Chapter Text
There were four of them. The fourth one must have come from the back or from the side alley, because Steve didn’t remember seeing him go in. However, more importantly, they all had guns.
Crouching near the tinted window, Steve craned his neck, careful to stay out of their line of sight. His heart was pounding and his body was as tense as a coiled spring. Around him, people were scurrying away from danger; in the distance, he could hear a wail of sirens. Police, he hoped, but it sounded so far away it barely felt real.
Inside the store, he could see an older man standing behind the counter, looking pale. His hands were raised and trembling slightly. One of the men had a gun pointed at him and was saying something to him in a quick, demanding voice, his words muffled by the thick glass and made even less distinguishable because he was speaking so fast.
It was then that Steve noticed drops of blood on the tiled floor. His eyes followed them, a trail of crimson on white, to a young man sitting with his back against a wall, clutching at his shoulder and breathing heavily. He wore a vest with a shield embroidered on it and a holster around his hips, currently empty. Steve thought of the men who had approached him and Diana at the museum the night before, realizing that the guy before him had to be some kind of security, outnumbered and overpowered by the other four. One of the bullets they had fired must have hit him.
Another one, it seemed, had hit a glass display, shattering the front pane. Steve could hear the glass crunching beneath the men’s feet every time they moved.
Two of them were standing with their weapons pointed at the owner and the security guard while the other two were shoving rings and bracelets and necklaces into bags, sweeping them from their displays.
Steve almost missed a flicker of gold shooting across the store, but barely a moment later one of the men was suddenly flying through the air, Diana’s Lasso wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. His expression going comically from surprise and confusion to frustration to brief panic before his whole body slammed against a wall and he slid down in a heap. The bag that he was holding fell to his feet, spilling its contents over the floor.
The older man backed away from the counter and then, as soon as the attention of both armed men was on Diana, ducked behind it for good measure.
Diana whipped her head around, her focus going immediately to the men who had raised their guns and were shooting at her in quick succession, the bullets ricocheting off her gauntlets as her lips pressed together into a tight, displeased line.
Unbidden, Steve’s mind jumped back to that day in France and peeking out of muddy trenches and the look of fierce determination on Diana’s face as she stepped out onto No Man’s Land. He had never, ever, seen anything quite as magnificent. And maybe it was seeing Diana in her armour, fighting to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, and maybe she was going to have this exact effect on him for as long as he lived, but he was helpless against the surge of pride blossoming in his chest. It took root in his heart, twining around his rib cage before spreading outwards to the tips of his fingers and his toes until his entire body was pulsing with it.
Mesmerized, Steve stared at her, unable to look away, half-forgetting momentarily why he was there and what was going on. His eyes followed the lithe movements of her body, the golden parts of her armour glowing in the sun falling through the large window of the storefront. So much so that he almost missed the moment when she lunged forward, sliding between the two men and snatching the guns from them.
Steve thought of her ramming her shield into the German bazookas and snapping their rifles in half as they were making their way towards Veld as he watched her clench her fists, the metal of the guns snapping without resistance. She opened her palms and the mangled weapons fell to the floor. One of the men was now backing away from her, but the second one bared his teeth and lunged at her, enraged and, by the looks of it, determined not to give up without a fight.
And that was when the last of them, the man who had been gathering the jewellery earlier, decided to make a run for it.
With Diana’s back turned on him and her attention focused on his other two companions, the man bolted out the door and directly past Steve. A bag of loot still clutched tightly in his hand, he sprinted down the street just as two police cars rounded the corner from the other direction.
Steve didn’t think. He twisted away from the window, leaving Diana to deal with the other three robbers and started after the man who was veering around the onlookers who were too slow to step aside. Someone shouted behind them in French, ordering them to stop.
He should have waited for the police, Steve thought. Or Diana. He definitely should have waited for Diana. But the thought of the labyrinth of narrow streets and back alleys where it would be so easy to disappear never to be seen again had him surging forward, frustrated at all the people who still didn’t have the sense to move out of the way. Or, at least, to trip the man ahead of him, saving him some trouble.
The man he was following was undoubtedly in good shape. Or scared enough to push himself to keep going. But, unlike Steve who had spent the past couple of years running for his life, he was not someone used to teetering on the edge of the knife and treating his every breath like it was the last one. And he was getting winded, quickly.
Steve lunged forward when he was close enough, slamming hard into the man and sending them both down. The robber let out a howl of pain followed by a string of curses when his face smacked into the asphalt, rolling immediately onto his side to shake Steve off. A jolt of pain shot through Steve’s bad shoulder, white-hot and blinding for a moment, leaving him hissing and disoriented long enough for the guy to wiggle around and punch him in the jaw. The man’s nose was broken, blood gushing out of it. He was still holding the bag of stolen goods, his knuckles scraped and bleeding.
Steve blinked, his ears ringing, as he tried to gather his bearings. The man clenched his teeth, his lip split and bleeding, and struck again with rage and precision. This time, however, Steve was fast enough to grab his fist. That seemed to anger the man even more. He wrestled his hand from Steve’s hold, aiming for another strike.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, he was yanked up and away. Surprised, Steve blinked and looked up to find Diana standing over him, her hand curled over the collar of the man's shirt as she held him immobile while he continued to spit out threats. Behind her, two police officers were running towards them, the alley too narrow for their car to pass.
“Got him,” Steve said, smiling for good measure and earning an eye roll from her.
He scrambled up to his feet, reeling a little from the punch that seemed to have knocked his brain around the inside of his skull a little. A wave of nausea rolled in his stomach and he swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, praying he was not going to lose his lunch— brunch —right there.
Steve took a slow breath, the dizziness and discomfort fading away slowly.
When he opened his eyes, the police were walking the man away, his hands handcuffed behind his back. One of the officers was holding the bag of stolen jewelry. Diana was watching them, her eyes narrowed, but she turned back to Steve almost as soon as his gaze shifted to her.
“Are you alright?” she asked, moving closer to him.
And maybe it was the fact that he had just had his head slammed against the asphalt, or maybe it was seeing her in her armour which never failed to leave him feeling a little dazed, but it took Steve a moment to register her words. And another one—to nod, slowly.
“Yeah,” he said, absently. “Yeah, I’m—”
He cut off when he noticed her frown, two faint lines creasing the skin between her brows. Steve glanced down and saw a spatter of blood across the pale blue cotton of his shirt, a few specs having landed on his new coat.
“It’s not mine,” he said quickly and gestured towards the end of the alley where the captured man was being loaded into the back of a police car, its red and blue lights flashing. “I—I, uh, broke his nose. I think.”
The frown remained intact, her eyes now searching his face, making Steve wonder what it was that she was seeing that made her lips press together into a thin line.
“I’m fine, I swear,” he said, quietly, leaning a little towards her.
Immediately, she lifted her hand, brushing his hair back from his face. His cheekbone was starting to ache, the uncomfortable, hot feeling of something pulsing beneath his bone. The impulse to draw away from her touch was almost overpowering. He turned his face into her palm instead, his gaze holding hers.
“I’m fine, Diana,” he repeated, quietly, his breath catching at the sight of the haunted panic pooling behind her eyes.
His shoulder was throbbing and he wondered how badly he had messed it up when that guy slammed him into a sidewalk before it even had a chance to heal. Now that the adrenaline rush was starting to ebb, he also realized that his ribs weren’t feeling all that hot either. He was not going to mention that to her though, he decided. Not when she looked so concerned already.
“Steve.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He glanced down again, trying not to think past the uncomfortable heaviness in the back of his skull and the ringing in his ears. “I think I ruined this shirt. I hope they’ll charge him for that, as well.”
She didn’t smile, his attempt to lighten up the mood falling completely flat. Steve didn’t like it. And he didn’t like the faraway look in her eyes and the shadow of anguish that chased across her features, either.
“Diana,” he called, ducking his head closer to hers. She blinked, her gaze clearing. Steve watched her take a breath and regain her bearings. He wondered where she’d gone, in that instant, and whether he actually wanted to know the answer to that question.
And then his brows knitted together quizzically. “Have you been wearing this underneath… everything? The entire time?” he wondered quietly, taking in her armour. He shook his head before she could say anything. “You know what? Never mind.”
It was also then that he noticed that they were not completely alone. What he had mistaken for merely a back alley was actually a narrow street, with windows facing it and people peeking through them now, eyes wide. Wonder Woman, he heard someone gasp in awe, and he looked up involuntarily to see a young boy no older than seven peering down at them, his mouth hanging open.
The corners of Steve’s mouth twitched a little. He nodded to the child, whose eyes grew as wide as saucers.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Diana said softly, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone.
Steve cleared his throat. “I think you need to…” his gaze darted towards the alley exit and the flashing light of a police car. She followed his gaze, a slight frown making a reappearance. “Go. Deal with it,” he said before she could argue. “I’ll meet you back at the café.”
She regarded him skeptically. “Will you be able to find it?” she asked.
He arched a pointed eyebrow at her. “I’m a spy. We’re adept at finding our way around places.”
She smiled at that. A real one, that went all the way to her eyes and sent his heart into overdrive.
“I know you can find your way in and out of trouble, yes,” she conceded. “But what about avoiding it?”
Steve chuckled at that, unable to help it even if it hurt a little to smile. “Give me some credit.”
She moved closer to him then, her hand dropping from his face to fall to the lapel of his coat. (Steve hoped he hadn’t messed it up too badly when he fell to the ground, wincing inwardly at the idea of that.) For a moment, she merely stood there, fiddling with his collar. He didn’t say anything, and didn’t move away, choosing to merely watch her hands and the glint of her gauntlet in the sunlight.
When she lifted her eyes to his, he was certain that she was going to kiss him. Right there, with a bunch of random strangers watching their every move. His gaze dropped to her mouth, effectively wiping away his awareness of any discomfort in his body.
But then another moment passed, and another one. And, at last, Diana squared her shoulders, leaning away from him and breaking whatever spell had captured them for that moment.
“I’ll find you if you get lost,” she said quietly, and truth be told, Steve wasn’t sure if they were still talking about him making his way back to the café or something else entirely.
“I asked you to wait for me.”
“What was I supposed to do, Diana? Just sit there while you—"
“Yes.”
“No.”
She arched a pointed eyebrow at him, and Steve clamped his mouth shut, pressing his lips together stubbornly.
He was perched on a tall stool in Diana’s kitchen where they had ended up eventually—after Diana had explained to the police what had happened; after they had tried to question Steve but she had diverted their attention elsewhere, quite artfully so; after he had made it back to the café only to find her already waiting for him, dressed once again in her regular clothes, their bags piled up under the table exactly where he’d left them. The first aid kit was sitting on the counter between them while she worked on getting his scrapes and cuts cleaned up and disinfected after he had adamantly refused to go to a hospital. (“Who goes to a hospital with a split lip?” he had argued.)
“That other guy would've gotten away,” Steve pointed out.
Diana pressed a piece of cotton doused with antiseptic to his cheekbone. He hissed through his teeth and scowled at her, but she held his chin in a firm grip, seemingly unsympathetic to his discomfort.
Should have known there was a catch to letting her treat him instead of a doctor, Steve thought sullenly. She’d had him take off the bloodied shirt, too. There had to be some sort of irony to him sitting shirtless in her kitchen for the second time in as many days, even though he hadn’t quite figured out what it entailed, exactly.
“He wouldn’t have,” Diana said evenly. “Don’t move.”
Couldn’t if I wanted to.
“Or someone could’ve gotten hurt,” he pressed on as she lowered her hand and examined her work.
Her gaze met his. “Someone did get hurt.”
“It’s nothing,” Steve argued for what felt like the thousandth time. His eyes darted towards the bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel that he was holding against his shoulder that had swelled and started to throb uncomfortably by the time they had walked through the door. “And this injury is old,” he insisted.
Diana hummed noncommittally, even though he could see her fighting a smile, or maybe an exasperated roll of her eyes—he wasn’t quite sure. It made his heart flutter behind his ribs, all the same. Which made his stomach twist a little, in a good way.
“It’s inflamed now,” she reminded him as she started to put the bottles and tubes and the pack of cotton balls back in the first aid kit.
“You couldn’t have been in two places at once.”
She went still, and Steve fell silent when he caught on, belatedly, to what he had said.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. He watched Diana stare down at the grey bag, her hands frozen on a zipped, her brows pulled together and her jaw set tautly.
That was how they’d gotten here in the first place, wasn’t it? She couldn’t have defeated Ares and stopped the plane, back in 1918. And he couldn’t have stayed back and let innocent people die, not even if he had really, truly, desperately wanted to live to see another day. But it hurt. Steve could see that it hurt her, the impossible choice that had changed everything, and he was suddenly ashamed for bringing it up so casually, so callously.
Still not looking at him, Diana stepped away, but he darted his hand out to curl his fingers around her wrist.
“Wait, please,” he said quietly, her pulse a rapid thrum beneath his fingertips.
He tugged her back to him, and she let him, not trying to pull out of his grasp even though they both knew that he was not strong enough to hold her if she didn’t want it. She still wasn’t looking at him though, her gaze cast aside and her lips pressed together.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean to…”
He swallowed and tried to imagine what it had been like for her to see that blood on his shirt. He couldn’t. Try as he might, he never had and likely never would understand it. He still feared for her, though he knew that she was near indestructible. He still felt responsible for her because he had been the one to bring her into his world even though she had now lived in it longer than he had. But she couldn’t get hurt the way he could, and he could never lose her the way she’d lost him. Steve had always known that they were different, but it had never felt quite like a gaping void until that moment.
He was certain she could feel it, too.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, running his thumb over the inside of her wrist.
Diana looked up. “I know,” she whispered, her gaze softening as it moved over his face.
On impulse, he lifted his good hand and brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped her loose ponytail and fell across her cheek. He drew back before he had a chance to go even further and pull her hair band off until her hair was falling down her shoulders. He’d want to touch it then, bury his fingers in it the way he had before, that night when they—
“I would never do anything to hurt you,” he went on, trying to stay focused.
“I know, Steve.”
“And I’m sure your washing machine can—can fix the shirt,” he added, just in case she was upset about that as well.
This time, he could see the making of a smile working its way to her face.
“I can buy you a new shirt.”
He nodded, slowly. And then felt the corner of his mouth twitch a little.
“They call you Wonder Woman .”
Diana pressed her lips together. He could see her fighting back a snort.
“The media wanted something catchy.”
“I’m sure that’s all there is to it,” Steve deadpanned. “And that it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you can flip tanks and punch your fist through brick walls.”
“I haven’t done that in a while,” she noted, amused.
“How long have they been calling you that?”
“A while.”
“Like, a couple of months?” he pressed on.
“Forty years, give or take.”
Steve felt his jaw drop. He blinked, and Diana laughed.
“I guess it caught on,” he cleared his throat, feeling the tops of his cheeks grow hot.
“I suppose it did,” she murmured.
If he’d forgotten for a moment or two that he was sitting half-naked before her or that she was standing so close he could smell that fruity shampoo on her, he remembered it now, suddenly very aware of it with every cell of his body. His hand was still curled around her wrist. She’d never made an attempt to pull out of his grasp, and Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to let go just yet, either. He just wanted to look at her, and she let him.
His eyes moved over her features, taking her in—the warmth of her gaze and the gentle bow of her lips that he remembered the taste of so vividly and her high cheekbones that had reminded him of statues of gods long before he had learned she was one. Unbidden, his mind went back to the moment on the beach when he had opened his eyes and found her hovering over him, bathed in sunlight, droplets of water clinging to her skin.
He was certain now that he had loved her then, even if he didn’t know it yet. And loved her more in the throne room, bound by the Lasso. And more still in the days that had followed. And then he was gone, not even ashes of him left, and he had loved her anyway. And that he would continue to love her thousands of years after his bones turned to dust.
She should have seemed different to him, Steve thought. After all this time. And maybe she was, in a way. She had that fancy mobile phone now (and try as he might, he could not quite figure out why it had to be a phone and a photo camera, and a hundred other things at the same time), and she wore pants (that looked very good on her), and there was a reservation to her that he could not recall from their brief time together. But her smile was the same. Earlier today, she hadn’t hesitated before rushing off to help someone who had needed it. And then afterwards, when they’d come back to get their bags, she had found words of comfort for the waitress who’d been quite distraught over the entire ordeal.
Steve had no doubt that she had changed. Changed in ways that he might not see on the surface, not yet. But he also knew that at the core, even centuries from now, she would still be the Diana he had met in 1918, no matter what she wore or how she spoke or where she lived.
The pause stretched between them as the old clock on the wall continued to tick the seconds away.
“Do you remember No Man’s Land?” Steve asked eventually.
Diana gazed at him in surprise. “Of course.”
He felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards. “Well, I mean, it’s been a hundred years.”
She smiled, shaking her head a little. “I remember, Steve.”
“It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice earnest. He turned her wrist in his hand, tracing his thumb over her pulse point. “Today, when you crushed those guns in your hands? That’s a close second.”
Diana bit her lip around a smile and rolled her eyes a little. “Flatterer.”
He felt the tension drain out of her, the tight coil of something letting loose.
“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he pointed out.
“You’re good at changing the subject, I’ve got to give you that.” She smoothed her palm over his shoulder. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I move it,” he admitted and rolled it, wincing when the joint protested it. “I was not trying to make it worse, you know.”
She hummed noncommittally. “Were you trying to make it better?”
Steve huffed. “I wanted to help.”
She sighed, and he was certain that there was a touch of exasperation to it, too. Was it odd that he loved even her exasperation?
Diana brushed his hair back from his forehead, gently tilting his head slightly to the side to survey what he was certain would turn into a black eye by morning. She was biting her lip again, even though Steve could tell it had nothing to do with his face.
“What?” he asked, a little alarmed.
When their eyes met, she sighed again. “I have to take care of something.”
Steve frowned. “You’re leaving?”
“Only for a day. Two, at most.”
He felt his brows knit closer together, his frown deepening. He considered the idea. Surely, he could survive just fine on his own for a day or two, or even longer, if he had to. He had lived through most of the war, and the future was—well, it was not as bad, obviously. But everything that he knew about this world was tied to Diana, and even though he had never expected her to babysit him forever, the thought of her going away so soon was unbearable.
“Does it have anything to do with…” he trailed off and gestured at himself.
“Maybe.”
Steve nodded, not sure how he felt about it.
“Can I come with you?”
Diana hesitated.
“I’d rather you wait here,” she said gently.
He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself when he caught the look on her face. A memory sprung to his mind, of the wind tugging at his coat and swallowing his words and Diana’s pleading voice, Whatever it is, I can do it. Let me do it. The raw panic in her eyes earlier when she had seen the blood on his shirt and thought he had been injured. The way her voice had caught in her throat when she’d asked if he was hurt.
“Okay,” Steve said, before he could change his mind.
He wasn’t crazy about the idea of staying behind, especially on something that could have something to do with him and this whole… revival thing. But he would also be happy to walk away from any and all battles for good if it meant that she would never look so grief-stricken because of him.
Diana looked relieved, the small smile making its return as she trailed her fingertips over the line of his jaw. “Yes?”
He felt his heartbeat stutter. He let go of her wrist and brushed his thumb over her chin, his eyes searching hers. “If you want me to stay here, I’ll be here.”
“Yes, I do.”
He nodded again, feeling like his neck was about to come unhinged and, oddly, not giving a damn about it.
“Can you at least tell me what it’s about?”
Her expression softened.
“I’ll tell you everything when I’m back. I promise you, Steve.”
And a promise is unbreakable. Steve wondered if she still believed that, if she still lived by it.
He didn’t know how to ask it though, or if he wanted to hear her answer.
“You have my photo near your bed,” he said, quietly.
Diana smiled. “I’m aware.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
Her tone was light, though he suspected that there was no humour in her words.
He looked down, suddenly afraid of what he would find in her eyes. “It’s been a long time. A hundred years is a long time.”
“Didn’t feel long,” she whispered.
He felt her hands on his cheeks, her palms framing his face and the scent of her wrapping around him as she leaned towards him. Steve bowed his head until their foreheads were touching and closed his eyes.
“Diana…”
She stroked his cheek. “We’ll talk when I come back.”
“Okay,” he repeated and took a breath. “I’ll be here.”
Veld, 1918
Her cloak fell to the floor, pooling in a black mass at her feet. Steve’s overcoat following suit moments later. Diana’s hands slid under the hem of his sweater, pushing it up to slip it over his head, leaving his hair tousled. She didn’t hesitate, brushing her fingers through it to smooth it down, pulling him towards her. She liked the way he tasted, the way his hands felt as they moved over her skin and the shudder of desire that raced down her spine each time he whispered her name and the heat in his eyes that made her breath catch.
When he kissed her again, hot and slow, drawing every inch of sense and reason out of her, she thought of the tales of love and devotion the history of her people was stitched of, woven into a pattern that stretched like canvas across time. She had never truly understood why wars were started for passion, and won by it, too. She thought she did now, at last. Could feel it running through her body, thrumming along with her heartbeat faster and faster with every breath she took.
Steve slipped his hands into hers and laced their fingers together, holding them above her head as he moved over her, the heat pooling inside of her, her mind clouded with the haze of pleasure. He trailed his lips along her jaw before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her throat.
Her eyes slammed shut, spine arching against him. She wondered if he could feel her pulse stutter, if he could hear her heart beating. She stopped wondering when he breathed out her name, his voice reverent, like a prayer.
And then she stopped thinking altogether...
Now she was draped over Steve’s chest, her head tucked under his chin and her hand running idly back and forth along the pale scar beneath his collar bone. One that she had kissed not so long ago, his heart a steady thrum beneath her palm. She loved it, loved the way his body felt pressed against hers, their legs tangled; loved the warmth of his skin and the rhythm of his heartbeat, and that he couldn’t seem to stop touching her, his hand tracing patterns over the expanse of her back.
Outside, the noise had died down eventually. The music was still playing, quietly. Diana could hear people talking and an occasional burst of laughter. Somewhere in a room down the hall, someone was snoring loudly. She thought she recognized it as Charlie, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. But the thought was fleeting and didn’t linger, like all things insignificant.
They had talked for a while afterwards, in soft, low voices that felt like a secret. About his family and hers, small things that had filled the silence, words punctuated with kisses. He had told her about the last time he had seen his parents, right before he had left for the front, none of them knowing if they’d see one another again. The day his father had given him his watch.
He had fallen silent eventually, his voice drifting off. If it wasn’t for his hand still running along her skin, Diana would have thought he had fallen asleep.
When she lifted her head to look at him, she found him gazing towards the hearth, eyes trained on the dying fire and glowing embers. She thought back to a moment on the boat when she had awoken in the night to him still sound asleep next to her, an endless sea of stars above them. She had been startled by the impulse to touch him then, to brush back the hair that had fallen across his forehead.
She didn’t fight it now, raising her hand to thread her fingers through his hair. At that, Steve turned to her and smiled, his expression still a little dazed. And she was helpless against the urge to kiss him.
He kissed her back immediately, deep and slow. Diana felt his hand slide into her hair and cup over the back of her head as his lips moved over hers, stirring desire in her blood. He had been tender, oh so tender with her earlier. Until she has told him to stop holding back. And then it had been fire. It still simmered beneath her skin.
When he drew back though, she was not disappointed. She stayed close, resting her forehead to his. He seemed to like that, bumping his nose playfully against hers.
“So, about Clio and those treatises on bodily pleasures…” he started in what she assumed was meant to pass for a casual tone.
Diana bit her lip around a smile.
“I suppose they got a few things wrong,” she admitted, trying very hard to keep her voice even.
Quite a few things, she amended in her mind.
Steve’s lips quirked. “Yeah?”
“You were not joking about spies being rather vigorous, either,” she murmured, touching her thumb to his bottom lip, delighted to see his eyes widen and the tops of his cheek grow pink.
Steve groaned in the back of his throat and rubbed the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to pay dearly for every single thing I’ve ever said to you, aren’t I?”
She rolled onto her side, rising up on her elbow. Her body was still pressed against his, and she had no intention of changing that. “I can think of a few things, yes,” she noted, knowing that it would get a reaction out of him, unable to help the grin that sprung across her face when his cheeks turned an even brighter shade of crimson.
He didn’t break eye contact though, smiling back at her instead. Which made her wonder if he knew how lovely it was—his smile, when he meant it; when it touched his eyes. When his gaze was no longer clouded with grief. It made her want to never stop saying things that would keep it right where it was now.
For a moment or two, they were quiet, Steve’s eyes moving over her features in the near dark as he played idly with a strand of her hair.
Eventually, his smile dimmed a little, a slight frown appearing between his eyebrows.
“This is real, isn’t it?” he asked after another moment, his eyes searching hers.
Diana smiled. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she inquired as her fingers traced the jut of his collarbone.
“On the boat, I dreamed about—” he cut off suddenly, the colour returning to his face immediately. “Not this,” he said quickly and cleared his throat. She trailed her fingers along his jaw, and made a mental note to kiss every last trace of shyness out of him later. And maybe he would be kind enough to return the favour and kiss every last trace of reason out of her as well. “I dreamed about you saving me,” he said, brows drawn together pensively. “Not just from drowning, but… saving me, from everything.”
Diana watched a shadow of anguish pass over his face, her heart giving a dull tug of longing in response—there was something he didn’t seem to know how to tell her, and whatever it was, she could feel it cutting through him like a knife.
“Steve,” she said, quietly. She brushed her thumb to his chin, his stubble prickly against her skin. His eyes, when they met hers, were bright and earnest and impossibly blue, making her breath rush out of her lungs. No one had ever looked at her like that, with so much devotion she could feel it like a touch. “I would not have minded if you’d dreamt about this,” she said quietly.
Steve’s mouth went a little slack and for a moment, he merely gaped at her, hungry and a little desperate, his eyes growing dark with need and sending a surge of heat that curled up her spine.
“Yeah?” he echoed, his voice low and hoarse, making her heart give a hollow thud against her breast bone.
Diana smiled. “Yes.”
His jaw worked for another second, but in the end, he clamped his mouth shut and swallowed. She arched an eyebrow at him, certain that she could feel his heartbeat spike beneath her palm as his gaze dropped to her mouth and he had to visibly make an effort to drag it back up.
“Hang on a second,” he muttered.
He pulled away from her and slipped out of the bed.
Diana sat up, watching him crouch in front of the hearth and add the last of the wood that had been left beside it to the few embers that glowed among ashes. He prodded them with the iron poker left leaning against the wall and added more kindling until the fire caught on, flames shooting up with an audible crack, their warm glow turning his skin the colour of honey, taut muscles moving beneath it. She remembered the way they felt under her hands.
“Just a trick Chief taught me,” Steve said, glancing at her over his shoulder. He set the poker aside, pleased with the result. “A fool-proof one, apparently.”
Another bout of snores had them both looking towards the door.
“Charlie?” Diana inquired, amused.
Steve laughed as he uncurled from his crouch and stood up. “Yeah. That’s why he always gets his own room, lucky bastard. Not even Sami can deal with that. And believe me, Sami can sleep through anything.”
Diana's heart swelled at the sound of fondness in his voice.
When Steve was close enough, she reached for his hand, fingers curling around his wrist as she pulled him back into bed.
“Stay with me.”
“Didn’t want you to get cold,” he explained, reaching up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.
“I’m not cold.”
She caught his gaze and held it, watching the humour drain out of his eyes, replaced by something that made her heartbeat stutter.
She thought he would kiss her then. Wanted him to kiss her. Wanted so much more.
It was an odd feeling, and entirely unfamiliar, too. For as long as Diana could remember, she had lived in anticipation of a moment when she could prove herself. Having to stand back ever since she was born, watching her sisters finesse the art of battle while she had been kept at the sidelines; having to fight for her right to belong among them, always different in nature and in her status; having to show time and time again that she was worthy, not by birth but by how hard she worked to be one of them.
And here she was, hours away from completing the mission of her people; the enemy they had waited to come for them for so long within her reach. Earlier today, she had felt her blood flow and her heart beat faster than ever as bullets ricocheted off her shield and gauntlets. She had been able to feel a power course through her system the likes of which she had never known before.
Yet, here in this room, with this man, it was not the fight she yearned for. It was for time to pause and the hours of the night still stretching before them, and for everything beyond the battle.
Steve didn’t kiss her. Instead, he twisted a strand of her hair around his finger. She thought she could hear his fear thrumming in his pulse.
“What’s gonna happen tomorrow?” he asked in a whoosh of breath that made her shiver.
Diana didn’t hesitate.
“I’m going to kill Ares. And we will stop the war.”
She watched a flicker of doubt chase behind his eyes, but he didn’t argue. He nodded instead, though he wasn’t looking at her, and she didn’t know what to make of it. Unlike the time when they were making love, she couldn’t seem to find a way to read him, now.
She leaned towards him, until their faces were nearly touching. “Do you believe me?” she asked.
He lifted his eyes to hers, his hand lingering at her cheek.
“I believe that only a miracle can stop this madness. And you are one, Diana.”
She leaned into his touch, turning her face to kiss the heel of his palm.
“You know, I spent two years wishing the war away,” he said after a moment. “But now… If I could go back in time, somehow, I wouldn’t change a single thing. Not even the war. Not if it meant not finding you.” He chuckled, humourlessly. He pulled away from her and scrubbed his hand down his face, dropping his gaze. “What kind of person thinks that?”
“It’s not a sin to want to be happy, Steve.”
When he didn’t respond, she reached for his hand, weaving their fingers together. When she looked up, she found him watching her.
“We’re together in that way now, yes?” she asked, quietly.
The corner of his mouth curled up, and then he let out a small laugh. “Yes,” he said, as he lifted their hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her fingertips. “Yes, we are.”
He ducked his head, resting his forehead against her temple. An unsteady breath stuttered out of his chest, and Diana couldn’t help but turn her face, lips brushing against his brow.
“Will you come with me?” he asked. “When this is over, would you like to come to America with me?”
“Yes.”
He glanced up, a smile lurking behind his eyes. “You could meet my family.”
She smiled back. “Meet your family?”
“Hey, I’ve met yours. And mine is less likely to point weapons at you.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“Alright then,” she murmured and leaned forward, brushing her mouth to his, her heart a wild flutter against her ribs when she felt his smile against her lips. “After it’s all over, yes?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“You should get some sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep, I want…”
She felt his hand slide up her thigh and around her waist until it splayed over the small of her back. She let her hand thread through his hair, a low hum rising in the back of his throat when she deepened the kiss, white-hot desire shooting through her veins.
She leaned back, taking him with her, pulling him over her.
“Diana,” he breathed against the curve of her throat, his mouth travelling across her collar bone and across her chest and further down her sternum.
She closed her eyes and let herself fall.
Gotham, 2018
A wail of an ambulance siren pierced the cold night, drawing Diana’s attention to the red blinking dot far below for a moment. The sound died down seconds later, swallowed by a gust of wind.
Perched on a ledge near the rooftop, she observed the gleaming expanse of the city below. She had always liked Gotham better from afar, where you couldn’t see its unsavoury underbelly and everything that often made it a headline of every single paper in the city. She had wondered once or twice what it was that made it so appealing to Bruce that he had never left, despite having the means and reasons to walk away and never look back.
Her gaze moved from one dark building to another as she searched for movement or, perhaps, a familiar shape frozen in a pose similar to her own.
She could have called him, Diana knew. It would have been easier to find Constantine if she’d asked Bruce for help. But even with the phone in her hand and her thumb hovering over his name, she had hesitated. Part of it was because she knew he’d want an explanation and Diana suspected he would go looking for one if she refused to provide it. And part of it was because she never quite figured out where they stood with their relationship after she had awoken in his bed one morning.
She had slipped out of the house before he had roused, and neither of them had ever talked of what had happened between them or even acknowledged it. Which would have been fine, had it not been for that unspoken thing hanging between them since. One that made Diana search for words harder than she normally would, skirting around things that needed to be said. And one that would make it hard for Bruce to look her in the eye on those rare occasions when they ended up in the same room alone. To be fair, he had never tried bringing it up with her, either. Which left Diana feeling relieved. Which, in turn, made her feel like a coward and left an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth.
But if there was a social protocol regarding asking one man she had slept with to help her figure out how to keep another man in her life, Diana was not aware of it. Hence, why she was out there blindly searching the night in hopes that she might get lucky in locating Bruce’s arch-nemesis on her own, while also hoping she wouldn’t run into Bruce himself. She was not sure how he’d take it if he knew she had come to Gotham without saying a word to him—not that she had to—but the entire situation was complicated enough without adding another layer to it. Diana didn’t want to tangle someone else in this all, not unless she had no choice but to do so.
She only wished Constantine was an easier man to locate.
A flicker of something in the dark below her had her senses prickling as she just made out the sight of a familiar beige trench coat. In the near-complete darkness, the red tip of his lit cigarette was glowing like a beacon.
Diana stood up, adrenaline spiking in her blood. She leaped forward, swallowed almost immediately by the shadows where the light of the night city couldn’t reach between tall buildings. She landed almost soundlessly on the wet asphalt, the soft thump of it swallowed by a mechanical noise coming from somewhere behind her.
Constantine paused in his tracks. In the pale light of a bare bulb hanging over some back door, Diana watched him blow out a puff of smoke.
“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” He turned slowly, unconcerned, and tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette with his finger before sticking it back between his lips. He grinned and saluted at her. “Your Highness.”
“What did you do, John?”
“You might want to be more specific, Princess.” Constantine shook his head and heaved an exaggerated sigh behind which she glimpsed weary lines around his eyes. The lopsided smile remained intact though. As did, it seemed, his assumption that she was in a mood for banter. “Been a long week.”
In an instant, Diana lunged at him, her hand closing around his throat as she slammed him against the brick wall, his feet dangling above the wet asphalt. His half-finished cigarette fell into a puddle at her feet, the burning glow going out with a soft hiss.
“Answer me,” she demanded.
“Windpipe,” Constantine croaked, his fingers clawing at her hand. Diana pressed her lips together, displeased, and released him. He collapsed against the wall, unsteady on his feet for a moment of two, as he sucked in a hungry breath, and then another. “Blimey, you’re strong,” he muttered, voice hoarse, but the admiration in his tone and a crooked smile made Diana roll her eyes all the same.
Slowly, he straightened up and brushed the grime off his coat. He spotted his cigarette on the ground and let out a pained sigh, shaking his head with dismay for good measure with that very flare for dramatics that vexed Bruce so and made Diana regret letting him go.
Eventually, Constantine cleared his throat and adjusted his tie with the air of an awful lot of self-importance.
“Not that I mind when a woman goes for my jugular…” he added, flashing another toothy grin into the night. He pulled a cigarette pack out of the pocket of his coat and shook one out, sticking it in his mouth before he retrieved a silver lighter as well. Diana watched him click it a couple of times before the flame shot out, oddly bright in the dark alley. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure? And believe me, the pleasure is all—”
“A week ago, you sold something to Bruce Wayne,” Diana interjected. “A charm.”
“Ah, that pretty little pendant. Yes.” Constantine took a long drag and then exhaled slowly, watching her through the haze of smoke. “You want one too, Princess? Sorry, no can do. It was one of a kind. I do have quite a wide variety—”
“What did you do with it?”
It took him a second to catch on, his brows knitting together as the realization dawned.
“Wait, it was for you?” He grimaced. “Bollocks, I owe Batty an apology.”
Diana’s heart stuttered, blood roaring up in her veins. She thought of Steve’s smile and the warmth of his hand in hers, the thought of all of that being yet another trick landing on her like a punch to her gut.
“John,” she started with a warning.
He raised his hands quickly. “Nothing! Nothing, I swear. I didn’t do anything to it. He was asking around for it. I knew where to find it, so I kindly offered my services, is all. He’s not the most popular guy in certain circles, you know. I was just trying to be helpf—”
“And?” Diana interjected.
“If I knew it was for you, I’d’ve offered him a discount, not demanded double its price. Maybe ask him to put in a good word for me as a bonus. With you, I mean.” He shrugged and gave her body a pointed sweep with his gaze.
It was then that Diana noticed that her hands were clenched in tight fists. She took a breath and willed herself to relax them, not trusting the sense of relief that Constantine’s words had brought on just yet. So much so that she dismissed his last comment entirely.
“Are you sure—”
He rolled his eyes impatiently. “Yes. Batty is an intolerable asshole, as we both know, but I’ve got a reputation to uphold and he’s not worth tainting it over some trinket.” He cocked an eyebrow, giving her yet another once-over. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She turned to leave.
“Maybe I could help,” Constantine called after her.
Diana paused in her tracks. When she turned around, he had his cigarette pinched between his thumb and his index finger, studying the glowing end of it pensively. He looked up and smiled, hand reaching up to adjust his tie again. He smoothed his palm over it.
“What, a guy can’t feel generous once in a while?” he inquired when she merely regarded him skeptically.
“A guy can,” Diana said flatly, and Constantine smirked. She considered him, eyes narrowed in mistrust. “What would it cost me?”
“I’ll put it on Batty’s tab.”
Diana sighed.
Her eyes skittered around the alley, moving along the brick walls and exposed pipes, pausing on boarded-up windows. In the distance, she could hear a wail of a police siren. This was the world that had changed Bruce’s life forever, once. The same world to which Barbara Ann had been lost.
“I was going to use the pendant to locate someone. Someone who went missing 34 years ago.”
When she looked at Constantine, his smirk was still in place but his gaze had softened in a way she had never seen before.
“Did you find them?” he asked as he flicked the cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it with the toe of his shoe.
She folded her arms across her chest. “No, I found someone else. Someone who was supposed to be dead.”
Constantine blinked and whistled quietly under his breath. “Not something I hear every day. And believe me, there are things—”
“If you put some spell on it…” she began.
But he was shaking his head, and frowning, too. Diana didn’t like the sight of it. She knew how to deal with him when he was intentionally intolerable, but the man standing before her now seemed too unpredictable for her liking.
“It closed the circle,” he said after a moment, rubbing his cheek. His eyes, when they met hers, were piercing, unnervingly so. “Did you touch it?”
“Yes. But I don’t under—”
“Do you mind if we…”
He didn’t finish, his voice cut off by a loud clap of his hands. Instantly, the alley was flooded with white light, so bright that Diana flinched away from it, squeezing her eyes shut and lifting her arm to cover them to shield herself from it.
When she opened them again, seconds later, she was no longer outside. Instead, she found herself in a cramped room with books lying around in stacks, some of them crammed onto narrow bookshelves. A table was pushed against a wall with papers and what looked like ancient parchments lying all over it, as well as coffee mugs.
Diana wrinkled her nose at the sight of ashtrays sitting all over the room.
“You live here?” she asked.
“Nah, Zee hates this place.”
“I wonder why.”
They were still in Gotham. Diana could tell that from the skyline outside the small window. Could hear it too—the unmistakable soundtrack of police sirens, the monorail and voices morphing into a white noise that she had long grown accustomed to ignoring.
Ashtrays aside, the place was… neat, in a way. In the same manner that the Batcave was neat—though, to an outsider, it could seem like utter chaos, Bruce never needed more than a few seconds to find anything he was after. She shook her head, amused by the idea of drawing similarities between the two that she knew Bruce would never agree with.
“A bloke’s gotta have his own space,” Constantine muttered. He was pulling books from the shelves and flipping through them impatiently before returning each back in its place. “Besides, I gotta keep some stuff I need for… ah, business somewhere, right?”
When Diana glanced at him, he turned to her and grinned.
She shook her head. “If you say so.”
He moved to a stack of books leaning against a wall covered with faded wallpaper and pulled one out from the middle, as the rest of them toppled to the floor at his feet with dull thuds.
“So, you and Batty…” he started conversationally without looking at Diana.
She snapped her head up.
“Why would you say that?”
Constantine shot a quick glance at her. “No? My bad, must have gotten it wrong.” Diana’s frown deepened. “He just always seemed like—A-ha!”
Diana perked up when he paused, his palm splayed over the yellowed page as his eyes moved along the lines. When he shoved the book at Diana, she nearly staggered backwards.
“What am I looking at?” she inquired.
“Does this seem familiar?”
She studied the page and the words written in runes next to a drawing she failed to make anything out of. She turned the book sideways, but it didn’t make any more sense.
She lowered it down.
“I don’t understand any of this. Can you explain?”
Constantine sighed with pointed exasperation. He took the book from her.
“The pendant has some magic on its own, but ideally, it needs to be used as part of a spell or whatever. Thing is, I know for a fact that it had been in the possession of just one person for the past half a century or so. Doesn’t matter who, bloke’s dead anyway. So I kinda figured that whoever did this,” he pointed at the page, “didn’t have it—whenever.”
“In 1984,” Diana said quietly.
Constantine quirked an eyebrow at her. “Right. So… the spell was not finished properly. Until you—and I’m guessing you were part of it—touched it, thus completing it.”
Diana didn’t respond at once.
The Dreamstone. It must not have been meant to be used on its own. That must be why it had given Maxwell Lord so much power until he was akin to a god while also weakening him so fast. And that, she suspected, explained why destroying it had not returned Barbara Ann to her human self the way it had so easily undone her own wish.
The reason she had been looking for the pendant in the first place was because according to some historical texts she had come across, it was meant to help locate what was lost. She had figured that after failing to track down Barbara Ann over the past thirty odd years, it was worth a try.
But Diana had made a wish, too. And if Constantine was correct, closing the circle had made it come true, in the way she’d wanted all along.
“It likely didn’t work,” Constantine continued, either oblivious to her stunned state, or ignoring it entirely — Diana wasn’t entirely sure. “Without the pendant, that is. Or it backfired.” He shrugged and slammed the book shut before peering at Diana, one eyebrow raised. “Which was it?”
She thought of Steve’s hand in hers, in 1984, feeling so real. And then, of his clothes in her closet with the lingering scent of him on them but no man to wear them and the memories she had made with him feeling worthless and the feeling of emptiness in her chest so consuming Diana had thought it would swallow her whole.
For years, she had wondered if she’d have preferred to continue living a lie, given the choice, just so she wouldn’t have to lose him again. To this day, she still didn’t know what her answer would be.
She looked away from Constantine and shook her head, refusing to answer.
“What now?” she asked.
“Whatever do you mean?” he inquired, lighting up another cigarette.
“Now that the spell is complete… what does it mean?”
He shrugged. “Everyone gets to live happily ever after, yadda, yadda, yadda, the usual.”
“Is it permanent?” she pressed with growing impatience.
She could feel her heart beating faster, her breath hitching in her throat. Diana’s fingers curled into fists as she watched the man before her with more hope than she had allowed herself to feel in decades. More than she had felt with Steve asleep with his arm wrapped around her the night before, or in the moments when his hand was clasped around hers. Thousands of miles away, and he had never felt more solid to her than he did in the second that it took Constantine to respond, the life Diana had imagined for herself and her long-lost pilot flashing before her eyes.
She wanted so badly for all of this to be true she could barely breathe.
“Well, I mean, you can do a reverse one,” Constantine offered matter-of-factly as he stacked the books scattered all over the floor into a precarious-looking pile again. “Or you could—” He jerked his chin towards the sword behind her back and made a poking gesture with his finger. “No one’s immune to that.”
She narrowed her eyes a little, regarding him with suspicion.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
He puffed a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth and smiled. How he managed to do both things at the same time, Diana had no idea.
“Like I said, it goes on Batty’s tab.” He straightened up and gave her a pointed once-over. “Besides, you’re a sight for my sore eyes. Can never say no when a nice lady is in trouble.”
Diana scoffed.
And then her smile faltered as another thought struck her, hard and fast, leaving her mind reeling.
“Can you make it irreversible?” she asked, barely swallowing the tremor in her voice.
Constantine blinked at her. “Come again?”
“The spell, the one that I completed.” The one that had brought Steve back to her. After all this time… Her stomach churned at the memory of his form dissipating before her. “Can you make it irreversible?”
Just the thought of having him for good, without fear, without doubt, was making her dizzy. The real him, hers at last.
If he still wanted her, if he wanted to be with her. He had, once.
She felt her breath rush out of her, more frightened than she had ever been of losing this fragile sliver of hope.
Everything she’d ever wanted—
She pushed the memory of those words aside.
“Well, I mean…” Constantine started. He rubbed the back of his neck and offered her a cocky grin. “Is there anything I can’t do?”
“Can you?” Diana pressed.
“Depends.”
“On?”
She was starting to get frustrated with his non-answers.
“See, I’m a businessman, Your Majesty.”
“How much?” Diana interjected, growing impatient.
Constantine sighed. “Now you sound just like Batty.”
“How much, John?”
“I’m sure we can work it out,” he said smoothly. “As soon as you figure out it’s what you really want. You know, you can’t just go back and forth on those things. Hey, you still work in that fancy place with a lot of fancy toys that may or may not be useful in our line of business?”
She shook her head. “Not happening.”
He shrugged and slid his hands into the pockets of his coat, seemingly not at all taken aback by her refusal to let him run wild in the Louvre.
“As I said, we can work something out. But in the meantime—”
He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Immediately, the room was flooded with bright white light. And again, instinctively, Diana flinched away from it, squeezing her eyes shut.
When the light faded and she looked around, she found herself back in the alley where she had located Constantine earlier.
Alone.
To end this chapter on a higher note... while editing this part, akajb and I got to talking about the Grumpy Bat meme and she asked me if it existed. A quick google search revealed that it didn't, so we made it (because there is literally nothing writers wouldn't do have an excuse to procrastinate) :) Apologies for posting it in the body of the fic but it's easier to modify the size here. Quite a few of you found the idea of Steve being introduced to memes funny so... why not?