Author's Note: No recycled animation this time! Character ownership goes to DC Comics.

'Nothing like looking forward to something to make monitor duty seem to drag on forever.' Five hours and fifty-seven minutes down, three minutes to go. I try not to ask myself where Steel is. Again.

I lift my eyes from the keyboards and control panels at my fingertips. My hands find the monitor controls on their own and I cycle my focus between the screens, periodically advancing through the various feeds twelve at a time. The last event to require League attention had been an earthquake in eastern Asia—most of the damage had been to state property, fortunately. No loss of life.

I hear the monitor womb doors open, their slight hiss capturing my attention without difficulty. I'm itching to leave. My left leg hasn't been still for over an hour. An excited twitch had started my heel endlessly tapping the floor. I noticed it almost immediately, but somehow it took more conscious effort to stop, so when my leg started again, I hadn't bothered to still it a second time.

"Good evening, Wonder Woman." Steel, as expected. He still has almost two minutes before his shift technically begins. A little close, maybe, but I can't blame him for my wanting so desperately to leave.

I pull my hands from the consoles and turn, standing to greet him. My foot stills with the motion. "Good evening, Steel." I take a step away from the chair and Steel tips his head just a little to his right, a silent prompt for me to continue. "Ready to begin?"

He smiles and for a moment, I'm amazed that he can be so emotive through his armor. "Yup. Long shift?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. If I didn't know better, I'd say I sat through two shifts instead of just one." I turn back to the monitor array. I glance back across them quickly. No notices, no disaster warnings. "There don't seem to be any issues right now. It's been a quiet afternoon."

Not to say that words like "morning," "afternoon," and "night" mean much of anything on the Watchtower without finding a clock first. With so many of the League's members being based out of North America, and the United States in particular, it had been only natural for most of the Watchtower's clocks to be set to North America's Eastern time zone. In hindsight, it seemed only right, since Bruce was so involved in the Watchtower's construction and its continued upgrades, grumbled complaints aside.

I turn back to see Steel approaching the array and chair. "Good to hear. Let's hope it stays that way."

"Yes," I wholeheartedly agree as he passes me and steps around the chair to sit down.

After a few moments glancing at the monitors, Steel turns and smiles again. "Thanks. Have a good evening."

"Thank you. I'd wish the same for you…" I trail off, unsure how to kindly finish the sentence.

"But monitor duty isn't exactly fun, right? Can't say I imagined it was ever supposed to be, but it's what we get for so critical a job."

"Of course. Thank you again." I glance to the clock. Nearly 6:01. 'I need to hurry.'

I turn as Steel refocuses his attention on the monitors and head straight for the door. A few hastened steps later, I'm in the hallway outside, heading for the main elevator and my quickest route down to the founders' quarters on Dormitory Deck A.

When I arrive at the elevator, I catch up with a few others waiting for its arrival. Closest to me are Vigilante and Shining Knight, in the middle of a heated debate about the honor of a Mr. Clint Eastwood. Question is standing alone in the center of the group, alternating between writing notes on a small notepad and tapping his chin with his pencil eraser. Fire and Ice are talking with one another, just now calming after sharing a laugh.

Black Canary is closest to the doors. I can see an anxious twitch run down her arm, like she is struggling to keep herself from pressing the elevator's call button again. She is otherwise still and quiet. 'Maybe she has a date tonight as well…' It's an amusing thought and she is certainly acting as I would be if I were the one waiting in front of the doors like that.

I step up beside her, tempted to speak up and test my theory. Before I can, the elevator's chime sounds. She begins to step forward, but looks over to me and pauses. "Princess Diana." She motions towards the open elevator.

"Dinah," I reply gratefully as I take a step forward, but even if it wasn't my intent, I still feel a little shame in taking advantage of my status like this. 'Only I'm not sure if she's acting out of respect for me as a League founder or as Princess of the Amazons…'

I quickly step into the elevator and press the button for my floor, then step away from the buttons, clearing the way as everyone piles inside after me. I glance over as the doors close. My fellow passengers are all strangely quiet, all of them waiting for a little more space before resuming their conversations. Only Question continues apace, writing on his notepad.

When he lets something slip, a grumble about the benefits of homemade versus store-bought confections, I notice a scowl cross Dinah's face. I follow her gaze to the array of buttons and realize I've probably just made myself her least favorite person on the Watchtower. Dormitory Deck A has only six possible occupants, and my stop will delay her when she seems already out of patience.

When the doors open for me a few moments later, I sidestep and walk down the middle of the elevator between Fire and Shining Knight. Lifting my right hand while approaching the door, I give Dinah a supportive pat on her left shoulder. I give her a matching smile, but she replies with a look of confused curiosity.

I step out of the elevator and turn back, seeing her expression shift as the doors begin to close. Understanding. 'It looks like I was right.' If I'm remembering correctly, it will be with Green Arrow.

I turn forward and my eyes dance across the wall to my left. Ever since this second Watchtower was finished, I'd wondered if Bruce had planned the room assignments on this floor to torture me, to hint that something might be possible between us.

He could have just as easily put my room at the end of the hall on the left and had Superman's room separating the two of ours. He could have eschewed a numeric approach altogether and assigned the rooms arbitrarily or alphabetically by our costumed names—that certainly would have ensured our rooms would be as far apart as possible. He could have simply skipped giving himself any living space entirely or at least passed it to Shayera when she returned. 'He leaves his room empty so often that he may as well have.'

With a shake of my head, I refocus. Just in time to stop in front of my room. I hear a quiet tone in my right ear and tap my communicator. "Diana," I say for its benefit. The newly-streamlined voice recognition takes only a moment and the door unlocks automatically for me.

Inside, I head directly for my closet. I slide most of my meager selection of civilian clothing aside, revealing the dress I had worn in Paris while dancing with Bruce. From the moment he had arrived, I hadn't planned on throwing it out—he was going to take it and be gone. I was more than ready to make him take it if he hadn't apologized.

A giggle escapes me at the memory of the ruined dress smacking Bruce in the face. A smile spreads wide across my lips and I shake my head slowly while the image sticks in my mind. Bruce, standing stock-still and dressed as Batman from head to toe, with a half-folded, torn up half of a dress blotting out his face for a moment before beginning to drop, the ears of his cowl barely poking out over the top edge. He hadn't even started to move until the dress began to fall away.

It had been tempting to laugh then. I had needed to close my eyes and flush the image from my thoughts to ask why he had come to my room. It was a legitimate question after he made it so clear that no matter what I might want to say, he was finished. My cheeks flush at the thought of what came after. Explanations. Professions. Well-deserved name-calling and a little bit of roughness. Apology, forgiveness, and acceptance, all wrapped up in a heavy coat of passion.

It had been a little difficult to rein myself in afterwards. It probably had been for Bruce as well. A few moments of awkward silence and staring one another in the eye with uncertainty had helped there. 'Maybe we should try starting this a little more…normally,' I recall saying to break the silence while I sat up.

He had agreed and only paused a few moments, waiting for me to get off of him and stand next to my bed. Once I was on my feet, he had asked me on a date, inviting me to a newly opened restaurant in Gotham, Gotham Delizioso. Delicious Gotham. An Italian restaurant—and for Bruce to bother picking it out, probably an upscale one.

I lift my hand to the hanger and push the ruined dress out of the way, revealing a second dress, a pristine duplicate. If there was anything I had learned from my time in the Justice League, it was that it is always prudent to have at least two of everything in your civilian wardrobe. Paris had taught me loud and clear that League business can interrupt any outing.

I pull the bottom of the unworn dress out and drape it across my hands. The foremost reason to pick this dress over the few other formal outfits I own comes quickly to mind. Bruce owes me a dance. Surely, a man as smart as Bruce, as smart as Batman, will remember our dance in Paris when he sees it. 'Hopefully he won't be so…difficult about finishing our dance now.'

I push my other clothes away and take a step towards the bed. Ceremoniously and with a practiced efficiency, I remove nearly the whole of my Wonder Woman armor, leaving only my silver bracelets in place for now. I lift the pile of careful folds and metal from my bed and carry it to the nearby bureau. After depositing and sorting each item, I turn my attention down to the drawers, retrieving undergarments to match the dark dress.

With undergarments in hand, I turn to the bathroom to take an almost rushed shower. Under the water, I finally remove my bracelets to clean my forearms and wipe clear a bit of dust and grime, trapped beneath them during my mission in the morning. After stepping out of the shower, toweling off, and drying my hair as much as is practical, I look myself over in my bathroom mirror.

I hold no shame in standing bare before the mirror. I imagine the lines and shape of the dress against my body; I remember from the original that it will cover most of me regardless of how I look beneath it. Below the bottom hem, Bruce will at best catch a glimpse of my feet and ankles. Above, I am more sure than before that it does hide a little more of my bust than my armor.

I give a self-satisfied nod and smile, then begin to dress, starting with my bracelets. Once ready, I return to the closet and retrieve the dress, adding it to my attire before reaching in with my feet for a pair of formal heels almost the same height as the red boots from my outfit. When they are in their proper place on my feet, I turn to a waist-high shelf at the right end of the closet. I grab my modestly plain, black evening bag and put my League communicator inside after changing its settings to better hear its tones while it's outside my ear.

I close the bag while closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. "Alright. Do or die." I open my eyes and spin towards the door. 'And Hera help any criminal who tries to get in my way tonight.'

I manage to get all the way to the elevator before seeing anyone. When the elevator doors open and while we both pause for a few moments, I can't decide if I'm lucky or unlucky that it's Superman. Lucky, of course, since he's such a good friend. Unlucky because he was the only one there to witness when my emotionless veneer cracked and my anger boiled over after I last returned from the Batcave.

I take it upon myself to break the silence, hoping to take command of our conversation. "Good evening, Kal." I add a reassuring smile, hoping to keep his worries from pushing him to interfere.

"Evening, Diana. You seem in good spirits. Heading down to the surface?"

"Yes. I'm going to have dinner in Gotham." His smile withers and I can't help but wish I had caught myself and left it at a simple 'yes.'

"Gotham? There are a lot of charities and centers there. Did Bruce set you up with an invitation to one?" He's avoiding the issue and he knows it.

'May as well cut to the heart of it. Better sooner than later.' I shake my head, holding the smile steady on my lips. "No. We're going to dinner together."

"What?" Disbelief, astonishment. He lowers his chin and begins to shake his head.

'Oh, I wish J'onn had been on the elevator.' He would be quick to understand. 'Or John.' He wouldn't have been so curious. 'Or Wally.' His curiosity I could have brushed aside with vague, good-humored suggestions that he might make into amusing jokes later.

"Diana, didn't you—" He pauses, lifts his head to face me. "Weren't you—" Another bewildered pause. "Why?"

I give a sigh. He had visited before I retired two nights ago, about an hour after Bruce had left for a second, abbreviated patrol. The where and when of our date were already all but set in stone. I had told him simply that Bruce and I had worked things out and insisted on leaving it at that, a part of me afraid that our date would never come to pass. 'Of course this would come back to bite me when I'm nearly late.'

"Kal, please. Don't worry about me." I need a more specific way to appeal to him. "You've known him for years—for far longer than I have. Surely you trust him enough to not worry." It's a little odd not to be using Bruce's name, but given the topic, it isn't necessary.

"Diana, I trust him with my life." He looks away, past me, in the direction of the doors on my side of the hallway. His voice drops. "But hearts are a completely different matter." He's nearly muttering.

"Kal…" I begin, lifting my hand to his shoulder and spreading my lips into a friendly smile, "Then trust me to know what I'm doing with mine."

"Yeah, but, Diana, you must know about his past, right? Look at all the women he's been with over the years."

"But how many was he being honest about and how many were part of the persona?" My answer surprises him a little and he lowers his head, closing his eyes as a pensive look crosses his expression.

"At least one or two. I think I've seen him serious before." For a moment, Kal seems…frustrated. He masks it quickly, laughing and telling me, "Well, you're certainly the only one who could tear up his car and juggle the parts."

I laugh along with him. The questions of who, when, and where beg to be asked, but I stay my voice. Primarily, it's because of the urgency creeping into my thoughts. I've spent too much time getting ready and now delaying.

"Thank you, Kal," I begin, stepping past him to press the call button for the elevator that had closed behind him some time ago, "but, don't worry about me. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Kal steps away, clearing the way for me to stand by the elevator as I wait. "I know. It's just… Well, you know how he is. I can't help but worry."

The elevator arrives with a chime and an idea strikes me. The doors open and I smile as I reach over for Kal's arm, pulling him into the elevator as I step in.

"Diana?"

"You're not going to talk me out of this, Kal. I'm going no matter what you try to tell me, but if you'd like to help…" The doors close behind us as I turn back to face my Kryptonian friend. "You're welcome to stay outside of Gotham and make sure nothing interrupts us."

The confusion leaves his face, fading away to reveal a friendly smile. He nods slowly. "Deal." When he stops, he lifts a hand to his chin and the smile widens into a grin. "You know, Diana, you better be careful, that sounded sort of like something Batman would say."

The joke brings a round of hearty laughter. I barely stop myself from pretending to pull a cowl over my face and replying with "And another thing, don't call me 'Diana.'" For a moment, I laugh harder at the mental picture, but I stop myself, knowing it's very much inappropriate, considering I'm on my way to a date with the man.

The doors open to the main transporter deck as our laughter ends. Both of us file out of the elevator quickly, making way for Green Arrow, Hawk, and Dove. All three men gawk at my appearance, caught speechless as we pass each other. It's sobering. Everything my mother and sisters had ever taught me pushes me towards hating such a reaction, but I've grown more than used to it in my years in Man's World. In a way, it's emboldening, but it's disheartening to know that Bruce will tame any such reactions of his own.

I can't help but give a sigh as I approach the transporter platform. 'Well, so long as I can get a dance and a second date, it'll be worth it. A trouble-free evening wouldn't hurt either.'

"Excuse me," I tell the transporter technician while moving behind the controls, forcing him to step aside. Once he has moved enough to not see the screen, I reach into my evening bag and press my forefinger to my communicator. After a few moments, the console's screen shifts, a founders-only input panel overlaying the others. I select the Batcave's location and, when prompted, hold my left thumb to a small scanning pad. My thumb in place, I type my user code, costumed name, and a password on the neighboring on-screen keyboard using my free hand.

One of the transporter pads past the console hums to life as the screens close. I thank the technician before vacating the controls, then step past them towards the activating machines.

Spots of light gradually surround me. They begin dissipating as soon as they fill my vision. The image of steel, open space, and the expanses of our world are replaced by rock, the contrast of light and dark, and the Batcave's chief staples: the Batmobile, the Batwing, the Batcomputer, and of course, Bruce and Alfred to greet me.

Alfred is wearing a full suit of gray, from his shoes all the way to the cap perfectly centered atop his head. A chauffer's attire. Bruce beside him is in almost all black. Only his dress shirt and tie provide any sort of contrast. In the cave's darkness, the brilliant white of his dress shirt nearly glows where it peeks out from beneath the neck of his jacket. The same goes for the dress shirt's cuffs, just visible past the ends of his jacket's sleeves. His tie, a deep shade of red, provides the only bit of color to his outfit as it hangs from his neck before ducking under the cover of black fabric.

I spend a moment in silent admiration as I begin the walk down from the Batcave's lone transporter pad and its modest platform. "Good evening, Bruce, Alfred," I greet the two men with a smile as the sound of my footsteps changes with the transition from metal to stone.

"Diana." Of course Bruce would keep it short and simple. "I trust you didn't have any problems on the way down."

I can hear the hidden meaning. "No, of course not, but you're right. I'm sorry for being late." Honest sincerity. 'I'm certainly later than I had meant to be.'

As soon as the apology crosses my lips, Alfred nearly starts, suddenly flabbergasted. "Not at all, Miss Diana! We're both very glad to see you. Now, shall we all head up to the manor? I'll ask the both of you to wait there while I ready the car and bring it around."

"Thank you, Alfred," I reply, letting the appreciation in my heart fill my voice.

The older man replies with a smile and a nod before turning around and heading for the stairs to make the hike back up to the cave's hidden entrance behind the study's grandfather clock. While he walks towards the bottom of the staircase, Bruce approaches me. We meet in the middle of the cave floor and I lift my arms at the elbow, mirroring his movements.

Our thumbs come to rest in the crooks of each other's elbows, each of us wrapping our hands and fingers around the other's forearm. A few moments pass between us in silence, the smiles on our faces speaking in our place. Finally, Bruce leans closer and down, cutting away the scant few inches of our difference in height. He tips his head to the side and plants a gentle kiss on my right cheek with warm lips. I sense a little hesitation and find myself wishing his lips had touched mine instead.

He barely pulls away from my skin after only brief contact. His lips hover forward, over my cheek. "You look absolutely stunning," he compliments in a whisper as his lips pass in front of mine. It doesn't escape my notice that his eyes are closed. He continues moving, finally pausing again to plant a second kiss on my left cheek.

He starts to lean back and I chase after him, catching his lips with my own. I watch with relish as his eyes flash open in surprise. The surprise fades almost instantly and a gentleness matching his kisses fills his expression. I pull back after a few seconds more. "So says the man with his eyes closed," I jest before smiling.

He offers a smirk in response, then straightens and gently pulls his arms free. He turns, presenting his left elbow and arm as he looks across it towards me. "Let's not keep Alfred waiting."

It takes only a moment to realize what he expects. I lift my right arm while defeat and victory wage a small battle in my mind. 'I'm glad that he's willing to be himself for me, but…at the same time…' I hook my arm around his forearm despite myself. I feel like I'm losing a part of myself.

'No. No matter what I enter into with Bruce, we are every bit as much equals as he is my better in some things and I am his better in others.'

My mind runs through lists of each. Why we are equals. In which areas his skills surpass mine. In what ways I am superior. When I finally pull the last of my focus from my thoughts, I find that we're at the top of the staircase.

I notice the familiar feeling of the smile pulling on my face and it broadens into a light smirk. 'A little late to be thinking of protests…' I've only been seeking this sort of connection for years. I've only been trying for years to convince this stubborn man that we are worth the risks he is so wary of.

We exit the stairwell into the study, the clock closing behind us. Bruce pauses to set the clock's hands back to the proper time. 6:43. It isn't as late as I had imagined.

He turns back to me as he closes the glass door over the clock's face. His smile is disarming. A shrinking piece of my mind is still protesting, angry that a man could have this sort of effect on me, that I would let him, that he doesn't seem to be making any great efforts with that beautiful smile. Even so, I cannot help but be happy to return it.

We continue, arms locked, walking at a leisurely pace out of the study. Eventually, we find ourselves in Wayne Manor's grand foyer. I can hear the soft rumble of a motor outside and I know that Alfred is ready and waiting. I turn to Bruce as we approach the front door and I'm not sure if he heard it as well or if he simply knows.

Sure enough, when he swings the doors wide open, I see Alfred, standing a half-step ahead of the rear passenger door. There is a smile on his face, his hands are clasped behind his back, his chin is up, and his eyes are closed. It's unmistakable, the air of mirth that wasn't nearly as prominent as his respectfulness and the pride he carried himself with when I had seen him in the past. I hope it isn't conceited of me to think it, but... 'I hope Bruce and I are to thank.'

The pair of us descend the steps and Alfred steps forward to meet us at the bottom. Bruce takes the hint immediately, releasing my arm and allowing the older man the honor of helping me into the car. If it had been just Bruce, I would have insisted on my independence, insisted on being able to get into a vehicle on my own, but there's something compelling, something persuading and convincing about Alfred. I let him guide me, thanking him with a warm smile. 'I wonder if he has this effect on Bruce as well…'

Bruce climbs into the car beside me and I scoot over to the driver's side to give him room. When we are both seated, Alfred closes the door before going around and getting in himself. I notice Bruce buckling his seatbelt beside me and Alfred doing the same ahead of me. I reach to my left to follow suit, receiving the telltale click of my success a moment before the car eases out of its place in the driveway.

The car ride to the center of Gotham is enthralling. We leave the bluff the manor sits upon behind, heading down to more level terrain. I forget about Bruce, Alfred, and even the car as I gaze out the window, watching the endless, moving panorama stretch out beside me.

The evening sun has all but disappeared below the horizon. Still, there's just enough light to see. Darkening shadows dance among the trees. I see a doe and two fawns waiting alongside the road at the edge of the woods. For a fleeting moment, I even spot an owl beyond the first layer of tree trunks, swooping down on its prey near the forest floor.

No matter what beauties are inherent to all women, no matter what beauties Man's World attributes to me, this is beautiful. Nature is true beauty. I sit captivated by the largest of trees, the smallest of shrubs, the movements of light and shadow in the slight breeze blowing in parallel to the car.

My previous time in the manor, in Gotham, had been spent cooped up inside to protect Bruce's identity. Most of that time was during the construction of the second Watchtower. What little time I had spent outside the manor was spent in the air, too high to see this side of Gotham.

The drive through Gotham itself is no less awe-inspiring. Gradually, other cars join ours on the road. Almost before I'm aware of it, we're surrounded by cars, tall buildings, brilliant lights, and joyous pedestrians. In these early hours of evening, it seems that the city's infamous, ugly criminal side has yet to awaken from slumber.

Something Kal once explained to me fills my thoughts. 'I'm not sure how much I should tell you about Batman,' Kal's words replay in my mind, 'but if you want to understand Batman, you'll need to understand Gotham first.' I had done a lot of research about Gotham to satisfy my curiosity. I'd done even more research once I decided to remain in Man's World after the visions Apollo granted me.

News articles and information databases truly didn't do the city justice. Even flying above the city or looking down at its people while staking out a museum's back entrance could never compare to this, the view from the streets, the perspective of Gotham's people. 'Now…I understand Gotham.'

I stop reveling in the city to turn to my right, barely cognizant of the car's slight rolling as it comes to a stop. I look to Bruce, find him smiling at me. "Enjoying the view?" he asks softly, hints of amusement in his tone.

"Yes," I answer with a nod, holding my newfound appreciation for this man to myself. 'It isn't just about truth, justice, and peace, he fights so this goodness of Gotham will last through the night.'

A moment later, Alfred opens the door to my right and I turn to find his offered hand before me. I take it again, letting him guide me to my feet. I step aside and turn back to the car as Alfred does the same, waiting for Bruce to get out. I hear the telltale sounds of cameras, the flashes of light visible along the edge of my vision. Reporters. Most are excited about the arrival of Bruce Wayne. Many are openly curious about my identity.

"Mind the vultures, sir, miss," Alfred warns us in a quiet voice.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce replies. He looks past me towards the press, commenting to himself, "We would be lucky enough for this." There's a hint of contempt to his voice, but no surprise. I can't help wondering if he might have been hoping for reporters as he turns to Alfred and tells the older man, "Thank you again, Alfred. Give Leslie our best."

"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred replies. He turns to me as he closes the car door. "Please do enjoy your evening, Miss Diana."

"Thank you, Alfred. To you as well," I reply. He nods in response, then climbs back into the car to rejoin traffic and drive away.

"Shall we?" Bruce asks, offering his arm. I reply by joining my arm with his. He takes the first step as I turn around, facing the entrance to Gotham Delizioso and the gaggle of reporters standing on either side of the doors.

Questions fill the air about my identity. A few flashes fill my vision as the first pictures are taken. The inevitable happens, my bracelets provide the clue and one reporter after another recognizes me as Wonder Woman. The cameras' flashes begin in earnest. For a few moments, I have to hold my eyes closed in a long blink, the intense light nearly constant, like a flood lamp.

Bruce, clearly more accustomed to the attention, continues on, leading my sadly disoriented self through the crowd and up the stairs to the door. When the flashes begin coming from our sides instead of in front of us, the reporters begin calling our names, begging for comments, explanations. Any sort of response for them to write about.

Despite myself, article headlines begin running through my mind. I can see the pictures. I can read the accompanying articles, filled with scandalous speculation and dotted with the odd fact. Our location. The date and time. That Bruce Wayne and Wonder Woman arrived in a single car and walked into a restaurant arm-in-arm.

The maître d' comes out from behind his standing desk to greet us. He recognizes Bruce instantly, addressing him by name, but feigning ignorance about me. He must have heard the reporters outside, but he still lets Bruce introduce me as both Princess Diana of Themyscira and Wonder Woman. The maître d' turns from Bruce to give me a warm and gracious welcome. I thank him and he addresses us both, inviting us to follow behind him to a table.

The maître d' leads us towards a set of stairs to a second floor dining hall. A number of small tables fill half of the room, surrounded on three sides by window after window. The other half of the room is open. Soft music fills the air and the restaurant's patrons are split between small groups and couples seated throughout the room and couples dancing on the open floor.

We follow a walkway around the edge of the dance floor towards the tables, the maître d' guiding us to a small table set by the windows. The view outside is dominated by a busy street that leads straight out, away from the building. There is an intersection in the restaurant's shadow, splitting traffic off to the left and right.

I remember the museum, arguing with Bruce, and crushing a gargoyle's head. The perspective is very similar, but I don't feel separate from the people below. I turn to find Bruce, not Batman, wordlessly offering to help me into my seat. I look down at my dress as I sit, finding Diana instead of Wonder Woman. The subtle differences suddenly seem important, lending themselves to convince me that we are a part of the city, that I am a part of the city.

The maître d' places a menu before me on the table while Bruce sits, then begins to rattle off a list of the night's special dishes while he places a second menu before Bruce. He leaves shortly after, assuring us a waiter will soon arrive to take our orders for drinks and entrées.

I flip through the menu's pages twice before I look up and ask, "Any suggestions?"

Bruce gives a quick chuckle. "Not really. This is my first time here and Alfred hasn't heard much more than that the food is good."

The waiter arrives only a few moments later. He asks our drink preferences and Bruce surprises him by declining the house's special wine, replying only that he isn't much in the mood for drinking, insisting he will be satisfied with a pitcher of ice water. I follow suit. 'Best to keep tonight simple.'

The waiter then asks our orders and I let Bruce pick first, still trying to decide for myself. He orders house salads for us both, then glances up and down the menu for another moment before requesting the linguine all'astice. I find the item on my menu. Lobster with linguine. I look at the price and figure that Bruce won't mind paying for a more expensive meal for me as well.

The waiter spends a quick moment writing, then turns to me again and I answer, "Veal ravioli with sweetbread and mushrooms."

"An excellent choice, madam," the waiter responds as he begins writing, just as he had done for Bruce's order. He asks us to wait another moment for the delivery of our drinks, our appetizers, and bread and dips for the table.

I wait until the waiter is out of earshot. "Find something worth trying?" I ask with a little humor.

"I should hope. It must be the most expensive dish for a reason." His answer has humor to match my own. His expression grows somber and he leans forward. "I'm sorry about the reporters. I figured they would be here."

I look down for a moment, remembering what I had figured. "It seems to me that you wanted them to be here."

He straightens, looking surprised. A smirk replaces it before he relaxes. "In a way, yes. It's…less complicated this way. For us, I mean."

"How so?"

"Would you rather date me?" He pauses, lowers his voice. "Or me?" I'm beginning to see his point, but I have one of my own.

"Bruce, so far as I'm concerned, there isn't a difference." I give him a smile to assure him that I mean that in the best way possible. 'Just as there is no difference between Wonder Woman and Diana of Themyscira. I am a hero and a symbol either way. I am my mother's daughter either way. I am still living in exile either way.'

"I'm glad," he answers with clear relief.

After a pause, he refocuses on my question, expands on his answer. "We can be seen in public like this. We can come up with stories of secret meetings after what happened in Paris if need be. We'll only ever have to hide us around people who don't know…me." The emphasis makes his unspoken meaning clear.

Romance on the field would be prohibited for all the obvious reasons. Likewise, we would have to be careful on the Watchtower. The founders all know that Batman and Bruce Wayne are one and the same, but the way he said it makes me think that there are others who know his secret. 'I'll have to ask later. I certainly should know.'

With that, I let business fall to the wayside to talk pleasure instead. Or at least that is my intent and hope, but Bruce starts our conversation by asking me about my League work. I get the feeling he already knows everything I tell him, but he still manages to seem genuinely interested. I'm only happy to talk. Despite the logic telling me he knows, it's encouraging to have him asking me himself, to see him taking so personal an interest.

When I run out of stories to retell, I turn the conversation around. I ask Bruce about Wayne Enterprises. He talks me through the company, its various divisions, and makes a point of mentioning the foundations named in honor of his parents.

He smiles. "You remember I mentioned a woman named Leslie to Alfred?" I nod. "Dr. Leslie Thompkins. She was a colleague of my father's. They studied medicine together.

"She has always been a close family friend. Now she runs the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic in Park Row. She and Alfred…" A pained look quickly crosses his expression. I feel for a moment that if I reached out, I could touch his hesitation.

I offer my hand instead, turning my palm up and sliding my left arm out towards the middle of our small table. He takes notice immediately and lifts his right hand. He hesitates again, but in the end, he rests his hand in mine.

He is silent for a short while more. "Leslie and Alfred took care of me after I…lost my parents." The pain is more evident, on his face and in his voice.

I give Bruce's hand a gentle squeeze. A moment later and I find my thumb rubbing a small circle on the back of his hand. He looks up from his blank gaze aimed at the table. He finds my eyes and his expression brightens. "You honor them, Bruce. Every day. Every night."

His expression hardens for a moment and I fear that he might reprimand me for assuming anything about him or about his parents. 'No, Bruce, you're right. I didn't know them. But I know. I know how hard you fight. I know that the effort you display is not because you feel inferior to anyone in the League. Even if it's only some small piece that you've allowed me to see, I know you.'

I wait for the opportunity to speak my thoughts. Instead, his expression shifts. Gratitude. "Thank you." His hand squeezes mine back.

I smile, but then shake my head with modesty. "I'm sorry, Bruce, I never intended for us to just talk about business." I allow for a short pause, then warm my expression again. "But thank you, for trusting me enough to tell me."

He returns my smile again, then glances at the ever-emptying dishes between us on the table. He stands abruptly, still holding my hand and lifting it to keep it above the food. "May I have this dance?" he asks when he is standing next to the table on my right.

"Yes!" I exclaim with excitement before I notice the sense of déjà vu.

He leads me on a winding path through the occupied tables. Tables of restaurant patrons soon give way to pairs dancing. Bruce finds us a clear spot before turning back to me and lifting his left hand toward my waist. Memories of Paris return to me as I let him lead me in a glorious waltz. He adds quick spins, even ducking under our arms to make a few of his own. A few times, he spins me halfway around to pull my back to his chest, leaning his head over my shoulder to rest his cheek to mine.

My heart is aflutter as we dance. With each step, it seems only to swell larger in my chest. The small piece of me that shouted in protest is silent. I don't bother to hope it will stay gone. The way I feel now, I can't imagine it ever coming back.

Inevitably, the music ends, our lively waltz along with it. I don't want it to stop, but there's nothing I can do about the music. Bruce picks up on my unspoken desire when my hands remain still as he goes to lower his back to his sides. If my grip on his raised right hand weren't so firm, he might not have noticed so quickly.

He pauses for a moment, as if trying to come up with a question to ask, then takes notice of the new music starting to play. He guides my hands to his shoulders and then drops his to my waist while stepping closer. We both take our first steps and we're off, slow dancing.

We aren't dancing with the energy of our earlier waltz or our first dance in Paris. This is slower, as the dance's name implies, but seems more—in a word—intimate. For a time, the dance is enough to satisfy us both, judging by Bruce's expression and as I'm sure my own reflects.

"You know, to be perfectly honest, Diana," Bruce begins, "I feel like I'm venturing into uncharted waters right now. I'd have scared off most of my evening dates by now. For the few serious dates I've had, someone like the Joker would have surfaced already or I'd have discovered my date was a plant monster."

The Joker, I can see. 'But a plant monster?' I lift my eyebrows to clearly express my doubt.

"Poison Ivy," Bruce quickly explains, "She tried using her plants to marry into all the wealthy families in Gotham so she could inherit all their money after killing them off."

I struggle not to laugh, barely succeeding. The idea seems so far-fetched. But with Gotham, it probably happened just as Bruce described. If anything, I suspect he may have tamed the story to make it more believable.

My mind goes back a topic. I move my hands closer along his shoulders, eventually letting my thumbs play across the sides of his neck. "This is just fine for now, Bruce. I really have enjoyed myself so far tonight. This dance was just the dance I was hoping for.

"Thank you for tonight, Bruce."

"Thank you, Diana," he replies, "for tonight, for not giving up on me."

I nod and he pulls me closer, wrapping his hands a little further around towards my back. I smile at the added intimacy. Together, we get the same idea and our faces are drawn together. He closes his eyes and I soon do the same at the soft press of his lips to mine. A gentle, affectionate kiss.

A thought from earlier in the night repeats itself in my mind. 'Best to keep tonight simple.'

Author's Note: Reviews are welcome and appreciated, but certainly not required. Thank you for reading.

Much different tone this time around, I realize. Not done yet, so look forward to more.