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It had been ages since Etta last visited her friend, Diana, Amazon extraordinaire, at her Virginia Beach home. She had kept in contact with Diana’s boyfriend, so she safely assumed she was all up to date with what was going on in her life. By Steve’s descriptions, she was busy. Well, Etta understood that Wonder Woman was always busy.
And she had several other friends and a loving partner to split all her not-busy time with, but Etta couldn’t help but begrudge them falling out of touch again. It wasn’t as if Etta wasn’t hard at work, feeling a bit aggravated of late. Her and Steve have had several heart-to-heart discussions over their lunch breaks, Etta really wanting to retire. It wasn’t as if she was tired, or didn’t want to continue her work, but the things that were being asked of her of late made her uncomfortable.
Steve felt the same, even if he wouldn’t say it outright. He’s been rather short-tempered around the Pentagon--to the point that he was placed on leave, with a restraining order that mandated he not be on Pentagon premises until his leave was over.
Thankfully, he still had access to A.R.G.U.S. That institution, for now, was his and for the time being no bureaucrat or administration member could take it away from him. Steve would hole himself up in the Archives, a room that held various magical and mystical artifacts that he and his many compatriots ran across over the years. Since everything was magical and mystical, that meant it was also dangerous. Two catalogers were injured and another was still in critical condition. The artifacts, by Steve’s description, were alive. Rather than put another poor archivist in harm’s way, he was using his leave time to do the cataloging himself.
As for Etta, she had returned from a long leave in Texas, attending the funeral of her grandfather, and heard--or rather saw on the news feed of the terminal televisions as she landed in LaGuardia--that Diana was in town. So she made the call to visit
“Etta!” Diana beamed, practically glowing in her white v-neck shirt and jeans, after Etta knocked on the door of Diana's quiet beach home. Her strong arms wrapped around Etta’s body in a strong hug. “So good to see you!”
“You as well, Diana. It appears you have been busy.”
Diana shrugged it off and fixed Etta with a gaze that held all the sympathy in the world, "Nevermind my work, Etta. I am terribly sorry to hear what happened to your grandfather."
Etta didn't answer right away, the pain still raw. Still, she managed a wry smile and sighed, "I know. But he's with Nana now, and that's where he wanted to be pretty much ever since she passed last year."
Etta didn't really take the time to see how her friend would react.
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted an animal standing squarely in the hallway past the kitchen. A yellow labrador retriever stared back at her, almost frozen if not for his tail slowly drooping.
“My goodness, Di! When did you get a dog?” Etta approached the pup and held out her hand in front of the animal’s nose, the animal’s eyes just stared back at her in what she could tell was a rather cross expression. “Is he part Australian Shepherd? Or Husky?”
She was making a reference to the dog’s blue eyes. A rarity for most canines, especially yellow labs.
“He isn’t exactly a dog…” she said with a wry smile as Etta continued to hold out her hand for the dog to smell, but the animal wouldn’t move. “You see there was an incident with Circe…”
Etta’s eyes went wide as saucers, and then turned them towards the animal, things suddenly clicking in her mind. Circe. No Steve. Blue-eyed dog with blond fur. “You mean...this is…”
“I’m afraid so.”
First her shoulders started shaking, and then the wide open silent expression she made with her mouth, all before she let out a howl of laughter. “Steve?!” she gasped through her tears of merriment.
If shame had a face…
Nevertheless, Etta could not stop finding this humorous, every glance at Steve the Dog only furthering her laughter.
“Please, Etta, he’s been humiliated enough,” Diana admonished, but she wasn’t nearly as upset about it as she should have been, in Steve’s opinion. Steve the Dog gave a huff of disapproval, expressive whiskered brows furrowing.
Etta followed her friend into the kitchen and Diana put on some tea, casually talking about the infamous incident that had changed her partner from a tall, strong blond gentleman, into a fuzzy animal.
Whatever Diana’s version of the events were, they would never get the full details until Steve returned to normal. Steve the Dog however, still retained all his human memories. His experience began in the vault of the Archives.
Let it not be said that Steve Trevor was a disorganized man. His other A.R.G.U.S archivists managed to catalogue roughly ten percent of the artifacts before the danger drove Steve to put a halt to the cataloguing efforts. He took on the task himself and managed to knock out another twenty percent of the vault in the ensuing weeks. On lean days he would allow another archivist to record and detail no more than five items at a time and only with other A.R.G.U.S agents escorting them.
This day, Steve had been recording two items he had brought in weeks back, both items found from one place in the United States.
The first item was a slab of rock, heavy, about as long as he was tall. On it, etched in red, a pictograph of a silhouette of creature with spines, a tail, and horns. To the left of this dragon like creature was a pictograph of figures in a canoe, below them, squiggly marks, like snakes. Chief had acquired this artifact. Would not say who or how. And upon further investigation the last time he was here, he discovered a long thin strand of what turned out to be copper.
As Steve was making notes on the rock slab and the copper strand of fur, a black candle -- an artifact found in a shipwreck off the Iberian Peninsula-- flickered on behind him. He dropped his notes and drew his gun, seeing that the gentle yellow flame puffed trails of purple smoke.
Not holding his guard down, Steve drew closer, watching the soft sway of the purple smoke trail until it became thicker, forming a shape.
A shape of a witch.
The witch of witches.
“Circe!” Steve ground through his teeth.
The witch took one look at him and her lips split into a sickening smile.
“Steven Howard Rockwell Trevor, no longer jilted by the Amazon Princess. What good fortune!” she mocked, running a long thin finger slowly under her chin.”And to have him of all people be the one to free me from my temporary prison is just desserts.”
Steve knew to keep his mouth shut. Words had little meaning when it comes to Circe, but her vested interest in him was unusual. Circe, of all of those who have crossed swords--or magic-- with Diana, she seemed the least interested in anyone other than Diana herself. So her singling him out was...strange. But then again, leverage was something Circe would be interested in.
“This candle,” she held up the black candle that she originated from. “...has the power to look into a mortal’s soul, and find the animal that best meets their character. Their essence.”
She held it up to him and he jerked his head back away from the flame, but the flame still illuminated his handsome face. It was warm at first, but then the small wispy smoke trail became cloudy and overwhelmed him. It filled his lungs and soon he began heaving and coughing, foam flowing at his mouth. He collapsed and tried to get up, but it was only too painful to move. As he heaved, he heard Circe’s cruel voice chant.
“Are you a worm? A hawk? Platypus, perhaps,” she grinned as she hovered over him.
Through his pain he could hear a mocking gasp.
“I know what you are…” her low drawling liquid of a voice tumbled forth over him, the warmth in his chest and lungs spreading into a searing throb in his extremities. “Obedient to a fault. Does tasks asked of him without question. Even at the expense of pitiful morals. Follows only one...mistress. You can be none other than a dog!”
Steve began twisting, an incredible pain searing through his joints, his muscles moving in his flesh, reshaping him.
As the wind picked up with her magic, she cackled and conjured a cord around his neck, glowing a violent orange until forming into a chain---a collar wrapped around his furry neck. “A leash for your owner!”
Circe cackled richly again but was interrupted when the vault door swung open nearly off its hinges. Wonder Woman stood there in her warrior garb with other A.R.G.U.S agents behind her, ready to take the assault on command.
There was no need, as Diana unfurled her lasso and charged forth and nearly struck Circe, if not for the fact the witch teleported into another side of the room in a swirl of flame.
“Hot-headed Princess, if you think starting a many-on-one match against me is going to be that easy think again. Until next time!”
With a chilling laugh she disappeared in blue flash.
The A.R.G.U.S agents spread out in search of their commander. Diana’s attention turned an animal writhing in the corner, flipping his chain around as if trying to take it off his neck.
‘Poor thing,’ Diana thought. ‘What was Circe going to use you for?”
The pup stopped as soon as he noticed Diana coming towards him. He dropped the chain and trotted over to her, blond face bright as he lugged the heavy lead behind him.
Diana knelt down to calm the animal, who seemed all too eager to see her, “What did that witch do to you, my friend?”
After a moment, Diana held the animal by the fur, staring deeply, her heart twisted as she knew who was looking back at her behind those frightened eyes.
“Steve?”
The tail began wagging. And she took that, with dread, to mean the affirmative.
“...a friend, Zatanna, has just found a spell that potentially reverse the curse,” Diana finished giving a cautious look at Steve the Dog, before sipping her warm beverage. "If all goes well tomorrow, Steve should be back on two legs."
“Poor thing,” Etta said looking down at the blond dog. Her lips split in a wide grin, “You know I've always wondered if dog food tastes as good as it looks on television. Though I suppose your taste buds are now dog taste buds." Etta glanced up at Diana, placing her hand on the back of Steve's neck and stroking lightly, more out of habit when being around pets. "For all we know, plastic may taste good to him."
"Oh no, in fact I'd say he's more picky than before."
"Or your cooking isn't up to snuff," Etta prodded back. More for Steve's benefit, since he couldn't verbally defend himself.
Diana arched a brow, especially at the way the wrinkles around Steve the Dog's jowls deepen in what could only be described as a grin.
"Still, spending thirty-seven years as a human, now he has no thumbs to hold his beer," Etta continued.
There was a very unladylike snort that came from arguably the most beautiful creature on earth, "Not for a lack of trying Etta."
Upon hearing the clatter from the kitchen, Diana rushed over, only in her undergarments and found Steve the Dog on his hind legs in front of the open refrigerator door. Jars of dill, mayonnaise, minced garlic, beer, and a bottle of lime juice were all over the kitchen floor. His face was turned expectantly towards her, tail wagging lightly.
“Were you seriously trying to drink alcohol?” Diana asked picking up the nearest bottle of a golden amber, from a local brewery.
Steve the Dog turned to nudge his nose into the fridge door, awkwardly trying to wrap his long jaws around the neck of a half finished wine bottle.
“No, I’m not going to join you. It’s the middle of the night,” she sighed, understanding what he was implying. Diana had a long history of being able to share a connection to animals. And this particular...animal, being Steve, she wouldn’t have a too hard a time trying to understand him in his canine form.
"Come on back to the bedroom."
Steve the Dog's ears folded back, his blue eyes still intent on the glow of the refrigerator.
With a groan, Diana made about to find a few bowls and filled one with water. The other, bits of left over chicken. Steve the Dog stared at the bowls, wrinkles deepening in his brow. He glanced back up at Diana, the confusion evident.
"Well...use your mouth," Diana instructed but didn't anticipate that Steve would be so foolish as to bury his entire muzzle in the water bowl, bubbles and water splashing everywhere as he chomped wildly. She grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled him away, fearing he would drown himself. "No, Steven, by Artemis, your tongue. Lap it up."
Steve shook his body lightly in reaction to being wet now. Diana refilled the bowl and let him try again. The second time wasn't...quite...right, but certainly was much better. Good enough to see the snap of his snout as he ascended, marking that he was able to take in some fluids. He turned his head back, an eagerness in his canine blue eyes, and perhaps a bit of pride that he was able to use his new form.
Regardless, Diana pulled all the paper towels, brooms, and mops for when Steve would inevitably try to eat food.
“So...does Steve still sleep on the bed, or did you get him a little doggy pillow?” Etta asked patting Steve on the head. The blond dog gave her a very distinct glare.
“Oh he’s not sleeping in the bed,” Diana said almost a bit too defensively, as she stopped slicing the cheese for the charcuterie plate she was making for her and her friend. “I already have enough of my relatives luring people into abusing animals for their indulgences. He sleeps on a blanket on the floor beside me. No dilly dallying while he has four legs.”
Steve the Dog gave a low grunt at Etta’s side, betraying exactly how embarrassed he felt about that. Still Etta smiled back at him, and couldn’t resist a tease, “Good to know you aren’t that much of a deviant Diana.”
Diana returned to cutting meat and cheese, a disdainful smile on her lips, "He still has kept me up at night. For other reasons..."
She awoke to a high pitched whine and immediately sat up to see Steve the Dog at her bedroom door, attempting to get up on his hind legs to force to force it open. Diana groaned, not liking to be disturbed from her brief slumber. "Wha's the matter, Steve?" she slurred through her sleep, as she rubbed her eyes and blinked in the darkness. Steve the Dog placed his paw on the door, nails scratching a little and whining again.
"You want out?" she asked. A low bark was confirmation enough.
It didn't take long for Diana to realize why Steve wanted out, as he made a line to the front door. Diana walked him outside, watching as the canine reached the edge of the nearest pine. He paused, uncomfortable, and he turned his yellow head back at Diana, who was wrapped in her silk robe, arms cross in mild impatience, awaiting him to take care of business.
"Now's not the time to be bashful," she called in the night. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before."
A puff, loud in the dead of night, erupted from Steve's snout. He let out another small whine and, with his ears back and head down in shame, he lifted his leg against the pine trunk to relieve himself. Steve's sense of smell was heightened, and as a result, he trotted back from his bathroom spot with a distinct wrinkle in his nose.
Diana could not a hide a chuckle as he followed her heel back to the house.
Etta could whip up a mean Bloody Mary, something great for a light and early lunch. When she finished mixing the drinks she found herself on Diana's pier, with her Bloody Mary, Steve the Dog escorting her at her heels, nails of his paws clicking on the planks.
“He’s become used to it by now,” Diana assured as she flung open the deck doors, Bloody Mary and cheese plate in hand, following Etta to their lunch table nicely set up at the very end of the dock, a beautiful view of the early noon horizon.
Etta chuckled when she saw Steve calmly just plop himself down on the dock next to Diana’s feet. “A dog's life, isn't Steve?”
"Except he hasn't quite gotten used to the extra insulation I guess," Diana popped the an olive from her Bloody Mary into her mouth. "The heat makes him particularly lazy."
The sound that came out of Steve the Dog could've been a growl or a groan, it was hard to tell, but whatever it was, Diana didn't seem to take offense.
It had been a week since Steve was transformed. A.R.G.U.S scientists say they’ve made progress on a cure, but nothing conclusive yet. Diana had been investigating other options, preferably magic related through her connections with Zatanna. By now, Steve had gotten used to having four legs, a wagging tail, terrible vision (to be fair, his vision in his human days wasn’t as good as it used to be in his youth). He had an animal routine with his bathroom breaks and eating habits, but he was still very much Steve.
And it was beginning to become apparent that Circe may have been too on point when coming up with a dog as Steve’s ‘true essence’.
It was either that or Steve was becoming a great canine actor.
The heat of a Virginia summer is never pleasant, even along the coast. It got hot and muggy, especially around midday, and Diana had opened up the house the night before, hearing Steve pant on the floor at the side of her bed, feeling immense pity that Steve had to have a perpetual coat of fur he couldn’t escape from.
But now after lunch, Steve the Dog was sleeping off his canned dog food and basking in the pitiable breeze from the ocean through the screen door of the house, his fuzzy head laying heavily on Diana’s lap, her fingers idly rubbing the velvety texture of his ear, and reading a book in the other hand, basking in the soft gentle sounds of the ocean rocking against the sturdy pillars of the dock.
Steve’s ears suddenly perked up and his head lifted off Diana’s lap.
“Steve?” she asked, noticing that the dog kept still, almost trying to analyze what he was hearing.
He gave a low grunt, and then a bark, and then a louder one as he bolted off the couch crashing through the screen door and outside.
“Steve! Come back here!” Diana immediately took off after the golden pet, watching him bark and run around to the front towards the road. In between the trunks of the tall trees that obscured Diana’s home from the long stretch of road that led to the next busiest neighborhood, she could see bicycle tires. It wasn’t uncommon for kids during the summer days to ride down this stretch of road away from their suburbs to something more unexplored, more free from the cloyster of their lives.
The ride down the road was harmless, but the children never resisted a cautious glance through the trees to her beach home buried far and away from civilization. Older kids joked that a witch lived in the woods, and last Halloween, on a dare a few of the younger children ventured far enough to see that indeed someone lived in the woods. A woman who...didn’t exactly look like a witch, but she was mysterious nonetheless. But she was kind, waving to them if they happened to see her, boys blushing and girls staring back with furrowed brows of uncertainty.
She wanted to be better engaged in her neighboring community, but Steve advised against it.
“You are still considered a security asset,” he once said, his voice dipping into the stone tone he took on when he wandered into his professional persona. It was so hard and strict it made her flinch. “It would be wise to be sure that as few people know this is your home base as possible.”
“Then how is this any different than my safehouses in London, Paris, and Rome. Or any different from a hostel in Germany or an embassy in Hong Kong?” she argued, wanting her home to feel as such, not as some dirty secret.
“Or your home Themyscira?” Steve countered gently, his lover’s home island was a giant secret to the rest of the world until only around a decade ago. Diana wasn’t exactly in the mood to concede this argument, having had enough of seeing the same bike riders, joggers, school buses, and people going to and from work without ever having introduced herself. She didn’t like being isolated on Themyscira and she didn’t like Steve’s attempts to have their home isolated as well.
But after years in the military and knowing what failed security can do, Steve was used to using as many means possible to keep his privacy. For Diana, having a boyfriend working deep in security was probably the most efficient way to be sure her home was secured, with alarms set on the perimeter and a surveillance camera along the gravel driveway.
She continued to argue that she didn’t like having her home being treated like a fortress. A home was supposed to be warm and welcoming. The push and pull would crop every other month, Steve sometimes making concessions, before putting them back up again as soon as he thinks a few too many cars coast along the highway near her home, as if driving busy bodies were trying to slow to find the mysterious entrance to her home.
As soon as Steve the Dog realized it was children that caused his ire, he slowed by the treeline and stopped, the children on their bikes staring warily at the dog, maybe afraid he would attack if they made any abrupt moves. Steve stopped barking, his front paws dancing in the grass with anticipation as his tail began to wag lightly.
Diana was not far behind him.
“Steve!” she ran to the street and grabbed the loose skin around the back of his neck to hold him in place.
Steve the Dog wasn’t going to attack the children. His sensitive hearing heard the commotion from inside the home and immediately he thought there was an intruder. As soon as he realized they were kids, his warning barks stopped and he slowed himself. Then he quite eagerly sniffed the kid’s hands as they held them out, wagging his tail, calm and patient when a young girl on a pink bike giggled and pet his head gently.
“I am so sorry,” Diana apologized profusely as she caught up to him.
“This your dog, lady?” the oldest of the group of four, a boy of about thirteen asked, pointing to Steve the Dog.
“Yes, he won’t harm anyone, I think he was just spooked,” her voice hardened near the end, her eyes glaring daggers at Steve for causing such a ruckus. Steve the Dog gave a whimper.
The second oldest of the four, a girl with orange-red hair in braided pig-tails on a maroon mountain bike, who reminded Diana a lot of what a young Artemis would look like, nodded her head towards her and asked inquisitively, “You’re the lady who they say lives back there.”
Diana met the girl’s cautious glances with wide smile and nodded, “Yes! Yes, I do -”
Steve barked over her voice, and Diana thought he was alerting her to a car, but the rigidness of the muscles of his brow were straight, in a warning glare. Even as a canine, he could be insufferable about her security.
Diana fixed Steve with a hardened glare, and his jowls audibly snapped shut. “Yes, we--- I moved there over a year and a half ago.”
“Well, nice to actually see the person who lives here,” the leader said as he shifted his bike back and forth. “What’s your dog’s name.”
She glanced down at Steve and then back up at the children and answered with amusement, “Steve.”
The red haired girl looked disgusted and Diana laughed at that. “He’s named after a...friend.”
“Oh.”
One of the younger riders, a 6 year old girl with a missing tooth, reached her hand out to pet Steve. “Good boy, Steve.”
Steve the Dog held Diana’s eyes intently as he stood rigidly still as the children began to warm around him and pet him. She tried not to laugh in his face. Steve had suffered enough without her taking advantage of his humiliation.
But her heart felt warm seeing young children eagerly pet Steve. It was sweet of him to let complete strangers indulge in his current state.
That was the first time she formally introduced herself to her neighbors, still keeping her identity mostly secret. Let the children talk to their parents about this mysterious “Diana” who lived along the shore with a faithful golden lab named “Steve”. Since then she had seen kids on the school buses and people commuting wave at Steve the Dog as they drove by when he and Diana were on their morning walks.
After lunch, Etta had to head home, though Diana did invite her to stay for dinner. "I better get settled back at base," Etta flicked her gaze down at Steve who was sitting next to Diana's feet as she escorted her to the door. "I probably have to pick up some slack for absent agents, right Steve?"
A groan and a whine and Etta let up with a laugh, "I'm sorry! Steve...you know you'd be doing the same thing if roles were reversed."
Steve the Dog lightly growled his answer. Diana embraced her friend and wished her well. "If you need someone to talk to, Etta, please call."
Etta's arms wrapped around her friend's strong frame, and she gave a calming, "I'm okay Diana, but I appreciate the offer. But call me once Steve's on two legs again. We can have dinner to celebrate."
"Will do."
After Etta left, the home was filled with the same silence Diana had gotten used to ever since Steve lost the ability to talk. It wasn't uneasy--Steve wasn't much of a chatterbox regardless--but after getting the rush of talking to Etta, Diana felt it. Steve the Dog, however made sure she felt his presence, sensing she may have felt a bit lonely after their friend left. It would only be a few more hours until Steve was back to normal. Patience was needed.
Diana lay awake later that night thinking about Zatanna's spell. It excited her that Steve would be cured, but she would be lying if she said she's gotten used to the doggy habits of her partner over the past few weeks. On her island, it was hard to say if anyone had "pets". There were horses, and the rare Kangas--gifts from the gods, but were never to be abused--birds, jaguars, wolves. And most animals were given free reign in the Amazonian territory aside from utility animals, like ox, horses, and chickens.
“Steve,” Diana’s voice echoed in the night. The bed creaked as she turned over, her arm dropping over the side, fingertips touching Steve’s fur. She gave him a few pets after he sighed, and licked his jowls. He didn’t move, but she could see the brows shift and eyes roll in the darkness, awake and aware.
“Tonight’s the last night of your being a canine,” she murmured, her voice husky from tiredness.
“I know it wasn’t as fun for you. Though I admit I may have indulged in your condition a little too much.”
His tail could be heard thumping against the floor.
“Come on up, my faithful companion,” she patted the empty bedside where he usually slept when he was a human. He gave a huff and shifted on his side, bringing himself up. As gracefully as he could, he jumped on the bed, fumbling and tripping over Diana, before settling down on the empty bed where he lay back on his side with his groan. She smiled when she heard him licking his jowls once again. Rolling over, she draped her arm around him, snuggling against the fur on his back, almost laughing to herself, not wanting to be sad over the end of her experience actually having a pet dog.
Instead, in her dreams, she relived the fond memories of floppy ears, wagging tails, and excited greetings.