"Good morning, Steve!" Yeoman First Class Diana Prince called out with a smile as she stepped through the door of their office in the War Department just as she had nearly every morning for the last three years. Her dark blue wool uniform jacket was buttoned up to her neck, and her dark hair was pulled back into a neat and tidy bun. She set her hat and gloves sat on the chair against the wall, and then peered into her boss's office.

Steven Leonard Trevor was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed, his breathing even. She couldn't help but smile. This wasn't the first time she had found him asleep at his desk, having worked all night. And, she mused, it most likely wouldn't be the last. She crouched next to his chair, resisting the urge to brush the brown hair from his forehead. "Steve?" she said softly, touching his shoulder.

"Diana!" His eyes flew open, and she reached out to steady him before the wooden chair could topple over. "I must have fallen asleep... What time is it?"

"It's after ten," she replied, perplexed. "Don't tell me you were here all weekend!" she chided him as he blinked owlishly. "Etta and I called your officers quarters Saturday if you wanted to take in a show, but they said you hadn't come in yet. She took me to see that new Danny Kaye picture at the base cinema —"

"I have to call General Blankenship."

"Steve, what's wrong?" she asked, alarmed. But he only grinned.

"Nothing wrong—for once, everything may be just right," he said as he picked up the phone. "Etta, can you put me through to the General?" he said into the receiver.

Diana began tidying up the papers on his desk, collecting mugs of coffee gone stone cold, and gathering an armful of top secret files to be returned to the office safe. There was such an undercurrent of excitement, she couldn't keep her mind on her duties as she studied Steve out of the corner of her eye surreptitiously.

From the first moment she had laid eyes on him, soaked through to the skin, battered, and bleeding on the beach of her Island, she had known he was a good man. She'd known it instinctively as she had tended him in the hospital, before he had ever regained consciousness. Something in him had spoken to her of honor and selfless bravery on the part of others, and she couldn't bear not being by his side. It had drawn her across the ocean, to this distant shore which surprised her every day equally by its savagery and its beauty.

Intellectually, she knew it was simply that he was the first man she had seen in her memory—the first man on the Island in hundreds of years. So there had been that rush of excitement, the thrill of the unknown. But that childish infatuation had faded as she had gotten to know him, replaced instead by genuine admiration and affection as they had worked side by side—both as Diana Prince, loyal WAVE, and as Princess Diana of Themyscira, known to Man's World as Wonder Woman.

Emotionally... Well, Diana Prince was nothing if not practical. And she took what moments of joy as she could. She set the mugs down on her desk. Later, she would take them down the hall to the small kitchen attached to the officer's mess to be washed.

"Are they sure? General, that's... That's..." she heard Steve say into the phone, and she turned back toward his office door just as he dropped the phone into its cradle, a broad grin splitting his face.

"What is it, Steve?" she asked as he got out from behind his desk.

"Mussolini is dead—he and his mistress both, on Saturday. The Americans liberated the Dachau camp, and there was a rumor that the Germans had surrendered. The President went on the radio—Diana, don't you listen to the radio?"

"Not very—I mean, sometimes..." she stammered. "The Germans surrendered?"

"Not yet—not according to the President. But the General said the unofficial reports have come out of Berlin saying that Hitler committed suicide, Diana! The war in Europe is over! Or as close to it as it ever was."

"Oh, Steve! That's wonderful!" She couldn't stop tears from springing to her eyes, and he hugged her impulsively, spinning her around the room. "Oh!" she cried as the files she had in her arms went flying, papers floating to the linoleum like fall leaves. He set her back on her feet, and before she could say a thing, kissed her full on the mouth.

Steven Leonard Trevor felt like an ass.

Diana's eyes were wide, and she was just staring, like a doe in headlamps. The files he'd been working on were scattered all over the office, and they stood stock still in the middle of the mess, like clockwork toys whose springs had run down. Her hand flew to her mouth, and a blush had risen in her cheeks. "Diana, I—" he began, but before he could get out what he meant to say, the door flew open, and Etta came flying in.

"Oh Steve! Diana! General Blankenship just told me the good news—can you believe it?" Private Candy asked, completely oblivious to what she had just stepped into the middle of. "Oh my gosh, what happened?" she laughed at the sight of all the paperwork strewn about.

"I guess I got a little over-excited," Steve said automatically, still staring at Diana, who had not moved.

"Diana, let me give you a hand," Etta began gathering papers, and this seemed to snap his secretary out of her stupor.

"Oh, Etta, thank you," she smiled, and took the files from her arms. "I'll sort these in the file room—"

"The file room? Diana—how can you be thinking of the file room at a time like this? We need to celebrate!"

"You're right, Etta," Steve found himself saying, straightening his tie and pulling on his jacket. "I'm taking you both out on the town—no arguments!" he added when Diana started. "We're going to celebrate with the biggest steaks ration books can buy."

"Steve!" Etta's eyes grew wide. "The General gave me the afternoon off—Diana, we can go shopping!"

"Oh, I don't know, Etta. There's so much work to do here," Diana was flustered, her eyes darting all around the room—but never once meeting Steve's. He felt like a heel. A first-class heel. "I couldn't possibly—"

"Go ahead, Diana. It'll keep." He kept his tone light, but he reached out to touch her arm, "You go out with Etta, and get all dolled up, and I'll pick you up at your apartment—1800 hours?"

Behind the glasses with round black frames, her blue eyes were hidden. He couldn't read them. She smiled brightly, and then collected her hat and gloves, following Etta out of the office.

Diana checked her reflection in the glass, self consciously adjusting the snood that held her dark hair up off her neck. The dark blue rayon dress had a high collar, and long sleeves that ended in cuffs fastened with two small pearl buttons. Etta had tried to talk her into buying something slinky, something like Virginia Mayo would have worn, but always the pragmatist, Diana had resisted the lure of tight fitted bodices and pleats. The skirt ended an inch above her knee—by OPA decree. The dress was flattering, if austere—just what a dowdy WAVE would wear out with her parents, or perhaps to Church on a Sunday.

The day had passed in a fog—Etta hadn't even noticed. She'd been too excited, chattering over lunch at the Capitol Café about what she was going to do once the war was over. All the places she was going to go. All the boys who would be coming home from overseas. Etta had never had much luck with boys—but Charlie, her current beau, was a good sort. He was a little sore about not being able to fight because of his heart. He worked in the records office as a clerk, and wore glasses twice as thick as Diana's. He needed his to see, though—too many years of close work, he'd said. He hadn't started wearing them until last year. He and Etta had held hands all through the movie, and Diana had envied them that closeness.

Charlie and Etta were going to meet them at the restaurant. Etta had gotten a red dress, a real stunner, cut just right for her curvy figure. Etta said Charlie didn't mind that she wasn't as small as those pin-up girls, or the Goldwyn Girls in the movies. He liked her curves. Diana had blushed. She knew some of the men on the base still had that 1942 Miss GI Dream Girl newspaper clipping tacked up on their walls in the barracks. Diana had curves, all right. She just never showed them off, except when she was Wonder Woman.

Steve hadn't ever kissed Wonder Woman. Steve had kissed her.

Diana sat down on the couch, slipping on the black shoes, and bent down to fasten the ankle straps. She only had two pairs of strappy heels—one black pair, and one white. She'd bought the white ones for that beauty contest. Steve had said she looked like Joan Crawford—around the ankles. She smiled at that. All her other shoes were sensible, clunky black leather ones meant for walking, not showing off her legs. She hadn't minded. She still didn't. She just was surprised how much she wanted Steve to notice that tonight, she was showing off. Just a little. Just for him.

Three years. Three years since she had left Paradise, and she had never been kissed until today. She touched her lips lightly with trembling fingertips, still unable to believe it. She stood up, walking toward the ornate mirror than hung over her decorative fireplace, and checked her lipstick again, tucking a stray lock of hair back inside the snood.

There was a light knock at the door, and her heart leapt into her throat. Glancing at her wristwatch, she was surprised to see it was almost six. He's early, she thought and took a deep breath before turning the knob and opening the door. However, it was not Major Steve Trevor on the other side.

In a dark gray suit, a prim hat perched on her head and a tasteful bag clutched between gloved hands, was Queen Hippolyte of Themyscira.

Author's Note: Please, if there's anything that doesn't work for you, or is factually or grammatically incorrect, don't hesitate to tell me! Constructive criticism is the greatest gift you can give an author. I'm not a delicate flower who will curl up and die at the first sign of criticism. I want to make this story the very best I can, so please let me know what works for you, and more importantly, what doesn't.