sixthiterationlogs | as under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

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as under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

WHO: Steve Trevor
WHERE: Fountain / Center of Town
WHEN: July 25
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: n/a

drowning

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. At first, he thinks that obviously he can't breathe, the fire and the smoke from the explosion are causing him to experience his last breaths in a way that mimics drowning, the chemicals from Dr. Poison's vials clouding his lungs and making it feel like he can't get a breath. Only, then he opens his eyes to water surrounding him and realizes that no, this isn't the plane, he's actually drowning.

Again.

This time, he's far more conscious than the last and something like a current in the water is pushing him upwards, though it's like there's a block in his mind that's preventing him from getting past the flinch of expecting fire and poison. With one last strong kick, he surfaces and hauls in oxygen in panicked, heavy hauls, the breath he never expected to take again. He reaches for his revolver, out of habit, but there's nothing at hand on him beyond the straps of a bag and a pair of clothes better suited to the hospital than war. Grasping the stones, he feels a little too unsteady to haul himself over the edge just yet, but he digs his fingernails into stonework and pries himself up until he can roll to the ground, collapsing in a wet heap.

He's breathing. He's ... alive? Steve can't see how that's possible, not unless he failed his mission, and if he'd done that, then there are bigger things to worry about. He needs to get up and find out what happened. He needs to find Chief or Charlie or Sami or --

Steve closes his eyes and thinks about Diana, wishing they'd had more time. Maybe he's managed to get lucky and get himself out a tight mess (though he hasn't got the first idea how), but that doesn't mean that he gets to stop working. Hauling himself to a sitting position, he clambers to his feet when he sees someone passing in the distance through blurred vision and wet lashes. "Hey," he calls, coughing up residual water. "Wait, wait, just hold a second, please," he adds, straining to get his legs to work, but he's still so shaky, the explosion is still so fresh in his mind.

bearings

It's sort of like going back in time to his childhood, Steve thinks as he maps his way around the village, using the measure of his step in order to gauge distances and horizons as best as he can. The houses look strangely unfamiliar, built with materials that Steve doesn't really recognize, but there's common buildings that he can pick out and name with ease. He ventures towards the mill and the inn, takes his time with a few of the other public structures, but eventually, makes his way back to the fountain to take inventory of what's in his bag.

He doesn't find any weapons, which is the first thing he's looking for. After so many years working with the BEF under their intelligence arm, Steve's not entirely sure how comfortable he feels being unarmed, which is something he'll have to fix soon enough. Until then, his own two fists will need to do the trick.

There's a whole wall of things he's not thinking about right now, like the part where he's probably dead and he probably burned up in a haze of poison and smoke, but somehow he's managed to come out of it with a body and a pair of gray hospital scrubs? That's what Steve doesn't understand, not to mention if this is supposed to be heaven or hell, he'd expect something out of it.

Adjusting on his knees as he starts to repack his bag, he glances at his surroundings again and tries to decide which way to go. Without a compass, he'll have to go the old-fashioned way, but with the sun high in the sky, he figures he's got time enough to choose. "North," he says aloud, squinting and trying to get his bearings. "Time to head North."

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Maybe this isn't real. Maybe this is some kind of strange reward for Steve's actions and he really did make it to heaven, despite the list of things that he'd done during the war that he'd thought would keep him from seeing any kind of redemption. One great act at the end of a long war putting his missions first shouldn't have been enough, but if this is his reward, he's not going to fight it very hard.

He feels the way his heart thuds and thumps against her hand, beating all the harder for the touch, and it makes him wonder how he can even have a heartbeat. If you're dead, should you have a body, a heartbeat, a second chance like this?

"I don't either," he admits, swallowing back his confusion and his grief to step closer to her, pressing his fingers through her hair and inhaling deeply when she's tucked in with him, pressed in like it's the most natural fit in the world. "I fired the shot," he strains to say, the words scraping out of his mouth like sandpaper. "I fired, I just remember the heat, the adrenaline, the grief of losing you, then I was drowning again."

"This isn't Themyscira? Some other Amazon island? Are there more of them?" he wonders, stumbling to find some kind of explanation.

Her fingers curl into the material of his shirt and she's holding on as though he were somehow anchoring her into place. Maybe he was because part of her just wanted to sink to the ground and weep. What did Steve showing up mean? Was she dead as well? Could he have a heartbeat if he was dead? Would she? She just didn't even know what to think at the moment.

But maybe that was the problem. She was thinking instead of just being. He had told her once that maybe she just needed to believe and maybe that was what she needed to be doing at that moment. Because nothing that had happened to her over the last couple of days made any sense...

Her eyes shut and she leaned her head in, resting her forehead against his. She didn't want to think about how it had been when he'd died. Part of her had died with him and until she had seen him moments ago, she hadn't ever truly recovered from it. She had mourned him a little every day and though it had been easier to breathe as the years passed, there hadn't been a day that had passed where she hadn't thought about him.

Finally she opened her eyes and shook her head. "No, this is not Themyscira nor is it some other Amazon island. This is no place I have ever heard of. A place with no name." Her gaze searched his and she just wanted to get lost in it for as long as she could. "How long have you been here?"

This is all really confusing, but the truth is that Steve's pretty sure that he's about ready to ignore all logic and reality and the signs that this doesn't make any sense, because she's here, with him, standing right in front of him. Though he'd only known her for a short time, he'd started to have invading dreams that whispered to him about a potential future together.

Maybe not breakfast and marriage, but respect and fighting together, figuring each other out. Now, she's here and so is he. Maybe he's dead, maybe he's been saved by some other merciful god, because if Ares is real, then why not? Why not assume that at the last minute, his sacrifice had been deemed worthy and he'd been given a second chance? Why here, though, is the part he can't figure out.

"Someone has my watch," he can't help teasing her, sliding his fingers to her wrist to check it, but it's not there either. "It didn't break, did it?" he asks, feeling strangely overly sentimental for that little piece from his father, not just because of the connection to him, but because of its connection to Diana now, too.

Being with someone is not anything Diana has ever even allowed herself to think about. She had told herself that it was because it wasn't fair to the other person because while they would grow old, she would pretty much look the same for many many years. At least that's what she allowed herself to think.

Truthfully, she hadn't wanted to open herself up to the pain and grief that had threatened to overcome her when Steve had died. She had been so angry at herself, at him, at the world because he was gone. She had truly almost lost herself in that pain. But, Steve had also helped her regain her control. Though, here he was. Here they both were. He wasn't some figment of her imagination, not some dream. He was flesh and blood and she was touching him. And honestly, she just didn't want to ever let him go again.

Diana's gaze flickered down to her wrist and for a moment her forehead crinkled in confusion. "No, it's fine... It's in Paris, in my desk--" Her sentence trailed off and it was only then that she realized that Steve might not know how long they had been separated. "Steve... I--" How did one even start that conversation?

"It's been in my possession for many years, I've never lost sight of it." Until now.

It's not here, he can already deduce that much and he doesn't need anything more than a quick glance to know that. It doesn't take keen insight to figure out that everything you had is stolen from you, otherwise he'd still be wearing his full gear from the plane. Maybe he wouldn't want to, given how doused in poison it probably was, but he'd have the familiar weight of it on his shoulders.

"Paris?" he echoes. "How'd you get back to Paris so quickly?" Then, he stumbles, his initial question making no sense. He curls his palm over her hand and tugs her in, just a little more, like he can't bear to have distance between them. "Years?" he echoes. "What are you talking about?" he asks, feeling a pit start to sink in his chest, like a shell descending to the ground, ready to strike.

She stared at him, her eyes widening just a bit because she truly had no idea how she was suppose to tell him that he'd been dead for almost a century. She sighed and for a moment she closed her eyes because this was truly nothing she'd ever thought that she'd have to talk about. But she had never lied to Steve and she wasn't about to start then.

After a moment she opened her eyes again. Her hand moved up from his chest so it was resting on his shoulder, almost like she was prepared to hold him up. "Steve," she began slowly, her gaze searching his. "To you this all might have seemed like it just happened... But, for me? It's been almost a century. I live and work in Paris, well I guess I lived there... But it's been a long time since I've seen you." Touched you, wanted to lose myself in you. Those last two were left unsaid though because she knew what she was saying might overwhelm him and she didn't need to be adding to it.

He's leaning in to listen to what she's saying, but it doesn't make any sense. Then again, did landing in Themyscira make any sense? The lasso? Any of it? Why should this make sense? Then again, if he lets his brain clear of the passion and emotions, he can clearly see how it does. They're Amazons, right? They probably don't follow the same ageing process that the rest of them do, but a century?

He swallows the lump in his throat, because a hundred years is a very long time. "Hundred years, huh?" he echoes, trying not to sound gutted by it, because that's a long time to move on and forget him. He still loves her so much, with all his heart, but that second chance he'd been looking at seems further out on the horizon now.

More of a hope than a certainty.

"How uh, how's the future?" he can't help asking, trying to be light and not let the grief of a potential lost second chance overwhelm him.

Diana's eyebrows drew together and she was studying him intently. He looked so sad suddenly and she found herself automatically pulling him in for a tight hug. She didn't know exactly what he was thinking, but she had a pretty good idea and that wasn't anything she wanted him to be thinking.

She just clung to him, her face buried in his neck for a few moments and she inhaled his scent. She had missed him so much and now that he was there, she didn't know what they would do but she had figured that this was something that they could figure out together. But whatever he was suddenly doubting wasn't going to help anyone.

After a moment she drew back and lifted her hand to cup his cheek. "Steve, it has been lonely." She hoped that he would understand what she was saying. But in a way it had been, even though it had been her decision to have it that way. She had never cared for anyone the way she cared for him.

The instant she's in his arms, he closes his eyes and breathes her in, like that's second nature to Steve. It's almost too much for him to bear, but he's also too selfish to let her go. After blowing himself up to save the day, he's pretty sure he's earned enough selfish acts for at least the next month, which is why he's not planning on letting her go.

He stares at her face, looking for any sign of lying. It doesn't take long for him to figure out there's no lasso to wrap around his wrist to get the truth out of her (or him), but she's never really lied to him, has she? He's the one who operated on half-truths and subterfuge. Lonely, that means that maybe Steve still has a chance.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to give a guy from a hundred years in your past another chance?" he asks, throwing courage to the wind and hoping it sticks.

Diana couldn't stop staring at him or touching him. She just wanted to make sure that he was there, actually there and not a figment of her imagination, some hallucination that the strange village was putting her through. But he was there, he was flesh and bone and he was alive.

And now he was asking her for another chance? Her knees felt weak for a moment and she was glad that his arms were around her in case her legs suddenly decided to give out on her. "Steve," she said softly, her gaze searching his. Her other hand came up so she was cupping both of his cheeks. "That is a question you don't even need to ask me because the answer has always been yes and will always be yes."

"One hundred years, I figured I had to ask," he says seriously, because he doesn't ever want to make Diana feel as if she has to choose him. He'd feel as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, but at the same time, he knows that he needs to let her decide. That stress melts from off his face when she says what she does, tugging her in that small bit more as if there's space between them, eager to seal it.

"If you're okay with it," he murmurs, eyes drawn to her lips, "I'd really like to be kissing you right now."

Diana didn't do what she didn't want to do. She had once told him that what she did was not up to him, and still lived that way. She didn't let anyone decide anything for her that she didn't let them.

But Steve, he really didn't need to worry. Diana was sure she had loved him from the moment she had pulled him from the water all those many years ago. Even though she had lost him, she had never stopped loving him and she wasn't sure she could stop even had she wanted to now.

Her lips curved up into a smile. "Again, that is a question you don't even need to ask me." But Diana didn't wait for him to make the move, no, that wasn't her style either. Still cupping his cheeks, she closed the little distance that was between them and pressed her lips gently against his.

Maybe he'll stop asking these questions at some point later on, but for now, he needs to ask them in case the answer is no. He has a lot to adjust to, right now, and he doesn't want to do any of it wrong. If he screws this up, he's not sure he'll deserve a proper second chance, which means doing it right.

The kiss is gentle and amazing, but it's not enough. Steve presses his hand to the small of her back and curls her into the warmth of his body so he can kiss her properly, the way he'd wanted to on that airstrip, when he'd run out of time. This isn't a goodbye, though, so much as a greeting and a promise of more to come.

He'd wished for more time and somehow, he doesn't know how, but somehow, he's got it.

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as under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

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