As always, all rights to this story are hereby given to DC and Marvel and/or their parent companies and/or the applicable copyright owners.

"Who would have thought that a play I heard about opening in 1944 would still be playing in 2012?" Steve asked, offering her his arm as they stepped out of the Studio 54 theater into a warm New York City night.

Diana took his arm, laughing a little as she did, grateful that he'd finally gotten comfortable enough to joke about what had happened to him. Whether he was finally comfortable with her or with himself was a different question altogether, and one she wasn't interested in exploring right now.

"It was also made into a movie," she told him. "We can watch it sometime, if you want."

"Sure," Steve replied, turning east on 54th Street. "Not that I'll know any of the actors, but it'll be fun to see the differences between the play and the movie."

"You might," Diana said. "Jimmy Stewart, Josephine Hull…"

"When was the movie made?"

"1950, I think?"

"That's something I'm having trouble with," Steve admitted quietly. "This - abundance of entertainment. Going to the pictures or the theater was an event for me, a treat. Now - it's everywhere. And that's not the Ziegfeld Theatre I remember."

Diana laughed again, pleased with the ease between them.

"It's much uglier," Steve decided as they passed the building, and while Diana didn't remember the original Ziegfeld Theatre, she could agree that there was nothing attractive about this one.

"How did your interview go?" he added.

"Better than the one I had at the Sackler Gallery last week," she said. "I like the atmosphere at the Metropolitan Museum of Art better, so I was more enthusiastic. I think."

"I hope you get it," Steve said. "And not just because I'd prefer you in New York than Washington."

"You could always move to Washington," Diana countered with a smile that faded at the wince on Steve's face. "What?"

"Fury wanted me to move there," Steve said. "Because that's where S.H.I.E.L.D. is headquartered. I'd rather not be that close to them until everything's handled."

Diana understood. "No need to make yourself a target. How is that going?"

"Your friend isn't keeping you informed?"

Diana shrugged. "Not really. He told me the search was difficult once they got back to pre-computer records."

"I hadn't thought about that," Steve admitted. "How are they handling those records?"

"With difficulty. I don't know exactly how, but I know they've called in a couple of specialists."

Specifically, Barry Allen and Bruce Wayne. Between Barry's speed and Bruce's investigative abilities, they were making rapid progress on copying and sorting the records they'd found in a document storage facility in McLean, Virginia.

"Tony says you have interesting friends."

"So do you," Diana countered. "I'm looking forward to introducing all of you."

And she was, even if Steve's potentially very public identity was at odds with the secret identities Bruce, Barry, and Clark had. Arthur's identity wasn't so much secret as simply unknown, though from what he'd said the last time they spoke, Atlantis wouldn't be unknown much longer.

Still, those were thoughts for another time. Before Diana could find another topic of conversation, her StarkPhone vibrated in the small evening bag she carried.

She stepped closer to the building before pulling out the phone. Beside her, Steve did the same.

The text message was from Tony Stark. President making like Hercules tomorrow.

She smiled and sent an acknowledgment back. Beside her, Steve frowned.

"I thought you'd be glad that a threat is being handled," she said.

"I should be there, and so should you."

"We want to be there. They don't need us."

"Hydra's a formidable enemy."

"But this mission is one of stealth and surprise," Diana reminded him. "Those aren't our strengths."

After almost a block, Steve blew out a breath. "I suppose not. And I know, tactically, taking them down quietly is the right choice."

"But?"

"But I died to stop them, before. I mean, obviously I didn't, but I thought I was. It feels wrong not to be there when they are finally stopped for good."

"You want closure," Diana said. At Steve's puzzled frown, she added, "A sense that an emotional situation has been resolved."

Steve chuckled. "If that means I want to know Hydra's finished for good, then yes, I want closure." Then he shook his head. "And if finishing Hydra for good means I sit on the sidelines, then that's what has to happen, however much I don't like it."

"We can pray for their success," Diana said. "And then toast their victory."

WW = CA = WW

Praying for their success turned into a bottle of wine shared as they sat on the floor before the fireplace in the sitting room of Diana's suite at the Warwick Hotel.

Like the Mandarin in Washington last week, the suite here was an indulgence. She'd hoped Steve would ask her to stay with him, but he wasn't comfortable being intimate where JARVIS could potentially observe it.

Not that they were physically intimate - yet - but Steve valued privacy and modesty.

Steve's shoes, tie, and the jacket of his formal suit joined Diana's shoes on the floor by the sofa they'd pushed away from the fireplace.

Diana settled onto the floor as Steve poured them each a glass of wine before joining her.

Diana accepted the glass and raised it. "To those who fight Hydra. May they succeed completely."

Steve touched his glass to hers, and with a unity of action born of months of fighting beside each other, even if that was decades before, they drank.

There was nothing particularly romantic about the moment, but there was a comforting sense of familiarity, of memories of other nights before fires with drink and companionship, and that familiarity brought its own set of emotions to the front of her mind.

Then Steve's expression shifted, and he set his wine aside before taking her glass to do the same.

"Diana." Her name was warm on his lips, as warm as the hand he stretched to cup her cheek.

She barely managed a murmured, "Steve," before his lips claimed hers.