#Meeteetse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reciprocityfic · 4 years

Text

when there are no wars to fight

title: when there are no wars to fight fandom: wonder woman, dccu pairing: steve trevor x diana prince rating: T summary: so she goes to america, the comforting weight of his watch constantly weighing down her pocket, a crumpled piece of paper clutched tightly in her fist that bears a single address, written in etta's neat script.

trevor ranch 1202 owl creek lane meeteetse, wyoming

(diana goes home for steve after the war, desperately searching for more answers about the man she loved.)

author’s note: yay for my second wondertrev fic!

i started this awhile back, but finally got the inspiration to finish it because wondertrev love week put my butt into gear. i wanted to finish it in time for their day three writing prompt: trevor ranch.

hope you all like it! let me know what you think.

xoxo, rebekah

read on archive of our own

when there are no wars to fight

Etta asks her, one early, gray London morning in a quaint cafe, over tea and baked goods that somehow pass as breakfast, rather than dessert, in this strange world of Man. It’s been awhile, now, since victory was announced. Celebrations have come and gone, soldiers have returned home, and life has become fairly mundane again.

And her - she’s been waiting for some sort of sign telling her what to do next.

She’s thought of trying to go back to Themyscira - at least, for a little while; she made a promise to herself that she would not abandon this world, and it is something she intends to keep. A goal towards which she will strive for the remainder of her existence on this earth. But she decides against it, not wanting to mar her bright, shining memory of home with the burden of reality she now carries. Plus, she doesn’t want to have to say goodbye again. She fears it will hurt even more the second time around.

So she’s been in a sort of suspended state, neither here nor there. And it’s Etta, who finally asks her.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she begins, peering at her over the rim of her teacup, “what are you going to do now that you’re not...y’know, fighting on the battlefield, saving the world, and the sort?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and Etta - perpetually polite to a T - puts down her cup, and begins apologizing.

“It’s not that I don’t want you around. The opposite, actually - I quite enjoy your company. I’m just wondering what someone...like you does when there are no wars to fight - “

When there are no wars to fight.

The rest of Etta’s words fade away until that phrase is all she can hear, ringing over and over in her ears.

“Is this what people do when there are no wars to fight?”

“This, and other things.”

“What things?”

She supposes that’s what she must now figure out.

“Oh, dear. I’ve offended you, haven’t I?” Etta humphs, before taking a large bite of a scone and rolling her eyes at herself.

“You haven’t offended me,” she assures her, smiling softly. Etta sighs in relief, and then cracks a joke that she doesn’t quite get because she’s still trying to figure out the ins and outs of society. Humor will be one of the last things to come.

“Where would he have gone?”

She’s dodging Etta’s question. She doesn’t want to think about the future and all the unknowns that it presents. They’ve been gnawing at her brain enough recently, and she doesn’t wish to talk about them. At least not now.

But that doesn’t mean her curiosity isn’t genuine, her inquiry insincere. It’s been one of the main things on her mind, in fact. What was his life like without war? Who was he when he woke up to peace instead of fighting, safe in a bed instead of huddled inside a tent in some foreign land? What would he have shown her, taught her?

What could they have been together?

“Home, I suppose.”

Etta’s answer pulls her from her thoughts. She looks at the woman, who stares back at her with her lips pressed together in a sad smile.

“Did he miss it?” she asks. “His home?”

He never spoke to her of home. She remembers his anecdote about his father, back in Themyscira.

“My father used to say, you see something wrong in the world, you can either do nothing, or you can do something.”

His father, whose watch now sits in the pocket of her coat. She hasn’t let it out of her sight since she found it after her battle with Ares, sitting on a piece of broken concrete. Somehow, it remained in perfect condition, just as it was as he placed it in her hands before marching off to sacrifice himself. She ran her fingers over the leather of the band, the glass covering the face, watched the tick tick tick of the second hand, and vowed to never let it out of her sight.

It was now the most important object to her, more valuable than any shield or sword would ever be. She will protect it with her life. And the constant weight of it has been one of few comforts over the past weeks. A piece of him to carry with her, always.

And she can’t help but wonder what other pieces of him might be left behind.

“Where was his home?” she continues. “His family? Did he speak of them with you? Have you met them? Have - “

“My, my,” Etta interrupts, “you’re like a question machine.”

She pauses, mouth still open around her next inquiry. Feeling herself begin to blush, she closes her lips, bites down on the bottom one.

“I want to know him,” she explains softly, looking down at their table, fingers playing with the edge of the ivory lace tablecloth.

“And that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Etta assures her gently. “Of course, I’ll tell you what I know. It’s not much, to be honest - just bits and pieces. He was a spy, after all. But all the information I do have is back at the office.”

She nods, takes one more short sip of tea and then rises. Because now she’s decided. Her next steps in life are no longer murky; rather, they shine brightly in the surrounding darkness, beckoning her forward. She doesn’t want to wait now that she knows where she’s going.

She’s going home for him.

Etta hurriedly gathers herself and rushes after her.

“You certainly don’t let any grass grow under your feet, do you?”

She smiles at Etta’s mumbling as she pushes the door to the cafe open. She doesn’t quite get it - more humor and quirks in language that go over her head - but she suspects it’s supposed to be funny. She’s about to ask Etta what it means when she’s nearly knocked over by two people passing on the sidewalk.

“Sorry, love!” the man shouts in apology, before laughing alongside the woman besides him.

She watches them as they continue together, their joined hands swinging between them.

“Why are they holding hands?”

“Probably because they’re together.”

She remembers the way her heart stuttered when she took his fingers between hers, so innocently that first time. And then later, not so innocently - that night in Veld.

Her heart had skipped that same beat.

Now, her heart contracts, breaks for the one thousandth time over missing him so profoundly. Cries as it watches the strangers turn the corner, moans miserably as the memory plays in her head.

And her smile slips.

* * *

She goes to America.

That’s where he’s from, after all; she’d known that much. Etta confirms this for her, and soon after her tickets are booked and her bags are packed.

There’s no one there to see her off as she boards the ship to New York City. Etta was starting secretary work for someone new the morning she was set to leave, so she made her dinner the night before and then said goodbye with a warm hug, grasping her hand as she walked out the door.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Diana,” she murmured.

She smiled, squeezed her hand back before letting go.

“I hope so, too.”

There’s no one to see her off, but she stands on the ship’s deck anyways, staring down at the crowd gathered onshore. She watches the people leaving wave to the people staying behind, shouting goodbyes and words of love that surely the other won’t be able to hear. But they shout anyway, continue to wave even as the ship pulls away and those on land become dots on the horizon.

She goes to America, his watch always on her person, a crumpled piece of paper clutched tightly in her fist that bears a single address, written in Etta’s neat script.

Trevor Ranch 1202 Owl Creek Lane Meeteetse, Wyoming

She takes a train from New York to Cheyenne, and then takes a different, smaller one - one she’s sure isn’t really meant for passengers - to the town the paper in her hand denotes as his.

Meeteetse.

That’s all the sign outside the small train station says when she reaches her destination, painted in blood-orange capital letters against a dark wood background. The only thing to signal that she’s in the right place, along with the railway worker’s word as he escorted her from the train.

“Yep, this’s Meeteetse,” he assures in a slow drawl. “Doesn’t get many guests. They’ll prolly throw a parade for you.”

He laughs at his own joke. He’s a good deal shorter than her, his face covered with a thin layer of dirt. She smiles back politely, but moves herself onto the station platform quickly. She is ready to leave traveling behind. Ready to get where she was going.

She’s ready to find his home.

She turns on her heel, starts towards the dirt path that leads to the tiny town, and the worker shouts as he reboards the train.

“Hope you find what you’re looking for, sweetheart!”

The words make her pause. They’re the same ones Etta had told her as she left her apartment that last night. She finds she misses the woman already.

She continues on, every step she takes kicking up a cloud of dust beneath her feet. By the time she gets to the center of town, there’s a significant amount of dirt covering her black boots, just as there was on the railway worker’s face. Just as there seems to be on everything in this town, at least from the outside.

It’s so different from London or New York, or even Cheyenne. So quiet. So full of nothingness.

She looks around, sees a car parked in front of a general store, a few horses tied up alongside a building that says ‘Saloon’. She looks for some sort of center or government building - a town hall, perhaps - but finds none. She chews on her bottom lip, not sure what to do next. She turns to the other side of the street.

A single building stands in front of her, made of the same dark brown wood that seems to be the building material for every structure in town. A sign, much like the one outside the train station, hangs over the door, painted with blood-orange letters that spell out ‘HOTEL’ this time, instead of the town’s name.

She decides it’s her best shot, and walks to the door. As she opens it, a bell rings, alerting the man she sees sitting at a desk in the corner of the small lobby to her presence. He looks up from the book he’s reading, a cigarette hanging between his lips.

“You need a room?” he inquires, voice low and raspy.

“No,” she answers quickly. “At least, not right now. Maybe later.”

The man at the desk tilts his head slightly.

“What can I help you with, then?”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out right away. Instead, she realizes she’s still standing in the entryway, door swung open. She steps inside, letting the door go.

“I-”

The door slams behind her, cutting her off, and she flinches at the loud sound.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the man asks.

She smiles shyly, and shakes her head, twisting the toe of her boot into the floor.

She’s nervous. She’s in a new place, with no one to guide her this time. And it’s so different from all the other places she’s been in this world. If anything, it reminds her of Veld. A bit smaller, perhaps.

“Can you tell from the way I’m stuttering and stumbling about?” she jokes, hoping it will break the tension in the room. She looks up at the man, and he puts on a friendly smile.

“That. And there’s the fact that I know everyone in this town, and you’re not anyone I know. Don’t get many visitors, either. But when we do get ‘em, they don’t look nothing like you.”

He drops his cigarette on the ground, stubs it out with his shoe. Then, he takes an extra one from behind his ear, rummaging around his desk and grabbing a box of matches.

“I am wondering,” he begins, as he strikes one and uses it to light his cigarette, “if I can’t get you a room, what it is I can do for you.”

“I was hoping you could help me find something. A place,” she tells him.

He shrugs.

“Not many places ‘round here, but go ‘head.”

She clenches the slip of paper, still in her fist. However, she doesn’t need to look at it. She’d memorized the address only moments after Etta gave it to her.

“Trevor Ranch,” she begins. “1202 Owl Creek La-”

“I know Trevor Ranch,” he interrupts.

Her eyes light up, and she takes a few steps forward.

“You do?”

“Yep,” he confirms, sticking his thumb out towards the left. “‘Bout ten miles down the road thataway.”

Ten miles. A little far to walk, though she could manage, of course. But if there was another way.

“Do you know anyone who could take me there? Or…” she thinks, “a horse! If you had a horse I could borrow, I could ride it there and -”

“Whoa there, slow down,” he interrupts again. “Listen, I don’t have a horse for you to borrow. But I see out the window that Johnny’s car is across the street in front of the general store. He’ll drive you to Trevor Ranch.”

“He will? How much does he charge?”

“He won’t charge ya anything,” he says, laughing. “Jee, you’re really not from around here. Just tell ‘im you want to go to the ranch, and he’ll take you. Tell him Stu sent you.”

“Thank you so much,” she tells him as she turns to leave. “Really. Thank you.”

He laughs again, and waves at her as she exits the building. She marches across the street towards the store, newfound confidence and excitement radiating through her. There’s a man at the back of the now, loading something in.

“Excuse me! Are you Johnny?”

“Jesus!” the man exclaims, jumping slightly and spilling a crate full of corn onto the ground. “Warn a guy, won’t ya?”

The man turns around with a startled and slightly annoyed look on his face. His eyes widen for a moment when he sees her, but then his brow furrows.

“Yeah, I’m Johnny. John. Who are you?”

“My name is Diana,” she begins, and motions towards the hotel. “Stu, from the hotel - he said that you could drive me to Trevor Ranch.”

He frowns, and then bends down to put the corn back in its crate. He loads it in the back of the car, and then shuts the door, turning towards her.

“What do you wanna go there for?” he asks, looking her over suspiciously.

“I, uh -”

She pauses, looking down at her feet. She’s still not good at lying. She steadies herself, planting her feet in the ground and putting on a sweet smile before looking up.

“I know them. The Trevors. From a long time ago.”

“Huh,” he says. “Like an old family friend?”

“Yes. An old family friend. Exactly that.”

He nods, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Get in,” he tells her.

“Thank you,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

She can feel her anticipation build as she gets in the car, as the vehicle starts and drives away. Ten miles, he said. Ten miles until she would be there.

She sits in the car, looks out the window at the scenery zooming past. She can’t concentrate. She feels jittery, but in a good way. The way she felt the night before her first training with Antiope. Her stomach turns in the same way it did in Veld, when he took her to teach her to dance. She can barely sit still, bouncing her knees up and down, up and down.

Suddenly, John pulls off the road, and the car screeches to a halt.

Her face scrunches in confusion, and she looks at the man beside her.

“What are you -”

“I know you’re not an old family friend of the Trevors,” he begins rapidly, crossing his arms in front of him. “I’m an old family friend of the Trevors, so I would know you, or at least have heard of you if you were. Plus, because I’m an old family friend, I know for a fact that Dorothy and El have never been fifty miles from the ranch in their whole lives, and you sure as hell ain’t from around here.”

She gapes at him. She’s been caught in her lie, and she doesn’t know how to escape now.

“Look, I’m not trying to be mean or nothin’,” he says with a sigh, “but I gotta be there for them now. I gotta protect them. I have been the past few years, and now that...now that Steve’s not comin’ back -”

The breath leaves her chest at the mention of his name.

“You know Steve?” she whispers.

“Yeah, I know Steve. I’m an old family friend, I told you. You know Steve?”

“Yes,” she breathes, nodding her head slowly.

“How?”

“We fought together in the war,” she answers, without thinking.

He stares at her like she’s just grown a second head. She clears her throat, falls back on a lie they’d used before.

“He fought,” she says. “I didn’t. Obviously. I was his secretary.”

John hums, and looks out on the road in front of them.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Diana,” she says, swallowing once, praying that Steve had never mentioned Etta’s name. “Diana Prince.”

“Diana Prince,” he says slowly.

He stares out of the front window for a few more minutes, a frown on his face, and then turns the car back on. He pulls back out onto the dirt road and starts driving again, and she closes her eyes in relief.

“Do you have something for Dorothy and El?” he asks. “For their dad? Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” she says hesitantly, thinking of the watch in her pocket briefly before banishing the thought from her mind. The watch was hers. He gave it to her, and it was all she had of him - at least for the moment. No one could take it from her.

“Then what’re you doing here?”

She doesn’t answer right away, carefully choosing her words. Trying to convey her purpose without giving everything away.

“I was very...fond of him. Steve. While we worked together, we created a great friendship. And I guess I just wanted to...get to know him better. Even better than I did.”

“That...makes sense, I guess,” he tells her, still frowning.

She nods, smiling quickly when he glances over at her.

The rest of the drive is quiet, the car the only thing filling the space with noise. She continues to stare out the window, but she doesn’t really see any of the scenery. She’s too nervous now, the feeling churning in her gut closer to fear now, rather than eagerness.

The car begins to slow, and she sits up straight, becoming more aware. Something outside catches her eye. Another sign - made of the same wood as the town, but this time with white letters, instead of red.

TREVOR RANCH

As the car turns into the long dirt driveway, her heart stops, then starts again in double-time.

“Do they know you’re coming?” John asks her.

“No,” she answers. “I didn’t...I didn’t have a number, or I would’ve called. Is it okay? That I’m here?”

“It’ll be fine,” he sighs. “Just...be careful. Be nice. They’re not really in a good place right now, with everything that’s going on. Especially Dorothy, and I don’t even want to think about Mr. Trevor. El is okay, because she’s young, I think. But the rest of them…”

He trails off as he stops the car next to a red barn.

“I just don’t want your visit to get ruined because someone gets offended or says the wrong thing.”

He turns the engine off and they both exit the vehicle. She closes her door, looks out in front of her.

There’s a tiny white house about a stone’s throw away from them. Her eyes widen as she takes it in - his childhood home.

She can’t help the grin that breaks out onto her face. The fear in her stomach has swirled back into excitement, and she takes off towards the house, trying her best not to run. She notices after a moment, though, that John isn’t following her. Instead, he’s walking towards the barn.

“You’re not coming with me?” she shouts over her shoulder.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Got work to do.”

He walks off, and she watches him as she prepares herself to continue towards the house. He disappears into the barn, and her heart drops the smallest bit.

She’d become sort of attached to him in their short car ride - attached to someone who knew Steve like she did. Plus, he seemed to believe her story. She expected he would vouch for her when she met with Dorothy and El.

Dorothy and El.

She doesn’t know for sure who they are, but she suspects they are his sisters. She wonders what they will be like. If they’ll approve of her. If they’ll believe her story.

If they’ll be anything like Steve was.

She starts off towards the house again, determination in her every step. Her heart pounds as she steps onto the front porch. She stops in front of the door. Before she knocks, she reaches into her pocket, runs her fingers over his watch.

Then, she steps forward, and pounds her fist gently against the door.

No one answers for a while. In fact, she’s just raised her hand to knock again when the door creaks open with a soft creak.

A girl stands before her. And that’s what she is - a girl, not a woman. She can’t be any older than eighteen, in her best estimation. She’s a whole head shorter than her, with long blonde hair and hazel eyes that look up at her curiously, her brow furrowed.

“Who are you?” she asks, her voice light and trilling.

It takes her a moment to respond. She’s caught off guard - this isn’t who she expected to answer the door. By the time she gathers herself and opens her mouth, someone else appears in the background.

“El, why are you standing there with the door wide -”

The other person - a woman this time, just as tall as her and seemingly around the same age - stops speaking when she sees her, walking up behind the girl and putting her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” she asks, echoing the girl’s question, but not mimicking her curiosity. Instead, she seems annoyed, almost. Upset that someone is there, bothering them.

Again, it takes a moment for her to say something. She’s taken aback again, this time for a very different reason.

This woman - she looks just like him. Light brown hair, baby blue eyes. She even has the same nose, and she’s taken back to when she first met Steve, hovering over him on the beach as he regained consciousness, studying his face. He was objectively beautiful, she determined quickly, and this woman is, too.

Steve had only become more and more beautiful to her as she got to know him, as she learned his heart and soul. She remembers that night in Veld, running her fingertips gently down his face, cherishing him as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

“Hello? Hey, lady!”

She’s pulled out of her memories by the woman’s voice. She looks visibly bothered now, the impatience in her voice now displayed in the expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes quickly. “I just…”

But she trails off again, not knowing what to say. Should she be plain with the two people in front of her, and simply tell them the truth? Should she attempt to play a part, like she did with John? She wishes, again, that he had come to the door with her, that he could explain why she was there.

The woman, meanwhile, rolls her eyes. She’s about to say something, but the girl cuts her off with her gentle voice.

“How did you even get here?”

She smiles softly, trying to convey some sort of friendliness.

“I met John in town. In Meeteetse. And he agreed to drive me here.”

“I’m gonna kill that guy,” the woman mutters under her breath. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but we’re not really in the mood for visitors right now. So if you could just...go, we’d really appreciate it.”

She turns, then, pulling the girl along with her, going to shut the door. But she reaches her arm out quickly to stop the woman from closing it, utilizing some of her extraordinary strength to ensure the door would stay open.

“Please,” she begs. “This is important! I knew your brother.”

She feels the pressure on the door lessen immediately. The woman’s face softens the tiniest bit.

“I knew Steve,” she says again. “He was your brother, right?”

The two don’t answer, just stare at her. So she keeps going, looking down at the girl.

“And you’re El,” she tells her, and then looks back at the woman. “Then you must be Dorothy. John told me your names.”

“How did you know my brother?” the girl - El - asks. Her face is brighter now, and the interest in her eyes has grown tenfold. “Wait - do you want to come in?”

“El,” Dorothy sighs. “We don’t even know if she’s telling the truth.”

“She is!” El insists. “I can tell. You always say I’m good at reading people.”

“We don’t even know her name.”

“Diana,” she supplies quickly. “Diana Prince.”

“And now we know her name,” El announces, turning to her sister. “Come on, Dot, please? Let’s just...talk to her.”

Dorothy hesitates, eyes darting between her and El. Finally, she sighs heavily, rolling her eyes again.

“Fine. Come in, I guess,” she says, opening the door wider. Then she looks at her sister, mutters to her, “Don’t call me Dot. You know I hate that.”

The two sisters disappear inside. Before following them, she closes her eyes, lifts her head up towards the sky.

“Please give me the words to say,” she whispers to him. “Please help them to like me.”

* * *

They lead her to a table in the corner of a tiny kitchen, newspapers scattered all over it. Dorothy offers her coffee, and she accepts to be polite. She doesn’t really like coffee; it’s too bitter for her taste.

She sits down with El, and Dorothy comes over a moment later, handing Diana a red mug full of the hot, brownish-black liquid. She pulls out her chair and sits down, gathering up the newspapers and tossing them onto the black and white checkered linoleum floor.

“So,” El begins, smiling at her. “How did you know my brother?”

She smiles back at the girl, glances at Dorothy out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, I was his secretary during the war,” she explains. “We worked closely together on many occasions.”

Dorothy hums, and takes a sip of her coffee. She looks over at El, and sees the girl’s face has fallen just a bit.

“His secretary?” she asks.

She sounds confused by this, and Diana feels her palms begin to sweat, fearing El has somehow caught her in her lie.

But before she can try and answer, Dorothy speaks.

“Yeah, El. Remember he wrote about a secretary in one of his letters? She would organize his missions, and stuff like that.”

El still hesitates for a moment, staring at her strangely, before plastering on a pleasant smile.

“Oh yeah,” she murmurs. “I forgot.”

“He would write us letters,” Dorothy tells her quietly, “especially at the beginning, when he first enlisted. But then the war dragged on and on, and the letters came less often.”

“It’s not because he forgot about us, or missed us less,” El chimes in.

“Of course it wasn’t,” Diana agrees. “He was just more and more busy as the war continued. And he was a spy, of course, so it’s not like -”

“He was a spy?!” El shouts, half-standing from her chair.

“El!” Dorothy reprimands. “Stop shouting.”

“Oh!” Diana exclaims lightly. “You...you didn’t know that?”

“No,” El humphs. “They barely told us anything.”

Diana looks between the two of them as they quietly absorb this new information.

“Well, at least we know why, now,” Dorothy murmurs, then turns to her.

“Was he...good at it? Being a spy? I can’t see him as a spy,” she says, a slight smile appearing on her face, memories of her brother flooding her mind. “It seems like he would be...too virtuous, or something. Too earnest.”

“He was virtuous. Eager to do the right thing,” Diana agrees. “But that meant he was willing to do anything to make the war end and bring peace, even if that meant being a spy. And he was a brilliant spy. An admirable soldier.”

She hesitates, not knowing how much she should tell them about his death. She doesn’t know if they’ll want to hear about it, nor does she know if her heart can take speaking about it again - it seems to be getting harder, rather than easier, with time. However, she feels like she needs to tell them. They must know truly how admirable he was.

“I don’t know how much they told you about his...death,” she begins softly, “but I want you to know that he sacrificed himself to save many people. Thousands, perhaps. And that is the most honorable sacrifice one can make - to give their life, even for people they do not know.”

The room is quiet for a moment, as they remember their loved one - his life, his death, and his legacy.

“He was a very good man,” El says quietly.

“More than that,” Diana counters. “More than good. Extraordinary.”

“They sent us a letter when he died,” El explains, “but again, it didn’t say much. The only other thing we got was the story in the paper.”

She reaches down onto the floor, picks up one of the newspapers that Dorothy had gathered up earlier, and flips through the pages.

“These are from Cody,” Dorothy explains. “Mr. Stewart from the hotel picked some up for us when he was visiting relatives.”

“Who is Cody?” Diana asks, as El finally opens to a page and hands the paper to her.

“Cody is just another town. Bigger than Meeteetse.”

Diana doesn’t respond, because she’s too captivated by the newspaper in front of her.

VFW HONORS LOCAL HERO

There’s a picture of him staring back at her, a smile on his face. He’s young in the photo; it must have been taken when he first joined the army. She can tell not only by his physical appearance - there are less creases around his bright eyes - but also by the expression on his face. It’s innocent, almost. Naive. One that hasn’t witnessed the horrors of war and man.

She imagines it’s an expression similar to the one she wore, when she boarded the boat to leave Themyscira. Brave, but unsullied by the realities of the world.

She runs her fingers over the photo in front of her, traces the planes of his face and body with the tip of her index finger. She wishes that she’d know him then. That they’d grown up together.

That she’d been there for every moment of his life.

She smiles, but she can feel the pressure of tears start to build behind her eyes.

“You can keep that if you want,” El offers. “We have extras. Mr. Stewart brought us a lot of copies.”

“Thank you,” Diana breathes. “I think I will keep it.”

El smiles kindly.

They’re all quiet again for a minute. Then, Dorothy gets up.

“I have to get started on supper,” she says. “Dad will be getting hungry. El, why don’t you take Ms. Prince and show her around the ranch?”

“Please, call me Diana.”

“Alright then, Diana. Come on, let’s go!” El tells her as she gets up and walks out the front door.

Dorothy chuckles.

“She has too much energy for her own good sometimes.”

“How old is she?” Diana asks.

“Seventeen.”

“So young?”

“She was a unexpected surprise,” Dorothy explains, “long after Mom and Dad thought they were done havin’ babies. I was seventeen myself when she was born. Steve was fifteen.”

“May I ask where your mother is?” Diana inquires. “John said something about your father being here, but he didn’t mention your mother.”

Dorothy looks out the kitchen window for a long moment before answering.

“She died during childbirth.”

“I’m so sorry,” Diana murmurs.

“At least we have El - Eleanor. That was my mom’s name.”

A silence settles over the kitchen - Dorothy remembering her mother, Diana thinking of and missing her own mother - before Dorothy eventually speaks again.

“You better get out there. She’ll come looking for you soon.”

Diana smiles, and rises from the table, tucking the newspaper in her coat pocket alongside his watch.

* * *

El gives her a brief tour of the grounds - shows her the cattle and the corn crop - before losing interest, and leading her to what she calls a “very special place”.

After about five minutes of walking, Diana speaks.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We’re almost there,” El promises. “And I told you, it’s a special place.”

They walk for a few more minutes, and then come across a small river.

“What is this?” she asks.

“Owl Creek,” El tells her. “Me and Steve used to come here when I was little and play. It’s not deep enough to swim, but we would wade in it when it was summer, and he taught me how to skip stones on top of the water. Do you know how?”

“I don’t. Will you teach me?”

“Of course,” El says, and gets to work finding smooth stones to try and throw.

The talent comes rather easily to Diana, as most physical capabilities do to her, but she tells El it’s because she had such a good teacher.

El shrugs.

“Well, my brother taught me, so that must mean he was a good teacher.”

Diana smiles softly, and nods her head.

“Yes, it does.”

They spend a few minutes like that, quietly skipping stones together, memories of Steve running through their minds.

“I know you weren’t my brother’s secretary.”

Diana freezes.

“In one of his letters,” El continues, still skipping stones, “he said the name of his secretary. Dorothy must not remember, but I do. Her name was Etta something. Candy, maybe?”

Her stomach drops. She doesn’t know what to do, so she waits. Waits for El to yell at her, to scream for help, to run back and tell Dorothy.

But she simply stands there, looking out over the river. Diana decides to mimic her calm behavior, and skips the next stone in her hand.

“Why didn’t you tell you sister?”

“Because I knew she would tell you to leave,” El says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Maybe she should have made me leave,” Diana tells her, panic beginning to creep into the edges of her voice. “Maybe that’s not all I’m lying about. Maybe I never even knew - “

“You knew him,” El interrupts. “I know you did. I can tell.”

“How?” she asks.

“By the way you looked at that picture of him in the paper.”

She feels the pressure of tears behind her eyes again.

“How did I look at him?”

“Like you love him.”

She closes her eyes, but a tear still manages to escape the corner of her eye, falls down her cheek and catches the line of her jaw.

“I did love him,” she whispers. “I still do.”

“And that’s how I know you’re a good person. I mean, I could tell even when I met you, because I’m good at reading people. But I can tell even more now. If you knew my brother, and love him, you have to be a good person.”

Diana opens her eyes, and the liquid in them shines in the early evening sun.

“I knew if I told Dorothy you were lying,” El says, going back to skipping stones, “there’s no way she would’ve let you stay. Even if there was a good reason for your lying. Maybe you were a spy, too.”

“I’m not quite a spy, but I did fight alongside your brother in the war,” she reveals.

“How? I thought women weren’t allowed to fight in the war.”

“Where I come from, girls are trained in fighting from childhood, to prepare them to defend themselves and the people around them.”

El considers this, tilting her head to the side.

“That sounds pretty amazing.”

“It is,” Diana confirms, a light laugh escaping her chest. “It’s pretty amazing.”

They look at each other, an understanding forming between them.

“I won’t tell Dorothy that you’re not Steve’s secretary. It’ll be our secret.”

Diana nods, placing a finger over her lips. El chuckles.

“Besides, she’s taken a liking to you now. We don’t want to ruin it.”

“I didn’t think she was going to let me in the house when I first knocked,” she admits.

“Nah, Dot’s not that tough,” El tells her. “She pretends to be, especially since Steve died, but inside she’s a softie.”

“I thought she hated when you call her Dot,” Diana teases.

“No,” El says, getting quiet. “That’s just what Steve used to call her, so she’s...sensitive about it now.”

“Oh,” she murmurs.

El smiles slightly, and turns her head down, her long blonde hair falling into her face.

“He used to call me Ellie.”

Diana takes a step towards her, reaches out her hand and gingerly places it on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, El.”

She feels the weight of his watch in her pocket, more heavy than normal. Hesitantly, she takes it out, looking it over, swiping her thumb over the glass.

El looks up, sees the watch in Diana’s hands. Her eyes widen.

“My dad gave that to my brother when he left for the war. How did you get that?”

“Before he died,” she begins, “your brother gave it to me. And I cherish it. I always keep it with me, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. It reminds me of him and everything he showed me.”

“It’s important to you,” El says.

“Yes, but...you can have it, if you want it.”

“Don’t you want it, though?” she asks, confusion coloring her features.

“I do,” Diana admits, “but you were his family. His sister.”

El looks up at her, and then reaches out and takes the watch. She turns it over in her hands, and then hands it back to Diana.

“No,” she tells her, shaking her head. “You take it. He gave it to you, which means he cared about you a lot. Probably loved you. Which means you’re his family, too. Plus, you need something to remember him by.”

Taken aback by the young girl’s kindness, Diana takes back the watch.

“Thank you, El.”

“You’re welcome. Now, come on. Dorothy’s gonna be looking for us. Supper is probably almost ready.”

She takes off towards the house, and Diana watches her leave. She places his watch in her coat pocket once again, feels comforted by weight and how it balances her.

Then, she follows El.

* * *

The three of them have a nice dinner together - steak and mashed potatoes and corn. They speak on and off, the sisters telling her stories of Steve when he was young and mischievous, causing trouble on the farm. Letting the cows get loose. Almost ruining one year’s corn crop. So much. So many memories. They spend more time laughing than they do crying, although the tears do come.

She asks if they have pictures, but they don’t, unfortunately. They never owned a camera growing up. The only ones of him that exist are the ones taken by the military, and that one taken of them in Veld. She doesn’t tell them about that one, though. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever see it herself.

By the time they’re done talking, John has come in from his work, and Dorothy prepares a plate for him. After he’s finished, the four play cards until the dark of night settles outside.

“I really should be going,” Diana says, regretfully. She really doesn’t want to leave. She feels closer to him here, and feels a kinship with all of the people here. A sort of bond formed from the light Steve carried with him through life.

“I’ll drive you back to town,” John offers, and stands up, going outside to start the car.

“Will you come back someday?” El asks hopefully, as the three of them rise from the table.

“I think I will, if that’s alright.”

El nods eagerly as she looks to Dorothy for conformation.

“Yes, you may come back,” the woman says. “We’d be happy to have you. I’d offer for you to stay tonight, but we don’t have an extra room. I don’t want to make you sleep on the floor.”

Diana laughs with Dorothy. The truth is, she would sleep on the floor - even in the barn if they insisted - but she doesn’t want to push her luck this time. There will be other occasions, more visits.

She looks at El.

“And I’ll bring a camera with me next time, so that we can take pictures of all the memories we make.”

She expects El to laugh, or smile. But instead, she rushes forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Diana’s waist.

“Thank you so much, Diana,” she murmurs into the fabric of her shirt.

She smiles gently, hugs the girl back, runs a hand over her long blonde hair, smoothing it.

And she feels a tiny bit of the gaping wound in her heart begin to heal.

“Always,” Diana murmurs to her.

“Okay, El,” Dorothy groans playfully, “let her go.”

El squeezes her tighter for a moment before letting her go.

“Why don’t you go get Diana’s coat from the bedroom?” Dorothy asks the girl, and El turns with a drawn-out ‘fine’, taking off down the hall.

“I’m sorry that my Dad couldn’t visit,” Dorothy says as the two walk towards the front door. “He’s just...really sick right now, and Steve’s death has only made it worse.”

“I understand,” she assures her. “I wish him good health and prosperity.”

They reach the entryway, and Dorothy leans against the doorframe.

“El told me about the watch,” she begins. “And I agree that you should keep it. Dad told Steve to die with that thing - to take it down with him. If he knew he was going to die, and gave it to you instead - that means something. He wanted you to have it.”

“Thank you,” Diana says quietly. “You truly don’t know what that means to me.”

Dorothy hesitates, and then reaches and takes her new friend’s hand.

“Be well, Diana.”

“You too,” she tells her, tightening her hand around hers for a moment before letting go.

El reappears with her coat. She shrugs it on, reaching into her pocket, where she finds her two treasures; his watch, and now the rolled-up newspaper with his picture in it.

She walks down the steps to the porch after one more hug from El, across the way to the car, still parked next to the barn. She climbs in, where John is waiting for her. The car starts off down the driveway, and she watches the two sisters standing side by side on the porch until they disappear over the horizon.

“You have a nice visit?” John asks her.

“I did. Very much so.”

She puts her hands in her coat pockets when they pull out onto the road, finds the watch and newspaper of course, but she feels something else in the opposite pocket. She pulls it out, looks down, and smirks.

It’s the piece of paper Etta gave her, with his address. She unfolds the paper, now crunched into a ball, and reads the words and numbers written on it one more time.

Trevor Ranch 1202 Owl Creek Lane Meeteetse, Wyoming

“You find what you were looking for?”

She smiles fondly.

“Yes. I think I did.”

A/N: there might be more chapters to this? i'm not sure though. again, let me know what you think!

#wondertrevweek2020 #wondertrev #wondertrev fic #wondertrevnet #wonder woman #diana prince #steve trevor #steve x diana

17 notes · View notes