so i didn’t know why you dropped contact with me and i just found out and here’s how i totally did not do that” au wondertrev
You must understand something–Diana never does this.
She never gets into charming, delightful, genuinely enjoyable conversations with men she meets in bars. (Usually the exact opposite of that really, and then Etta had to bail her out.) She never experiences that kind of instant connection with anyone right off the bat. She definitely does not have one remarkable, astonishing, golden-lit night with that person and then never hear from them again.
But it seems to be that’s what happened.
Steve Trevor–a former solider, a captain, a would be reporter and writer, wry about his own idealism–Steve Trevor had been an unlooked for miracle, a gift, Diana was raised not to be selfish or greedy, when you were brought up by your aunt and mother and a legion of women none of whom were related to you but loved you fiercely anyways–selfishness gets knocked out of you pretty quickly. But this does not feel like selfishness, this feels like something being taken from her, unfairly and unjustly. And she wants it back.
Of course, in this ridiculous modern era, she’s had to resort to Google and Facebook and Twitter, only to realize that apparently, he has no social media presence. Like, at all. He might as well not exist. And Diana knows for a fact he did exist, there’s no way she made up that night, her imagination is good but it’s not that good.
(Like–the man’s mouth. Or his hands. There’s no way in hell she imagined that.)
She even asks for Etta’s help in trying to find him again, looking in bars or coffee shops and bookstores for him, in the aisle. She even made the mistake of telling her mother about him and the response had been less than encouraging:
“Did I raise you to trail after a man like a lost puppy?”
Which stung, yes, but her aunt Antiope hadn’t been any more helpful either: “Darling, no man is that good.” But Diana is not to be dissuaded. She is not be put off. She will find him, she will see him again, and then she’s going to yell at him about ghosting on her.
It ends, strangely enough, where it began: at a half-empty bar late in the evening. Diana walks in, discouraged and disgruntled, truly not having any expectations, and then she sees him, he’s there, nursing a glass of what looks like whisky and looking far too tired and much to handsome. The golden lights from overhead make the silver threads at his temples stand out, and it shocks Diana how the sight of them is intimately familiar to her.
She could run. She could turn around, sprint out into the night, never seen him again, probably. But Diana Hestia Prince had not been raised to run from fear. So she walks up to him, directly up to him, sits down in the spare seat besides him and says, “Hello again.”
The look on his face almost makes up for the weeks of missing him.
“Diana, what–” he almost spills his drink, unexpectedly overcome and Diana should not feel that dreadful swelling of her heart. “I didn’t–I never thought–I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“Why?” she asks directly. “Is this what you do, pick up women in bars and give them a wonderful, unforgettable night and then never call them again?”
“Steve, you cad,” says the bartender, clearly delighted and enthralled by this drama. “You abandoned this magnificent work of art? My lady–” the bartender turns to Diana, fervent sincerity in every line of his face, “Please believe I would never treat you so cavalierly.”
“Sammy, you’re not helping,” says Steve through clenched teeth.
“From the looks of it, you don’t need my help,” the bartender retorts. “This breathtaking lady does.”
“Please,” says Steve. “Go wash some high glasses.”
The bartender sniffs, but not before pouring Diana a drink, pushing it towards her and declaring, “For the lady most unjustly treated–no charge.”
“Thanks,” Steve mutters as he disappears. “No really Sammy, great pal there.”
“I got a free drink out of it,” Diana retorts, taking a sip. “He seems pretty alright to me.”
“Yeah well, Sammy’s a soft touch for badly treated ladies,” Steve retorts with an edge to his tone. Diana narrows her eyes.
“You never called me. You left without even a good-bye.”
“I didn’t mean to!” he protests. “I just got a call, from an prospective editor and then I lost my phone, and you never gave me your phone number.”
“I did so!” Diana says, outraged. “I handed it to you on a scrap of paper at the bar–”
“We left in a kind of a hurry if you don’t remember–”
“Oh,” Diana says, “I remember.”
There is a charged silence between them, a fused stare. Diana is easily a thousand percent sure Sammy is eavesdropping in the kitchen. She takes a deep breath and holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
Steve looks wary, but hands it over to her anyways. Diana immediately goes to his contacts and puts in her number, noting that he wasn’t lying, her name wasn’t in there at all. After doing that, she hands it back to him, satisfied. “There. Now you don’t have an excuse.”
“I don’t need an excuse,” Steve says. “I’ve been dreaming about you for the past month.”
Every cell in Diana’s body lights up. “Can you tell me about these dreams?”
“Not here,” he says and Diana, exactly like she did before, grabs his hand and hauls him out the door, him barely being able to slap down some money for his drink. “Bye Sammy!”
“Steve! Do not screw this up!” shouts a voice from the kitchen.
“I won’t!” he yells back and Diana thinks, this never happens to me.
But it does.