TREVOR

   it was a miracle.  A TRUE MIRACLE.  she had thought he was gone,  that she had lost him.  for good.  that steve trevor was  DEAD.  the heartache was too much for her to handle,  the pain deep in her chest,  the tears that stained her cheeks,  she wanted to punch and punch,  make her knuckles BLEED as she punched the nearest surface.  she could’ve done something.  ANYTHING.  there had to be something she could do to save him.  to bring him back.   it was then,  sameer’s voice through the smoke and fire,  called out to her.  barely able to make his sentence out in full.  but she heard enough.  ENOUGH to have her running.

   IT’S STEVE.   IT’S STEVE.  she heard,  over and over again.  like ringing alarms.  and she was running faster than she ever had before.  diana prince ran,  she ran.  until she saw him,  on the ground,  but he was there.  he was there and he was  ALIVE.   she falls to her knees, but scrambles towards him.  leaning over him like she had once done only a few days prior,  but expect a greeting smile upon her face.  there was a look of worry and relief.  worry that he wasn’t going to be  okay.  that she was about to lose him all over again.  but the relief that he was  HERE.  with the hope he may stay.

   a hand upon his cheek,  softly rubbing at the hurt skin.  his eyes opening was enough for her to sit up,  hoping to greet him as soon as he could see.   ❛ steve — ❜   and with his name escaping her lips,  diana sighed with relief,  dropping her head closer to his,  her breathing heavy,  using all her strength to hold back the tears that wanted to escape.   did he win? he asks.  yes we did.  because of you.  BECAUSE OF US.  she wanted to reply.   ❛ we won… ❜   her answer was soft,  but enough.   there was no need to get into details,  not when they could have all the TIME in the world.   ❛ we— we won. ❜ 

                        EVERYTHING ACHES  ---------  the past ten minutes a blur to a tired mind,  a mix of fire and noise and diana calling out his name.    the concept of being ALIVE is one he cannot quite grasp, not when moments before he was shooting through the sky, ready to blow up the whole damn plane to pieces and, regrettably, himself along with it.        it’s only in diana’s presence that he becomes viscerally aware of the fleeting nature of his mortalhood, oh the manner in which he can bend and break.     to be loved by a GODDESS  :  it is a gift,  holy ambrosia to the lips of the thirsty,   or is it a curse  ??  there is time for that line of thought yet  ;  for now, he only looks up into her eyes, DROWNS,  smiles. 

                                 “  can’t get rid of me so easily, darlin’  -------  ”   a quirk of his brow, he attempts to stand up but the jolt of pain through his side keeps him pinned to the rubble.   assuming he had fallen from such a grand height  (  ASSUMING DIVINE INTERVENTION  )  the fact that he probably has a couple fractured ribs and broken bones should be obvious, but it’s a sign that he is ALIVE,  that he is with her  &&  he would take a thousand broken bones for that.

           HER STRENGTH  is one thing he knows to never underestimate  ---  he has seen her jump over rooftops and unroot tanks from the ground, has seen her in battle and amidst diplomats.   he is aware, more than anything, of his own frail mortality,  one which places him always in the danger of either hospitalisation or imminent death.        how easy it is to end  !!  one step wrong, swallowed by flame  &  time, only to be spit out once more,  how easy can his breath turn to naught.

                    but he also trusts her.  he knows that she would never willingly harm him in any way, that she treasures his life  &  well-being  (  as odd as it is, to have a goddess,  AN ANGEL,  looking out for him when he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it  .  .  .  ),  so when, in the midst of playful fighting, she wraps her fingers around him too hard,  he is about to laugh it off when she stands and runs off, leaving behind a very confused man.

                 he is HESITANT to follow,   mindful of the bruises blooming upon scarred flesh,  but he does not linger for long  ---  and when he finds her not too far, trying to make herself as small as possible in the dark,   he knows he had made the right choice.        “  hey,  hey,  diana  --------  ”      bones groaning from the movement, he kneels next to her, so he may brush aside long hair & guide her chin upwards  ;  there is WORRY evident in his gaze, but he tempers it, offering a gentle, lopsided smile instead. 

         charcoal down his throat,  CHOKING,  lungs screaming from exhaustion  ---  there is not a part of his body that does not ache, not an inch of his skin untouched, unblemished  ;  he feels like a NEWBORN fresh out of the mother’s womb,  SPITTING FIRE and unfamiliar with anything but the sound of a heartbeat thrumming in his left ear.             (  he does not PRAY,  absentee gods turned the backs on mortals, the PLEADS falling to deaf ears,  but he hopes beyond hope that she is safe that she is fine that she  -------  )

                          a hand on his cheek.  the heartbeat gets louder  &  louder  until heavy eyes open within the darkness of the night to find her watching,  his ANGEL,  his SALVATION,  the cough expelling blood and breath alike,   but he is SMILING.  he’s either dead or dreaming, or  .  .  .        “  ---  did we win  ??  ”

              HIS SHIRTS KEEP GOING MISSING  ---  in the beginning, he thinks it’s because he somehow  (  always  )  misplaces them before doing laundry, which, in retrospective, ought to raise a couple questions,  but he blames it on being forgetful and, well  .  .  .  busy in the evenings, so he lets it go.     that is, until he catches the culprit in the act.

                         weather in america is much hotter than gloomy old britain  &&  somehow he is thankful for the change of pace  ---  there is still a chill within his bones that cannot thaw, an ice shard through his heart when death ought to have taken him away but didn’t  &&  really, the war is won and the front isn’t calling out his name anymore.    instead, he gets happiness.  instead, he gets softness, a touch of scarred fingers down one smooth shoulder, long digits playing into hair as dark as night, lips touching and exploring  ;  love, he had learned soon enough,  is both drug and antidote.    love is love.   love is diana.