Fic: Evidence of Things Not Seen (Wonder Woman)
I wrote a fic!!!! First one in three years!!! It was for 
galentinesday, and because I got the fantastic
chaila in the exchange, I figured I had to give her beloved Diana of Themyscira a whirl.
Title: The Evidence of Things Not Seen
Fandom: Wonder Woman comics
Spoilers: Set during Greg Rucka's run, after the events of Vol. 2, issue 213; that is, immediately after defeating Briareos but before the trip to Hades.
Warnings: No standardized warnings apply.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2014
galentinesday exchange, for
chaila, and originally posted here. Many thanks to gabolange and
beccatoria for bringing their awesome beta powers to my very rusty writing.
**
She's always made a habit of wandering the halls on quiet nights. They don't come often. More frequently it's a whirlwind, running from one disaster to the next, her staff trying to keep up and make up for the fact that even Wonder Woman can't be everywhere at once.
Tonight, though, it feels like the world is too exhausted for another crisis. Diana fully expects another one or ten to come crashing in tomorrow, but for tonight she rests.
Or broods, restless.
Without her sight, the quiet nights are louder than they ever were before. The traffic and voices filter in from outside, the old house creaks and sighs, and the occupants toss and murmur in their sleep. There is a full moon, Diana knows, and she imagines the rooms bathed in its silvery illumination. There are many kinds and shades of darkness for the sighted, but she is still adjusting to the constant blankness being blind. She doesn't mind, really: she would make the same sacrifice and more a thousand times to defeat Medousa, and her other senses are doing a good job compensating. But in these moments, the quiet moments when she slows down enough to think, the blankness seems to sink into her bones and magnify her weariness.
It takes the idea of a dark night of the soul to a new level, Diana thinks ruefully, as she moves around the quiet kitchen, brewing tea. The dark night of the soul is supposed to lead to greater enlightenment, according to the Christian mystic who coined the term. Darkness in service of illumination. Most of the time, Diana believes that. She serves goodness, justice, and compassion. She serves Athena. And if that's all felt harder than usual lately, well. Sometimes the enlightenment takes longer to come.
The kettle whistles, and she overreacts, jumping to battle readiness instinctively, before feeling like a fool. She grips the edge of the countertop, suddenly furious. She serves Athena, and she is beaten and stabbed and blinded, pitted against monsters. She serves Athena, and for all her devotion, Martin Garibaldi is still dead. Why, my goddess, why? So that Athena can defeat Zeus? So that the gods can play their power games, in which Diana of Themyscira is but a pawn and a mortal child she loves even less than that?
She takes a deep, shuddering breath and lifts the kettle off the stove, silencing its screams.
Footsteps on the stairs tell her the kettle was too loud, or that she's not the only one up brooding tonight. Ferdinand is the most likely to be awakened by noise in the kitchen, and Peter is the most likely to be up brooding. But the step is too light for either of them, and Diana is grateful not to have to face Ferdinand's knowing gaze or Peter's heavy grief and blame.
"Ferdinand?" The half-whispered call precedes Leslie Anderson into the kitchen. "Oh," she says as her slippers strike the tile. "Diana, I didn't realize-"
Diana turns toward the voice. "Couldn't sleep," she admits, "so I thought I'd make some tea. Would you like some?"
"I heard someone in here and I just assumed it was Ferdinand," Leslie explains. "I don't want to disturb you."
Diana smiles. "You aren't." She's glad of the distraction, glad of having something to do, someone to pull her out of her own head.
"I realized I forgot to eat dinner," Leslie admits. "I got caught up in, in thinking about," she pauses, "things."
Diana decides to let that hang for the moment. "Ferdinand made stuffed peppers. I'm sure there are some left." She turns toward the refrigerator, but Leslie moves to get them herself. Diana hears the snick of the light switch, the clatter of a plate. Funny, she thinks, how people just assume she will fight monsters blind, will best Zeus himself, but reheating leftovers is for the sighted. She busies herself with discarding the leaves now that the tea has steeped.
"Can I ask you something?" Leslie's voice is uncertain.
"Sure," Diana replies. She is torn between meaning it and not. She is never more herself than when she's helping someone, and she feels especially compelled to solve the problems of the various people she takes under her wing. But perhaps not tonight. On this of all nights, perhaps she could be spared someone wanting something from her.
"How do you know whether to trust people?" Leslie asks all in a rush, and then pauses. Diana imagines the look on Leslie's face as she gathers her thoughts, so she waits for her to continue. Leslie takes a deep breath. "I mean, for years I thought Ronnie was my best friend and closest ally. I thought you were full of it. I thought…well I didn't really think about Minotaurs at all except to think they probably weren't real, and now I know I was wrong about you, and I'm confused about Ferdinand, and Ronnie…" A fork clatters to the counter. "Everything I thought I knew is all turned upside down, and I don't know how to know anything. Who am I, even? How do you know who people really are and that they're not just who you imagine them to be?"
Diana doesn't respond right away. This isn't a problem she can solve for Leslie. Sometimes she's not even sure she can solve it for herself. Her doubts about Athena flash angrily through her mind. She thinks about her lasso, and about the fact that much of the time she doesn't even need it: people tend to tell her the truth. It's an advantage that someone like Leslie doesn't have.
It's also less of an advantage than Leslie might imagine. Her own complicated identity gives her doubts. She thinks of Peter managing public relations after her book was published. Of all the people who love her and all the people who hate her. Of her sisters and the way she - princess, goddess, lone child in a static society, made of clay and given life by the gods - has never entirely been one of them. Of the way she doesn't quite fit in either of her worlds. How do we know that people aren't just who we imagine them to be?
"Diana?" Leslie's voice is hesitant. Diana shakes her head to bring herself out of her reverie.
"I don't know," she admits. Another night she might have had another answer, but tonight she is weary and sad and angry. She focuses on the warmth of the mug in her hand, the soft breathing of her companion. "That's what makes it hard. You think you know what's up and what's down, what you're fighting for. But ultimately, you can't ever be certain. Even a lasso of truth only takes you so far. The rest is faith."
"Does it scare you?" Leslie asks. Leslie's perception of her has shifted, and the change is evident in her voice; there is a quiet gratitude now, and Diana isn't sure what about her vulnerability could possibly make Leslie grateful.
Quietly, honestly. "Yes."
The clock in the front hall chimes 2:00, and Diana hears Leslie jump in surprise. Leslie stands, walks her dishes to the sink, and then comes to place a hand on Diana's shoulder. "You should get some sleep, Diana."
"Mmm," she replies, non-committal. "You too."
She listens to Leslie's footsteps disappear into the house. Outside, a car horn blares. Her tea has gone lukewarm.
"Clear-eyed Athena, unrivaled in wisdom," she whispers into the darkness, "hear the prayer of your servant."
Crossposted from DW, where there are
comments. Comment here or there.
galentinesday, and because I got the fantastic
chaila in the exchange, I figured I had to give her beloved Diana of Themyscira a whirl.
Title: The Evidence of Things Not Seen
Fandom: Wonder Woman comics
Spoilers: Set during Greg Rucka's run, after the events of Vol. 2, issue 213; that is, immediately after defeating Briareos but before the trip to Hades.
Warnings: No standardized warnings apply.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2014
galentinesday exchange, for
chaila, and originally posted here. Many thanks to gabolange and
beccatoria for bringing their awesome beta powers to my very rusty writing.
**
She's always made a habit of wandering the halls on quiet nights. They don't come often. More frequently it's a whirlwind, running from one disaster to the next, her staff trying to keep up and make up for the fact that even Wonder Woman can't be everywhere at once.
Tonight, though, it feels like the world is too exhausted for another crisis. Diana fully expects another one or ten to come crashing in tomorrow, but for tonight she rests.
Or broods, restless.
Without her sight, the quiet nights are louder than they ever were before. The traffic and voices filter in from outside, the old house creaks and sighs, and the occupants toss and murmur in their sleep. There is a full moon, Diana knows, and she imagines the rooms bathed in its silvery illumination. There are many kinds and shades of darkness for the sighted, but she is still adjusting to the constant blankness being blind. She doesn't mind, really: she would make the same sacrifice and more a thousand times to defeat Medousa, and her other senses are doing a good job compensating. But in these moments, the quiet moments when she slows down enough to think, the blankness seems to sink into her bones and magnify her weariness.
It takes the idea of a dark night of the soul to a new level, Diana thinks ruefully, as she moves around the quiet kitchen, brewing tea. The dark night of the soul is supposed to lead to greater enlightenment, according to the Christian mystic who coined the term. Darkness in service of illumination. Most of the time, Diana believes that. She serves goodness, justice, and compassion. She serves Athena. And if that's all felt harder than usual lately, well. Sometimes the enlightenment takes longer to come.
The kettle whistles, and she overreacts, jumping to battle readiness instinctively, before feeling like a fool. She grips the edge of the countertop, suddenly furious. She serves Athena, and she is beaten and stabbed and blinded, pitted against monsters. She serves Athena, and for all her devotion, Martin Garibaldi is still dead. Why, my goddess, why? So that Athena can defeat Zeus? So that the gods can play their power games, in which Diana of Themyscira is but a pawn and a mortal child she loves even less than that?
She takes a deep, shuddering breath and lifts the kettle off the stove, silencing its screams.
Footsteps on the stairs tell her the kettle was too loud, or that she's not the only one up brooding tonight. Ferdinand is the most likely to be awakened by noise in the kitchen, and Peter is the most likely to be up brooding. But the step is too light for either of them, and Diana is grateful not to have to face Ferdinand's knowing gaze or Peter's heavy grief and blame.
"Ferdinand?" The half-whispered call precedes Leslie Anderson into the kitchen. "Oh," she says as her slippers strike the tile. "Diana, I didn't realize-"
Diana turns toward the voice. "Couldn't sleep," she admits, "so I thought I'd make some tea. Would you like some?"
"I heard someone in here and I just assumed it was Ferdinand," Leslie explains. "I don't want to disturb you."
Diana smiles. "You aren't." She's glad of the distraction, glad of having something to do, someone to pull her out of her own head.
"I realized I forgot to eat dinner," Leslie admits. "I got caught up in, in thinking about," she pauses, "things."
Diana decides to let that hang for the moment. "Ferdinand made stuffed peppers. I'm sure there are some left." She turns toward the refrigerator, but Leslie moves to get them herself. Diana hears the snick of the light switch, the clatter of a plate. Funny, she thinks, how people just assume she will fight monsters blind, will best Zeus himself, but reheating leftovers is for the sighted. She busies herself with discarding the leaves now that the tea has steeped.
"Can I ask you something?" Leslie's voice is uncertain.
"Sure," Diana replies. She is torn between meaning it and not. She is never more herself than when she's helping someone, and she feels especially compelled to solve the problems of the various people she takes under her wing. But perhaps not tonight. On this of all nights, perhaps she could be spared someone wanting something from her.
"How do you know whether to trust people?" Leslie asks all in a rush, and then pauses. Diana imagines the look on Leslie's face as she gathers her thoughts, so she waits for her to continue. Leslie takes a deep breath. "I mean, for years I thought Ronnie was my best friend and closest ally. I thought you were full of it. I thought…well I didn't really think about Minotaurs at all except to think they probably weren't real, and now I know I was wrong about you, and I'm confused about Ferdinand, and Ronnie…" A fork clatters to the counter. "Everything I thought I knew is all turned upside down, and I don't know how to know anything. Who am I, even? How do you know who people really are and that they're not just who you imagine them to be?"
Diana doesn't respond right away. This isn't a problem she can solve for Leslie. Sometimes she's not even sure she can solve it for herself. Her doubts about Athena flash angrily through her mind. She thinks about her lasso, and about the fact that much of the time she doesn't even need it: people tend to tell her the truth. It's an advantage that someone like Leslie doesn't have.
It's also less of an advantage than Leslie might imagine. Her own complicated identity gives her doubts. She thinks of Peter managing public relations after her book was published. Of all the people who love her and all the people who hate her. Of her sisters and the way she - princess, goddess, lone child in a static society, made of clay and given life by the gods - has never entirely been one of them. Of the way she doesn't quite fit in either of her worlds. How do we know that people aren't just who we imagine them to be?
"Diana?" Leslie's voice is hesitant. Diana shakes her head to bring herself out of her reverie.
"I don't know," she admits. Another night she might have had another answer, but tonight she is weary and sad and angry. She focuses on the warmth of the mug in her hand, the soft breathing of her companion. "That's what makes it hard. You think you know what's up and what's down, what you're fighting for. But ultimately, you can't ever be certain. Even a lasso of truth only takes you so far. The rest is faith."
"Does it scare you?" Leslie asks. Leslie's perception of her has shifted, and the change is evident in her voice; there is a quiet gratitude now, and Diana isn't sure what about her vulnerability could possibly make Leslie grateful.
Quietly, honestly. "Yes."
The clock in the front hall chimes 2:00, and Diana hears Leslie jump in surprise. Leslie stands, walks her dishes to the sink, and then comes to place a hand on Diana's shoulder. "You should get some sleep, Diana."
"Mmm," she replies, non-committal. "You too."
She listens to Leslie's footsteps disappear into the house. Outside, a car horn blares. Her tea has gone lukewarm.
"Clear-eyed Athena, unrivaled in wisdom," she whispers into the darkness, "hear the prayer of your servant."
Crossposted from DW, where there are
comments. Comment here or there.