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Superman always seemed to be one of the most approachable members of the Justice League. There was just something about that earnest smile of his that just made you think he was as open and upfront as people could get.
But, as the expression goes, appearances can be, and almost always are, deceiving. Which had never been so true as when it came to Superman.
Even most of the Justice League didn't seem to realize it. Or, if they did, they seemed content to let the status quo ride. Hawkgirl had admitted she tended to see him as another human, Flash seemed to accept him as presented without reservation, and the others all seemed to view him on similar terms. Exactly as Superman seemed content to have it.
For a long time, Wonder Woman did the same.
Diana took what Superman presented at face value. She let the persona be all she saw....until she fell in love with him. Then it became not enough just to see him as Superman. She needed to know more. She needed to know the man behind the persona.
It started with a simple question, voiced in a hesitant tone, one late night at the Watchtower. She asked him about his home. About Krypton.
Superman had been understandably surprised that she'd even asked. He'd lost that home so young most assumed he didn't remember it at all and didn't ask out of respect to that lack of memory.
But....he did. He didn't remember a lot but he remembered.
Diana listened intently as he'd spoken of remembering an alien sky a color so different from Earth's. He struggled to describe vague memories of what he thought was his house and clearer memories of a tall man in red and black clothing with warm eyes. Jor-El, his father. His memories of a slim, youthful woman with eyes that seemed to exude life and thick, raven-colored hair which smelled like a flower he couldn't recall the name of but knew grew wild around their home. He remembered most things if they were connected to his mother, to Lara.
It made sense, of course, he'd spent the most time with his mother, his connection to her had been the strongest and he was happy to have that. He could still recall the sound of her voice, soft and clear, as she'd sung him to sleep. He couldn't remember what the words meant but he could remember the singing. He could remember her arms holding him, the motion of her body as she slowly rocked him to sleep, smell the scented oils she used in her bath, and hear her voice filling the air around him.
Recounting the few childhood memories he retained from Krypton was a heartbreaking thing to witness. Diana felt tears threaten each time he would pause in the middle of describing something, his brow furrowing in confusion as he reached for elusive memories.
When it seemed something had truly eluded him, she would find herself asking a question, then another, and another, until he'd moved on to something he could remember and was speaking freely again.
They soon fell into the habit of talking. Any late night shift they shared together was spent having long, intense conversation. Before long, he was letting her beyond the carefully constructed walls he used to separate his personal life from his work with the League.
And that's when the Amazon princess met the farm boy and found that, in actuality, Clark Kent wasn't all that different from Superman. Not in the big things. But, as she delighted in discovering, there were some subtle differences and she loved them.
Superman was a lot more composed than Clark, Clark blushed easier. Diana had found she liked it when he blushed. She liked it a lot and it was easier to get Clark to blush. It was easier to get Clark to do a lot of things. He was more relaxed as Clark than Superman. Superman wasn't exactly tense but the pressure he put on himself seemed to come off with the cape.
She discovered this most clearly the first time he took her to Smallville and showed her his home. From start to finish, she'd been entranced by it all. It had truly begun the moment he'd handed her a pair of denim pants - jeans - and a shirt, blushing as he'd explained her uniform would not be overlooked as much in Smallville as it was in Metropolis or Gotham City. Plus, he'd confided with a deeper blush, he wasn't sure his mother would be comfortable with a woman walking around in so little clothing.
Diana had been tempted to remind him that Martha Kent had been the one who had designed the costume which had her sisters around the world near swooning in appreciation but she refrained. Be it mothers and sons or mothers and daughters, the dynamic was the same. The child constantly underestimating what their mother could handle.
Humoring him, she'd worn the garments and went with him to the Kent family farm. There, she'd discovered an existence Amazons rarely experienced.
She'd watched as Clark repaired the family's aging tractor, grumbling about its unreliability as he did, and then she 'rode shot gun', as he'd called it, while he steered the lumbering machine through a field to feed the cows.
Diana had then watched, amused, as Clark attempted to give one ill bovine its medicine but ended up wearing more of it on his once clean shirt than the animal actually swallowed. She'd nearly fallen from her perch, laughing, when the cow had neatly trapped him against the wall of the pen and would not move. Her laughter only intensified when Clark resorted to carefully picking the animal up and moving her.
Diana's laughter had become a near girlish squeak when his eyes gleamed with mischief and he'd lunged for her. She'd led him on a merry chase around the farm until he'd cornered her near the barn and dumped her in a mud puddle.
Like any Amazon would, she'd retaliated and brought him down beside her in short order. Pinning him in the mud, she sat on his midsection and grinned down at him, flush with triumph.
She'd known she was in love with him for a while but it was in that moment, looking down at him and him looking up at her, that she'd realized it. Clark Kent was hopelessly in love with her and, naturally, she told him exactly that.
Clark had grinned but she knew he knew better than to argue with her. But then, why would he argue? It was the truth anyway.
She knew he certainly wasn't about to argue when admitting such things led to the rather pleasurable experience of her lips on his, or the promise of other, even more pleasurable, experiences that weren't exactly meant to be done in full view of the kitchen window where Martha was making dinner and looking very amused. No, she was quite sure Clark wasn't going to argue at all. He was much too smart for that. Diana was sure her sisters would agree that Clark was indeed remarkably intelligent...for a man.
But then...no one was perfect. Not even Superman.