A/N: yeah, I did it again... added the Engagement Party Scene...

"Bruce, Diana. So glad you could make it." Lois Lane beams as she folds Diana into a tight hug. She goes for Bruce next. He's not taken off guard, but she hugs him so tight that he feels awkward when she releases. He's not a hugger, in fact doesn't like to be touched unless he's doing the touching. And most of that is with his fists, so he doesn't know what to make of the fact that her embrace is full of gratitude and appreciation. He had a direct hand in bringing the love of her life back to life.

He sniffs self-consciously when she steps back but he catches Diana's discerning glance from the corner of his eye. She sees everything, he's come to realize. Always with that keen scrutiny and a secretive smile on her lips.

"I didn't think you would come," Clark says as he shakes his hand after he's released Diana from his own, overly lengthy hug. Bruce's jaw ticks with a strange sense of irritation as he clasps the Kryptonian's hand. He doesn't bother with the typical one-up-man-ship because the grip is already tight enough to squeeze the bones in his hand and he's well aware of how he'd lose that battle. His shoulder hasn't been right since.

"I was coerced." He nails Diana with a stare to which she rolls her eyes.

"Ignore him, he's just irritable because I needed to stop and pick up your gift." She takes the white and silver wrapped box from his hand that she took exactly fifty-two minutes and thirty-four seconds to select and have gift wrapped.

"Oh this wrapping is lovely," Lois coos. "I want to open it now."

Clark takes their coats and leans closer to Bruce. "What is it? I can't see it."

"It's a lead crystal bowl."

"Really?"

Bruce shrugs.

Clark tilts his head in confusion. "Interesting."

"Clark, honey, come look," Lois holds up the bowl. Its facets catch the light in a twinkling opalescence.

Diana smiles, her light almost as brilliant. "I have heard of an Irish tradition that says if you give a crystal bowl as a wedding gift, so long as the bowl is safe and secure, the couple will be blessed with children, the health of a lion and coins in their purse."

"That is so sweet," Lois fawns. "So as long as doesn't break, our marriage will last."

"Keep it away from table tops, counters, shelves," Bruce smirks.

"Shelves?" Diana lifts an eyebrow.

"What? He can fly."

"Oh yes, he can." Lois flashes a suggestive smirk and Bruce shakes his head when Diana and Clark finally catch up with what they're suggestively hinting at. He chuckles at the gaping expression of disdain on the lovely Amazon's face. Lois laughs full out and it's nice to hear her so joyful after all they've been through. The four of them brought together out of necessity by a seriously fucked up set of circumstances. "Come on, let's get you two something to drink."

Diana walks two steps ahead of him, statuesque and impeccably dressed in a crimson wrap-dress and stiletto pumps. Her hair is twisted in an elegant up-do much like the first time he'd seen her and her tasteful gold earrings dangle with each step. She's regal and so very out of place amongst the other guests that she draws attention of both men and women alike. Bruce closes the distance and places a hand at the small of her back. He's uncertain if it's to claim his place beside her or to draw attention away from her towards him. He doesn't have time to dwell on it as she is commandeered by Clark's mother. The woman he saved, bearing the same name of his own mother. Martha.

Bruce feels a twinge of guilt having neglected to check up on her after the funeral. Had he done his due diligence, he'd have known about her bank troubles long before he had to buy up the entire brokerage that let her mortgage expire.

He observes from the sidelines as Diana is escorted around the party and introduced to a priest, some old family friends and the like. She is gracious and cordial, laughing and smiling as they regale her with stories of Clark as a teenager. Her radiance is contagious as she enchants each person she comes in contact with.

"Do my eyes deceive me or is the infamous Bruce Wayne off the market?"

Bruce flicks his attention to the intrepid reporter. "There's no story here, Lois."

"Really? That's not the vibe I'm getting from you."

He narrows his eyes in his best Bat glare. All she does is laugh at him. He rolls his eyes. What is it with the women in his life lately?

"The last time I saw a man with that dreamy eyed look," she glances over her shoulder at Clark. "I snatched him up for myself."

"I don't do dreams, I don't do relationships, and I certain don't do love."

She eyes him like she doesn't believe him and he huffs. Seriously, it's as if they've all been hanging out with Alfred too much.

"Okay, when you do," she points a finger at his chest, "I get the exclusive."

"Sure." He shakes his head and takes a sip of his champagne. He winces as he swallows and puts the glass down. He hates champagne.

Bruce loosens his tie and slips his dinner jacket off. He pours himself a scotch and offers her one. She waves her hand to decline.

He lets out a sigh as he takes a sip.

"You've been surly and disagreeable all evening." She crosses her arms and leans against the credenza. Her arched eyebrow marks her displeasure.

"I hate parties," he says.

"You go to parties all the time."

"As a ruse." He scoffs and stares into the amber liquid before he pushes the glass down to the walnut counter and gives it a shove. "You know I live a double life. I shouldn't have to explain the rationale of that to you."

"No. But you were there as a friend to Clark and Lois." With a shake of her head, her glossy hair reflects the light. "Not some fundraiser or gala."

"And I was cordial." There's a bite to his tone. She nails him with a withering stare. He shifts and turns away from her scrutiny. He doesn't know why her opinion of him matters so much. So he adds, "When I had to be."

"Is it really about the party or is there something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like your misplaced guilt over Clark's death, your desire to bring him back, your insistence that Clark deserves to live more than you?"

"Did Alfred tell you that?" The bite in his tone is even sharper now and he can't help the irritation that seeps into his voice.

"You said it yourself to me. That you would have gladly traded places." Her voice catches, and it grates on him. That same emotional quality she had when she spoke of how leading the team would make her the one responsible for leading people to their death. How all those deaths would be like Steve Trevor.

Exasperation takes hold of him and throws both of his hands out wide. "Diana, what does it matter?"

"How could you say that?" She rounds on him, passion flaring in her eyes. "It matters to me. Your life matters to me."

Something snaps in him, a thread that he's been slowly unwinding over the last few months with his penchant for having her near. Maybe it's her proximity, or the scotch, or the scent of her perfume but suddenly he's reaching for her, pulling her close. His hand snakes along the smooth sweep of her neck. Her eyes widen to deep rich chocolate pools and he lowers his lips to hers. The scent of her skin, the taste of her lips is intoxicating. Emboldened, he swipes his tongue against the seam of her mouth and she complies. And for a few glorious seconds, she responds, but its reserved, tentative, unsure. He can taste her indecision. She pulls away and steps back. Her hand touches her lips, a surprised almost uneasy expression on her lovely face. He regrets immediately taking such liberties with her trust.

"I'm sorry––" He steps back and jams his hands in his pockets to avoid the urge to trace the frown away with his fingertips. He can't stand the indecision in her eyes. His jaw clenches, pissed at himself. He'd miscalculated everything. "It's late, Alfred will see to anything you need."

He's out the door before she could stop him and he grimaces at the pleading sound of her voice as it echoes in the hall. "Bruce, wait––"

He's made a terrible, terrible mistake.