Coming Home

Summary: Set Wonder Woman and BvS but before the Justice League film, with nods to the comics and and the DCAU.

Chapter One

XXXX

She eventually told him her story.

Bruce Wayne would argue that he thought nothing tracking down the photograph on his own time and dime or of arranging a trans-Atlantic delivery of the original photo via his own company's armored car and employees. Truthfully, he thought extensively about it, as he did most things. He wanted to show Diana he cared, yes, and he wanted to ensure this photo was placed directly in her hands. Since he wasn't the one doing the placing, he required additional security. Simple; efficient. Logical.

If Alfred implied that Bruce's obsession with finding the original photograph for the Amazon Princess was odd-when Superman was dead and the world going to Gotham-level shit- Bruce ignored it.

Her emailed reply came minutes after the courier alerted him of the verified delivery.

Bruce,

Thanks for bringing him back to me.

Diana

The note was neither satisfactory or unsatisfactory to Bruce's mind; it was merely information- communication from Diana. He had little doubt to who "he" was; Bruce researched every man in the photo. Three of the four lived long lives; the fourth, Captain Steve Trevor, closest to Diana in the image, died on the eve of the armistice, sacrificing his life to save thousands from deadly gas bombs.

If there had been something quick and bright between Diana and this Captain Trevor, Bruce found little use in envying a dead war hero. The information, however, afforded him something he might have called hope, if he had any familiarity with the notion.

Steve Trevor- a man; not a meta. Very interesting.

Young, Bruce thought, studying the man's face, but what was age to an ageless being like the Amazon princess? Bruce was not as young as he once was, and not nearly as old as Diana, but he'd recognized the look of her when they first met at that gala. She would smile, smooth and powerful, but it would not touch her eyes; eyes that had seen too much. He knew that look. He forced that smile daily.

She'd be just starting her work day, he imagined. Meanwhile, here he was staring at his laptop just after 3am, after calling it an early night on patrol (maybe so he could be home when her package arrived, but convincing himself it was because the night was quiet was eassy enough). He hoped she was pleased.

His computer chimed; a video call. He stripped off remaining armor, leaving a black t-shirt behind. Behind him was simply a blank wall, nothing interesting. A couple clicks and commmands to further secure the connection, and he answered.

Diana appeared, a wall of artifacts behind her. She offered him a little smile, one almost like a smirk. "Bruce. I thought you might be awake already. Or... awake still."

He leaned back in his chair, settling in to the strange comfort of her. Her hair was pulled back, her make up sublte but for the deep red on her lips. "This is a secure line," he said. Her smile widened.

"I would expect nothing less." She shifted, glancing off to the side, where something must lay on her desk. "I am calling to thank you. I received your parcel, and I felt an email was not a sufficient thank you."

Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire, might have replied, "Seeing your face is all the thanks I could ever hope for," or some other suave nonsense, but he did not have to act in front of her. She saw through him the first time, so he hadn't bothered since.

So he said, "No thanks necessary. It was the right thing to do. I owed you."

Her eyebrow lifted; he studied her face, trying to learn every facet of her expressions. "Are we... even now?" she wondered, searching for the word. Playful, he decided.

"Well," he considered. "You did save my life, the value of which seems to be debateable. A priceless original photograph for my life- seems sufficient?"

He meant to return her playfulness, but she sobered. "No. A life for a life, Bruce. I saved yours; youasked for my story. So I'll share mine."

He sat up straight. "When. Where?"

Her smile returned, but it seemed weary now. "Perhaps you can meet me in Paris tonight; we are hosting a fundraiser here at the Louvre at 8pm. I have a plus one ticket."

Unsaid: and no one to give it to.

"I'll be there," Bruce said.

XXX

He'd been to the Louvre before, usually for just this type of event; tuxedos and sparkling jewelry, delicate laughter, champagne, and lots of unspeakably wealthy people writing checks. He'd never shown up simply to browse the exhibits or because he truly longed to purchase a piece or sponsor an artist. No, Bruce Wayne simply needed to be seen as his usual barely-tolerable self.

Tonight was different. He'd clicked off with Diana and immediately called Lucius to clear his day at Wayne Enterprises and Alfred to make travel arrangements. Lucius did so with little comment, but Alfred had no such qualms.

"And just what, might one wonder, would draw you to Paris with such short notice?" Alfred wondered as he delicately set a late night snack- or extremely early breakfast- in front of Bruce, cloche and all. "Or perhaps the real question is who?"

Bruce decided his butler was entirely too smug. "Selena's going to make a move," he said, eyeing Alfred's reaction. The older man's face fell, then he grinned. "No, no, Miss Kyle hasn't yet finished paying her due to society after her last indiscretion. A fair attempt, Master Bruce. Do give my regards to Her Royal Highness."

Tonight was different; his mind operated as it often did-noticing exits, eavesdropping, cataloging body language, accepting a champagne glass for form's sake. But the tallying of familiar faces and known histories was largely a background task; consciously, he was focused on finding one person. If anyone noticed Bruce Wayne acting out of character, they didn't stop to wonder about it too long, as he didn't stop in any one place too long. He finally planted himself with his back to a corner of the ballroom so he could see every entrance. But in the end, she still surprised him.

"Bruce," came her rich voice, just behind him and to right. "Stop prowling."

He turned, noting she was draped in a chair that he'd sworn was empty when he walked over. She smiled, lifting her champagne glass in greeting, and this time, her dark eyes smiled too. He noticed her bare arms, how she never seemed to wear any jewelry, and filed that away, then chastised himself because why would that information ever be relevant to him, and when she uncrossed those legs and stood, her pale gold dress cascaded down to the floor with the barest glimmer of light off the silk. Her gown had a wide-neck and a floor length cape with one slip up her right leg. Royal and powerful, like she was. He wanted to trace her collarbone for some reason.

"Diana," he greeted, tapping his glass to hers in greeting. She grinned, and his heart might have stuttered. "I'll have you know that Bruce Wayne never prowls."

"Certainly not," she agreed, her voice laughing at him. "Unless it is in pursuit of a business acquisition or a beautiful woman."

He wasn't bothered by her humor, yet he pondered his reply, swallowing the response he might have given as playboy Bruce Wayne (something-something beautiful woman like yourself or something something mission accomplished). In his mind, he'd thought, "And you are both," because gathering the metas with her help was certainly some kind of business venture, but it all felt wrong, and he didn't want her to meet that Bruce Wayne or be reminded of Batman, and wasn't that strange.

"I was glad to hear from you," he finally said, aware that too much time had passed. He offered her his arm, and she indulged him, slipping her fingers into the crook of his elbow. "Thank you for inviting me here tonight."

"I'm told you enjoy a good party," she said, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor and take the lead in a simple waltz.

"I have been known to frequent them," he agreed. A subtle motion to the left with his head and a quick turn of his body as they danced, then he said, "Are you okay with being photographed with me, Diana?"

Diana's gaze flicked to the one photographer who'd been allowed access to the event. She recognized him from Le Parisien and considered for a moment. Bruce mistook her silence for hesitation; his steps slowed. In response, Diana tightened her grip on his hand and shoulder and brought their steps back into rhythm with the string quartet. Strange, to realize that he'd not be able to break her grip, and not feel concerned.

"I know the photographer, Bruce. Absolon's a good man, and the paper wants to highlight the museum. They will be delighted by your presence, especially if you make a donation. American celebrities always help publicity. But Le Parisien isn't a tabloid, and I'm nobody special here. It will be fine. You don't have to worry about my reputation."

Bruce relaxed, and she let him take back the lead. He opened his mouth to refute her "I'm nobody special here" with an observation about how many people were watching her, but she continued, and he couldn't interrupt her.

"I have been here in Paris for a long time. It is almost time for me to leave here."

He blinked and it clicked. "People may eventually notice how..." you never age, he finished in his mind. She nodded. He lifted their joined hands, gently led her in a turn, then pulled her back in. Her hands were warm.

"Where will you go next?" he wondered. The photographer had moved on, and many of the dancers were leaving the floor to head back to their tables as the first course of dinner was served. He didn't mind cold soup at this particular moment.

Diana smiled. "Perhaps I'll return to America. I always loved New York. I have a friend nearby, in Gotham."

"Yes, Alfred did tell me to pass on his regards."

She laughed, delighted, and Bruce felt it in his chest. He swept the princess into a shallow dip, which made her laugh again.

"Bruce, I am truly grateful for the photo. No one has done something so kind for me in... years."

"I owed you..." I was happy to...

"And I owe you my story. I don't get to tell it often. I have a private table, which after you're satisfied it's private enough, I would like to give you the high points. I suspect it is too long for a single evening."

Bruce Wayne might have commented about hotel rooms or how evenings can be much longer and go by much faster with the right company. He let all those lines pass through his mind without touching a single one.

"Diana," he said. "You owe me nothing."

She took his hand, and began to lead him toward a table a corner of the ballroom. "Nor did you owe me anything in return for your life. It was a gift I was able to give you; so is my story, if you will accept it."

"An honor," he said.

He pulled out her chair, which she accepted with amusement, which remained as she watched him use his phone and smartwatch to check for bugs and disable recording devices in their area. He even set a small device from his pocket on the table that looked like a cell phone but he said emitted a barely discernible tone that would disrupt long-distance microphones. Once he'd done this and analyzed everyone sitting hear them, he turned his attention to his cold soup.

"I suspect you have already researched my people," she began, nibbling on a piece of bread. She left the cold soup, instead waving down a server to request another bottle of champagne. In the meantime, she took Bruce's glass and drank from it. He liked that.

"I have," he said.

"Many of the myths have some truth within them. Let me tell you about my mother."

While they went through the meal, Bruce made note that she'd ordered the vegetarian options, and filed that way. A normal thing to note, he told himself. Alfred would want to know her preferences, of course, should she come to visit.

Diana told him about Hippolyta. He listened attentively, rarely interrupting, as Diana sketched out the circumstances of her birth, her belief that Zeus may have played a more active role in her creation than bringing a clay infant to life, and her upbringing with the Amazons. He noted a handful of names that appeared more than once: Antiope, the beloved aunt and general that fell during the invasion; Menalippe, Antiope's partner; Artemis; Phillipus. She spoke quietly, but animatedly, gesturing and letting her face flood with expression- joy, nostalgia, longing, he could see it all.

Entrees were served; Diana took a long inhale of the aroma of her pasta dish, taking several quick bites while it was still hot. Bruce watched her then remembered to attend to his own meal; she'd opted for the skirt steak for him; it was unbelievably tender. As they ate, she gave him highlights of her involvement at the end of the Great War. Steve's crash landing, the subsequent invasion, escaping the island and heading to Europe. She did not linger long on the fate of Veld, knowing that he would have read about it in the search for the photo. She told him instead about how she'd thought General Ludendorff was Ares, how she'd killed him, and how she'd killed the real Ares after witnessing Steve's death.

Over dessert, Diana said, "You are too polite to ask about Steve and I, I see, or perhaps you do not care to know more."

"I want to hear everything you want to share," Bruce replied honestly.

"I did love him, as much as I could have. We only knew each other for a handful of days but they were intense days, and hard days are the same as easy years, you know."

He did. He nodded.

"After Steve's death, I stayed in London for a while with Etta. I kept track of the guys, at least until the second World War broke out. It was harder then. Everything was harder then." She seemed unbearably sad now; he wanted desperately to ask if she'd intervened in World War II, or any other conflicts over the years. Stories from Veld died with the town after the bombing, and her few friends had guarded her secrets to their graves, he imagined. How could she have justified laying low during the reign of Hitler and Stalin? He did not press her for more information though. Not now. Not yet. Seeing that kind of evil after she'd been newly disillusioned about the nobility of humanity... knowing now how little blame could be assigned to Ares, who would have been dead when Hitler rose to power... he found he could not judge her too harshly without knowing. He wondered if he'd feel differently if she shared the details.

She'd gone quiet. "If it's okay with you, Bruce, I'll spare myself the retelling of my friends' deaths and that next war; you may have read about them already anyway." He nodded, touching her hand just briefly. He had read about them all, everything he could find.

"It must have been a lonely century," he guessed. "Can you never return to Themyscira?"

She sighed, looking off towards the dance floor again. Couples had begun to populate it again as they finished their dessert and the coffee kicked in. "Very few have ever left, and none of them have ever returned. Legend said it was forbidden, but we could not ever interview any sisters who left because they never did return. I was the first to leave in 5oo years."

"Did you try to return?"

She returned her gaze to meet his own. "Yes. Of course I did. The island is magical; I could not find it. And the gods are gone; no one could guide me, and the island did not help me."

Magic frustrated Bruce; he changed the subject. "You went by Diana Prince back during the Great War; you still go by Diana Prince now?"

She smiled. "My name is Diana, but I have used other surnames over the years, since I usually have to move every decade or so. I am both uncomfortable and inept with deception myself, but Sammy, who survived the war and lived to his 90s, taught me about being undercover. It helped. I stayed undercover most of my life. No one has found out about me for a generation. Until you and Luthor, and now, technology remembers everything. I wonder how much longer I can manage it. Or if I should."

He pondered that, considered for a long moment before making the offer, but he knew he'd made it anyway. "I can help with some things- information trails or identification, and so on. Should you require help in the future, that is. You seem to have adapted to modern technology just fine," he said, remembering. The memory made her smirk.

"As best as I could," she agreed. "Though, you were able to break the encryption, when I was not." They both sipped coffee, despite neither feeling tired. "I may have need of your resources and expertise in the future, though. I thank you for the offer."

"You are welcome," he said, surprised to realize he meant it.

"Mademoiselle Prince?"

A server approached with a small bouquet in hand, composed a few white madonna lilies and three branches covered in tiny purple flowers Bruce didn't recognize. He considered snatching the bouquet from the server and... what? Pouting? Frisking it for weapons?

"Oui?" Diana asked. She didn't stand.

"Un cadeau pour vous, mademoiselle," the server said, offering her the small vase. She took it, studying the flowers.

"Blooms from the chaste tree? Mais de qui est-ce?"

"La dame assise au bar," he said, and gestured as subtly as manners would allow, then excused himself.

"He says it is a gift from a woman at the bar," Diana translated for Bruce's benefit.

"An admirer?" Bruce wondered, looking over the faces at the gleaming bar. No one was looking their way.

"It's not beyond the realm of possibilities," Diana murmured. "I also enjoy the company of women, as you might guess after hundreds of years never knowing only that. But these branches... they have been clipped from a chaste tree; they grew on the island. But that's impossible..."

She looked up to see Bruce studying her, and for a moment, she laughed. "Focus on the relevant information, Bruce, not the irrelevant scintillating bits. We aren't an island of chaste prudes, trees aside. But these flowers...they are symbolic, and I haven't seen this particular shade..."

Diana scanned the female faces at the bar, and suddenly, the blood drained from her face.

"What is it?" Bruce asked, alarmed. He wanted to reach for his plastic batarangs, the ones that metal detectors never caught. A tall, lithe woman, reddish brown hair was looking their way now, staring dead at Diana with a strange look on her face- part joy; part sadness.

"Menalippe. She's here. How..." Diana stood, took two steps, then stopped again. "She's coming this way."

"Be on guard, Princess," Bruce advised, watching the woman with the serious mouth rise from her chair with a grace Bruce recognized; Diana moved that way- the leonine grace of a warrior. "It may not truly be her."

Diana mumbled something in Greek.

"English, please, Princess," he hissed. "Let me help."

"Menalippe..." Diana whispered. "Megáli Íra. Adelfí mou, ti kánate?"

He recognized the Greek word for the goddess Hera and "my sister" but not the rest. "English. I know you both can speak it," he demanded.

"I have asked her 'what have you done,'" Diana whispered. "To leave means to never come back. It means she has been banished or-"

"I chose to leave, as you did, Your Highness," Menalippe said. She too wore a Grecian style gown, but Bruce guessed that it was authentic and very recent Themysciran style. It did not suit her, exactly. The soft and flowing lines seemed out of place on her angular, muscled body.

"But... you know if you choose to leave, you may never return," Diana whispered. The cadence of her voice changed, and Bruce saw that her eyes were far away, just for a moment. "Why have you left home now?"

"Two reasons," Menalippe said. "Please, may we sit?"

Bruce reached signaled for a server without taking his eyes from Menalippe, and another chair appeared in seconds.

"I meant alone, of course. Who are you?" Menalippe demanded of Bruce, taking a step into his personal space. He held his ground, maintaining eye contact with her.

"I am a friend of the Princess," Bruce said, before Diana could speak. She'd moved to stand next to him, placed a gentle warning hand on Menalippe's shoulder.

"Yes. He stays. Come, aunt. Let us sit. Enough stalling," she said, pulling her aunt's chair out and then taking the seat Bruce offered her. He sat, watching the two women, aware that either would be a formidable threat, particular now that Superman was not around to challenge them. But Diana had confessed that she was different, that she had greater powers than the other Amazonian warriors, who though immortal, could not heal as quickly as she did, were not as strong as she was, could not manipulate energy with their bracers, and could not fly. "I am blessed by the gods," she said then, matter of fact, in the same way someone else might have said, "I'm left-handed."

"Why have you left home?" Diana asked.

"There was nothing left for me there, Diana. Without Antiope, the island held little joy. I could not be the General she was, and I can love no one like I loved her. I tried; for a hundred years, I tried. I would have left for this reason alone long ago, but I know Antiope would not have forgiven me. But just last month, the Queen needed a volunteer to get a message to you, and I already wanted to leave, so I volunteered. Now I've found you."

Bruce wanted to demand what the message was right away, but Diana said, "You will be remembered as the general who took the mission no one else would have wanted, Menalippe. You spared others from having to make that sacrifice."

A wry expression from the other woman. "Some may guess that my motivations were not so noble, Your Highness. I have not been a... pleasant General in Antiope's shoes. It took me these past weeks to find you, even with help. And I have a message for you."

XXXXXXX

This will be a multi-chapter fic, but not very long. I welcome your feedback. :-)

-rosa