed quiet for much of that time. I do not know."

Bruce, who had had heard the story of Diana's birth mere hours ago, would not be distracted from the topic. "What would Zeus want with Diana? A vassal? Or a daughter?" His eyes narrowed on Menalippe. "Perhaps you should take the lasso, so we can be sure you speak the truth, that you are who you say you are."

Menalippe shot to her feet, outraged. "I am general to the Queen of the Amazons!"

Bruce crossed his arms. "Not anymore."

Menalippe sputtered furiously.

"Enough." Diana stood, and wouldn't you know it, she was ripping her dress down the side to reveal her armor and the lasso in question beneath the yards of fabric. If you asked Bruce to explain how her dress sandals were gone and the armored boots in their place, or where the shield and sword came from, he would not be able to do it without "magic."

Frustrated by that very fact, he crossed his arms, maintaining his glare at Menalippe as Diana dropped the remains of her dress away and stepped out of it. That particular image would remain burned onto his mind's eye for some time yet.

"Aunt," Diana said, reaching for the lasso, which warmed to golden light at her touch. She took two steps toward the other Amazon, held it out gently, an invitation. "Would you take hold of the perfect?"

Menalippe looked down at Hestia's lasso, remembered being the one to hold Steve Trevor in it long ago. She glanced up at the man called Bruce, who kept a respectful distance from them. A man who honored truth but kept his secrets, she imagined.

"I would never deceive you, Princess," she said solemnly, a hint of insult in her words.

"I know it," Diana said. "But things are not always simple in Patriarch's world. Some people can change their appearance or manipulate the minds of others. Let us call it simply a formality, my dear aunt. I will not force you if your honor is insulted."

And therefore, Menalippe was trapped. She reached out, voluntarily wrapped her long fingers around the warm rope. "I am Menalippe of Themyscira," she said firmly, meeting Bruce's eyes defiantly. He nodded at her. Satisfied, Menalippe returned her gaze to Diana. She seemed to see something in Diana's face that surprised her, because she blinked, then suddenly took a knee, still gripping the glowing lasso.

Curious, Bruce moved slowly around the room until he could see Diana's face. At first, he thought it was the lasso. He blinked, focused on her again. His eyes didn't deceive; Diana herself was giving off a gold glow. He forced himself to attend to their conversation, not to stare.

Menalippe continued. "The Oracle to the Goddess spoke to the Queen. Hippolyta's offering to the oracle was accepted."

"What did she offer?" Diana demanded, interrupting. "The Oracle lay dormant for centuries. For years, she slept, untempted by any tribute we brought."

Menalippe sighed. "Your mother tried every year since you left to coax the oracle because she yearned to know if you were safe, princess. It is as you said; the oracle lay dormant. This year your mother offered the Oracle a lock of your hair that she had kept since the first time it was trimmed. And the Oracle woke."

Diana glanced at Bruce. "Our Oracle is a stone woman holding Themyscira's sacred flame. For as long as I have lived, the flame has burned, but the woman has slept."

Bruce nodded, mouthing "thank you" at Diana. Menalippe stood, still holding the lasso, and shooting Bruce a look he could only describe as sulky. She took up the story again.

"The Oracle opened her eyes and became as real as you or I, Diana. Her hands were cupping the flame, so she shifted it to one palm and used the other to take the lock of your hair. She said, 'Hippolyta, your gift is worthy. Now ask your question.' And the Queen said, 'Is my daughter Diana alive and well?'"

"Of all the questions to ask an all-knowing oracle," Bruce scoffed, settling on the sofa to observe the women. He munched on cheese and crackers, while Menalippe sputtered. Diana smirked at him, and he suddenly wanted to do anything to keep that look on her face.

"Her only daughter, the princess of the Amazons," Menalippe managed. "Of course..."

"Of course, she's alive and well," Bruce interjected. "She's a demigoddess, blessed by the Pantheon, trained in combat for centuries. It's a foolish question."

Diana grinned, enjoying her aunt's baffled rage. "Perhaps the Queen grew sentimental," Diana allowed. "How did the Oracle answer?"

After a sideways glare for Bruce, Menalippe turned back to her niece. "Your daughter lives, but well she will only be if she comes to Olympus. For Zeus, King of the Gods, lives once more, and he would reckon with that which is his."

Diana waited. "And?"

Menalippe shrugged, causing the lasso's light to scatter around the room. "That's it, Your Highness. The Oracle returned to stone, gripping your hair in her left hand and cupping the flame in her right." Menalippe let go of the lasso. Once Diana returned it to her hip, the glow in the room faded.

With a huff, Diana dropped onto the couch next to Bruce, reaching for a cracker and cheese.

"I do not belong to Z... to him," she muttered, crossing her arms.

Menalippe settled herself on the edge the chez, sipping water while she eyed the distance between Bruce and Diana's hips. "You do well to guard your tongue, your highness. When belief was high, Zeus's power knew no limits. And now, thanks to the Oracle, all of the Amazons believe again. And thanks to the golden perfect, so do both of you."

"Hey," Bruce said, reaching for more cheese. "I'm still a skeptic."

Menalippe cocked an eyebrow. "You doubt the lasso's power?"

Bruce shook his head. "No. I know it only forces you to reveal the truth as you believe it."

Diana smiled. "The perfect will always reveal the truth- it breaks illusions, restores memories... more than what you have seen and felt, Bruce. But perhaps your skepticism is wise. I do not doubt the truth of what you say you saw or that the Oracle spoke to my mother. But, whether the gods have returned or not... this feels like a trap."

Bruce crossed his arms like a satisfied teacher observing a star pupil, and opened his mouth to praise her.

"That is why I must go."

Bruce snapped his teeth shut, and threw up his hands. She grinned at him, then studied her aunt seriously. "If Zeus lives, then perhaps so do the goddesses that we have spent our lives worshiping, aunt. You knew them once; I did not. I yearn to meet them. And if Zeus is... claiming me in some way, I must face him. We must understand one another. I killed his brother, after all."

Menalippe shrugged. "Antiope believed you were fated to do so from the beginning, that Zeus knew and Ares knew too but tried avoid his fate anyway."

"Whoever it is," Bruce said, "you're wise to be suspicious. Perhaps you're wise enough not to go alone."

Diana studied him. "Are you not needed in Gotham, then? Want to face the Greek pantheon with me and my aunt?"

Bruce might have spoken then-what he planned to say, he couldn't tell you- but Menalippe interrupted.

"We do not need him, Diana. We are Amazons. I am... was Hippolyta's General, and I have trained for thousands of years for battle. You have the ichor of the gods in your veins, for Hera's sake. He is but a mortal man." Her disgust dripped from every word.

Bruce studied the other woman, eyes cold. He might have said he had no time to be bothered with the concerns of possible mediterranean deities, and certainly would have before watching Superman die. He might have pointed out that Menalippe herself had more marks of age than he did. But Diana cut him off.

"You think so, Aunt?" Diana's voice, of all things, was cooly amused. "You think you have his measure, do you? Perhaps you'd care to challenge him."

Bruce's eyebrows shot in the air, and Menalippe shot to her feet, insulted.

"You think I can't handle myself against this... human?" She spat the term. "Perhaps your years in this world have made you soft, Diana."

Diana did not stand, only stared into her aunt's eyes, fists resting on her knees. "Perhaps you forget to whom you speak, Menalippe. Perhaps you doubt my judgement in trusting Bruce- I who have lived in this world for over one hundred years. Or perhaps you've forgotten our guesting laws. These are the only explanations I can think of that you would insult a man who has opened his home to you and fought at your princess's back."

By the end of her lecture, Menalippe's face was white, and Bruce had to contemplate the warm feeling inside his chest, creeping up his neck. He had the errant thought that he was glad Alfred wasn't here, but then remembered that Alfred was probably monitoring the security cameras, damn him. He decided to go with what was easy, remaining silent and stoic.

Menalippe placed a fist on her heart, bowed shortly toward Diana, the straightened. "Forgive me, Your Highness." She repeated the gesture to him. "Forgive me, Bruce Wayne of Gotham."

With a glance at Diana, Menalippe sat again. "I cannot excuse my behavior," she said, and to Bruce, "Thank you for your hospitality, and for fighting alongside our princess when none of us were able."

Bruce shrugged it all off, uncomfortable. He considered saying, She saved my life, but he didn't want to discount his own battle skills which Diana was trying to play up. Then he considered saying, I do not blame you for not trusting me; I barely trust you. And he figured Diana, grimly satisfied now, would not appreciate that.

He simply said, "You are welcome."

Diana let her breath out and relaxed in the sofa. "Tomorrow I will make for Olympus. I welcome both of you to make the journey with me."

Bruce lifted a finger. She cocked an eyebrow.

"I can make that journey shorter, Diana, if you're amenable."

She smiled. "One of your toys, perhaps? One that only you can pilot, I imagine."

"Naturally."

"Gotham can spare you?"

He sobered, touched that she continued to honor his own mission. "I have allies, Diana. I can be spared for a time."

Diana sighed then. "Then perhaps we should all rest."

Bruce stood, hearing Alfred's voice in his head. "Follow me, ladies." He showed the guest rooms, each with an adjoining bathroom, and pointed to his own door should the need anything from him in the night. They were to make his home their own and take anything they might wish from the kitchen, he instructed.

"Thank you, Bruce." Diana held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary; he tried to place her expression. Wistful? Of what? But she'd already turned to Menalippe, and said kindly, "I prefer to sleep alone tonight, my dear aunt. You have given me much to think on. Perhaps I will be more diligent in my prayers tonight."

With that, she bid them both goodnight, entered one of the guest rooms, and shut the door quietly. Within seconds, they heard the shower turn on and then, the bathroom door click shut.

Bruce regarded the closed door with interest, and Menalippe said, "She did that so that we could speak privately."

Bruce turned to the other woman, considering his angle. He decided to take the offensive.

"When will you tell her that you are dying?"

Menalippe blinked in surprise, then her face fell into steely resolve. "I will not. She must not be distracted."

Bruce considered that decision, decided to let it stand for now. "She left Themyscira and remained immortal because she is part-divine," he guessed. "But when you left, you were no longer protected by the island. You're mortal now. And age, it seems, is slowly catching up to you."

Menalippe curled her upper lip at him. "Do not think not to be afraid of me for such a simple reason," she said. "I still possess thousands of years of training in this body, and for now, it remains of an age to use that training. So tread lightly, Bruce Wayne."

He nodded, satisfied. "You will fight better, more cautiously and with more thought now that you know your time is limited. You will want to make the most of each move and countermove. You will want to make the most of your time with your niece, too, and that will keep you from being reckless."

She studied him, perhaps hearing too much.

"When will you tell my niece that you are in love with her?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps I would tell her if it ever became true," he said. "As you know, she is good at sussing out the truth."

Menalippe considered him, and he could not read her face. "So she is," she said, and retired for the night.

Bruce stared, then shrugged. He went into his own rooms. "Amazons, Greek Gods, and Mount Olympus," he muttered at the computer, checking the security system.

"Yes, an extraordinary night, even for you, Master Wayne," came Alfred's voice. His face blinked on one of the monitors, and already, Bruce hated the smirk.

"I am only checking in to bid you goodnight, Master Wayne, and to assure you that I have make the necessary contacts regarding your absence at least a couple days."

"Sure, that's the only reason," Bruce drawled. "Good night, Alfred."

"Yes, goodnight, sir. May you dream true dreams," the butler said, in a completely serious tone that promised teasing at Bruce's return.

But as Bruce rolled over, he stared into the light of his bedside lamp, (He hadn't slept in the dark for years, after all) and wondered if he was ready to face the truth, even in his dreams.