Genres: Fluff, Romance, Slice-Of-Life
Summary: Diana treasures the simple things in life.
Dates Of Completion: September 2, 2011
Date Of Posting: September 3, 2011
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 477
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author's Notes: Genre chosen in this poll. :) Also entered into my 2011 Wonder Woman Love Fic/Art 70th Anniversary Celebration Challenge.
Wonder Woman swept into the restaurant regally, wearing her short, star-spangled skirt and high-heeled boots with her costume.
Heads turned, but even though she smiled warmly, she only had eyes for the tall, blond man in Air Force blues who was standing at a table halfway down the room. His sapphire-blue eyes sparkled as he smiled, eagerly holding out his hand.
She took it and Steve drew her to him, kissing her lightly but firmly, her heart fluttering. He pulled her chair out and she sat down, Steve taking his own seat opposite her.
“Glad you could make it, Angel.”
“So am I, my darling.” She smiled at the waitress who appeared, dressed in mustard-gold with white cuffs and collar, a white cap perched on top of her auburn curls. “I shall have the turkey on wheat, salad, and a side dish of strawberries.”
“I’ll have the chicken on wheat, French fries, and extra pickles, please,” said Steve. “Iced tea for me. Angel?”
The waitress nodded and trotted off to put in their order.
The restaurant was a modest little establishment in downtown Boston, decorated in blondwood paneling and murals of the city. Hanging green plants and blue willow plates on shelves along the walls lent a cheerful atmosphere to the place. People were happily eating and talking, the clink of silverware a melodic accompaniment to their chatter.
“So, how was monitor duty?” Steve asked.
“Happily uneventful. How is the data project progressing?”
“Pretty well. We’ve gotten good data from our sources in the Mideast.”
As Steve talked, Wonder Woman was pleased. Not many superheroes dated as their costumed selves, preferring the relative anonymity of their civilian identities. Safety was a primary issue, and there were times that Wonder Woman worried about her lover, but as Steve said, he was already a public figure after his war exploits and test pilot publicity.
And she was honest enough to admit that she was proud of her beautiful lover, pleased to show him off.
Ah, vanity, thy name is Diana, she thought in amusement.
The waitress brought their food, and they enjoyed the meal, Steve talking animatedly about his next test flight. He enjoyed intelligence work, but flying was closest to his heart.
In her busy life of superhero, Princess, and ambassador, Diana cherished her time with Steve, especially for something as relaxing as this lunch.
For all the grandness of her life (and that did not even count the Gods and Goddesses she knew on a first-name basis), she treasured the simple things.
She savored the full richness of the cherry tomatoes in her crisp salad, the sweetness of the strawberries in the side dish, and delighted in the way Steve’s unruly hair tumbled over his brow, lemon-blond in the sunlight streaming in through the window framed by blue-checked gingham curtains.
Sometimes, the ordinary was extraordinary.