A/N: One day, Bruce will listen to Alfred...
Diana is sitting at the terminal ––in his chair––when the elevator descends into the cave. An involuntary smirk tugs at his mouth. No one is allowed to sit in his chair. And yet, that rule went right out the window as soon as she graced his bed with her presence. Before he knew it, he'd be allowing her to drive the Bat Mobile, or fly the Batwing. Did she even know how to fly a plane? She joked once about having an invisible plane and lost it, but they'd had a fair bit of wine, so he thinks she was pulling his leg. Maybe.
He takes off his coat and loosens his tie, but leaves the vest on as he rolls up his sleeves. It's been a long day of meetings and he really just wants to sift through some of the open cases he's been keeping an eye on and maybe chat a little over some dinner.
The corner of her lip is trapped between her teeth as she concentrates on the screen. He bends down and kisses her temple. She's warm and smells of soft flowers. Her hair is pulled back in her signature sleek ponytail and she's dressed in a high-necked cashmere turtleneck. She looks casual and he's glad because he really had no plans to go out this evening, not even to the sushi place he told her about the last time she was in town. Her hand comes up to caress the side of his neck but she doesn't stop in her work and he has to smile at that because he admires her focus. He's the same way.
"What're you working on?"
She hits a few keys and swivels in her chair––his chair–– and leans back in it like he does when he talks to Alfred. Her long jean-clad legs cross, and oh, those are his favorite jeans. The ones that hug her ass just right and make her legs look five miles long. He's distracted enough that she pauses with a reprimanding look before she explains. He returns it with an unabashed leer and a shrug. He enjoys looking.
She scoffs and then leans forward, forearms resting on her thighs. "Remember when I told you the story of the first age of heroes and how the races banded together to fight Steppenwolf?"
"Yeah." How could he forget?
"Well along with all of the Gods, the Amazons, the Atlanteans and the tribes of man, a Lantern fought amongst them."
Bruce crosses his arms and perches on the edge of the desk. "Dare I ask?"
"From the stories I heard as a child, Lanterns are a protective force in the universe. They wield a ring of power to fight evil and corruption."
"Universe? Like space warriors?"
"Yes, according to your files on Luthor's database when he decrypted the Kryptonian archive, there are over 100,000 different worlds. I've only scratched the surface but there are a few entries of a Green Lantern Corps that reminded me of those childhood stories."
"You think we can contact them somehow?"
"I'm not sure if we'll have to. There have been some strange sightings of a man in a green costume wielding various green objects made of light."
"What does that even mean?"
She laughs. "I do not know."
"Is that what Luthor had or just what you able to dig up on the internet?"
"Both."
"Then right now, all we have then is speculation and rumor."
She frowns in obvious frustration. "If I could just contact my mother, I could ask her. But…"
"But…" He unfolds his arms and rests his palms against the edge of the desktop framing his hips. "You know, I could do some research to find it. You said its location was near Turkey…"
"No." She rise and closes the distance between them, coming to stand between his legs. "As much as I'd like that, my mother would not allow it. Even if you could find it, you would never be able to set foot on the island."
"Why not?"
Her hands rest on his chest. "Because you're a man."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Believe me. If you'd met my mother, you would understand what I mean."
"Even if I bring her daughter back to her?"
"Even then."
Bruce's chest puffs at the challenge underneath her palms and he gives her his best Bat stare. "I'm not afraid of the Queen of the Amazons."
"You should be." She chuckles, tracing her finger around one of his buttons. He ghosts one hand up her side along the curve of her waist, past her ribs, over her shoulder to curl his fingers around the sweep of her neck. Her sleek ponytail cascades over the back of his hand. As much as he enjoys her full loose hair, he also likes it when she ties it back like this. It makes her look fierce and elegant all at the same time.
He nuzzles her cheek with his nose, teasing. When she moves forward on his invitation, he retreats eliciting a glare of challenge from her. He grins and moves in again but this time she teases and pulls back. One brow arches sharply in reply as a "two can play at that game" taunt. So instead, he wraps his arms swiftly around her for the element of surprise and plunges his tongue into her mouth in a deep, soulful kiss. She gasps but catches up quickly and returns the kiss with equal fervor. He nearly groans into her mouth as she runs her hand down the front of his trousers. God, it's been a long day and he's missed her terribly.
"Princess, we haven't even had dinner yet." He faint-heartedly attempts a protest but his mouth is on the hollow of her neck under her ear just over her sweater and he can feel her pulse thrum against his tongue. Her fingers rake into the back of his hair and she lets out a breathy sigh that he will never grow tired of hearing.
In the next breath, she stiffens unexpectedly in his arms and he pulls his face from her neck. Her arm is reaching behind him.
"What is this?"
"What?" He turns to see what had diverted her attention.
She pulls a paper from the stack of files he has on his desk. With the paper illuminated from behind, he can see a silhouette of a woman covered head to toe in black armor. He doesn't have to wait for her to turn it around to know what it is. It's the sketch with schematic pull outs for details on tensile strength and accessories Alfred showed him a few days ago. An amalgam of Amazonian armor and a Bat Costume. The design is actually a brilliant marriage of the two, but in the black and gray tones, a little more Bat perhaps than she would like.
Judging from the twisted frown on her face she doesn't like it all.
"Care to explain what this is?" She holds the paper up to his face.
Bruce takes a measured breath, a little pissed because Alfred was right. She is angry. The tone of her voice telegraphs that like a loudspeaker.
"It's just a sketch of an idea I had."
"Armor. My armor. Drawn up to look like yours."
"Not like mine…I mean, it doesn't have to be… We could keep the girdle red and gold."
"Oh, am I to be your side kick now?"
"What? No." He shakes his head and steps away from her running a hand over the pain starting to develop in the back his head. She can't possibly know how much that comment digs under his skin, because he's never told her about the Robins. The very last thing he wants ever again is a side kick. She is his partner. His equal. If anything, he was her side kick.
"Then explain to me what is the meaning of this?"
Bruce turns and lets out a breath. "I just want you to be protected, head to toe from projectiles."
"Are we on this again?" She throws her hands up in the air and the paper rattles. "For the last time, Bruce, it was an accident. You did not intend to shoot me."
She's wrinkling the paper so he takes it. "But what about the next time, or the time after that, when someone else is shooting the bullets, or arrows, or knives or swords…or God knows what else?"
"Do you doubt my ability to stop them?" She cocks her hip and lifts her chin in a supreme self-assurance. "I am gifted with the speed of Hermes and the strength of Athena."
"Yes." He drops the sketch to the desk behind him. "But it's hubris to think you can stop them all."
Her eyes grow into big round saucers and her jaw tightens dangerously. She's given him that look before, right before she sent him flying into a stack of crates. His fists clench and he readies himself for the hit. But it doesn't come.
Instead, her words pummel him with a venom he's never heard from her before. "You dare to quote hubris to me? You, who wants so desperately to protect everyone around you, to wrap them up in a little protective bubble and control the outcome of every situation? And yet you plunge headlong into danger claiming that if you die, it was for the greater good of everyone. Don't you ever quote hubris to me when you exercise your death wish every chance you get."
And here they were again, at odds over their conflicting beliefs. "I am the least important member of this team and the most expendable. You are not."
"Ugh Bruce, I'm not having this debate with you again." She raises her arms and fists her hands in frustration. With each passionate word, her accent grows more pronounced. "My point is that I don't want you worry about me. Because it's not your responsibility to protect me."
He too has escalated to yelling because she's pushed almost every one of his buttons with her stubbornness. "What is so wrong with my wanting to protect you and the people that I love?"
"Do you, Bruce?" She whirls on him.
He's confused as to what she means and tilts his head giving her a cautious look. "Do I what?"
"Love me?"
The question, the doubt and the anger in her eyes, hit him in the gut and he can't breathe. Her dark eyes pierce at his tender skin over his heart and he's left floundering to find stable ground.
He barely recognizes his own voice when he finds it. "You know that I do."
"You have not said it." Her arms are crossed and she lifts her chin at him.
A pain ticks between his eyebrows in the center of his forehead. Even now, after all he's shared with her, she questions his conviction? "What the hell do you think all this is for?"
"I'd rather you just tell me. I don't need a suit of armor to tell me you love me."
Anger surfaces quick and fierce. He doesn't like to be pushed. And he doesn't like to feel vulnerable. She's asking him to strip himself bare and lay his very damaged, very fragile soul on the table and he doesn't know if he can do that. He closes his eyes frozen in his fear of weakness. Alfred warned him. Yet his own stubborn obsession continues to drive wedges between those he loves.
She shakes her head. "Well, I love you, Bruce." She states it so succinctly that he's blindsided by her admission. "I love you. But right now, I can't look at you."
The clack of her high heel boots stabs him in the heart as she stalks off to the elevator. His head spins.
She drops a bomb like that and she's fucking walking away?
"Diana, wait," he calls after her. "You can't just walk away."
She turns over her shoulder eyes dark as flint. "What I do is not up to you."