A/N: Thanks so much to those of you who are still around to read this. I'm so sorry it took this long.

Twelve

Metropolis Monday afternoon…

He'd been here before. Lots of times, actually. Centennial Park in Metropolis held more joy and green than one could find in all of Gotham, yet somehow Bruce's spirits dropped as he approached the picnic bench where Clark's parents sat. Not because seeing them made him unhappy; unlike with many people, his smile came easily whenever he saw them. But the new signs of their aging — reminders of their mortality — always hit him with a violent shock every time they were reacquainted.

More salt and less pepper was sprinkled throughout Ma Kent's silky bob. And as for her husband, Bruce often second guessed whether or not he'd started a growth spurt again, whenever they saw each other these days. In truth, old age had hooked itself into Pa Kent's spine curling it into an unnatural angle to where he barely reached Bruce's neck, pretty soon he'd not be able to avoid using a cane.

The elderly couple had been such a lighthouse to him, guiding him through the turbulent waters of puberty and so, even now in his early twenties, the young man knew they'd always light his way if he needed them. As he took his seat opposite to them a sad smile tugged his lips in greeting. When the time came, this world would be a sad place without them.

Martha Kent reached a sun-worn hand across the table top to grip Bruce's, the moss covering the faded brown wood of the bench stained the sleeve of her white shirt as she did so. She remarked that Bruce was a solemn boy, who'd grown into a solemn man, any act of affection more invasive than a shoulder pat, a hand squeeze or a smile had always been the easiest ways to send him running. Today, however, she held on to his rugged hand maybe ten seconds longer than she usually would. He needed it, she could tell.

A mother knew these things.

They caught up. A funny story involving Clark teaching Lois to milk some of the cows during their last visit to Smallville, here. And an unsettling account involving Bruce and some bandits he'd stopped from robbing a life-sized Buddha molded in solid gold from a monastery he'd stayed at while backpacking, there. Yet, nothing in those stories explained Bruce's restless legs or the right hand wedged into the pocket of his slacks where his fingers were no doubt fidgeting with his mother's pearl. So, Jonathan Kent sipped on his cola patiently waiting for Bruce to let them in. The differences between caring for Bruce and taming a wild animal were on and the same. You had to leave a trail of peace offerings trusting that eventually the time would come when he'd come to you.

The young man's eyes flitted uneasily around the vast park. Martha followed his gaze noticing the mobius strip of patterns of where his eyes paused and Bruce's unconscious reactions to each stimulus. She got tired just watching him wondering how the twenty-three year old managed to not give himself vertigo.

Bruce's grey gaze bounced between women sitting together whispering and laughing on a park bench. A baby asleep cradled in his father's arms. A toddler screaming as his grandmother wrestled him into his stroller. An expecting mother absently rubbing her protruding baby bump. A young boy running, the wind flowing through his golden hair as his father followed behind him, laughing while holding up his kite so it would take flight.

The endless loop made by Bruce's gaze inclined Jonathan to ponder if Bruce had a sudden nostalgia for the childhood he didn't have. Tried as they had to give him some happy childhood memories, this was a subject the young man and resisted no matter how many times they'd attempted to take on a more parental role when he'd come to visit at the farm. But giving the places his eyes lingered, maybe something had changed.

Bruce dried his palms on his pants, the friction made the same rustling sound as the leaves in the birch tree behind them. Painful memories filled his mind, bubbling up and souring in his mouth like bile. He thought of his princess, of the wrongness of how he treated her when they were younger, and of how he would stop at nothing to make everything right between them — for her and for her son — if he could just convince her to let him in. He'd made a bad decision then like he had that night his parents died. He'd been making bad decisions all his life. The time had come for him to change. He inhaled one last deep cleansing breath then he started his story.

"So, has Clark told you that Diana's back?"

Their heads bounced up and down like dashboard bobbleheads, though Jonathan pointed out that what Clark had actually told them wasn't that Diana was so much as back, as it was that she'd never left to begin with. Martha's eyes narrowed as she went off into her own dream world. When Diana had left, Bruce had begun a journey of self destruction that had taken him five years to break out of. And even now she couldn't be sure he'd actually managed to come out of it, since his ruinous behaviour had continued right up until he'd left for Asia.

The breeze continued whispering through the trees surrounding them all while Bruce seeked the advice he knew only his best friend's parents would be able to give him. After they bought corn dogs from the vendor walking around the park, Bruce started speaking again in between bites.

He felt like he'd been talking in circles for hours. But the concerns he'd been sharing with the elderly couple were basically that he wanted to have Diana and for him to belong to her, but their history together and a lifetime of philandering especially given Diana's responsibilities towards her son allowed him to accept the fact that he knew knew to do little more than grab women who were throwing themselves at him. Fucking came easy. Dating... less so.

Especially dating Diana who mattered to him more than anyone. This was his second chance to make it right.

"Listen, son, the only thing you need to do to make things better with Diana is to forgive yourself. The moment we accept responsibility for everything in our lives is the moment we can change anything in our lives." Jonathan said, cutting Bruce off and reaching over the table to pat the back of Bruce's right hand. "You've worked on yourself, and you've come a long way. All you can do is be there for her and let her decide what she wants. But, it's her decision. You have to make peace with it, if she decides that she doesn't want you. You have to accept that and move on."

Bruce nodded, gracing the couple another of those rare smiles of his. After months of internal turmoil since Diana had walked back into his life, this conversation left him feeling most at peace with what had happened and the possibility of what the future would hold for them. He knew what he'd have to do now. He needed Diana in his life and he'd wait for her to realise that she needed him, too. The young man dug his phone out of his pocket and left a message to Lucius Fox apologising for his sudden departure from the city. There was only one place he needed to be, and it wasn't in Metropolis

Smallville, Christmas Eve, five years ago…

"Ma, why are you making goo for dinner?" At his son's question, Jonathan Kent slumped even further into his armchair burying himself behind his paper.

Martha slapped Clark's hand away from the plate of shredded chicken she was tipping into the creamy liquid bubbling in her large stock pot. "It's not goo, it's Avgolemono. A soup from Greece. I wanted Diana to feel at home."

Clark frowned. "I can assure you she feels right at home, Mom. You've given her my room and between her and Lois I haven't had a warm shower all week. They've got Bruce and me running behind them like if we're their freakin'—" his mother's eyes widened in warning, "— the best friends they could ever ask for," Clark added trying to smooth things over with his saccharine smile, although the only thing that broke his mother's death stare was the opaque screech of wood dragging quickly followed by a thud.

Wayne was on the floor.

Clark gestured to him "What happened to you?" Though before the other teenager could respond, Clark deadpanned, "See Ma? The goo... it's killing people."

"The girls are coming, I want to see her." Not them. Even from their stations on opposite ends of the open plan dining and living room, Clark's parents exchanged a knowing look.

"How do you know that? X-ray vision?"

"The Dog. Look at him." Sure enough Krypto, the Kents' yellow lab was sat panting at the foot of the staircase. His tail swept back and forth as he looked expectantly up the staircase, knowing all too well that if he dared to put even one paw on one the staircase that Clark's father would scold him.

No one with eyes could deny that the girls were a sight for sore eyes. Lois in that spiky haired, Doc Martined, eclectic way she had of dressing that she pulled off with more ease than should be humanly possible. As for Diana… the outfit she wore could only be described as a modern togo as far as Bruce saw it. The collar of her dress draped low in elegant folds in front of her chest, and the sides had high slights that made Mr. Kent's open wider and wider with every step she took. The light bouncing off of the thick bands of her bracelets of submission and the pearlescent rhinestones scattered about the white cloth twinkling against the walls.

At the bottom of the stairs, Diana leaned towards Lois, her kohl lined eyes shifting in the same direction while she said to her friend, "As a representative of my country I must wear something from my people to this feast."

Embarrassment. The only word that could be used to describe the look on Lois' face as she looked around the room at the Kents and Bruce then her mouth popped open to mumble, "I've told you at least a dozen times, Diana, Christmas Dinner is not that deep."

Bruce couldn't understand Lois' problem, Diana had never looked better. The blood pounded in his skin as he drunk her in greedily with his eyes. White hot, a terrible tsunami throbbing against his skin. When her gaze pinned him to the spot he'd been standing at a few moments later, he knew he'd explode with excitement.

He wanted to approach her, take her hand and bury his face into the curve of her neck savouring every moment her lemongrass would take over his senses but three sharp rapts on the front door next to him froze him in place with a jump.

Mr. Kent stood from his armchair shoving his newspaper onto the seat before looking around the room, as if doing a mental check that everyone was indeed here while his wife looked on bewildered. Clark approached the girls pulling Lois into his side and the petite girl slipped her fingers though Diana's.

A few questions hung silently in the air. Firstly, who the hell knocked on doors when there was a button for the doorbell just next to the door? One the one hand it was, Smallville. Neighbours were friendly and came and went as they pleased. And on the second hand, it was Smallville. No one dared to show up to houses unannounced on Christmas Eve.

No one could keep the shock off their faces when Mrs. Kent finally stopped preening her hair and clothes and opened the door to find Lex Luthor standing there. The skinny boy's, bald head had the matte, white, conical finishings of an egg. He said his greetings with the humble persona of someone much more well mannered than he could ever be, all the while his eyes scanned the room searching for something. He paused to lift his palm to brush off Clark's mother's offer to take his outer clothes and pushed a thumb backwards over his shoulder signalling to the limo waiting on the Kent's gravel driveway, his eyes ever searching the small living room as he assured them his visit wouldn't take long. After a few seconds, his thin lips disappeared into a paper-thin smile when his dark brown eyes landed on his prize standing tall, fingers still intertwined with Lois'.

His eyes paused drinking her in then he tore them away and faced Clark's mother.

"My father sends his regards, Mrs. Kent. He'd have sent more than just words but rejection is particularly hard for a Luthor. Especially when it's more than once." Lex winked and smiled his slimiest smile all while pausing to make sure his infectious words spread around the room with the destruction of a contagion. Then he stepped forward from the entryway and crossed the Kent's crammed family room stopping a few feet from Diana.

"I came for you, Diana." The princess released her best friend's hand and took a small step towards Lex.

Lois hoped, for the sake of everyone passing the rest of their holiday peacefully, that Bruce, still standing across the room partially hidden behind the door, took notice of the way the Princess' face initially elongated into a look of sheer shock. Ever the pillar of poise, however, Diana quickly plastered a warm smile and finished approaching their intruder slowly, her long limbs making her dress shift and fall in that intentionally graceful way that only true royalty could muster.

"It's nice to see you Lex. But next time you should tell us first, so we can expect you," said Diana, stopping a few inches in front of the boy. Bruce's heart lurched in triumph. His princess had used her scolding voice which meant she didn't want Luthor there anymore than the rest of them. Lex's face fell as he apologised and explained that in a place as well named as Smallville, it didn't take long for the news to travel around town that the Kents had a new guest and for it to click in his mind that Diana had mentioned the family had invited her before the semester had ended. The princess had been a ray of light to him at Cadmus and Lex wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't come to save Diana from this town full of nobodies and hicks and decided he would take this opportunity to give her his gift without having to wait for them to be reunited at Cadmus for the new year.

Lex had the decency to look baleful when Diana reminded him that they'd agree to exchange presents on the first day of school. But it was so forced and so clearly an overreaction that even Clark rolled his eyes at Luthor's poor acting. From behind the door, though, Brucecould see the way Diana's heart of gold was drinking this whole pretense. Sometimes her faith in people disgusted him, made him want to shake her until she would wake up from her naive stupor.

Convinced that Diana had bought his show, Luthor reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ornate jewellery box out of his pocket and encouraged Diana to open it.

Lois' frown widened as Diana took the box. Nothing ever got past the budding journalist. Especially not when it concerned one of her friends. But unlike everyone else, Lois had her eyes shifting between the Princess and Bruce and not on their unexpected guest. When the young girl's eyes finally stopped swishing back and forth like a pendulum, her gaze fixed on Bruce peeking out from his hiding place, at the way his right hand wedged itself into his pocket. The way he couldn't bear to keep looking at Lex but seemed unable to tear his eyes away from his own personal nightmare unfolding before him. When Bruce's grey eyes slammed shut and his head collapsed into his palm, Lois knew his worst fears had come to pass.

By the time her eyes focused on the princess again, Diana had her back turned to Lex, the yellow light of the wall sconces danced off of the rhinestones on her dress as she lifted her hands to tame her soft curls holding them out of the way for Lex to fasten a delicate necklace around her neck and then turning to him, pulling him in close for a hug and a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"It's beautiful, Lex." Diana said, stepping back and slipping her hands onto Luthor's shoulders as she looked him in the eye. "Thank you. I'll cherish it for life." Then with another peck on his cheek Diana leaned in even closer and whispered something in the boy's ear and then quietly ushered Lex out the front door without another word. As she shut it, the dark haired girl turned around pressing her back against the door looking at the faces of her friends with her eyes widened and a small smile on her lips as if to say, well that was interesting and unexpected.

It wasn't a shared sentiment.

When Lois pulled her eyes away from Diana, she realised that Bruce was nowhere to be found. She and Wayne had been friends since they wore diapers, sometimes she felt the same urge to protect and shield him from the world as she felt for her little sister, Lucy. Even though she understood Bruce's pain at what had just transpired between Luthor and Diana she couldn't find it in herself to go comfort him as she usually would. Diana meant no harm. Since they'd met, Lois had come to understand that this was just what the amazon was like.

In the time that they're gotten closer, Lois learnt that, simply put, Diana was just a very physical being: always holding hands long after it was okay to, kissing hello and goodbye, spooning together with Lois while they watched movies in the girls common room at Cadmus. Of course, there were assholes in school that made comments but Diana never cared, so neither did Lois. Bruce would have to learn not to care as well.

Ma Kent's voice drew Lois out of her musings to the conversation going on between the elderly woman and Diana. "I'm not sure your mother would be okay with you accepting such a gift," she said tersely, tucking the both sides of her short, ebony bob behind her ears. Diana seemed to pay no mind. Instead her eyes were drawn to the diamond around her neck. Each time she turned the pendant between her fingers admiring its beauty, it scattered raindrops of white light across her face.

"Why not?" The princess responded eventually, her chin still tucked downwards as her eyes fixated on the large rock.

"It's a quite expensive piece of jewellery."

"I'm a princess, everyone gifts me jewellery." The vacant stare and slow shrug that tugged Diana's shoulders up and down, were so sincere that Clark's eyes winced shut. He found himself thinking, not for the first time since he'd met Diana that, in the real world, most people didn't have enough money to go through life being this naive.

Breath rustled into Ma Kent's nostrils as she prepared to respond but Clark popped over from his girlfriend's side and swooped an arm around his mother's shoulder to quieten her. His parents might have sent him to a school with America's elite, but they hadn't the slightest idea how the world of the one percent worked. Only those of meagre means felt guilty for giving and receiving expensive gifts — a reminder of how out of reach the finer things were for them. And yet how meaningless money became for people like Bruce, Luthor or Diana who's net worths increased more in one month than most peoples increased in five years.

Cadmus had taught the farmboy a lot about the rich. The impossibility of them, of their wealth, and of their constant need to complain in the face of non-existent problems. The air of sullen elegance they held which someone as blue collar as Clark could never replicate.

Clark's eyes moved from Bruce's dangerous scowl, to his Dad's white-knuckled fists, still clenched from Luthor's comments, and then to Lois who gave him a sad smile communicating that like him, she could tell this night would not go the way they had planned.

As his only form of distraction he squeezed his mother's shoulder, smiled and said softly, "Don't you have some goo to feed us, Ma?"

Bruce always knew Diana would eventually tire of him and move on. But to realise it was for his face to be taken over with a look of indignation at the horror of his memory of watching Diana kiss Luthor's cheek a few hours earlier. Now Bruce didn't even believe she was his anymore. No. She was just some pretty girl who let him hold her sometimes.

Dinner had been awkward for everyone. The discomfort had clung to Diana like a cold, wet sock. She'd reflected on what had transpired and apologised for Lex's interruption and his remarks and everyone had agreed to let it go.

Everyone except for Bruce Wayne of course, who had spent the meal sat diagonally from Diana sulking into his plate and refusing to socialise or make eye contact with her. Diana didn't think anything of it, he'd emphasised the importance of them not being affectionate in front of Clark's parents since they weren't a real couple. And Besides, Bruce's anger always got worse at night, anyway. This could just be another one of his moods.

By the time they'd finished having dinner and sat scattered between the couch, loveseat and the carpeted floor with wrapping paper strewn everywhere Jonathan, took his smoking pipe from his mouth and pointed out that Diana and Bruce hadn't exchanged their gifts, yet.

It shouldn't have been possible, given the scowl Bruce had been wearing on his face all evening, but somehow he found it in himself to contort his features even more at the suggestion. He would never admit it to her but the wound he suffered from her dangling herself around Lex had begun to fester. Diana didn't think she'd ever witnessed such tension rolling off of him as in that moment and it worried her because they'd just made back up a week ago and she'd boasted to her mother that it would be for good this time.

The silence, pregnant with expectation, stretched throughout the room. Clark had just opened his mouth to break the awkwardness when Bruce slid a small box across the coffee table towards Diana, reluctantly, nodding for her to take it.

When she opened it, small gemstones separated by tiny links in a dainty golden chain stared back at her, it's beauty caused the breath to leave her body in a gasp.

The princess's eyes shot upwards to meet Bruce. Despite the faint light glowing from the kitchen into the living room Bruce loved being able to see that the larimar stones on the bracelet he'd chosen for her matched her eye colour. When he'd approached Alfred with the idea of finding a gift for the princess to match the beauty of her pale blue eyes. They'd spent a month searching, coming up empty handed because nothing could channel both the understated mystery of her gaze and it's striking colour until Alfred came into contact with a jeweller from the Dominican Republic; the only place on planet earth where the precious gemstones could be found.

Gemstones he hoped she would be able to look at, whenever he couldn't be with her, remember him and know how rare and beautiful she was to him.

"This is so beautiful. Thank you, Bruce," Diana said. She wanted to go over to him and take him in her arms, squeeze him tight till he felt her gratitude in the deepest parts of his body. But knew she couldn't because of the endless list of banal rules they'd both created for themselves. She forgot everyone else in the room and she stared at him. Bruce's eyes were frighteningly alive with a danger lurking in the black depths of his pupils which were directed at her. Diana was a lamb to the slaughter; in that moment she loved him for fierceness of those eyes and his arrogant lopsided smile. Beside herself with joy, she decided rules could be ignored on Christmas Eve and reached around the coffee table on her knees pulling him to her for a hug with one of her arms and murmuring her thanks once again in his ear.

When Diana withdrew from him, Bruce looked her up and down expectantly and she raised an eyebrow in a silent question then looked around at the shadowed faces of everyone else in the room trying to determine if her display had been too obvious then decided it would be best for her and Bruce both if she waddled back on her knees to where she'd originally been sitting next to Lois. After Lois cooed over the bracelet and helped the princess to fasten it to her wrist, Diana faced Bruce once again, pulled out the rectangular gift she had for Bruce from behind her and slid it across the table like he had done minutes before.

Bruce rubbed a hand over the smooth, golden silk Diana had used to wrap the present. He'd been expecting it as the Kents' and Lois' presents from her had been presented in the same fashion. He paused staring at the rich fabric, trying to think of what she could've posible gotten him. Clark's and Lois' gifts were remarkably thoughtful. The former being presented with some medicinal balm from the Island that instantly calmed sore muscles, useful, considering Clark's life's dream was to become a professional footballer. And the later being given a pen with tribal engravings from the Amazons. Diana assured her that it would never run out of ink so the budding journalist could always have it on hand when she needed it.

Finally, Bruce tugged on the fabric revealing a black, medium sized frame with a painting inside of it. He recognised the artstyle instantly, he'd watched the very artist at work many times under their oak tree at Camus. The picture was a simplified depiction of the earth. Up in the sky the sun, whimsically personified with Clark as the god Apollo casting his yellow light down below. Lois, draped in a soft, pink coloured cloth in the fashion often associated with the ancient greeks, sat at a log desk at the mouth of a cave, buried in a pile of scrolls. A small brown owl perched on her left shoulder the timeless symbol of the goddess Athena.

If Clark had been the God of the sun and Lois the Goddess of wisdom…

Occupying the bottom third of the canvas, Bruce lurked in the shadows, yet somehow the care of Diana's brush strokes contrasted the colours of his skin and the surroundings — lovingly portraying each of his features to the point where, despite Clark being the yellow sun, the king of the underworld, sitting on his ebony throne, glowed brighter than anyone.

"I wanted you to always have them," Diana explained, then paused to bite her lower lip thoughtfully. "Your favourite people," she continued eventually. "And I tried to paint your differences but in harmony like how the world runs, because that's how you all are." She said looking around meaningfully at her friends, red rising to her cheeks because Bruce shifted his eyes away from her when her pale gaze stopped on him. Diana swallowed down her hurt and tried to rationalise, "But… Bruce had to have it so he'd always remember that even though he's trapped in his own darkness sometimes… Clark and Lois — the three of you are like a team, keeping the world — or each other in order."

Bruce pressed up off the floor mumbling his excuses as he quickly exited the room. Martha called after him then shot up wide eyed to chase after him. Diana's gaze dropped down to her lap where she tried and failed to blink back her tears which fell in successive, fat drops on her gown. She barely even registered Clark and Lois both grabbing at her, each trying to comfort her in their own way. Each assuring her that Bruce loved the gift, that maybe it had just hit a bit too close for him. Diana just nodded along stupidly as though she agreed with them, all the while her heart bled to death inside her.

The loveseat and sofa sat opposite each other slouchy, empty and inviting yet the only seat that appealed to Diana laid sprawled on Mister Kent's recliner fast asleep.

She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. Those long legs of his that extended over even the footrest of the armchair. The position didn't look remotely comfortable yet Diana had always admired Bruce's ability to make himself right at home. A smile burst free on her lips as she basked in the peace of his sleeping form.

Diana loved him in a way that it couldn't be kept inside herself but she knew he'd never accept those words if she told him. Bruce seemed perpetually dedicated to the concept that people shouldn't find him loveable. So although she'd never utter the words, Diana dedicated herself to proving him wrong.

With a sigh she stepped down from the last step of the Kent's red oak staircase, enjoying the way her bare feet sank into the soft carpet beneath her as she approached Bruce. She knew she'd find him here. Obviously he loved the Kents and staying with them for the holidays. But constantly being around people was exhausting for Bruce. He barely spent time in the attic he'd been sharing with Clark and at night he always made his escape.

She approached slowly, grateful for the thick carpet absorbing the sound of her footsteps and smiled at his peaceful expression and parted red lips as he slept.

It pained her to do so but she nudged the place where his thigh became his hip with her knee to wake him gently. Once, then a second time slightly more urgently. She hadn't just come down to look for him, something about her gift had upset him and they needed to talk.

Bruce's nostrils flared slightly as a deep breath wooshed into his lungs. Then his right hand awoke, his open palm rubbing up and down his chest just before his fluttered open, a frown pleated the skin of his brow until his eyes adjusted to the light and he could see Diana standing over him, biting her lip like some kind of nervous angel.

His eyes shifted up slowly drinking in the acres of skin between the tops of her bare feet up to the hem of her oversized t-shirt. His eyes had been on her for a grand total of five seconds and already his want for her was eating him alive. In that moment, as if his brain had thrown its hands up in defeat, Bruce concluded that he would never get used to how ravishing she always looked.

Diana of Themyscira was stunning in a way that was physically painful to him. Literally. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid his eyes on.

He couldn't tear his eyes away.

A fucking moth to a flame.

He often wondered how something as precious as his princess could be born from the womb of a mere mortal like himself and everyone else walking around this earth. Even as she stood there with her thick curls piled in a messy bun at the crown of her head, she somehow managed to pull off looking like a pineapple with ebony tendrils escaping in each and every direction. Her features twisted as she continued nibbling on her lower lip, still stained from the rouge she wore earlier.

Bruce's mouth was pursed on the cusp of releasing a question.

Then he remembered himself and Diana's display with Luthor, crossed his arms, looked defiantly at her, grinding his jaw shut tight. He may have still been half asleep but, because he was indeed Bruce Wayne and Diana was who she was, he didn't need to be alert to know this conversation could only arrive at one destination. Already he resented the words though they hadn't even come out of her mouth, yet.

Diana was the kind of girl who always wanted Bruce to divulge his secrets. To talk. To explain. Always wondering what he needed or wanted. As if any of that mattered when he was the crowned Prince of Gotham and his destiny had been written out for him before his parents had even conceived him. Sure, it was fun to want things. A solid eight hours of sleep, for example. Or to go back in time to when he was eight and begged his mother to go see The Mark of Zorro. To really kiss Diana… feel her mouth against his, the softness of her body melting into him. For the Kents to allow him to buy them a new living room set so that he didn't have to feel the worn cushions giving way to the metal springs which stabbed into his lower back everytime he tried to make himself comfortable. To have a princess in his lap with her arms slung around his neck, head hung back and a look of sheer rapture on her face as his lips met her heartbreakingly delicate neck. To have her, the girl he loved, include herself in the painting she made him, of the most important people to him because it would distract him from the fact that he'd treated her so badly that she didn't know she was important to him, too. To just be able to not be a dick for once and open his mouth to tell her these things and apologise.

To be normal.

He blinked his eyes to clear the offending thoughts from his mind. Waynes didn't get normal. He dropped one hand to the side of the chair in a flash, yanking the lever so the recliner snapped up with a click that resounded through the silent house. Diana flinched and jumped backwards, the blue t-shirt she wore billowed up and out around her body before settling back down to her mid thigh. Bruce kept his eyes set stubbornly on that part of her body. Maybe, when she realised he had no intention of talking to her, she'd go away and leave him alone.

"I upset you, I can tell." Bruce raised his hand to stop her, scowling petulantly. She waited for something. Anything. Her lips twisted and she fidgeted with her fingers, eyes cast solemnly towards her toes. The fact that she couldn't pinpoint why he was angry made it so much worse. Then again, he knew he wasn't being fair to her when Bruce, himself, couldn't rightly pinpoint why he was so upset.

His jaw clenched and Diana seethed. The most insufferable thing about Bruce Wayne was that he was always calm when she was angry and always angry when she was calm.

He rolled his eyes sumptuously in response to her expression. Like he simply wanted to absorb her anger so he could have it stored up for later. For another argument when he'd need it more.

"Bruce?" Diana said softly, changing tactics by stretching his name out to where it came out playful in a pouty sort of way. Already his heart rate was rising and he knew it would only be a matter of time before she had her way. His brain, in a final attempt to remind him of his pride, convinced him to hold his tongue and turn his gaze elsewhere. He thought that perhaps, if he stared at the front door long enough, Krypto would come back in and wedge himself between the both of them begging for attention with his wet tongue, and distracting the princess long enough for Bruce to escape.

The dog didn't come. Instead — as though she had been inside of his head — a soft, low chuckle caused the hairs at the back of his neck to rise. His heart was practically breaking out from behind his sternum by now. Diana smiled wickedly then said, "You know, I can find ways to make you talk." And, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she drew closer, swinging one knee up and over his legs nestling it between his outer thigh and the armrest before repeating the same process with the other. There was no escaping her now, no escaping her ever, he thought. Not this Princess and certainly not when every cell in his body fought to be one with hers. It took every ounce of strength in him to not sink his finger into the flesh of her hips to draw her even closer and crash her body to his. He didn't have to battle himself for too long, with a smile, she braced her arms on his shoulders and sat her weight onto his lap bringing every part of her body flush with his. Her head fell and the warmth of her minty breath reverberated against the skin of his cheeks. With her voice scarcely even a whisper, she said, "If you don't talk to me, how will we get to finish what we started this morning?" He groaned as her fingers brushed the hair at the nape of his neck softly, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

And in a matter of seconds, he knew that — no matter how hard he tried — right then he could not be mad at Diana anymore. He loved it when she did this. Even if Bruce didn't utter the words, he hoped she could feel through the slackening in his body just how good her hands made him feel. His thoughts drifted off to this morning when he'd pleasured her in the Kents barn but Lois had interrupted before Diana could return the favour. Something about Jonathon and Martha needing his opinion on lunch. Diana had groaned frustratedly and muttered Greek words under her breath. But Bruce didn't mind the interruption as much as she did. He knew Diana pretended to have a lot of experience, but he could tell she wasn't ready to evolve past making out and Bruce going down on her every now and then. But it didn't matter, he'd wait all of eternity for his princess if he had to, not pushing her until she was begging for more.

As Diana continued her ministrations, his head relaxed further into the back of the chair so that her palm was flat on his neck. Her fingers vacillated somewhere between a tickle and pure eroticism as they pushed in and out of the waves at the back of his neck.

He couldn't help himself anymore, his palm was cupping her face now. Bruce brought his thumb to worry over the swell of her lips and as she kissed it, he groaned. It hurt to have the one thing he wanted so close and not be able to just reach up and press their lips together. Her head fell back while his fingers inched down from her cheek to the nape of her neck, cupping the back of her head with his fingers. Diana's lips parted and he eased his finger ever so slightly inside spreading the moisture over them until they shone in the incandescent light hanging above them. Her weight settled even better onto his lap. He was hard. She could feel him pressing into her through the thin fabric of her panties.

She moaned and ground down onto Bruce. Then the spell broke. Bruce freed his thumb from its fleshy lip prison, the suction on his finger released with a pop. Then he dropped his eyes but he could feel the hurt radiating off of her. When she withdrew her arms from around his neck for the second time that night, the princess started fidgeting with her hands.

Bruce swallowed loudly then asked, "Why'd you come down here, Diana?"

Her eyes fell to her hands, "I couldn't sleep. I feel badly because you didn't like my gift. I have like rocks in my stomach because you're mad at me for it."

"It's butterflies," he corrected softly. "And I'm not mad at you for that, Diana. Really, it's the nicest thing anyone has ever given to me," he said, emphasising his words with a meaningful look.

"You say this but you won't have sex with me. And you're upset with me."

If she painted him as Hades then she could only be his Persephone. The first spring sunshine after a long bleak winter, spreading her warmth around him and he wanted to do dark, filthy things to her. Steal her away when she least expected it. To keep her inside his darkness feeding off of her light.

But not yet. Not ever. He'd promised to follow her lead. And that's exactly what he intended to do.

"You're not ready." He said, shaking his head slowly. "You shook when I started undressing this morning. You get all wide eyed."

"It's just…" Her voice quivered and she had to clear her throat before she said, "I know you've done it before. Lots of times. With lots of pretty girls. I want you to like me."

Her insecurity tore at his heart. "None of them matter the way you do, Princess."

"You mean that?" He hummed his yes and peppered kisses to her cheek in quick succession as his only response. "How many girls have you slept with?"

His lips stopped their ministrations and he murmured pensively, "More than is acceptable but less than you think. You? How many people?"

"I've been with two."

"You slept with Oliver! Was it when you were mad at me?" His hands balled to fists on the armrests. He knew it. He'd been speculating to Clark for weeks back at school —

She snapped her neck back so she could look Bruce in the eyes. "Oliver? Oliver!" Her upper lip curved into a sneer of disgust, her voice shrill. "You think I've slept with Oliver?"

"You know, if you shout any louder you won't just wake the whole house, Queen might actually hear you all the way in Star City," he teased, holding back the sigh of relief that wanted to come out of his mouth.

Diana laughed, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. That crisp effervescent sound could kindle a flame in the darkest depths of his mind. His arms tightened around her possessively and he hoped she couldn't feel his heart slamming against his chest. Slender fingers wound through the soft waves at the back of his head once again. She kissed his temple. Her head lowered, lips searching against his skin until they parted against his ear, sucking the skin of his neck right beneath his earlobe. A low moan rumbled through his body. Heat bloomed like fireworks on the surface of his skin. Diana propped herself up by dropping her arms and pressing her hands into the top of the backrest of the armchair.

The weight of her curls pulled her messy bun over to one side when she shifted to look at him. Bruce's chest rising and falling with his breaths. "I was serious when I said there would be no third parties on my end. I've been intimate with Mala and Iris, back home."

"Fuck," He swore, grabbing her hips and crushing her body flush against his. Nudging her neck with his nose and eliciting shivers from the base of her spine.

They sat there holding each other. Each delighting in feeling the heartbeat of the other beating through their body. Seemingly unconcerned that the clock had just struck four and that in two short hours Jonathan Kent would be waking them up to help with the farm chores.

"Sometimes, it feels like I'm not special." He mumbled into her neck breaking the comfortable silence that had stretched on between them.

Diana tensed and sat up to see his face. "Of course you're special, you're the only one. How could you say that?"

"Am I the only one?" The question lacked the gusto of an accusation as he'd meant for it. He sniffled and drew his eyes down to the creamy flesh of her legs which were exposed from how her sleep shirt that had ridden up.

"Come on I thought we were beyond that by now, Bruce. I just told you! How many times do I have to tell you? I don't need anyone else." Diana rolled her eyes, and huffed. She was tired. Tired of having this conversation. Tired of constantly having to reassure him when she never did anything wrong and Bruce was the one constantly switching out girls like t-shirts. "And besides, what's it matter to you anyway? You've made it diamond clear that we're just friends."

"Crystal—"

"That's beside the point!"

"It's exactly the point. You don't understand anything." His voice had raised an octave so he paused inhaling deeply to calm down. "You're new," he added as a way to temper his words. He wanted to say something else but wouldn't. She knew because his eyebrows shot up as a thought dawned on him and also by the way his eyes simultaneously widened and unfocused. But then he swallowed those expressions in a nanosecond like if nothing ever happened. This was her relationship with Bruce, she thought, that exact sequence of events played out ad nauseum on an endless loop.

He could see the way she tried keeping her emotions down, but couldn't. Bruce often marveled at how easily anger overcame Diana. Quick enough to give him whiplash. It had always been like this. She was either happy go lucky, or showing no emotion at all, then, in the blink of an eye, a wild fury radiating outwards.

"You kissed him."

There. He finally said what had been bothering him. But Diana was too irate to cave at this point.

"Yes, to show my appreciation for the gift."

"You didn't kiss me."

"I kissed you now."

"You know what I mean."

She did know what he meant; in front of everyone. Mister "we're not a couple" upset because she wouldn't kiss him while the others were looking. The same boy who'd spurned holding her hand not four days ago when Clark's dad had taken them out for a tour of their property when they'd arrived. The very Bruce Wayne who'd spent the entire fall semester at school making sure that he and Vicky Vale could have their photo on Merriam-Webster's website next to the definition of PDA. And now he wanted to make her feel guilty because she gave an innocent kiss to a friend?

He tried to stop her as she stood up, instead, his ears flushed red and he'd wished he hadn't said anything. He'd ruined whatever was happening between them just moments before on this very chair.

Would he ever stop feeling like this? Like he was nothing. And not just the foreboding his nothingness brought forth but that Bruce knew that, if she hadn't already, Diana would soon start to see it. How worthless he was. The image of her lips touching Lex's cheek had seared something in him. But God… he wished he could take it back.

"Wait," he pleaded, snatching her hand before she could pull away from him.

"For what? There's so many things wrong here, can't you see that?" Diana shot back somehow managing to whisper and shout at the same time. "Do you know how much you make me hate myself with this?" She gestured between them with her free hand. "Because you always have the same position. 'This is who I am. I'm an asshole. I don't do relationships.' Or whatever other crap you're always saying! So then I have no choice but to blame myself when you're true to your word. But I fucking love you Bruce and you refuse to let me in."

He wanted to tell her he loved her too but… if he didn't feel safe inside himself, how could he invite her in?

Diana wretched her hand to get away from him but his grip was too strong. That's probably what he wanted to prove to himself anyway. That he could overpower her until she would be the first to yield and extend an olive branch as she always did. To take her out of his back pocket whenever he felt like he needed a serving of fireworks to his heart, then tucking her away when he'd had his fill.

The Amazon, flipped her wrist violently, freeing it from his grasp until her arm was cradled against her body. The pale blue of her eyes, seemed just as pale and cold as the gemstones on the bracelet he'd gifted her earlier.

"I'm going back to Cadmus tomorrow," she said hitching her head high before she turned her back and walked off.

Gotham City, Tuesday, mid-morning…

There was a child in the hallway.

Bruce paused at the entryway, spinning around to make sure he was indeed in the Wayne Tech building, then his eyes focused once again confirming that the green couch the child had lay in napping was, in fact, the same green couch he'd spent three hours sitting on not quite a week ago. He approached the little figure with trepidation, the boy seemed to be maybe six or seven. Possibly even younger. Bruce had never been an expert on sizing up children. When Wayne stopped in front of the couch, the boy's eyes peeled open heavily and focused at where Bruce's knees would be hidden under his grey suit pants before inching up the man's long frame and looking at his face.

"What?"

"I could ask you the same, you're the one sleeping in the middle of my hallway."

The little tongue clicked, and the boy's eyes drooped shut wearily. Bruce made to walk away and leave his young stranger — who clearly wanted to sleep more than keep up with whatever this conversation was that they'd started — when the child said defiantly, "This is Mama's hallway."

Bruce pivoted on his heels and his dark brow raised in amused confusion. "Is that what you're doing then? Waiting for your mother?" The child yawned in response and Bruce looked on, humour softening his features as he wondered how one so small could muster a yawn that big without dislodging his jaw. "Who's your mom, anyway?"

The boy lifted his wrist and flicked it up and down as he gestured languorously to the gym behind them. "She brought me because I'm sick but she has to work." After a moment, the child's eyelids fluttered open again. "Do you like baseball, Mister?"

"A bit. I prefer going to the batting cages to watching a game."

"I'm trying to get Uncle Steve to take me. But he thinks baseball is boring." The last word sighed forth in stocatoed whispers as he broke out into yet another yawn. Bruce crouched down to be on the same level as the child. He remembered his parents and how they always came down to his level when he still had them. The way it always made him feel safe and secure.

The billionaire couldn't place it exactly, but something seemed oddly familiar about the kid and truly Bruce was enjoying the sleepy mannerisms of his strange companion. His closer position allowed him to look over the child more carefully.

He studied the little creature bundled up on the couch. The smooth brown hair, the surprisingly strong, angled jaw despite its owner's prepubescence, the long gangly limbs. Then the child's eyes flickered open again and met Bruce's, piercing straight into his soul. The man flinched and Jason looked on puzzled. He said something but all Buce could hear was the slushing and thud of his pulse as blood raced through him. Bruce stood up avoiding eye contact with the little boy. He could not bear looking at those eyes again. They woke something in him but he couldn't place it exactly. A strange beauty. A faint memory of brightest green emeralds, a colour he'd longed to forget.

When he couldn't bear to stand near the child anymore, he mumbled something he hoped was 'goodbye' and left.

The world began spinning off its axis. Desperation clawed like a caged animal in his throat. The fluorescent lights in the hallway made his head ache for all their incandescent whiteness. A spotlight illuminating some truth he couldn't rightly see. His mind flashed images and words at him like multiple radio station frequencies belting out at once.

Uncle Steve. Mama's hallway. Diana has a son. Isn't it obvious Bruce… I've been exiled. Diana's tears that day six years ago when he broke up with her. Dark curls, sunshine smiles and lemongrass. A green eyed boy.

The secret code of Diana's mystery finally clicked all of the pieces into place, and yet… Bruce felt more confused than he'd ever been.

By the time he dropped himself heavily into his office chair his chest had constricted and he found himself thinking this must be what it felt like to have an asthma attack. He swallowed but found he could not, instead almost choking on the dryness of his throat. He reached for the bottle of water he always left on his desk, the square base of the plastic form sat in perfect alignment with the corner. His eyes shifted to the blue cork. And that's when he saw it at the desk's edge to the left of the bottle. The photo of his parents that he kept on his desk. Thomas Wayne, in all his splendor, looking at Bruce with those emerald green eyes. Emeralds that had shone brightly even when he lay mangled and bleeding out in the dank alleyway all those years ago.

My father's eyes...

A stiffly trembling hand reached into his pants pocket with an anxious reluctance. A myriad of thoughts and possibilities flowed through him. Like a flash flood they approached and there was nothing he could do but stare, mouth agape and accept that the waves would submerge him. As he enclosed his mother's pearl in his fist Bruce assumed that this was what people felt when their life flashed before their eyes. Only Bruce knew his life wouldn't end here. On the contrary, he had never felt more alive.

The dial tone coming through his earpiece had startled him when it sounded in his ear. When had he dialed? But before he could think to cancel the call, Alfred had answered.

"Master Wayne?"

No answer.

A hand shaking with all the grace of a violinist's vibrato was running through smooth hair. An uncertain breath left Bruce's lungs in an uneasy sigh. Alfred spoke with a softer, more familiar tone. "Is everything alright, Bruce?"

"I..." he trailed off distracted once again by his father's picture. He gently lay the frame on the mahogany table, picture side down, unable to continue looking at it. "Listen Alfred, can you take out the old family albums? I'm on my way home."

Alfred cleared non-existent phlegm from his throat. A habit of his which Bruce had long learnt his guardian used when he felt the need to wrangle the wrong words from coming out of his mouth. "Why the sudden sentimentality, Sir?" No sound came through the line, not even the rustling of Bruce's breathing. The elderly man was just about to offer some sort of parting greeting, half expecting his ward to be in one of his strange moods again, when Bruce spoke.

"My son has my father's eyes."

A statement spoken with quiet certainty. Presented as a fact. A piece of information that was neither absurd nor forged in the fires of impossibility as far as Alfred could tell.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, but I don't understand."

"Neither do I."

A/N: Thank you so much if you made it to the end of this extra long chapter. I'm so sorry this took so long. As unbelievable as it sounds, I've been working on it for more than five months now, but I couldn't make it work. I couldn't set up the present properly.

Anyway, I do hope you all enjoyed everything, especially the reveal at the end. Don't be shy to share your opinions by leaving a review. I hope to have another chapter up soon. At least, it definitely won't be another seven months.

Thank you XD