A/N: Thank you for the reviews.

Chapter Sixteen - Alterations

"A ball?"

"Yes."

Diana lay her knife and fork down, her appetite for Alfred's excellent breakfast momentarily forgotten. She dabbed her mouth with the white linen napkin lying over her lap. "Here?"

"I had tried asking His Royal Highness for use of the Brighton Pavilion, but, regretfully, he turned me down," Bruce replied, his voice carrying a gentle humour.

Diana narrowed her eyes a little. "Very amusing, I'm sure. But the idea of a ball here is hardly less amusing."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because no one will attend a ball held by a- a disreputable woman."

"If you believe that, Miss Prince, you have a much less cynical view of man than I do."

That was probably true, for all that man had put she and her family through in recent months. "You think the contrary, I suppose? That the scandal will draw more in."

"Among other things."

"Very well, let us assume that you are correct, and there is to be a ball. I have two questions: when and why?"

Bruce sipped his coffee. Diana had recently discovered that she liked hers quite milky with just a dash of chocolate, but her companion took it black without impurity. "Because," he began, "all the theoretical training you have undertaking needs to be tested in a relatively risk-free environment. And I thought Midwinter."

"Midwinter's Day," Diana repeated.

"Yes. Or Night, I suppose."

"That's less than a month away."

"Yes."

"That is not enough time to prepare anything, Mr Wayne. Not to ensure all the invitations go out, or that-"

"I have great confidence in yours and Alfred's organisational skills and teamwork."

"Well, in that case." She pushed back her chair and stood, snatching a piece of toast from the silver-gilt rack. "I should finish my meal 'on the go', as it were."

She just caught sight of his smile before she turned away. Feeling pleased by it – as she always was whenever an unguarded expression of warmth could be coaxed from Bruce – Diana almost didn't see the door of the breakfast room opening. Alfred crashed into the room, having not knocked (highly unusual) and looking frantic.

It was enough to get Bruce on his feet, instantly. "What is it?"

"An express from Mrs Kent, sir." Alfred held out an envelope, which Diana could not have said came from Lois; the direction was written very ill, nothing like Lois' normally neat hand. "It bears the emergency seal."

Bruce cracked open said seal – from what Diana could see, it looked like a bat embossed in scarlet wax. He unfolded the page and hastily scanned it. "Kent has been hurt."

"What? How? Is he-"

"There was an explosion at the newspaper offices late last night; he was the only one in the building. Alfred-"

"Doctor Thompkinson has already been sent for, Master Wayne."

"How badly is Clark hurt?" Diana asked.

"Lois says she doesn't know."

"Doesn't know?" Diana echoed. "How can she not know? Broken bones, a shattered skull, what?" With her words, terrible images left into life in her imagination, too vivid and horrible. She prayed neither was the case.

"Apparently he was blown from a second story window but has not a mark on him."

"How on earth can that be?"

"That's all she says. She wants to see us both."

"I'll get ready at once."

In a matter of moments they were both clad in their outer wear, Diana quickly fitting her bonnet as the carriage was brought around. Inside, Bruce handed her Lois' letter. Between the rocking of the vehicle and how shaky Lois' writing was, it was almost indecipherable, but what she could read didn't contain much more detail than Bruce had told her. There had been a horrible incident at Clark's office, an explosion, which had thrown him from an upper window, onto the street below, and buried him in rubble. When he was uncovered, however, it was discovered that not only was he alive, but he didn't have a scratch on him. The only thing that was definitively wrong seemed to be that he'd yet to wake. She folded the paper back up, frowning in thought.

"What do you think?" Bruce asked.

"It's difficult to know. A few inferences may be drawn – any explosion might reasonably be assumed an accident. However, Mr Kent works with you and the Service, so that reduces the odds of it being an unfortunate chance. Therefore this might be an attack on the Service, rather than Mr Kent personally. His work has made him a target. After that there are only questions."

"Such as?"

Diana felt a flash of impatience and disbelief. Her main concern was worry for her friends – Bruce's friends too – and yet he was still treating this as yet another test, a cue for another round of questions and puzzles. She let out a short sigh, but answered him. "Such as who, and how, and why. There are the obvious suspects, but if it is the French then it suggests a worrying level of access to the inner workings of our network."

"I agree."

"Could there be a double agent somewhere?"

"Either that, or I have become careless," Bruce replied tersely. He did not elaborate, and the rest of the journey was passed in uneasy silence.

Soon enough they had arrived in London and were pulling to a halt outside the Kents' home. The footman handed Diana out, but Bruce remained seated in the carriage. "You're not coming?"

"I can be of more service to Kent if I discover how this happened. I'll join you once my investigations are complete."

"Very well. Be safe."

Visually, it was the best thing as well, Diana realised as Trevor let her in. The sickbed of a friend and the consolation of women was a female domain. If anyone was watching the house, she thought, glancing around and half-expecting to see French spies lurking in the alcoves, it would be noteworthy if Bruce spent too much time here. Men were expected to look away in embarrassment should a fellow be laid low by indisposition of any kind. It was as ridiculous as the idea that only women were capable of compassion; that men had the monopoly on violence! Society needed to change.

"Miss Prince, good morning."

Diana smiled at her old servant, Etta, who had come to greet her. "Good morning, Etta. It is good to see you, how are you?"

"Well, thank you, miss. Mrs Kent is a very kind mistress and I am well-treated and respected here."

"I am very glad to hear it."

"Mrs Kent asked me to show you upstairs. If you'll follow me, miss."

"Of course."

Etta escorted her up the stairs to the Kents' bedchamber. Inside were Lois, a man Diana assumed to be Doctor Thompkison, and Clark. He was still prone in the bed but apparently unharmed. Lois stood. "I know what you're going to say, Diana, and propriety be damned; you're my friend and I need you."

Diana pressed her hand. "I wasn't going to say anything so silly as that."

Lois blinked. "You weren't? Living with Bruce has been good for you."

Diana ignored that and motioned towards Clark. "How is he?"

"Exactly as you see him. Doctor?"

Doctor Thompkinson straightened. Diana, by now well-trained to take in as much as possible in as short a space as possible, took him in. Small for a man (shorter by some inches than Diana herself), slight but holding himself very erectly. Round, steel-framed glasses over sharp brown eyes. Clean shaven, pressed black suit, neat cravat, tidy wig tied at the nape of his neck with a green ribbon.

He spoke with a soft Scottish accent. "There are no injuries of any kind that I can determine. His eyes are functioning normally, which indicates there is little damage to the brain. I'm afraid I'm quite unable to explain why your husband has not awoken, Mrs Kent."

Lois sat down with a sigh that made her sound like a collapsing chair. "So you cannot tell me if he will, either?"

"I am confident that he will. Sometimes, when the body has suffered a shock, it can shut itself off for a while, to recover."

"There is nothing else you can do?"

Doctor Thompkinson was now shifting, uncomfortably Diana thought. "I am reluctant to-"

"Please, Doctor, if there is anything you might try, anything at all."

"In my experience, it aids nothing to recovery, but I admit any other physician would probably have attempted to bleed your husband by now."

Diana grimaced. She'd witnessed bleeding twice in her life: once when her father had fallen ill and once, futilely, when her mother lay dying. In both cases it seemed a barbaric, archaic and superstitious act that had no place in any enlightened society, much less Britain, the leading scientific light of the world.

Judging by the look on her face, Lois agreed with Diana. But she was also desperate. "Do we lose anything by trying?"

"Little. And if I am permitted to retain a sample of Mr Kent's blood there are certain tests I might perform in my laboratory that might yield more."

Lois nodded. "Do it then."

Doctor Thompkinson called for a bowl, clean towels and a candle. When his materials were assembled, he withdrew from his bag a small, incredibly sharp knife. He drew it slowly back and forth through the flame of the candle, blackening the blade. He then pulled Clark's arm from under the sheets and pushed his nightshirt sleeve up above the elbow, placing the bowl under it. Diana offered Lois her hand, which the other woman seized and squeezed hard. There was a short silence while Doctor Thompkinson drew his knife across Clark's skin. And then again. And again. Diana saw no sign of blood. With a sound of frustration, Doctor Thompkinson pressed harder – and his knife snapped.

"What on earth …"

"What, what's wrong?" Lois demanded.

"Well, I- Nothing. Perhaps a weakness in the blade. I will try again." They watched as the doctor withdraw a second knife, once more prepared it, once more attempted the cut, and once more broke the blade. "Extraordinary!"

"What's happening?" Diana asked.

"I- I cannot break through your husband's skin, Mrs Kent, I simply cannae, look!" He held out both knives; or rather their handles, the blades have been sheared off cleanly.

Lois frowned. "How is that possible?"

"I've no idea. Has your – forgive me – have ye ever seen him bleed before, or bruise e'en?" His accent had suddenly got a lot stronger, Diana noted.

"Yes, he cut himself shaving only two days ago."

"Then I- He's no' been to tropical climes recently?"

"Clark has never been outside Europe."

"Then I am at an utter loss."

On cue, Clark began stirring.

"Oh thank God!"

With tears of mingled relief and joy beading in her eyes, Lois rushed to the bed, quickly followed by Doctor Thompkinson. Diana stepped from the room discreetly. She was heartily glad that Clark was waking too, of course, but this was now an intimate moment that should not be intruded upon. A few moments later, the doctor joined her, now smiling broadly.

"Remarkable, absolutely remarkable!"

"Mr Kent is-"

"Mr Kent is healthy as a horse! Already sittin' up! No sign o' nerve damage or bone damage! I' all my years o' med'cine, I declare I've ne'er seen such a thing! It is – almost miraculous!" He looked at Diana's happy, slightly amused face, and cleared his throat. "Excuse me. We've not been properly introduced." His accent had been recalled back to politeness again.

Diana curtsied as he bowed. "Diana Prince."

"Doctor Thompkinson, at your service, Miss Prince."

"I take it that you are satisfied with your treatment of Mr Kent, then, Doctor?"

Thompkinson laughed. "I doubt my treatment did anything at all, Miss Prince. What's happened in that room has utterly confounded me. In all my years as a medical man I have never once seen anything like it!" Far from disappointed though, Doctor Thompkinson looked positively delighted that he had been confronted with something entirely new.

Diana couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Have you any thoughts at all?"

"Not a one! Excuse me, I must get home and dig through my library. Would you be kind enough to inform Mr and Mrs Kent that I will return by suppertime?"

"Of course. Good day, Doctor."

"Good day, Miss Prince."

Thinking ahead, Diana directed the servants to make up a tray for Clark, and seated herself on a chair in the hallway. About ten minutes later, Lois opened the door, beaming.

"He's alright, Diana, he's well!"

"And thank the gods for it, my friend. He's quite recovered?"

"Perfectly so."

"Does he remember what happened?"

"He says he remembers nothing clearly."

"With luck Mr Wayne will find something of use," Diana mused.

"Bruce rarely needs luck. Come on, you may ask Clark your questions yourself."

Lois led the way back into the bedchamber; there were two chairs positioned, of which Lois took the one closest to Clark. He smiled at Diana as she took the adjacent seat. "Hello, Diana."

"I am pleased to see you awake, Mr Kent. How do you feel?"

"A little cloth-headed, but otherwise normal."

"And you don't remember what happened?"

Clark smiled again, this time in a slightly indulgent way. He took Lois' hand in one of his own and picked up a coffee cup from the tray with another. "Bruce has given you a long list of questions, do I gather?"

"No doubt I will be thoroughly cross-examined when he arrives, but no. These questions are my own."

"I see. Well, not definitely, is the simple answer. I can remember finishing up a cipher-break for Bruce … or did I? I don't suppose it will have survived the explosion. Lois, was there an envelope in my jacket?"

"No, dear."

"Let's hope Bruce made a copy. I think … something made me pause on my way out- a- an incongruous sound."

"What sound?" Diana asked, wishing she'd thought to bring a notebook.

Acting quickly, Lois went to the desk at the corner of the room, filling a quill and gesturing her husband forward. "Go on, Clark."

"I think it was-" he glanced at the clock, "I think it was ticking. But not coming from the clock in the office, or my watch."

"So you headed for the source?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember what happened next? Did you find where the sound was emanating from?"

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, in an apparent effort to remember every image he could conjure from his memory. Everyone jumped when the coffee cup in his left hand shattered without warning into several shards. A splash of extremely hot coffee landed on Diana's wrist, causing her to hiss in pain.

"Goodness me, Miss Prince, I do apologise, how clumsy of me!"

"No apologies necessary, Mr Kent, please do not alarm yourself. It's cool already, and such a small amount. Are you- Are you not hurt?" Diana asked, suddenly realising what else was wrong here.

When the cup smashed, it had been mostly full. If a spot of hot coffee had hurt her, how was it that Clark was unharmed now? The same thought had occurred to him, as he was now staring at his hand – entirely unblemished, not even reddened – as if it belonged to another man.

"What on earth …?" Lois breathed. "Clark?"

"I don't- It doesn't hurt." He blinked. "Why doesn't it hurt?"

"I have no idea. Did you even feel it?" Lois asked.

"Yes, I- I mean to say, it was warm, but there was no pain."

"Do we need to call Doctor Thompkinson back?"

"He said he would return before suppertime anyway," Diana told them. "He intended to search his medical texts for anything like what we witnessed, Lois. Sending an express with this new information might be a boon to his research, however."

"A good idea." Lois jotted out a quick note to Doctor Thompkinson – not in English, Diana noted, though it may well have been Gaelic – and she volunteered to take it to Trevor.

After she had located and despatched Trevor on the errand for his master, she had not returned upstairs when there was another knock on the front door; it was opened to admit Bruce.

"He's well," Diana said, as soon as the servant had taken his coat and hat away. "Awake and perfectly unharmed, if-"

"If?" The look of relief which had begun to soften the hard expression on his face suddenly sharpened into suspicion again. "What's 'if'?"

"If changed."

"Changed? Mentally?"

"No, it seems to be purely physical." Conscious of the fact that walls had ears and not all servants were faithful, Diana took Bruce's arm and pulled him into the drawing room. "When Doctor Thompkinson attempted to bleed him-"

"Unusual for him."

"It was done out of desperation, I believe, and the doctor hoped to obtain a sample of Mr Kent's blood to test it. But when he tried to cut the skin, the knife broke. The same thing happened when a second attempt was made – the blades of both tools had merely sheared off. Doctor Thompkinson was quite unable to explain it. Not that the mystery seems to concern him much."

"It wouldn't. The good doctor loves nothing more than an enigma."

"This is certainly that. And more: along with his sudden impermeability, it seems Mr Kent no longer feels pain."

"He has no sensation?"

"No, he still feels sensation – but he was holding a coffee cup which smashed suddenly-"

"How?"

"Another inexplicable thing. I surmised that the bone china must have had hairline cracks already in it." It was possible, so Bruce nodded while she continued. "However, Mr Kent was showered with scalding liquid, and not a mark appeared on his skin. No blistering, no redness, nothing."

"I see. I think I had better see Kent."

"I don't doubt he'll be well enough to dress and receive you."

"Let's see."

The message that Mr Wayne was here was passed to the servant, and Bruce and Diana made themselves comfortable while they waited. To Diana's annoyance and impatience, Bruce immediately picked up a book – Fordyce's Sermons, which she knew perfectly well could hold no interest for him whatsoever – and buried his nose in it. It seemed the real discussion about what he had found would have to wait. She busied herself with taking several turns about the room, her steps matching the rhythm of the clock on the mantle. Finding herself at the window, she paused, looking out at the street, at the world that was as grey and mundane as it had always been. Despite, or perhaps in spite of, what extraordinary thing had happened to the owner of this house. It almost looked like time had come to a standstill even since her arrival that morning. The same cloudy sky, so it was impossible to measure that passage of the day; the same comings and goings of gentry and their servants; the same tradesmen making their deliveries; even the same-

Diana turned away from the window and called to her companion. "The house is being watched."

Bruce rose and leisurely approached her. "Where?"

"The other side of the road. That Hackney cab. It is the same one that was here when I was dropped off. It has not moved."

Bruce drew closer, and Diana realised how he intended to confirm her observation. Using their supposed relationship as cover. Which was exactly what it was there for, true enough, but that did not stop her heartbeat from taking off like a bolting horse when he dipped his head as if to press his lips against her neck. Or her breath from hitching when his arm slid around her waist. This time, she didn't shy away from internally naming the desire she felt. She couldn't quite believe her own daring when she smoothed her hand up Bruce's arm to rest there, casually, as if it was a perfectly natural motion. She, too, leaned in closely.

"I think the driver is wearing a false beard," she murmured.

"You are right. The Kents are being monitored," he replied lowly. He was so close she felt the vibration of his voice in her body.

"Do I take it, then, that the explosion was not an accident?"

"No, it was definitely deliberate. But to what end …"

"Assassination?" Diana asked.

"Possibly. Look happy, Miss Prince, you and I are supposed to be madly in love, remember?"

She had to smile at that. "Apologies, darling."

"Or at least you're supposed to be madly in love with my wealth."

"Hardly seems reciprocal," she remarked. Great Hera, was she flirting?

"Don't worry, I'm utterly infatuated by your beauty."

Neither of them were looking out of the window anymore, and for the first time it was Bruce who looked away first, seemingly embarrassed that he'd given something away that might really be true. Diana left his side first, wandering to the sofa and sitting down, fussily arranging the cushions while her heartbeat returned to normal. She needed to be guarded.

When Lois and Clark came down, Clark was fully dressed and looked as healthy as Diana had ever seen him. She noticed Bruce relax, fractionally, but both of them made sure that Clark sat out of sight of the windows. The sun had finally come out from behind the clouds and the room grew immediately brighter.

The four of them were served tea and left alone. "Well?" Clark asked, in much the same tone as Bruce had.

"Very little. The radius of the blast suggests something small but highly explosive. Does that tally with what you recall?"

"I'm not sure. My memories of last night are fuzzy. I remember ticking clearly, and … something that looked like long grey sticks."

Bruce's gaze sharpened. "Sticks of clay?"

"Possibly."

"Does that mean something to you?" Lois asked.

"Possibly. An experimental Scandinavian weapon there are rumours of. If someone has developed a functional prototype it's worrying, to say the least."

"Does this weapon explain what's happened to me?" Clark asked. "I know you're not a religious man, but this seems miraculous."

"We tried to cut him again, this time with a razor blade," Lois said. "The blade bent. And not a scratch on Clark's skin."

"That was reckless without a doctor present. If you are suddenly unbreakable, we need to test it under controlled conditions. Without the possibility that anyone could see. That's clearly not going to happen here; you're being watched."

"By who?"

"I don't know yet. It's possible whoever planted the explosive knows you survived and has sent an assassin."

"Or," Diana said, a thought suddenly occurring to her, "it could be quite the opposite. Perhaps whoever put the explosive in Mr Kent's office did it to test what they already knew."

"You suggest that this imperviousness had developed before last evening?"

"Yes. If you have tried to make a man invincible, what better way would there be of testing your success?"

There was a short silence. "And the watchman-"

"There to see if Mr Kent has indeed survived. At the moment, there is no way to know. Mr Kent was carried from the scene catatonic, and no one outside of that door – Doctor Thompkinson notwithstanding – knows he has recovered in so strange a fashion."

"Or he could just be an assassin waiting to shoot with a concealed firearm," Bruce countered.

"In full view of anyone who happens to be on the street? That would hardly give the best chance of avoiding the hangman's noose, would it?"

"Some fanatics don't care if they avoid the hangman," Bruce said darkly. "In fact they'd prefer to be martyrs to their cause, whatever it may be."

"Both theories have merit," Lois pointed out, breaking into the tête-à-tête.

"And we can test them now," Clark said.

"If I'm right you'd be risking your life again," Bruce said.

"Forgive me, my friend, but I do not think you are right, not in this instance. I cannot accurately describe how I feel, but I truly do not think anything could harm me, look-" Without warning, he picked up the teapot and simply pouring the steaming liquid over his hand. It was impossible for any of the onlookers to check their instinctual horror at the action, but Clark remained absolutely calm. "It doesn't hurt! It's hot, I can feel that it is, but there is no pain whatsoever, none."

"Remarkable," Bruce breathed, looking fascinated now. "I wonder-"

"What?"

"Diana, the curtains." Diana shut the curtains and turned back around to find Bruce lifting the poker from its place nestled in the fire. He turned to Clark. "Kent, you'll forgive me?"

Clark looked nervous, but his arm did not shake as he offered his palm. Lois looked rather more disconcerted but made no move to prevent her husband. Diana clenched her fists, her teeth on edge, bracing herself to hear the sound of sizzling flesh. Bruce took a deep breath and then pressed the red-hot metal into Clark's palm. Immediately, Clark clenched his fist around the metal, and continued looking entirely at ease.

"Incredible!" Diana gasped. "It still doesn't-?"

"Not at all."

"Alright, let go," Bruce said. Then he held out the poker to Clark. "Bend it."

"Bend it?"

"Humour me."

"I can try." He did not manage to bend the poker; one moment it was in one long, straight piece, and the next, two straight pieces in each hand, without any apparent effort. "Goodness gracious."

Diana felt agog, but the look of intense focus on Bruce's face had not flickered. "Interesting."

"A little more than interesting, don't you think, my friend?" Clark asked him.

"I wonder if you'll consent to one more exercise?"

"Of course."

From inside his coat, Bruce produced a throwing star, shaped, of course, as a bat. It had razor-sharp edges and was absolutely accurate in his hands, as Diana knew. Over the course of her training, she had had to dodge, counter and catch dozens of them. Immediately, she grabbed Lois' hands and made sure she couldn't move. This was going to take every speck of her own restraint not to try to intervene, much less Lois'. The movement of Bruce's hand came without any preparation, and everyone else in the room flinched. In shock, though, no other emotion: though the throwing star had penetrated Clark's clothing, it was now on the carpet. It was bent.

"Good Lord."

"That settles it. You have been altered."

"To what extent though? My skin is like steel, my strength has clearly been magnified – how far does it go?"

"I suspect we will learn that only as we go."

They decided it would be safest if the Kents remained in their home for at least another three days, and ensured that the most loyal of the servants would keep a record of everyone who passed within fifty yards of the house. Shortly after luncheon, Bruce and Diana went home.

"To what extent does not concern me nearly so much as the other obvious question," Diana said when they were alone. "Mr Kent has been altered. To what end?"

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "He's not …"

"Important?"

"Not to outside eyes."

"Could that be the point? Could this have been an experiment? Scientists have tested their theories on animals since time immemorial, have they not?"

"That is true. Perhaps Dr Thompkinson will have more information when he has finished his own experiments."

"Perhaps." She paused. "May I ask – does the doctor pass as a man because he wants to, or because she has no choice?"

Bruce's attention flicked sharply back to her.

"Please, Mr Wayne, credit me with some skills of observation."

"Oh, I do. In twenty years of working as a physician I don't believe any of her peers have identified Dr Thompkinson as a woman. You continue to impress."

The praise was lost on Diana. Instead, she felt a sense of righteous anger that such an intelligence, which should have been plain as day, had to be repackaged and repurposed simply because the brilliant mind was in the 'wrong' body. "The injustice that she must hide who she is …" she seethed.

"It will not always be so."

"It should not be so at all!"

"I agree. But change has never come quickly. Not without violence."

Diana leaned back into the carriage seat. "That would be justified for all that women must endure in this world, believe me." She saw a smile quirk the corners of Bruce's mouth before it was smoothed away. "Is there something amusing, Mr Wayne?"

"Slightly. I can see now why your father referred to his daughters as Amazons."

A/N: Review please!