Disclaimer: Everything belongs to DC et al. Except for the pseudo-science. That stuff is alllll me.

When Diana appeared in the Bat Cave, she found both Bruce and Alfred waiting for her. Which was fortunate, as her legs immediately gave out underneath her. Bruce, who had switched out his armor for basic black civilian clothes, must have been expecting as much, and he stepped up in time to catch her around the waist. He bent to lift her, and she automatically tried to stop him.

"I can walk."

He speared her with a look. "The stairs, Diana."

Diana looked past him to the long, long staircase leading from the Cave to the Manor. "I can also fly."

"Have you tried to?" She had. It had been even more exhausting than walking.

He waited patiently for her to come to the same conclusion that he had: she couldn't fly, and even with help, it was going to be too much for her. "Fine," she acquiesced.

He continued with his proposed motion, and swept her up. He resisted smirking at her, a show of restraint that she appreciated. She tightened her arms around his neck, and when she was comfortable, they started to the stairs.

"Hello, Alfred," Diana said as they passed by the butler.

"Greetings, Miss Diana. We are pleased to have you, despite the unfortunate circumstances."

"Thank you. I hope I'm not the worst patient."

"That would be be impossible, Miss."

She smiled. Bruce was stoically looking forward, no expression on his face. "I'll try to stay out of your hair," she directed at him.

"You have the run of the house, as you know."

"But not the Cave?"

He scowled. "Diana, you are here to recover."

"Will you at least keep me in the loop? Please?"

They'd reached the stairs. Bruce tightened his grip where his hands held her, at her waist and knees. She tried very hard not to think about those hands. They started the climb. He still hadn't answered her.

"Bruce?" She prompted.

"Fine," he answered, sounding extremely reluctant.

"Thank you."

They completed the rest of the climb in silence, Diana torn between mortification about being carried and the excitement that seemed to occur naturally when she and Bruce were in close physical proximity. His heart rate had increased, she could tell, but he wasn't even breathing heavily. She was an Amazon-no small burden. Her respect for his strength went up.

They reached the ground floor of the house, and he continued to the main staircase. "Don't you have an elevator?" Diana asked.

"It's fine," he said.

"Bruce Wayne, are you showing off?"

"Maybe I'm just taking advantage of the rare opportunity to haul you around."

"Be careful, or I'll reciprocate when you least expect it."

Bruce shot her a look out of the corner of his eyes. "Get better, and we'll see."

Alfred met them at the top of the stairs, apparently having chosen to use the elevator. "I've put you in your usual room," he said, then led the way down the hallway.

"Usual" made it sound like she'd stayed at the Manor more than the once. But she was familiar with the room, and she appreciated Alfred's thoughtfulness.

The room was the same as she remembered it, light-filled and decorated with delicate antique furniture. The walls were spotted with fine paintings, the largest of which depicted a Mediterranean seascape, which Diana thought was likely the reason Alfred had chosen the room for her in the first place. It reminded her a little of home, and she loved it.

Bruce placed her on the bed, then stood back. Gazing around the room, Diana noticed her bag of toiletries sitting on the vanity, and the armoir door was open to reveal her red gown hanging there. Her suitcase was sitting on a luggage rack next to the dresser.

She looked back at Bruce, who was watching her, an odd look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. "Rest," he said, and then walked out of the room.

Alfred gave her a kind smile. "Anything you need, simply dial 1 on the room phone, Miss Diana."

"Thank you, Alfred. I can't tell you how wonderful it is just to be back on Earth."

He smiled at her, bowed slightly in response, and walked out after his employer.

"Well," Diana said to the empty room, "what now?"

Bruce spent the next hour catching up on patrol reports in the Cave. He usually wrote them promptly upon coming home, but he'd been distracted by the toxin and Diana's illness and fallen behind. Not that he wasn't distracted now, with her in his home above him. It was going to be even worse than when she'd stayed at the Manor before. Then, she'd had J'onn to keep her company, so Bruce had simply fled. Wayne Enterprises had never been so attentively run, nor Gotham so free of even the pettiest of crime. The new Watchtower construction was completed in record time.

It had been exhausting.

Bruce knew he didn't have that option this time around. He couldn't in good conscious abandon her to her own devices when she was ill and determined to do things her recovering body wasn't ready for. And he couldn't ask Alfred to babysit her constantly. The man had other things to do. He was going to have to be...social. With Diana. Alone in his house.

It might actually kill him.

He finished his reports and returned to the Manor proper. He found the house quiet, Alfred evidently having gone to bed. It was nearly dawn, so that wasn't surprising. Without consciously planning to do so, he found himself outside Diana's room. Faint light shone beneath the door. Was she still up?

"She unpacked half of her case and then fell asleep." Bruce glanced over at Alfred, garbed in his dressing gown. "I took the liberty of removing her boots."

Bruce cracked open the door. Sure enough, Diana lay sprawled across the bed, bare feet hanging off the edge, still wearing her armor. He knew she wasn't as sensitive to temperature as the rest of humanity, but the house was drafty and it still looked uncomfortable.

He nodded at Alfred. "I'll see to her. Go on to bed."

"As you wish, Master Bruce. Good night."

"Good night."

He entered the room. Aside from the clothes she'd put away, nothing in the room had been touched. He noticed that she'd been in the middle of filling a drawer when she'd stopped.

He smirked. "Passed out, did you?"

He realized that she'd been putting her things away in the same configuration as she'd had them stored in her quarters on the Tower, so he quickly finished the job and stowed her suitcase. Then he turned to survey his guest.

She was sleeping half on her side, with one arm across her midsection and the other thrown out to the side. It was eerily reminiscent of the way she'd looked when he'd found her in the warehouse, and for a moment he simply watched the pulse beat in her neck until the memory of that left him. She was still wearing her tiara, and for the first time he'd known her it looked uncomfortable, pressed hard into the skin on her forehead by the position of her head.

He hesitated, then carefully removed it, placing it on the bedside table. It had left an angry red line across her skin, marring the otherwise smooth porcelain. Even like this, unhealthily pale and with dark smudges beneath her eyes indicating her exhaustion, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He realized he was standing over her, staring, and wouldn't that be an unsettling thing for her to wake up to? He needed to get out of there.

He decided she was truly out, and shifted her so her feet were fully on the bed and a pillow was beneath her head. He pulled a plush blanket out of the chest at the foot of the bed and covered her.

He switched off the light and left the room, closing the door behind him. Then he stood in the hallway, letting his heart rate slow. He felt as if he'd just run a race across Gotham's rooftops. It was ridiculous.

What had seemed like an inspired idea to save J'onn a headache, make Diana more comfortable, and Alfred happy in one fell swoop seemed more perilous by the moment, and she'd only been in the house a handful of hours. Asleep.

This was going to kill him.

At first, the light confused her. She was used to waking in a darkened room, regardless of whether she was Earthside or on the Watchtower. But there was sunlight streaming through windows-lots of windows. Where-oh, yes. Wayne Manor.

She pushed up on her elbows, trying to piece together her memories of the night before. She was fairly certain she'd fallen asleep in the middle of unpacking, but all of her things had been put away. Alfred must have finished, she thought, and was mildly embarrassed. For all that she'd been raised a member of royalty, she was princess of a society of warriors on a tiny island. She hadn't been tended by servants since she'd grown old enough to hold a sword. It had been many, many years.

She pushed aside the blanket-where had that come from?-and sat up fully. As she swung her legs off the bed, two things happened simultaneously: the room spun and her stomach growled, so loud that she actually heard it echo. She pushed back a wave of nausea and forced herself to stand. She steadied herself on the bedside table, and her hand found her tiara there. More mysteries. They would wait. First, she needed food.

There was a light tap at the door.

"Yes, come in," she called.

It swung open to reveal Alfred, holding a tray with what looked like a breakfast service. If he someday revealed that he was psychic, Diana would not be a bit surprised. "Good morning, Miss Diana. You slept well, I hope?" He entered the room and set the tray on a round table near the windows.

"I suppose I did," she said, thinking of her mysteries. "What time is it?"

"11 o'clock, Miss."

She was stunned. "So late!"

"Later than you think." He smiled at her kindly. "You slept for a day and a half."

"What?"

"Indeed. You arrived here the night before last."

"Hera," she breathed, but she was quickly distracted from her disbelief by hunger.

Alfred had removed the lid from the tray. He knew the size of her appetite well, and had clearly also recalled her tastes. There was a thick spinach and mushroom omelet, Greek yogurt with fruit and cereal, and smaller bowls containing dates, dried apricots, and kalamata olives.

"Alfred, you wonderful man. This looks wonderful."

"I also took the liberty of preparing an iced mocha for you. Master Bruce assured me the meal would be incomplete without it." He tipped the pitcher he held into a glass.

"You made a pitcher?" When Diana had stayed before, she'd gone out to get her mocha fix rather than request a drink Alfred would have had no reason to even possess the ingredients for. Clearly that had changed. In fact, if she knew Bruce and Alfred, she would bet that somewhere in the Manor there was a stockpile of her favourite dark chocolate syrup. She laughed.

"Miss?"

"Oh, do forgive me, Alfred. I was only imagining the look on Flash's face if he could see that pitcher. Thank you."

"Of course. I will leave you to your meal."

"No, please. If you have the time, I would love your company. It's been too long since we caught up."

An Alfred smile was not as rare as a Bruce Wayne smile, but earning one felt like no less of an accomplishment. "It would be my pleasure, Miss Diana."

Despite her hunger, it had been so long since her last meal that it was actually a bit hard to eat. But Alfred sat with her and they chatted about everything from opera (a passion of Alfred's) to politics (Diana maintained that the Electoral College really just didn't make any sense) to the best way to prepare octopus as, bite by bite, she put the meal away. She had no trouble at all killing the pitcher of mocha.

When she had finally finished, she began to stack the plates on the tray, but Alfred stopped her. "Allow me."

"Thank you for sitting with me."

"Miss, it would not be an exaggeration to say that having you here is the most excitement I've had in ages. And I live with Batman."

She laughed. "I can only hope to live up to your expectations."

"You already have."

Alfred started toward the door, tray in hand.

"Oh, Alfred, before you go-thank you for putting my things away. And for the blanket. It was very kind of you."

"Miss Diana, you know that I am at your disposal, whatever you might need. But that wasn't me."

He walked out, leaving Diana to process his statement.

"Oh."

A/N: I didn't make my writing quota on this story this week, so another Sunday update! Hopefully the mushiness of this chapter makes up for it.

I'm with Diana on the Electoral College thing, man.