"Then it started to rain and my Miu Miu coat was soaked! Can you believe?"

While appreciative of beautiful coats, it still took some will power from Diana to refrain from rolling her eyes. "I hope it's not dry clean only."

"It was!" exclaimed Mrs. Beechman, gesturing in exaggerated dismay, her emerald ring glinting under the ballroom lights. "I called Monsieur Bossart immediately – he has magic hands I tell you. The dear restored it perfectly. I can give you his number if you like."

"I'll have to acquire a Miu Miu coat first," Diana demurs.

"Oh he does everything – Prada, Chanel, Versace –" Mrs. Beechman enthused.

Diana smiles politely. She loves fashion and designer clothes as much as the next girl, but in the company of Metropolis' upper crust, she's reminded of the jarring contrasts of these fundraisers – where donations are made to fund the underprivileged while conversations drift to designer labels, Michelin star restaurants, and luxury yachts. Generous as the donors may be, these functions can be unnerving.

A towering figure from her left interrupts her thoughts.

"Clark Kent from the Daily Planet," the dark haired reporter greets, his spectacles toning down his amused appearance to a polite and affable one. "Forgive the intrusion but can I borrow Wonder Woman for a while?"

"Mr. Kent, of course," Diana says with a relieved smile.

"You have that look in your face," Clark says in a hushed tone as they head for a less populated corner.

"Which look is that?"

"The I-rather-be-fighting-Giganta look."

"Giganta? How specific."

"Not quite in the Circe territory yet."

"Well, thank you for the rescue Mr. Kent. I'll be glad to answer a few questions."

"Ok, let's see," Clark says, miming a pen on notepad. "What are your holiday plans?"

"That's really for the paper?"

"Yes, but also Lois wants me to invite you to Smallville. And my folks would love to see you again."

She had just spent Thanksgiving with the Kents and while their warmth and generosity was like snuggling up in front of the fireplace with a fuzzy blanket and hot cocoa, she couldn't help but feel wistful and out of place among good friends. Their closeness reminded her of her own family and how much she misses them.

"That is if you don't have other plans," he offers, noticing the hesitation.

"Thank you but I'll pass this time. It's been a busy week. My grand holiday plans includes sleeping in and then soup kitchen by noon."

He studies his companion. "Are you sure I can't lure you with Ma's cooking?"

"Oh don't get me wrong, that apple pie was divine," she smiles. "But perhaps next time. Tell Lois thanks."

The reporter gazes around the room before spying a certain figure flanked by two gorgeous socialites.

"No invite from our billionaire friend?"

"Invite?"

Clark shrugs. "I thought maybe he would."

"Does he even celebrate Christmas? Besides I think he is ignoring me."

"Ignoring you? I doubt that."

"I tried to catch his eye to say hello, but he looked past me."

"He didn't see you."

"I tried twice."

"Oh"

"Ohh - ?" she prompts.

"Diana as a friend, can we do an experiment?"

She tilts her head. "Elaborate please?"

"I'll lean in close, touch your arm, whisper something, and then you laugh like it's the funniest thing."

She rolls her eyes. "You mean flirt?"

Her friend grins. "Exactly."

"First of all, he won't fall for that. You're engaged to Lois, the love of your life. Second, I don't think he cares."

With a mischievous glint that betrays his reputation as a boy scout, he touches her arm and leans in. "Trust me, Di," he says, closing in their gap, his lips near her ear. "That man notices every single thing at every single moment - from the skim latte I'm drinking at meetings to whether or not I'm at the doghouse with Lois."

"That's scary and annoying," she says.

"You've described our friend in a nutshell."

Diana chuckles and slaps his shoulder with the back of her hand. "I can't believe we're – what do you call it – talking garbage about Bruce."

Clark chuckles. "Talking trash."

"Yes! It's fun."

"Until he hears it."

"How can he hear that? He's way over there. " Diana glances to the man in question who's arms are now draped lazily over both girls. The patented playboy smirk disappears from view as he turns to the blonde at his right and nuzzles her neck. The blonde shrieks in delight. Unwilling as she is to be affected, Diana's heart twinges.

Clark sighs. "That was retaliation. He can be a jerk."

She forces her attention back to her companion. "I doubt he noticed, let alone 'retaliate'."

He shakes his head. "For a smart man, he can be a real idiot."

Diana pats Clark's arm consolingly. "There, there, I'm sure he'll ask you for a dance before the night ends."

Clark makes a sound that's between a cough and a snort.

Diana bites her lip to keep from giggling.

"Come on," he huffs.

"I don't know. You should see the internet forums Wally showed me. Apparently there's a torrid love affair going on."

"I'm an engaged man Di!" he counters in mock indignation.

They both dissolve into laughter, oblivious to the pair of dark eyes trailing them.

Diana had her fill of socializing for the night. She has recounted multiple battle stories, danced with three different partners, declined two date proposals, and did so while reaching out to a dozen of potential donors.

She was saying goodbye to acquaintances when Bruce finds her, two glasses of champagne in hand, looking imposingly handsome in a classic black tux, his hair slicked back. He offers her a glass and she accepts it warily.

Diana looks around before meeting his gaze. "You don't drink."

"It's a good prop," he replies smoothly. His bowtie is slightly askew and there's a hint of lipstick smudged on his cheek. She can't help but wonder which girl put those props in place.

Bruce has an easy air about him, a perpetual curve on the lips. "Is there anything you want?" she asks warily.

He slips a hand in his pocket. "Just saying hello."

"You ignore me the whole evening and now you want to say hi."

"It doesn't seem like a problem when you were talking to Clark."

She pauses. "So you noticed."

"Yes, something about making me jealous?" he remarks casually.

Her eyes widen in surprise then narrow disapprovingly. "How - Did you bug us?"

"No."

"Then how can –"

"I read lips." He says it nonchalantly like it's a common skill.

Her mind catalogues the moments where he seems to know things he couldn't possibly have – whether it be in private conversations in meetings or more importantly gossip in the watchtower cafeteria.

"That makes so much sense," she murmurs to herself before snapping to attention. "But still, you were eavesdropping."

"Because you were trying to get my attention," he smirks.

"I wasn't –" she flusters.

The lopsided grin grows and she glares in response. "So you're here to gloat?"

"There's nothing to boast about foiling that ruse. It's stupid for one thing. If you want to flirt to get my attention, pick someone who's not head over heels in love with Lois Lane," he says lightly.

"It was a joke," she says rolling her eyes.

"Maybe." He tips his chin slightly downward. "I don't know what ideas Kent is peddling you, but this is just how I navigate social affairs. Don't take it personally."

She holds his gaze. "So observing me closely and eavesdropping on my conversations – that's how you navigate me?"

There's a challenge in his eyes – not quite the Bat, but not merely Bruce Wayne. It flickers dangerously at her, and she's determined not to back down.

Bruce finally raises his glass for a sip, breaking the spell.

"You don't drink," she repeats in mild surprise.

"On special occasions."

She clinks her glass with his and downs the champagne in one long drink.

His eyes trail to her exposed neck and down to the deep V of her black gown.

She catches him, and he doesn't even bother to hide the appreciation in his eyes.

Emboldened, Diana leans forward to whisper. "If you want to read my lips, you only need to ask. Otherwise I'll kick your ass the next time we spar."

She presses the empty glass in his hand as she steps back.

"Don't be so sure, Princess."

His deep voice charges her skin, his stare unravels. She finds herself playing the temptress and the tempted all at once. "Care to find out?"

Bruce leans back as if catching himself. His easygoing smile slides back in place.

Before he can decline, she ventures, "It's ok, I'll just ask -"

"Friday. The manor." Dark blue eyes bear down on hers, while his smile turns stiff.

The humorless glare amidst the thrumming tension bubbles a laughter out of Diana. "It's only sparring, Bruce."

"Then why do I feel like I'm cornered into something?" he murmurs.

"Please. No one can make you do any thing you don't want to."

He studies her intently and smirks. "I hope so."

"I'll see you Friday. Good night, Bruce," she says before turning away, a satisfied look on her face.

- fin -