HEART GIFTED.

            It feels right, telling her this. She knows so much about him that she’s deserving of the whole truth. Until now, however, he had lacked both the time and opportunity—far more comfortable letting the conversation present itself to him so he could use it as a way to explain himself. “ If the world could be even half as accepting as Themyscira is, mankind would be better off for it. ” A world where no one has to hide behind masks and be someone they’re not. A world where people can love who they choose without fear of judgement or discrimination. He can only imagine what a world like that might be like. Men are still good, but they’re far too fallible. One can only expect so much understanding from them. Bruce finds himself leaning back against the Amazon, placing one of his hands over hers, feeling the movement of her knuckles against his rough palm while she traces patterns against his skin. “ I was going through so much back then… Still trying to cope with what I’d been through. ” Desperately grasping to try and feel something—anything—other than his anger and his grief. He’d made so many poor choices then; thrown himself at life so carelessly while still lost in what he was trying to become. Those aren’t days he looks back on particularly fondly. Blue eyes fixate on the tabloid in his hands, looking down at himself, only just barely recognizing his own youthful features staring back up at him from the page. “ Oddly enough, that was the only thing I had any clarity about. But it was…nice when there was finally a label I felt was fitting for me. Not having anything to call yourself—that’s not an easy thing. ”

            Humans should learn to listen to their instincts. Their lack of trust in her is far more reasonable than they realize; a truth she has to live with every day despite the way it rings in her ears and keeps her awake at night. She bites her tongue to hold the thought in. “ Now that we’re heroes, perception is what matters, Di. ” Life on Thanagar taught her that much a long time ago. Shayera shrugs her shoulders, looking away in thought. “ —I can’t say I blame them. My people are the same way. ” If anything, humans are just a little bit better at knowing when to pick their battles and when to simply distance themselves from whatever they’re afraid of. Huffing slightly, Shayera shakes her head, cocking her hip and tapping her foot impatiently. “ I’m sure the children will love you, Di, ” she replies, disinterested already. The sooner they get this thing over with, the better. “ Everyone does. ”

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            This is not the body of a good man. More often than not, it feels just as much like a prison as the one he left behind. Each morning he looks in the mirror, touching his scars; lingering on the acid burn and the bullet wound in his shoulder. Hates how they’ve marked him. Hates how old injuries stain both his body and his mind. His soul is just as scarred over as his flesh is. It seems only natural that Diana would be repulsed by him. That she would shudder at the sight of him and regret her choice to see him exposed—layers peeled back, every wound and every nerve made visible to her. Well, almost. There are things about prison he hasn’t told her. Things about what he did and what he didn’t do, and the son—the family—he lost in his own blind anger. But instead, she surprises him. She looks at him with far more kindness than he’s used to, her voice warm when she speaks. She isn’t afraid. She isn’t disgusted. And that alone is enough to make Bruce slowly lift his gaze to meet hers again.

             “ Strength is just…a way to survive. ” If he doesn’t carry it now—if he even tries to set it down and let himself be weak just for a moment—he knows he’ll cave in to his own grief again. He’ll lose himself at the anger of his injustice. He’ll lose himself in the pain that still aches in his chest at night from the loss of his son. He’s just barely managing to keep himself from sinking into it all again as it is. Watching Diana, he can feel his mouth run dry; ice blue eyes locked on her underwear as she slides it down her shapely legs. Once it lies in a pile at her feet, he allows his gaze to make its way upwards, taking in every visible detail of her body, tongue darting out in a weak attempt to wet his lips. He doesn’t need to feel her heart to know. The expression on her face and her deliberate movements are proof enough that she hasn’t been deterred from their earlier course of action. Hands curl into loose fists at his sides. Wants to touch her, wants to feel her. Wants to treat her the way he once would have treated a woman he truly cared about.

             Instead, all he does is keep his relative distance. Careful hands undo his belt, allowing his jeans to drop to the floor. Black boxers follow soon after; he steps out of the remnants of his clothing as if picking his way across a minefield. There. Now Diana can see everything. The playing field is level; both of them equally exposed. “ I want to feel all of you, Diana… ” An honest confession. One he won’t dare indulge in. He’s not sure he could handle it, at present. But maybe someday he’ll reach the point where he feels he can be more intimate with her than this—hands kept harmlessly at his sides, a foot of space separating her from him. He inclines his head towards the hallway, half guessing about the location of the bathroom. “ But I think the bath comes first. ”

          WANT CASTS A SPELL over Diana, an airy gust of breeze that resurrects life into her garden of thorns. It’s not a desire forged only from lust, though certainly his defined flesh churns salacious needs in the pit of her belly, but one borne from a thrill, too. A thrill that they’ve turned the page to a new chapter with ink that’s not stained with inevitability. She traces his curves as he did her own, eyes never straying from the path he paved, eager to appreciate but cautious to not gawk like he’s a zoo animal. Her polite manner quivers into a vulgar puddle once her gentle gaze reaches the generous length hanging between his thighs; approval sealed by the way her smile creases into a jagged line. She wants to feel him, too. ❛❛ The bath, yes. Where you may touch me as you like, and where I will only touch you with a cloth between us. ❜❜ Saved from her prior reverie, Diana recites the vow as if she’s never spoken such tremendous words before; she hasn’t. 

            The swinging of her hips invites Bruce’s gaze as she pads across the hallway, stepping aside him slowly. Diana offers a chaste smile before disappearing into the room where fate awaits. A clawfoot tub rests in the middle of the spacious haven; its glossy porcelain promising a smooth, delightful escape. Bathing is quite a spectacle where she’s from—they will have to do without the tradition of an audience, unless Polly scampers by.    ❛❛ Soaps, shampoos are all in that cabinet, ❜❜ she nods to her left, leaning over to play with the faucet, hot water only appearing after many seconds of tinkering. ❛❛ I thought you could choose the scents, and the cloths, too, of course. ❜❜ This whole night shall be orchestrated by his preferences, his tastes; two explorers chipping away until they find his home. 

FIRST COMES THE DEER caught in headlights expression: eyes bulged until they’re two sizes too large, mouth ajar as if damaged. Next arrives the standard reassurance: ❛❛ — It’s not what it appears to be. ❜❜ But of course it is. Of course it is. 

A canine with shaggy fur and slobber dripping from his tongue sits upon their duvet, brownish furs scattering across wool; perhaps his idea of a gift? It’s nice, truly… Until the sweet discovery unleashes another blood-curling scream from the hawk, golden wings flaring and knocking over a lamp. Diana isn’t one to form loyalties to materialistic entities, but even she must frown at its garish death, light flickering bright enough to service the whole city before shattering to pieces onto the floor. Well, at least it won’t be subject to listening to these piercing, incessant screams any longer, the ones that are so unfair to be called “chirps” when those noises are far kinder to the ears. 

❛❛ Shay, my love— ❜❜ In all his 100 pound glory, Diana’s newest friend jumps into her burly arms, paws clasping around her neck, heart racing numerous marathons all at once. ❛❛ Oh, Shay, he’s petrified! ❜❜ Concern inks onto furrowing features, Diana returning her friend’s embrace, fingers carding through his thick fur. Yes, indeed, it is exactly how it appears to be after all: Diana has brought to their home another rescue. She manages a lopsided grin, looking every bit the child who begs, who pleads: oh, please, can we keep him?

@sacredjustice

It’s not a smile yet but it wants to be one, almost, almost playing on lips, almost, flirting with the idea but a not quite yet just there, a maybe, maybe, maybe smile. What can she say? The kitten’s smitten, but who wouldn’t be with the Wonder Woman? It’s not her fault.

(It had been a fluke. An evening fought too hard,too hard, always too hard, if it were Jessica she would push her, what would Jessica do? And she’d been covered, scattered in bruises, bloodied abrasions, her own surgical wounds not even totally healed, and the jump, overzealous, dying to impress, had fallen short and swoop!Woman of Wonder, Wonder Woman had zipped to rescue her and quite safely flown her to a rooftop, smiling all the while and softly asking the Hellcat’s name.)

This is the fourth time she’s meeting her. She knows who Trish is beneath the cowl– (Diana liked TrishTalk! She’d seen it in her apartment, a t-shirt, a mug, serving her coffee! She’d listened! Heard her voice! Wonder Woman had liked TrishTalk!) –and that’s okay by her.

No one better to know her, truly.

She’s grinning, finally, with the mouthful of teeth now sharply uneven. Mostly human, still, she hasn’t yet grown in all her kitten teeth. Even now she feels one dying to break through. She’s tall, though not near as large as Diana. But in those boot-heels Trish is six-three, wiry and narrow but built, muscle very apparent from the titanium-woven fibers of her sunshine yellow, navy blue suit. Her hair is golden blonde out the back, eyes a faint hazel-green with notably oblong pupils– felid, but not quite. In the dark of the city, they reflect rainbow, a cat’s night-vision. She can see perfectly– for now, anyway.

“Are you checking up on me?”

She wishes she didn’t sound excited.

          YOU’VE HEARD THE LEGENDS of the mighty Wonder Woman, surely? She’s as wise as Athena, as beautiful as Aphrodite! She’s swifter than Hermes, and stronger than Herakles! She’s as... bashful as a school-girl, cheeks turned to rubies at the sight of her crush? Oh no, now this is not the narrative forged for her by admirers and challengers alike. How scandalized they all would be: their poised hero loosened from the confines of predictability, looking far younger than the ancient blood flowing through her veins should allow! 

           Yet, lo and behold: wildfires are catching on her olive flesh, spreading from the top of her forehead to down beneath gaudy armor. All of her is awakened like Christmas lights in Trish’s presence. It’s how emotions were meant to be felt: unapologetically and loudly. She embraces hers with a smile that’s crafted only for Trish: the way the corners of her crimson lips nestle into her dimples just so, as if they’re privy to a secret. And perhaps they are indeed, with the way admiration has melted into a much deeper flavor of affection. 

          ❛❛ I promise, I come as a friend. Not as a hawk’s eye determined to teach you Superhero Etiquette. And not as a crazed fan, either. Though the latter is more likely than the former. ❜❜ She raises her palm, index finger crossed over her middle finger, the remaining three digits pinched together below. A gesture of honor borrowed from one collection of humans she respects; the Girl Scout’s, she believes. If only she had their cookies to offer Trish....

           Loose curls fall into her face; this face that could light up the darkness with a sunshine brighter than any before witnessed. Warmth bursts like balloons inside her chest as she eyes her lion-hearted companion, gaze caressing every curve of her body to ensure there is not even a single scratch that needs attending to. Nor avenging, for that matter.

            SHE CAN’T HELP THE SURPRISED LAUGH that bubbles out of her, coupled even by an uncustomary clap of her hands. “ are you recruiting me to be a member of the justice league? ” the idea tickled her. “ while i support your motion, female power and all, i don’t think i’m the best fit for that gig. ” a part of her was actually humbled and flattered that diana thought highly enough of her to suggest such a thing. bruce obviously hadn’t talked to them about her. “ i’m not exactly on the whole super-buddies wagon, though. that and, i don’t think a reformed criminal on your roster does much for your p.r., now, does it? ”

              SHE SMILES LIKE HE’S handed her the stars. Constellations sparkle in the brights of her eyes— even the ones marred in tragedy find happiness in the glow of her heart. She looks this way, and that way, raven curls whisking back and forth. ❛❛ Where are they? Can I meet them? I’d love to introduce myself. ❜❜