Letters to Themyscira

Last night was certainly one to remember. Or at least, the mess in Wayne manor suggested so. Bruce Wayne couldn't remember anything past the tang of the watermelon pucker of his umpteenth shot, and the evocative look of the blonde near the fireplace. He remembered feeling the music vibrate in his sternum and the smell of sweat and smoke. It was a mixture for disaster.

Bruce woke up late with a headache and the blonde in his bed. As far as he knew, the celebration was a success. He forgot what exactly they were celebrating, but it didn't really matter. Bruce was a party animal at heart, but damn, he was getting too old for this. What with being the Batman, leading the Justice League, and doing his regular business, Bruce had a lot on his plate.

As he picked up a couch pillow that was on the floor, Bruce thought of the relaxing waves of his private beach estate. The soft sand under his toes, the sun kissing his back, and not a single joker out there. He made a mental note to tell Alfred to clear his schedule for next week; he was going on vacation.

Bruce spent the next hour cleaning the kitchen. Sure, a maid could clean this up, but her liked to clean. It was calming and humbling. He set up his laptop on the counter. This was a familiar habit for him; to start working while he ate his high protein breakfast. No doubt all social medias will be covered in photos from last night. His phone already blew up with notifications from Barry's snapchat. Though he did not like to admit it, the Justice League have almost become a sort of family to him. They sure knew how to have a good time, whether it be a high end house party like last night, or Mario Kart and pizza bagels. Rendezvous after battles have become a staple.

Emails and emails and emails. The music from last night still pounded in Bruce's head. It was absolutely impossible to concentrate on anything. Needing to clear his head, he walked around aimlessly. Anything to get this headache to go away.

That was when he stumbled on a purse. It was a nice leather one, big enough to sling over the shoulder and carry all the necessities women seem to need. He sighed, someone must have left it from the party. Bruce knew he shouldn't, but he fumbled through it. He was looking for an identity, he convinced himself. Even though he knew he was invading someone's privacy, he felt like a little kid looking through his mother's purse for candy.

A thrill went through Bruce when he discovered the book. Beside the usual lipstick, sunglasses, and mints, there was a little leather bound, hardcover book. The book looked like it had seen better days; it was definitely well used. It was a stark contrast from the sleekness of the purse.

Again, Bruce knew that he shouldn't look in the book. But, he formulated an excuse, a name was probably in there. What was the point of being the Batman, if not to help people? The poor women is probably looking for her purse right now. Yes, he thought, I'm helping her. Doing a good deed.

He opened the first page of the book, and there sat a name. Shivers ran down his spine.

Diana Prince.

Bruce's brain yelled at him to put the book down. To walk the other way and pretend he never saw it. Call Diana, tell her her purse is here, and leave it at that. But his hands and eyes had other plans. Much was the case with Bruce on a regularly basis. Brain says no, body says yes.

He flipped to the next page, excitement surging through him. "Letters to Themyscira" was written right under her name. He respected Diana, he really did. But she was so mysterious and closed off. She was extremely beautiful. Abnormally beautiful. Her chocolate eyes were enough to melt him. But there was a sadness behind them. Something that he has tried to pry out of her. But every time he tried to get her to open up, she closed herself off even more. The way Diana smiled, the smile that suggested that she was full of secrets she was just dying to tell you. He drove him crazy like Daisy did Gatsby.

The picture from the war was a start, but that was pretty much all he knew about her. That she has been alive for a long, long time. Maybe she just wasn't a talkative person. Bruce likes to pride himself of being the mysterious closed off Batman, but really, Wonder Women was more of a mystery than he was.

Just glancing at the contents, Bruce could see that the journal was entirely hand written. There was still some empty pages in the back, but it was all filled up for the most part. Bruce felt the same electricity as he did when he got his hands on an early release of a new Harry Potter book. Except, this was more magical.

He got his coffee, slipped off his shoes, and settles himself on the couch. He too a deep breath and opened the journal to the first entry.

Suddenly, his phone dinged and startled him. It took a lot to startle Bruce, but apparently being caught in a guilty pleasure is one of them.

The text was from the one and only Diana. Figures. Going back to Paris today. Last night was fun! ;)

Bruce was about to reply when the little three dots of despair appeared. He waited with bated breathe for Diana to reveal that she had secret cameras in the manor, that she had been watching him this whole time, that she will banish him to the depths of hell for invading her space, so help her Zeus, she will smite him .

Instead, she texted a simple message. Oh btw, I think I left my purse at your place. Nothing important is in it, so I don't need it right now. Thanks!

No prob. Text me when you land. Bruce sighed when he heard the swoosh of the text. She didn't know the journal was in the purse. And she is in France. Far away from Gotham. The giddiness crept back in. Bruce smirked and settled down to read the first entry.