maelstrom

Barbara’s mind reels. She doesn’t notice herself tensing, but she notices Diana’s eyes flicker to her hands and realize she’s fisted her fork. She forces herself to release it. Her voice, though, is miracu-lously calm. “It was beautiful.”

Diana peers at her cautiously. She hasn’t moved, even though most people would at the very least tense at Barbara’s reaction. “Thank you,” she says slowly, smoothly. “I was able to salvage most of it. I wore it to the Gala.”

“Oh.” An awkward silence engulfs the two women. Diana still watches her carefully, still relaxed and loose. Barbara, though she didn’t move either, was stretched taunt.

God. Why does it all make sense?

An eagle, whose form Diana had taken when Barbara first became Cheetah in the war that felt millen-niums away. The same form assigned to the assassin known for her cruel efficiency. The only other animal form in the Agency besides Barbara and the Bear- Bella. A golden eagle, nonetheless. What had been the shape of Diana’s mask on the day of the Gala, again? It is a formless lump in Barbara’s distorted mind, but the color shines through the haze. Gold.

Maybe the Agency didn’t want Diana dead. Maybe they wanted the Eagle dead. There are many reasons for terminating an agent. Sometimes, they get out of control. Other times, they start to challenge the Agency. Barbara had herself been sent to terminate a few agents before. It wouldn’t be farfetched to assume that for the other best assassin, the Agency would send her.

The night of the Gala. How did Diana find the Dark Room? It is hidden. Reachable only by an elevator accessible by keycards that only top members of the Agency have access to. The Eagle attended the Gala every year. She would know where most of the major rooms are. There’s the slight possibility of Diana knowing where the Dark Room is because she is working with the government infiltrating the Gala, but Barbara can’t bring herself to believe that.

What does she call her again? Barbara Ann. Dr. Barbara Ann Minerva had died in a fire, her records gone from the Smithsonian the moment she quit. But the Eagle would have many an opportunity to get access to the Bear’s files on the agents.

She mechanically picks up her fork and eats another bite of egg. Diana is still watching her, her eyes unreadable, her pose lax. Why? Why would Diana participate in the Agency?

The Bear never told her who was assigned to Diana Prince. Barbara had assumed that it would be the Eagle who would be sent after Diana. But now? Now, with this new revelation… The only other person qualified in the Agency to take on Diana was the Bear herself.

She drops her fork. The Bear is dead. Barbara murdered her. Her thoughts from that night are muddled, but she remembers one thing crystal clear: the mask, the bear mask, laughing at her.

It hits Barbara like a wall of bricks. LSD. That’s the only thing that would make sense. And she only drank one thing that night: the flute of champagne Diana brought her.

She looks up. She doesn’t know what her expression is, but Diana’s expression changes drastically when she sees it. “Barbara Ann?” She tries, tentatively.

Barbara glances down at the fork in her hand. She imagines herself lounging across the room, stabbing the fork into Diana’s eye, the spurt of blood that would reward her. An eye for an eye. An eye for a night of muddled memories and the blood of the Bear on her hands.

She sets the fork down.

“Why?”

Diana’s brows draw together. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Barbara feels as though she’s watching herself speak, underwater. “Why did you join the Agency.” It’s supposed to be a question, but it comes out like an accusation. She doesn’t take it back.

Diana blinks once. She doesn’t look shocked, nor does she look defensive. If anything, she seems as relaxed as though they were discussing the weather. The blink is the only thing that gives away her surprise. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Barbara spits out, unexpected anger biting through the fog of surprise clouding her mind. “Tell me the truth. God, Diana, I freakin’ trusted you.” She wants to shake her head, put her head down in her hands, but she won’t take her eyes off Diana now. This Diana is foreign to her, impossible to combine with the Diana with soft hands and softer smiles. “I fucking trusted you, and you drugged me?”

It's stupid, she knows. Stupid that she cares so much. Who is Diana to her but a one-night-stand and an enemy. But she does. She cares, so much that her next breath sounds like a gasp. It feels like heart-break with a familiar face. “Why?”

Diana’s mask cracks at the crack in her voice. Her eyes, unreadable a moment ago, are now urgent and concerned. “I,” her hand reaches out, as though to touch Barbara. She seems to think better of it and tucks it back. “I- The Agency had intel I needed.”

“Did you kill all those people?” Pot, meet kettle, she thinks to herself hysterically. But she’s reeling from hurt so much that she can’t bother to acknowledge the irony. She’s signed herself away to the Devil and she had no regrets. But Diana? Diana is good. She hates that Diana is, but she needs Diana to be. Because Diana is the only piece of good she can remember. She wants, no, she needs Diana to be good.

“The government executed them. I just create spectacles to not be suspicious.”

“Oh.” She nearly sags with relief. She’s held up only by the remaining bits of anger she has left. Her accusation sounds too resigned to her own ears. “You used me.”

“I,” Diana closes her eyes, swallows hard. She doesn’t seem as defensive as Barbara. “I did. I knew Bella Raeid was coming for me. I had to find some way to get to her.”

“So you drugged me.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not enough, but please believe me when I tell you I didn’t know you’d have such a big reaction to LSD.” Diana’s eyes open again, and they are unfailingly sincere. “Please believe me. I would never have done so if I had known…” She trails off.

Barbara lets the silence hang before them for a moment. When she speaks next, she’s calm again. “Did you expect I would help you kill the Bear?”

Diana shakes her head. “I approached you in the hopes you would lead me to her. Afterwards, depending on any conversations, I expected to either fight you both or fight Bella Raeid alongside you. I hoped for the latter,” she swallows hard again, “but I didn’t hold out much hope.”

Barbara considers this. “And when you walked in to her, dead?”

“The government people I was with cleaned up everything. My job had been to capture her. I had all the information I needed from her, though, so her death was no loss.”

“Wonderful,” she says sardonically. “Wonderful to know my mental breakdown was convenient for you.”

“No.” Diana’s voice is firm, urgent, terrified. Yet she didn’t seem terrified of Barbara, from the way she leaned in. “No. I never meant to hurt you, Barbara Ann. I am sorry beyond what I can say. Seeing you on the ground, covered in blood, I had never been so scared.” She holds Barbara’s gaze, her eyes glimmering in the sunlight.

Barbara softens. She doesn’t mean to, but she understands what Diana did. If she were in Diana’s shoes, she would have done more. Diana is still too kind. “Jeez, Romeo, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Diana sort of half-smiles at that. “I can do better.” It comes out sincere, soft. Barbara turns away. She doesn’t want to deal with that. She’s still in turmoil.

“Why am I in your home, Diana?” Then, more quietly, “What do you want from me?”

Diana studies her. Barbara wonders if she'll even answer. “You can still go back to academia, you know.” Diana says suddenly, and Barbara blinked at the non-sequitur. “I understand you still enjoy reading and researching gemology.”

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Barbara nods. Diana continues. “I’ve missed your presence, Barbara Ann. That’s what I want from you. I want you to allow me back into your life.”

Direct. Like Diana. Barbara hopes she can’t see her blush. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

Diana shrugs, looking sheepish. Then her eyes go serious again. “Will you let me?”

Barbara thinks of warm skin, of the photo framed on her bedside table. She thinks of heartbreak, of betrayal. She thinks of Max, the wish stone, her wishes ripped from her, but also of her time in the Agency, the throats she cut, the limbs she snapped. She thinks of animals laughing, people jeering, and Diana’s arms, carrying her as though she were precious.

“We’ll see.”