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Steve Trevor didn’t keep much of a record of himself.
He had some uniforms. He had his ID cards, some real, some fake, that had posed photos of him looking very serious and resigned. Etta Candy had offered to help Diana go through what little there was, telling what little stories of him that she could through her tears–even to her, much of what he did was hidden. Diana did not dare. She had all of those items stored and preserved, but the displays did not list his name. You could never know which operations still needed secrecy, even when their agents were years gone.
It’s a strange thing, the way spies are remembered. Or, rather, not remembered.
Diana supposes it makes sense. They must keep in the shadows, must keep their heads down, passing information behind the scenes and never accepting glory lest it put themselves in danger. A good spy will likely never leave enough of a mark to make history. In the stories of war, many can name the generals, the leaders, the men in rooms maneuvering troops miles away, sometimes even the troops themselves. Almost none can name the spies that made their victories possible. Not even those who were there.
He had joked about it, once, in that one precious night where they had been given the chance to lay together. They chatted softly as they fell asleep, and he started telling her of a man named Nathan Hale. “Most famous spy in American history,” he said, running his hand over her arm, “‘cause he got captured by the British and when they hanged him, he said 'I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.’ Nice quote for sure, but it’s a joke among some of us spies, you know, that when people compare us to him we take it as an insult. He got captured and killed because he was actually a terrible goddamn spy.”
Steve Trevor never showed up in books. Steve Trevor’s face never appeared in collections of brave soldiers. Steve Trevor’s sacrifice was almost forgotten to all except the dwindling number of those who had known him, as it was after all a covert and illegal mission. Besides, those who recant history strangely seem more interested in disasters occurred rather than disasters prevented. His picture was long gone, torn down from the billboard many decades ago and lost to the past. She mourned its loss every day. It showed him as she would have liked to remember him, with a smile that could light the world. As for their photo as a group? She had no idea where it was. She had searched Belgium high and low in her years dealing art, but eventually she had to accept that it was as lost to the world as he was.
She told herself that Steve wouldn’t have minded, because what use is a spy when everyone knows his name?
But though Steve Trevor’s face may be lost to the world, it would never be lost to her. She had his watch every day of that war. It did not tick anymore. Its hands only ever read one time: 9:05, the last that she had seen him. But when she held it, he appeared in her mind’s eye, as easy as if he were standing in front of her. He smiled, blue eyes hopeful and loving, and he gently reminded her that nothing is worth giving up your beliefs, that we must always strive for a better world not matter how hard it gets, because we can do something or we can do nothing.
His country seemed to have lost interest in the first Great War itself. The War to End All Wars, after driving her from humanity, with its millions dead, horrific weapons and seemingly endless suffering, had been overshadowed by its even more terrible sequel. Its sufferings greater. Its weapons more horrible, even than the ones her love died to stop. And the deaths, oh gods, the deaths. And in the ashes of it all, Diana felt even more affirmed in wondering if any of this was worth it.
Steve was always there to disagree.
So part of her wished that she had tarried on as a part of the world, even though the horrors got worse and worse, and the monsters never seemed to back down. Because as much destruction as humanity wrought, there were always days when people sang and danced.
Things happen to bring you back in. People impress you. And finally, at a time that you needed it, a person you didn’t expect to trust brings Steve Trevor home.
She can be revived. He can be revived as well.
It is said that if someone’s actions are remembered, they never really die. Diana thinks that spies then seem much more at risk of falling into the void forever. But Steve Trevor, he shall never meet that fate. Diana will never allow it. He made history by saving one day, even if only to her. And she knew that every time she pulled on her armor, she kept him alive.