II: Themyscira

There were two keys to surviving the Bermuda Triangle.

First, a well-built aircraft. Dick checked the readouts for his course heading and made a slight adjustment. The latest generation of Batplane thrummed under his guidance, and he chuckled. No matter how many decades he'd been operating solo as Nightwing, no matter that he now used wingdings instead of batarangs and drove the Wingcycle instead of the Batmobile, the Batplane remained the Batplane through every incarnation. Dick wouldn't have it any other way.

Second, the presence of mind not to panic when the instruments went haywire, as they were about to do …

The proximity alarm sounded first, followed by the tone that in any other moment would tell him that someone else had locked weapons onto him. The altimeter needles spun, unable to settle on any reading, accurate or not.

Dick ignored them, and the other meaningless readouts on the display panel, instead enjoying the lightning storm outside the canopy. The first time he'd been to Themyscira, Dick hadn't known what to expect, and the savage beauty of the protections around it had been lost on him. Now he could enjoy it, even when the stick jumped in his hand and his stomach fell out from under him and the Batplane fell into a nosedive.

About this point, Dick mused, most pilots panicked and tried to save the plane from the crash landing they assumed was inevitable - and made it inevitable in their attempt.

He, however, simply waited, his hands resting on the controls. In a few more seconds -

The lightning storm vanished, and Dick blinked against the sudden tropical sun. Then he was easing the Batplane out of its nosedive, coaxing it to respond. Finally, it settled back level, and once again he searched outside the canopy.

Themyscira lay ahead and slightly to his right, and he eased the Batplane into a gentle turn. White stone roofs glistened in the afternoon sun, and the occasional glimpse of color through the vegetation hinted at the brightly colored walls and mosaics lining the streets of the ancient city.

Even before Dick could fully take in the sight, he noted a speck rising from the city, aiming directly toward the Batplane. As the speck drew closer and resolved itself into the lithe figure of Donna Troy, Dick smiled. She was still as beautiful and strong as she was when they first met that long-ago afternoon in the Batcave. Her expression then had been full of wonder and delight, not determined as it was now, and he raised a hand to wave to her.

Donna stopped her approach, hovering as the Batplane swooped past her. Then she paced it, remaining just outside the cockpit. Dick saw her mouth his name. He nodded in response, and she smiled. Then she gestured for him to follow, and he guided the Batplane after her.

Two minutes later, Dick was shutting down the Batplane after a vertical landing in a clearing southwest of the city proper. As the last of the engine's whine died on the breeze, he deactivated the cockpit locks and the canopy slid back over his head. Donna floated beside him, clad in sandals and a … he searched his memory for the right word, found it … chiton that the breeze molded to her body.

"Sorry to drop in unannounced," Dick said, "but it's damn hard to call ahead to an island that doesn't get cell reception, much less satellite reception."

Donna threw her arms around him, cutting off whatever else he might've said, and he hugged her back. They'd shared so many hugs over the years that sometimes it seemed as if she belonged in his arms. Dick had never let himself think that thought before now, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Later. He'd analyze that later. Now, Donna was pulling back, staring at him, her eyes shining with the smile that curved her mouth.

"It's so good to see you, Dick." She rested a palm against his cheek, studying him closely, and surprise tinged her voice when she added, "You haven't changed at all."

He'd have to discuss that with her, he knew. Later.

"You look - better," he said, only realizing the truth of the words as he spoke. "Lighter than when I saw you last. Themyscira's been good to you."

The compliment pleased her, Dick saw, but she quickly turned serious. "Is there a crisis? Am I needed?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Then why are you here?"

"Partly because it's been too long since I've seen my best friend."

"And mostly because …?"

"I never could keep a secret from you," Dick grumbled half-heartedly. She just rolled her eyes, so he added, "I have a puzzle, and I think you or one of the other Amazons may be able to help. Permission to get out of the plane?"

"What?" Donna blinked, then looked around and chuckled. "Oh, of course. Sorry. I'm still surprised to see you. Happy, but surprised." And moreso, Dick thought, because he hadn't aged since he'd last seen her nearly twenty years before.

He stood and climbed over the edge of the cockpit, then reached in to retrieve the briefcase he'd brought before hopping down to land lightly beside her.

"Still the same uniform," she observed. "But - no mask?"

"You and Diana already know who I am. Does anybody else on this island care?"

That made Donna laugh, as he'd intended. He'd come a long way from horrible puns, but he still had the urge to make the people he cared for laugh. He'd rarely succeeded with Bruce, but that never stopped him from trying. Others, like Donna, were less grim and laughed more easily, and their laughter always gave him hope. In their line of work, they needed all the laughter and hope they could get.

It was second nature to fall into step with her as they left the Batplane behind and turned toward the city.

Donna chatted as they walked, telling him about the local flora and fauna, the crops they would be harvesting soon, and throwing in some local gossip for good measure. A hundred steps toward the city, Dick realized she was nervous.

Why should she be nervous? They were friends, had seen each other through good times and bad. He'd given her away when she married Terry, despite private reservations as to the wisdom of that choice, and later held her while she cried when that marriage ended. In turn, she'd pounded sense into him when he fell into a funk after Kory married Karras. They knew each other too well to be nervous with each other.

Or so he'd thought when he landed.

And then Dick had noticed how the breeze sculpted fabric around her body - was still noticing, if he were honest about it - and hoped Donna hadn't felt the sudden tension in his body when she hugged him. Despite the familiarity of the gesture between them, there'd been a new awareness of her tingling through his body when she touched him, and he gave silent thanks for the cup he wore beneath his costume. It might be uncomfortable as hell at the moment, but at least it hid his reaction to that awareness from her.

Maybe, just maybe, Donna had the same reason to be nervous he was discovering in himself.

Then his mind caught up to what she'd been saying. "Diana's gone?"

Donna glanced at him sidewise, surprised at his question. "Yes. Atlantis requested a neutral third party to mediate a few disputes between Poseidonis and Tritonis."

"One less translator to assist you, then." Dick grinned at her.

"You'd be surprised," Donna said mildly. "Hippolyta speaks English very well. So does Pythia, our historian, Menalippe, our oracle, and a few others."

"I suspect I'll want to talk to both your historian and your oracle."

"You're piquing my curiosity terribly, you know that."

"Just making conversation until all the formalities are dealt with - whatever they may be. Then I'll tell you everything, and ask for your help."

=X=

By the time Dick finished greeting the queen, apologizing for disturbing the silence of the island with the Batplane's engines (which strictly speaking was not required, but Alfred's instruction in protocol and manners went bone deep), and enjoying a traditional light lunch of fruit, fish, and bread with Donna and the queen, his Nomex-and-Kevlar-blend suit had trapped what felt like a gallon of sweat against his skin.

Dick thought he didn't squirm too much, but every time he moved - whether to stand, sit, or even simply reach for a piece of fruit - his suit shifted and pulled as though it were peeling away a layer of his skin with it. If she noticed his discomfort, the queen was too polite to smile at it.

"Come on," Donna said when lunch was over.

Dick followed, then frowned when she turned deeper into the palace, rather than to the outside. "Where are we going?"

"To get you out of that uniform."

"Pardon?" Maybe she was feeling the same attraction he was. He hadn't expected her to be so blunt about it, though.

"There's a reason Greeks went nearly naked." Donna didn't look back as she spoke, and Dick relaxed his face into normal curiosity. She wasn't feeling it, then. "Heat and humidity do not wear well with lots of clothing, after all. And Themyscira's even worse for those than Greece, some days." She laughed. "Hippolyta jokes that she knows when I'm home because my boots and costume land before I do."

Dick chuckled. "Joys of this island. I mean, it'd be just my luck that I'd strip down on the way back into the penthouse and some satellite flyby would record it."

"It'd be on the internet in minutes. Here we are." Donna paused outside a room. "Your room, while you're here."

"Thanks." Dick stepped past the geometrically-patterned curtain that served as a door and into the room. Beneath the single window, a mattress rested on a wooden platform. Two chairs flanked a marble-topped table to one side of the bed, and on the other side, a small cabinet painted with a scene Dick couldn't immediately identify held a vase of flowers. Dick put his briefcase beside the cabinet.

"I know it's not Wayne Manor, but it's comfortable."

Dick turned to her. "I was born in a circus wagon, remember? This is plenty for me."

Donna crossed to the cabinet, opened its doors. Inside, Dick saw stacks of neatly folded, brightly-colored fabric. A wooden box rested on the top shelf, and when Donna set it on top of the cabinet next to his briefcase, he saw that it contained a variety of metalwork pins.

"Most of our clothing is very simple," Donna said, and Dick focused on her explanation. "Squares or rectangles of fabric held in place with a fibula or two. Traditionally, Greek men wore a chlamys or a chiton, so you have your choice."

"It would help if I knew what a chlamys is."

"One of the simplest garments that ever existed." Donna pulled a length of deep blue fabric from the cabinet and shook out the folds.

"That's big enough for a blanket."

"And frequently used for one, too. You wear it like this." Donna wrapped the fabric around him, fastening it over his right shoulder with a fibula. The fabric fell around him, leaving his right side free - for weapon use, he assumed - and covering his left side from shoulder to knee.

"Is anything worn under it?"

"Not usually."

Dick glanced down at himself. All it would take was one stiff breeze, and all of him, stiff or otherwise, would be revealed for all to see. "I'll stick with the chiton."

"Suit yourself." Donna didn't appear to read anything unusual into his statement, and for that Dick was grateful. Quickly she refolded the blue fabric and withdrew two other pieces in a forest green. "Fasten the two pieces together at the shoulders, like mine, and then you can get a narrower strip for a belt. I'll wait for you outside, and then we can talk to Pythia and Menalippe."

When she'd pulled the curtain behind her, Dick let out a breath and quickly peeled out of his costume. He almost stripped off the cup, too, but stopped before he got it halfway down and resettled it in place. Uncomfortable as it might be, it would at least keep any of his body's reactions to the sight of so many beautiful women from giving offense.

Until now, he'd thought that still having the reactions of a younger man was one of the best benefits of not aging. Now it was a nuisance, and he had to wonder what else he thought was a benefit might actually be a nuisance in disguise.

=X=

"I'm hoping that someone here is knowledgeable enough in ancient Greek or proto-Greek alphabets to translate a line of text I found recently." Dick stood at a table with Donna and a handful of other Amazons, including the historian Pythia and the oracle Menalippe. The oddest member of their group, he thought, was Philippus, captain of the queen's guard. Likely the dark-skinned woman was more than a soldier, but Dick wondered if her presence was due to her knowledge or her suspicion of his motives.

"Where did you find it?" Donna asked.

"In my mother's journal." Dick opened the briefcase and reached in for the journal. His fingers closed first around the deck of tarot cards he'd tossed in with the rest of his notes from this research project, and he pulled them from the briefcase, set them aside, and reached back into the satchel.

"What are these?" The question came from the oracle Menalippe, and Dick smiled at her.

"They're called tarot cards. Some people use them for divination."

"An oracle? May I look at them?"

"Sure." Dick watched her pick up the deck from the corner of his eye as he withdrew his mother's journal from the briefcase. Then she faded from his awareness as he thumbed to the page with the strange text and offered the book for Donna's examination first. "On the right hand page. I've already determined it's a combination of Linear A, Linear B, and other scripts, but that's where I hit a brick wall."

"What text, Dick?"

"At the bottom of the right hand page," Dick repeated, surprised. Donna didn't often miss a detail like that.

But she was shaking her head. "There's just your mother's writing."

Dick stepped around the table and traced his forefinger under the line of text on the page. "Right there."

"I don't see it, Dick. Neither does Pythia." Donna's matter-of-fact tone didn't reassure him, nor did the shaking of heads as she passed the notebook amongst the gathered Amazons.

Dick held fast to the edge of the table. How could they not see the text? Was he hallucinating? He'd never heard of hallucinations lasting so long nor remaining so consistent as this one, but he couldn't rule out the possibility.

"Dick." Donna's calm, quiet voice drew his attention back to her. "Has anyone else seen the writing?"

He started to answer in the affirmative, then shook his head. "No. I copied the text before sending it to ancient language experts."

Philippus said something in the Amazon language.

Donna shook her head and answered in English. "Dick's the most rational, level-headed person I've ever known. If he says he sees the text, then he sees it." She looked up at him. "Will you copy the text for us?"

"I have the copy I already made." Dick reached for the briefcase again, hoping that his hand didn't shake badly enough to be noticed.

He hadn't expected this new layer of mystery. In the few seconds while he rummaged for the transcription, he sorted possibilities. A chemical on the page that only reacted to his body chemistry? A chemical he'd ingested, somehow? Both of those were rejected as soon as he thought of them. They implied that someone had planted the words on the page for him to find - but the compartment where he'd found the notebook hadn't been disturbed since his parents' deaths.

Or perhaps the entire notebook was a fake, planted to lure him into some trap he had yet to detect. But Dick had compared the handwriting in the notebook to the only other sample of his mother's writing that he had, a note she'd written to Sooze congratulating her on her engagement to Jacques, and the two samples had matched. If the notebook was a fake, Dick thought, it was the best forgery he'd ever seen.

Dick gave an internal sigh. It would be just his luck that sometime, somewhere, some carnival fortune-teller had cast a spell to put those symbols randomly in his mother's notebook and who knew where else, and he'd come all the way to Themyscira on the world's longest wild goose chase.

But even if so, Dick thought, the trip wasn't entirely wasted. Seeing Donna was never a waste.

He found himself smiling as he handed her the transcribed copy of the symbols.

Donna gave him a quick smile in return, and then she studied the symbols, Philippus and Pythia looking over her shoulders.

Donna shook her head. "I have no idea."

Over her head, Philippus and Pythia exchanged glances. Dick's stomach clenched. What did they know, or think they knew?

"Menalippe," Pythia said. "You should look at this."

Dick looked over at the oracle. She'd given up perusing the tarot cards and was reaching for his mother's journal. Her eyes widened when she touched it.

"Oh." It was a mild exclamation, but from the others' expressions, Dick judged Menalippe didn't make such exclamations often. Menalippe's eyes were wide, her expression caught somewhere between beatific and surprised.

Menalippe extended the journal to him. "If ever you desire a safe place for this, I would be honored to guard it for you."

"Ah - thank you." Dick took the journal, wondering just what the oracle had seen or sensed but unsure whether asking would be considered rude. A glance at Donna showed that she appeared to be as confused as he felt.

Menalippe turned her attention to the transcription. After a moment, she shook her head. "I am sorry, but it is not my place to translate it."

"What?"

"The message is for you alone," Menalippe said. "That is why only you can see it on the page."

"What good does it do to see it if I can't read it?" Dick fought to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"You can't read it yet. When the time is right, you will." Menalippe picked up the tarot cards again, idly shuffling them in her hands.

"And who gets to decide when the time is right?" Now he didn't even try to conceal his frustration.

"Certainly not I. These cards are quite interesting. There's no power inherent in them, but they can open a portal tor true guidance. Have you worked with them much?"

"Only when they were part of an investigation, and then only as clues to the crime. Recently, a friend suggested two cards might help put me on the right path in this investigation."

"Was this one of them?" Menalippe held up a card titled The Sun. When Dick shook his head no, she returned the card to the deck and extended it to him. "Thank you for letting me examine them. I hope to see you when we greet the day tomorrow." She nodded to him and to the other women, then rose gracefully and left the room.

This, Dick thought, was why he disliked working with sorcerers, magicians, and other spiritual types. Getting a straight answer out of any of them was harder than beating Clark at arm-wrestling. He'd at least managed to do that once.

"The oracle walks a difficult path at times." Pythia's quiet observation drew his attention back to her. "She sometimes sees more than the gods allow her to tell."

Dick forced back a sharp retort, took a silent breath and let it out. "I'm trying to understand, Pythia. It's just frustrating to be so close to an answer and then have it denied."

"Is this the biggest frustration you've faced?" The challenge came, of course, from Philippus.

Dick smiled slightly and met her gaze squarely. "Certainly not. It's just the one in front of me at the moment."

Philippus gave a grunt of acknowledgment. Dick wanted to think it held approval, however slight, as well, though the warrior gave no other sign of it as she, too, took her leave. Dick started gathering the papers strewn about the table to return them to his briefcase.
His glance landed on The Sun and lingered.

Spiritual types might never give a straight answer, but everything they did say had meaning, and out of all the cards in the tarot deck, Menalippe had directed him to The Sun. It deserved further study.

"Before you leave," Pythia once again drew him from his thoughts, "I hope to talk to you about the princesses' adventures outside Themyscira."

"Pythia, please -" Donna began, but the other woman cut her off.

"I will not be dissuaded. It is rare enough that your or Diana's friends visit, and even less do they spend time to talk. But no crisis demands attention now, so I ask Dick's indulgence."

Dick hid a grin at Donna's discomfort and asked Pythia, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Your thoughts on their battles," Pythia said. "I visited the United States of America with the queen, and though I did not speak much English then, I did observe that people held the princess Diana in high esteem. We did not know Donna then, but I believe that to be true for her as well."

"It is," Dick agreed immediately.

"And that has led me to wonder about their tales of their adventures."

"You think they exaggerated?" Dick couldn't imagine Donna or Diana exaggerating their exploits. It just wasn't in either woman's makeup.

"I fear they have been too modest in their tales, and I would set the record straight."

"I see." Dick bit back a grin at Donna's annoyed expression. "I'm happy to help."

Pythia smiled broadly, and Donna rose with a grumble. "I suppose I'll see you after you're done embarrassing me."

"Donna - can we talk, later?"

"Of course." Donna seemed surprised that he'd asked. "After dinner?"

"Thanks." He turned back to Pythia. "Where do you want to start?"

"When did you first meet Donna?"

Dick smiled, remembering. "I was twelve. Donna had just left Themyscira, and Diana brought her to Batman - Bruce - for an identity. Even then, you needed a ton of documents to prove you were who you said you were. That was the beginning of our friendship - the best, longest friendship of my life."

=X=

It wasn't until Dick saw the sky outside beginning to darken that he realized just how long he'd been talking with Pythia.

He must be getting old, Dick thought, if it were becoming that easy to slip into telling stories of years gone by. He'd have to watch that tendency, and not indulge it too often. Looking forward, not backward, had been a hallmark of his life, and he never wanted that to change.

"I have kept you too long," Pythia said. "But we will not be late to supper."

"I enjoyed it. And I hope it was helpful."

"Very." Pythia gestured for him to join her as she left the room where they'd been working. "Thank you for sharing your stories, Dick. They will help me fill out the princesses' histories, and they were enjoyable to hear in their own right, as well."

Dick never knew how to respond when he was thanked for doing something he enjoyed, whether that something was telling stories with and about friends or stopping a bank robbery in progress. When he spoke to the news media, he always gave a, "Just doing what I can," reply, but that felt wrong in this moment. So he simply nodded acknowledgment as
Pythia led him down the main path toward the royal residence.

It couldn't properly be called a palace, he thought, studying the building. It was hardly larger than any of the others and certainly wasn't ostentatious in its sculpture or decorative appurtenances. It was, he decided, the residence of someone who ruled as first among equals, not as an absolute monarch.

"And thank you for coming here."

"Pardon?"

"I trust you will keep what I am about to tell you in confidence."

That seemed to demand a reply, so Dick said, "You have my word."

"Donna seems much happier today than she has these last months. I think she misses her life outside Themyscira, and you remind her of it."

"Are you so sure it's good that she's reminded?" The words were out before Dick knew he was going to say them, and he knew he needed to elaborate. "I've always known why she came home - she didn't want to watch all those people she loves grow old and die. My being here, even if I don't look like I'm aging, just reminds her of those loved ones."

And it was that knowledge that had almost decided Dick against coming to see Donna at all. In the end, he'd concluded that visiting Themyscira while she was present and could vouch for him edged out the risk of hurting her, however slightly, by reminding her of those she would be losing. Including him.

"So perhaps it is not an unmitigated good," Pythia allowed. "But more good than bad, I think. And I am grateful for that good. Grief does not become her."

"No, it doesn't." Grief, or at least a slight sadness, was more Diana's forte than Donna's, Dick decided. Donna had always been the more optimistic of the two, and on those occasions when life challenged her optimism in brutal ways - her divorce, the deaths of her ex-husband and son - she never stayed down for long. It was the thing he loved most about her, that they shared an innate faith in the best that people could be, despite every day seeing the worst that people could be.

"But come, we should not be so somber going in to dine." Pythia lightened her tone. "I understand there will be dancing, and perhaps even a play."

"Amazons do dinner theater. Who knew?" Donna's voice came from above him, and he looked up to meet her gaze as she touched down beside them. "But I think they're going to want to talk about books, mostly. Though the dancing is a given."

"What books?" Dick asked.

"At the moment, The Tale of Genji. We're working through world classics in roughly chronological order."

"That's what - tenth, eleventh century?" Dick asked.

"About that," Donna agreed. "Those of us who read English - yes, we use English translations, sue us - take turns reading, and at the end, we all discuss and debate the books."

"Sounds interesting."

Donna laughed. "You know that's not what you were going to say."

Dick shook his head. "No, it does sound interesting. The discussions after, even though you'd never get me to sit still long enough to listen to the reading. Where did you start?"

"The Bible," Donna said. "The Diaspora predated the Amazons a bit, so they were at least familiar with some of the events depicted in it. And then we worked through Augustine and Eusebius - those didn't go over so well."

"They are exactly the same kind of men who enslaved us so long ago." Pythia's quiet voice carried contempt. "The same hatred, the same envy, drove them all. I was not the only one glad when we got past those."

"Maybe you should skip Dante," Dick suggested to Donna.

"No," Donna and Pythia said at the same time. Pythia nodded to Donna to speak first, and she said, "Skipping something so significant is dishonest. We're looking at the development of thoughts and ideas and cultural patterns as well as the literary work itself."

"Some of us, myself included, are hoping that a broader, less culture-centric view of things will be of use," Pythia added. "And for that we need the good and the bad, as well as the indifferent."

"Interesting times ahead, it sounds like," Dick said because a comment was needed. His mind was elsewhere, wondering what a cadre of several hundred Amazons, armed with knowledge of history, an understanding of other cultures, and strength of will could accomplish in the world - for good or evil.

=X=

In the end, there was no play, just music, dancing, and spirited conversation. Where the Amazons might lack technological knowledge, they had spent considerable time contemplating ethical issues and consequences of the technology they did know about. Finally, Dick laughed and suggested that one of them take a position as ethical advisor to WayneTech.

He thought he'd meant the suggestion in jest, but when they started debating who would be best for the position, Dick realized he was as serious about it as they were. At the least, he thought, it would be amusing to see Damian's expression when it happened.

When they slipped into Themysciran Greek without pausing, Donna leaned over to him. "They'll be at it all night."

Something inside Dick clenched at the thought of spending hours with nothing to do but sit and listen to a debate in a language he didn't completely understand. He'd do it - courtesy demanded no less - but he'd much rather be swinging from rooftops back in Gotham. He'd even rather be standing still for a fitting of the suit he'd ordered for Damian's wedding.

"Care to go for a walk around the island?"

"Lead the way." Dick didn't care how relieved he sounded. Donna knew him too well to take his relief as an insult.

Dick paused outside the royal residence and looked up at the night sky. Only the brightest stars shone through the blanket of artificial light that snuggled around Gotham at night. Here, far away from any light pollution, he saw them all - familiar friends Arcturus and Polaris, Vega that was home to Kory - nestled amongst constellations named for Zodiac signs and Greek myths. Appropriate, he thought, considering where he was.

"Neither Diana nor I have ever told them that constellation there is Hercules," Donna murmured. "They'd hate the thought of him being overhead all summer."

"I imagine so. But haven't they named their own constellations? The patterns we named aren't the only patterns you could choose."

"Oh, some, of course. Orion is the same, and Draco. But we recognize also Arachne and the Owl, and what you think of as Cassiopeia they call Diana."

"Diana?" Dick repeated. "As in your sister?"

Donna laughed and started toward the center of the city. "No, Diana as in Diana Trevor. A pilot who landed here during the Second World War, and for whom my sister was named."

Dick fell into easy step with her as he so often had in the past. "And here I was going to go home and brag about knowing someone who had a whole constellation named for her, not just a star."

"Hah. Like you'd brag about something so trivial." When she slid an arm around him, it was natural to drape his own arm around her shoulders and pull her closer against his side.

After a few steps, she said, "How's Kory? I think of her every time I look at Vega."

"I assume she's happy there. She went home not long after you came here."

"She did? Really?" Donna shook her head. "Sorry, but I thought you and she were -"

"In love. I know. Everybody did. Even we did."

"It was hard not to think that. You were together a long time."

"Together, yes, but not in love. Not in any way that matters. Donna - she never wanted to get to know me, Dick Grayson, Romany circus brat who got in way over his head way too young."

"I believed her when she said she loved you."

"By her standards, I'm sure she did," Dick allowed, "but it was the way someone loves their cocker spaniel, not the way they love forever."

"But you stayed with her anyway?"

"It was easy to be with her. Probably in the same way it was easy for you to be with Terry."

Donna stiffened under his arm, and Dick winced. Maybe he was wrong about that, or maybe she wasn't ready to hear it. Why had he assumed otherwise? And how could he apologize for it without making the awkward moment worse?

Then she let out a breath. "I was eighteen when I met Terry, and for all that I'd been away from Themyscira so long, I was still ignorant of so much. I did love him, but in that naive, starry-eyed kind of way. At the time, I didn't know that kind of love never lasts forever."

Dick tightened his arm around her in wordless understanding. Then they rounded a bend in the path and the stark sculpted shapes of public buildings gave way to softer silhouettes of tents and awnings that rippled in the breeze.

"Themyscira has a slum?"

"No, silly." Donna laughed, and the sound of it made him smile. Grief didn't become her, not even grief felt at several decades' remove. "The marketplace."

"Amazons have a market?"

"Of course. Where else would the farmers and the weavers and the potters gather to trade?"

"I suppose I thought it was some kind of commune."

Donna laughed again, and this time Dick knew she was at least partly laughing at his assumptions. "We're Greek - all about the individual. No communism for us, thanks."

Then she stopped and turned to face him. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"How easy it is to talk to you, even after all this time. No awkwardness, no meaningless catching up on trivialities."

"We've been through too much, too many times, to be awkward."

"So why haven't you brought it up?"

"Brought what up?"

"Whatever you wanted to talk about when you asked if we could talk later."

Dick exhaled a chuckle. "I didn't actually want to talk about anything in particular. Just to talk with you. I've missed it."

"You can't have missed those two a.m. phone calls when I cried on your shoulder about, oh, pretty much everything."

"Yes, the two a.m. phone calls, and the lattes and the lunches, the occasional stop-bys on stakeouts. I've missed you." Dick took a breath. "But I always knew why you came back here, and I wouldn't have intruded if I didn't have to."

"You did?" Donna's eyes went wide with shock.

"It didn't take that great a detective to figure it out," Dick said. "You came back here so you wouldn't have to watch people you love get old."

"Oh."

What was that supposed to mean? Her expression was a combination of resignation and - disappointment? "Am I wrong?"

"Not in general."

He was wrong in specifics, then. Dick rifled through possibilities quickly, settled on the most logical. "Someone in particular you didn't want to watch."

"The possibility that someone might die in combat didn't bother me," Donna said, then immediately corrected herself. "Not much, anyway. That's what we do, we choose that risk every single time we go fight the good fight. And if I were in the fight, too, then at least I'd know I'd done everything I could to prevent it. But age and decline aren't a fight. There's nothing I can do to stop them."

"And you hate feeling helpless as much as I do." Sometimes, like now, Dick found his detective-trained mind annoying. It was analyzing conversational clues in an attempt to deduce who Donna's "one person" might be. She'd just dropped the first clue: it was someone she'd fought beside, more than once. That only narrowed the potential pool by half.

"Yes. So I took the coward's way out, and left."

"You're not a coward, Donna."

"What else would you call it?"

"Respect, maybe. Or compassion. Because as hard as it would be for you, it would be equally hard for the other person - or harder. Or do you honestly think Roy would enjoy getting old while you stayed young?"

Donna chuckled. "Bad choice of example. He'd appreciate the view until his dying breath."

"Which is not the same as enjoying the experience." Roy was the logical choice. Donna and Roy shared a long-time, deep affection, maybe even deeper than what Dick shared with her. But her response to his question was that of a friend, not of someone thinking about a foregone love.

"I'm starting to think I made the wrong choice."

"Decided you can't live without him? Or is it a her?"

"Realized that I may not have to."

Before Dick could ask what she meant by that, she'd stepped into his personal space, rested her hands on his shoulders, and stretched up on her toes to brush her lips against his.

The warmth of her lips drove home the conclusion he hadn't dared entertain and spurred him to respond. His arms went around her, pulling her tight against him, and his eyes drifted closed as he savored the silky feel of her mouth under his until breathing became an absolute necessity.

"Donna." Dick murmured her name against her mouth between light kisses.

"Dick." Donna pulled back to look into his eyes. "I couldn't bear to watch you get old and die."

"I wouldn't want you to. I don't want you to."

"But now…" She ran her hand over his chest. Dick caught it in his, held it fast.

"Now we don't know what's going on." It hurt to say those words, but he had to be honest. "All we know is that I don't look any older than you do. We don't know why, or what will happen later. It may just be delaying the inevitable."

"I don't want to believe that."

"Neither do I. But until we know - I won't make promises I'm not certain of keeping."

"I'm not asking for promises now. Just to know that I'm not the only one feeling it."

"I've always loved you more deeply than I have anyone else." Dick raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. "But there was always some reason, some excuse, not to let you know."

"No excuses now."

"No."

"For anything." Her free hand stroked down his torso, leaving a trail of flexing muscles in its wake. And then she laughed. "Only you would wear a cup under a chiton."

"Yeah, well, you think tenting looks goofy in underwear…."

"That must be getting uncomfortable."

"Has been most of the day, actually."

"Well, then, why not take it off?"

He was happy to comply.