durare | let's play.

[ We have to stop meeting like this, he says, as if a hundred years has not just spanned between them, as if they had only just parted ways; but his sense of humor is not lost on her, treasured and precious and now even more so. That response gets a smile from her, dawning and hopeful, and she leans over while she reaches out, a hand resting on his forehead. ]

We really should.

[ She agrees with a soft, inexplicable huff of laughter, feeling something sting the back of her eyes, emotion flickering in her chest. It's been so long, so long, and here he is, a gift, a second chance. Dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, Diana allows herself to hope. ] Do you know where you are? What year this is?

[Well that's a weird question to ask.

Steve's forehead wrinkles in confusion, and he reaches for her without thinking much about it. Just to assure himself that this is real and not some fever dream in a hospital that's falling apart brick by brick until there isn't anything left but rubble and the cries of dying men. She feels real. This bed is definitely not a standard cot issued by the British armed forces. It's quiet here. Probably not a hospital but that's all he's got.]

I haven't the faintest idea. It was 1918 last I checked.

[ Ah, of course.

1918 -- Diana leans into his touch, pressing her cheek against his calloused palm. This is what she steals from him, just a little, before she breaks the news. His warmth, his kindness, how he looks to her, confused and lost but ultimately unhurt. Steve had been sleeping for so long, preserved in the earth, and perhaps Demeter had given him a blessing of hers, kept him safe until today.

She wouldn't know -- the gods ought to all have been dead. She opens her eyes two seconds, three later, her hand pressed against his as she thinks of just how to say it -- before she decides on pure, unfettered honesty. That's always worked relatively well with her, and Steve wouldn't appreciate being lied to. ]

We're a long way from 1918.

[No, he wouldn't appreciate being lied to. Especially not from her, even if she thought she was protecting him.

He's marveling at their hands joined together when she delivers her news. He's never really thought of himself as simple, as ordinary, as settling for the average but there's something about her and them where the little things mean everything. Holding her hand. The scent of her hair when she moves. Maybe it's because she's so extraordinary. Maybe it's because he's pretty sure he's in love with her and he's barely known her a week.]

How, uh long exactly?

let's play.

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