With a raised eyebrow, Diana pointed out “I could have corrected that idea the last time I saw you. We had tattooing on Themyscira.” If it had existed there, the practice must have been common for more people than simply sailors, at least at one time. Perhaps not in Steve’s time, but once. And yet for all of his lack of knowledge of the modern world, with astounding clarity, he’d managed to put his finger precisely on the problem she faced. “Put up with, perhaps, but comprehend? Really attempt to understand? I have found that to be less common.” Not completely outside the realm of possibility. She’d had friends who had made that effort. But it was as uncommon as it was appreciated.
She frowned, considering just how many times New York had been under assault, and revised “Well. Not at this scale, at least.” She wondered if some people hadn’t chosen to evacuate simply because there had never before been a threat quite this large, and quite this insidious. The Chitauri threat, from what she understood, had been reasonably contained, and more recent threats had seemed, at least to her, to be more focused, less apt to seize random civilians. At the same time, their assault had been well-planned, and hopefully would not have permitted much spread of the battle. “I think perhaps the man you saw underestimated the threat, but things seemed to be contained when we left,” she said, a compromise between her varying opinions. His next question, by comparison, didn’t require any of the consideration. “I’m not an expert in swaying,” she observed teasingly. “But I’ve found that it isn’t bad.” In a softer tone, she added “Not the same, of course.” Nothing could ever quite compare to that first experience, out in the snowy night air with piano music pouring out the open door and into the square where they danced alone. She could only shake her head when he claimed that she was a good teacher. She’d known enough teachers to know that she did not belong among the ranks of the truly skilled.
Although she hadn’t meant to embarrass him, it was somewhat gratifying to see that she hadn’t lost her ability to fluster him, even a little. It was good for him, she thought. She shook her head at him with perhaps a little more vigor than was strictly necessary. “There are absolutely not pictures. Not that there would have been anything to take pictures of. I would never have such poor taste.” For more than a day or so, before she had realized the mistake and corrected it, at least. But she was not about to admit that when she’d just finished asserting that her fashion choices were better than that. Besides, the few pictures were very well hidden. She could feel reasonably confident that he would never see them, unless he managed a truly bizarre set of coincidences. “Very, very large hair is what you should be picturing in general. It was alarming.” And had taught her a valuable lesson in the process, which was worthwhile even considering the regrets. She had to wholeheartedly agree with that assessment - she certainly felt that he belonged wherever she was. But when he continued, she gave him a stern look. “You are not ever going to be a burden,” she asserted hotly. “If you need aid, I will give it, as long and as much as I can give, because that is what people who care for each other do.”
“Did you? I hadn’t noticed.” Not that he’d been inspecting every Amazon that closely, but, still. They were fascinating women and he would be lying if he claimed not to have given them extra attention, from the way they styled their hair to the way they dressed. At the time their outfits had seemed wildly inappropriate, but today he imagined they would stick out for different reasons. And if Diana had any tattoos, he...must have been...distracted? “I’ve seen both and I believe in you implicitly, in every part of that world, but I have to admit I still have trouble understanding completely. Seeing can be believing -- there’s still logic issues that humans have to get past, I think. But if religion can be trusted without proof, I think your gods could be accepted just as completely. Maybe it’ll just take another 100 years.” Surely, by then, he really would be gone. And Diana would still be Diana, which was a comfort.
“Oh,” he breathed out, pierced by a nervous laugh. “That’s...comforting, still, I suppose? Situations can always get worse, but they can get better, too. I’ll just keep on my toes in case it’s the former.” The death toll was low, he assumed, based on the lack of bodies strewn across the battle field. It was nothing like the kind of war he was used to and had there been corpses to contend with, he wasn’t immune to the feeling of loss but he could move past it without much struggle. He wondered if Diana had gotten any better at that. Her tone made him smile but it faded slightly with the immediate question of how much experience she’d gained with slow dancing since he’d been gone, primarily with who. If she had someone in her life that filled that role, he assumed she wouldn’t necessarily tell him but that they wouldn’t be talking the way they were. As if, despite everything, nothing had really changed. On his end, nothing had, there was no time for change and he wasn’t sure there was any possibility of moving on from a woman like her. “Not bad. I’ll take it. They still make good music for swaying, don’t they?” Everything seemed to have words, these days. That might not be so bad. “Hey, I’m entitled to my opinion.” She had managed to teach Steve all he’d needed to know in a hurry.
He raised his eyebrows, her insistence highly suspicious. “It sounds like you do. And that you did. I promise not to laugh.” Steve was usually a master at keeping a straight face, but he had a feeling this was a promise he might not actually keep if by some miracle she one day changed her mind. “I’m old, you know. I’m picturing hair from Georgian Era paintings. Like Marie Antoinette.” It would be truly something if that hair came back into style. For all her knew, it was a matter of time. Apparently fashion trends were cyclical. Man, if looks could kill. Diana had one of the best serious faces he had ever seen. But that went without saying, as she was one of the most passionate people who had ever lived, he thought. Especially compared to the people Steve was surrounded with during the Great War. Those men never showed their emotions unless they were yelling about strategy. Occasionally a younger soldier would express fear or a longing for home. “It’s difficult, to be in the dark so much of the time. I can’t help feeling like I’m a distraction from more important things. This life, it must be demanding enough already.” Still, he took comfort in her assurances, he just didn’t know to express how much. Now that she was standing close enough to touch, he reached out to brush him fingers against hers in lieu of holding her hand. “Care for each other,” he reiterated. “Can’t argue with you there.”
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