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9:34 PM
The sky had layers.
Not everyone knew that, and not everyone bothered to notice, but that was something that Steve liked the most about being a pilot — how, up in the air, he could be above the clouds and beneath the clouds, all at the same time.
This was what he was thinking about as he watched the wispy pieces of white that looked as soft as cotton race beneath him. In between them, he got glimpses of patches of land in every shade of green and brown and yellow, cut in neat squares—
Steve awoke with a jolt to the white glare of overhead lamps and the buzz of voices rising around him, mixed with scratchy announcements coming from a loudspeaker above his head.
“…all planes are grounded…”
He was not in the sky, moving effortlessly towards the horizon.
Steve shook his head, blinking, and looked around.
“… an announcement for passengers on flight 232 to Boise. The flight has been delayed…”
He was, actually, slumped against a wall in a waiting lounge at the airport in the middle of nowhere, where the plane he’d been on four hours ago had landed because of bad weather. And because he had managed to fall asleep—god only knew how long ago—his neck now felt like it was trying to kill him.
“…all departing flights…”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He tried to remember the last time he’d gotten more than a couple hours of fragmented shut-eye, and failed. Had to be sometime during his layover in Cairo over fourteen hours ago.
“…please wait for further announcements…”
Steve grabbed his bag and scrambled to his feet, making a beeline for the information counter, grimacing at the sight of the crowd that started to gather around it.
First leave in almost ten months, and he couldn’t wait to finally put the last seven hundred miles behind him.
9:40 PM
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but all aircrafts are grounded until further notice,” the airline clerk said with a smile that looked like it was about to crack at the edges.
Diana wondered how many times she’d had to repeat that exact phrase over the past three hours, and how many times she wished she had chosen a different career.
She could sympathize with that, in a way. It was during moments like this that she wished she still lived in a place where snow was something that one could only find in books. Definitely not an impediment that could put a wrench in her plans.
“How soon do you think—” she started.
“The storm is moving towards New York, and until we have full visibility and all runways are cleared for take-off and landing, I cannot provide any further information,” the clerk said, pre-empting the question. “I’m sorry,” she added automatically.
Out of the corner of her eye, Diana could see a man sidle up to the counter, pausing at her shoulder.
A bomber jacket. Two-day stubble on his cheeks. His blond hair tousled either from running his hand through it one time too many, or from sleeping on that duffle bag of his. If Diana had to bet, she’d bet on the latter. His eyes were bright and inquisitive, if she looked past the tired lines around them, and so blue they reminded her of glaciers.
“What about a different airline?” he asked during the lull in her conversation.
The clerk turned to him, her smile perfectly intact. Zeus only knew what it cost her.
Curious, Diana turned towards him as well.
“Not unless you’re willing to fly a plane yourself, sir.”
His brows pulled together for a second as he pondered her words.
“Is that a possibility?” he asked, and it was the genuine hope in his voice that made Diana press her lips around a smile and turn away before he saw it.
10:13 PM
It shouldn’t have surprised Steve.
After finding out that no one was flying anywhere — at least until morning; after learning that the roads to and from the airport were blocked because of hazardous conditions; after realizing that his phone had died and the charger was somewhere in his checked luggage — it shouldn’t have surprised him that, once he got to the airport hotel located on the outskirts of the terminal, there was only one room left.
(Why an airport hotel would even have an executive suite was neither here, nor there, really. He chose to file that information away for later.)
Steve didn’t believe in anything, religious or spiritual or what have you, but there had to be some karmic hijinks to the whole thing that he hadn’t quite figured out yet.
Although whatever it was, it still didn’t explain the fact that he was standing in the doorway of that one last remaining room, with the woman he had run into earlier by his side, both of them peeking curiously inside but neither making a move to walk in.
Steve glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, as inconspicuously as he could.
She was tall, almost as tall as him. Her hair was pulled back from her face into a tight ponytail, revealing her high cheekbones, and the outline of her profile couldn’t be described as anything other than regal as she critically surveyed the space on the other side of the threshold — a sitting area with a couch and a door leading to the bedroom off to the right.
“You know what?” he said, suddenly, turning to her. “You should have it. The room,” he clarified when she turned, regarding him quizzically. “You should have the room.”
“Why?” she asked.
It wasn’t a trap, he could see that much. She appeared to be genuinely curious to hear his explanation. Admittedly, it would have helped if he had a good one.
Because you’re a woman and I’m trying to be a gentleman, he wanted to say. But it sounded odd and more than a little chauvinistic even in his head. The kind of response that would have made his mother sigh and give him a look.
“I can stay at the airport,” he said instead, which wasn’t exactly an answer. “Just wait at my gate.”
“Do you not need to sleep?” she asked, confused.
Steve opened his mouth and closed it again.
A few minutes ago, it had been his idea to split the cost and share the suite — an offer he’d blurted out before he’d known he was even speaking, on account of how he didn’t want her sleeping in the waiting lounge, for heaven’s sake.
“Yes, I do need to sleep,” he said quickly. “I just—I don’t—”
“You just don’t sleep with women?” she prodded.
He blinked at her as the back of his neck grew hot, wondering if she realized just how that had come out. He had not meant it that way, though it was probably too little too late to overthink that.
“Yes, I do,” Steve said, certain that all of him was going to go up in flames any second now. “I do sleep with—” He paused and cleared his throat. “That’s not what I—”
He took a breath, adjusted the strap of his bad slung over his shoulder and stepped through the doorway.
“I’ll take the couch,” he said, desperate to redirect the conversation, and then paused and turned back to her, shoving his hand forward. “I’m Steve. Steve Trevor. Pilot, with the United States Airforce.”
Maybe they should have started with that, Steve thought if somewhat belatedly.
The woman glanced at his hand and then at his face again. Her palm closed around his for a shake as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, transforming her face into something entirely majestic. His heart slammed hard against the inside of his ribs, bruising his bones and making his jaw go a little slack.
Oh boy.
“Diana Prince. I’m an Antiques Curator at the Smithsonian.”
Steve blinked as he let go of her fingers.
“Really?”
She tilted her head. “Why is that so surprising?”
Because you look like a work of art yourself.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and congratulated himself mentally for not saying that aloud. Wouldn’t have put it past himself, what with being as exhausted as he was.
“I’ve never met anyone who works in a museum before,” he explained.
Diana pressed her lips around a smile.
“Coincidentally, I know very few people who don’t.”
Steve nodded and vowed silently to try to learn not to stick his foot into his mouth.
10:45 PM
When Steve emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, dressed in his last set of clean clothes that weren’t packed away and possibly buried under snowdrifts—what were the chances of them losing his luggage after all these delays and cancellations?—with the steam trailing behind him, the TV in the sitting room was on. Diana was standing before it with the remote clutched in her hand and a frown planted firmly on her face.
For a moment, Steve’s heart sunk.
“What happened?” he asked.
Diana turned, and he braced himself for anything from a stock market collapse to news about World War III.
“They said the storm is not likely to pass until mid-morning,” she said.
The relief that swept over Steve that it was about something so trivial was almost too much to bear.
11:30 PM
“Tell me about her,” Diana said, taking a sip of her wine.
They were sitting cross-legged on the floor with a variety of snacks from the minibar spread before them — chips and peanuts and oatmeal cookies making for a decent dinner, for lack of other options. Earlier, when Diana had called to inquire about room service, the girl at the reception had told her that the kitchen was closed for the night already, apologizing profusely as she did so.
Hence, the minibar.
She’d managed to unearth two cans of cheap beer and a small bottle of white wine that tasted a little dry for her liking, but she chose to overlook that small inconvenience in the face of other, far more frustrating inconveniences.
Like having missed a staff dinner that was scheduled for tonight and that was currently in full swing, the dress she had bought specifically for it getting wrinkled in her suitcase.
Steve shuffled the deck of cards he had pulled from his bag earlier and dealt, glancing up at her with mischief twinkling in his eyes.
“Her name’s Sandy and she’s five. The smartest kid you’ll ever meet,” he chuckled fondly, his voice softening instantly. “Her dad was my best friend and I gave my word to look out for her and her mom if he—” he cut off and cleared his throat, his smile fading a little. Which was a shame — Diana wondered if he knew just how lovely it was. “And I haven’t seen them since my last leave, but I promised…” He sighed and looked up to catch her eyes. “I promised I’d come to her talent show.”
“Sounds like a serious event,” Diana said, smiling, as she took another sip of wine and picked up her cards.
“Kindergarten,” Steve shrugged, his eyes crinkling at the corners and sending her heart plummeting all the way into her stomach. “It doesn’t get more serious than that.”
12.10 AM
They played two rounds of Crazy Eights and talked, voices softened by the alcohol and the darkness outside.
He told her about his parents and a ranch in Colorado, the expanse of fields and hills running into the horizon. About his friend Nick who had lost his life on a mission four years ago, the grief in Steve’s voice when he spoke of it the quiet kind. One that Diana knew he was used to carrying inside him without letting anyone see it. One that felt almost palpable for a moment or two, making something tender inside of her ache in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.
She didn’t ask what war he was coming from, and he didn’t tell, as if fearful of breaking the comfortable moment between them.
They spoke of everything and nothing. His family and her job. The last time they got stranded between here and there: she — in Tokyo, he in — Johannesburg. He told her about that one time when the lock on his suitcase had broken during unloading and Steve had found it on the luggage belt, wrapped in layers of grey tape. And she laughed and laughed, the sheer absurdity of that mental image almost too much to bear.
She didn’t know which one of them moved first. But one moment Steve was asking her if she wanted to split the last cookie—the remnant of their rich feast—and the next one his lips were on hers, soft and warm, and only uncertain for a split second. Diana moved towards him, his fingers winding in his hair while he held her like he hadn’t held anyone in a long time, and he wanted to.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” she told him when he drew back, her fingers skating over his jaw.
Steve’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and Diana watched him drag it back up not without effort. He nodded, and then he kissed her again.
9:17 AM
Steve awoke to the glare of the sun flooding the room and the kind of lazy contentment that could only come from a night of good, dreamless sleep.
His face was buried in the mass of Diana’s hair, his arm hooked around her waist. They hadn’t—they most certainly hadn’t done anything. He’d fallen asleep the second his head touched the pillow — a lousy testament to his vigour. Now, even through the layers of clothes they hadn’t bothered to take off, he could feel the warmth of her, and it made him want to slip right back into slumber for another hour, or ten.
He stayed still, in hopes that she wouldn’t notice that he was awake. That he might be able to hold on to this moment for just a little while longer.
“The snow has stopped,” Diana said quietly after a few minutes, trailing her fingers over his wrist.
Steve sighed, and mumbled without opening his eyes, “But don’t you wish it hadn’t?”
11:23 AM
Steve was sitting in his seat, his plane about to take off and head for Chicago, at last, when the thought hit him with the force and speed of a freight train.
He couldn’t leave. Not without—without doing something .
It had felt like the right thing, an hour ago, when he and Diana had said goodbye to one another outside of the airport Starbucks, going separate ways afterwards. He hadn’t kissed her goodbye, though he’d wanted to. He had even made a point of not looking back once as he had walked away.
But it was now, with his seatbelt fastened and the flight crew going through the take-off routine that Steve realized that it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted—
With shaking hands, he unbuckled his belt and hurried down the aisle, ignoring curious looks cast his way and quiet whispers that trailed behind him.
“Sir, you can’t go back now,” the flight attendant told him firmly when he reached the door. Still open, goddammit.
“Look, I’ve got to find someone,” Steve said urgently. “It’ll be quick, I just need to—Five minutes. It’s all I need. Just five minutes, I swear.”
Diana’s plane wasn’t supposed to leave for another hour. He could still find her. Find her and tell her… tell her... He would have to figure that out, once he got to her.
The woman regarded him without sympathy. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to go back to your seat. Unless you’d rather get off this flight.”
Steve stared down the corridor leading back to the terminal and people milling about the lounge. He had promised Sandy to come see her. If he got on the next flight, he’d be late, and he had broken so many promises already. To her, and to Maya, and to Nick, especially.
He couldn’t break another one.
He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing Diana again.
“Five minutes,” he repeated, his voice more pleading than it had ever been, his eyes glued to the glass walls of the terminal outside.
The woman was shaking her head. “You need to return to your seat.”
He lingered, counting the seconds in his mind.
“Sir?”
Earlier, standing under the fluorescent lights of the waiting lounge, Diana had leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek — the spot still tingled a little.
Returning to his seat, Steve fumbled with the seatbelt before he lifted his hand to touch his face, his eyes fixed on the tarmac outside and the men in bright vests pushing massive carts stacked with luggage.
He knew her name, he reasoned with himself. He knew where she worked, and maybe he could call and ask. Someone would have to know her, right?
“Excuse me,” a voice said above him, making Steve nearly jump in his seat.
He snapped his head up, certain for a moment that he was hearing things.
Diana was standing next to his row, a carrier bag in her hand.
“That’s my seat,” she said, pointing to the empty spot between Steve and the woman sitting at the window.
He gaped at her. And then gaped at her some more, until she raised an eyebrow at him, and he was scrambling to his feet to let her pass, still half-convinced that he was imagining her.
“What happened to Washington?” he asked, when they were both seated and the crew began to close the overhead baggage compartments.
Diana reached for his hand, weaving her fingers through his, and Steve tried very hard to keep breathing around his heart that had suddenly grown and was taking up all the space in his chest.
She smiled. “I don’t need to be there till Monday.”
Steve nodded, and then once again. He glanced at their linked hands as the plane jerked into motion and started to pull away from the gate. And then he found Diana’s eyes again as he gave her hand a little squeeze.
“How do you feel about talent shows?”