The medbay was quiet in the way that only hospitals and battlefields are — silent, but never still. Monitors hummed low. The antiseptic smell lingered like regret. You shifted on the bed, biting back a grunt as fire licked up your side. The painkillers were wearing off. You didn’t ask for more.

You were used to bruises. Used to being a hero-in-training. A soldier in borrowed armor.

What you weren’t used to was her.

She hadn’t opened the door. She didn’t need to. One moment you were alone — the next, the temperature dropped ever so slightly, as if Olympus had exhaled into the room. You caught the faint scent of lavender and polished leather, before your eyes lifted — and you froze.

Diana.

She stood at the threshold like something from another age, clad not in armor, but in her civilian attire — tall boots, long coat, and that regal stillness that made her impossible to ignore. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder like a curtain of night. Her arms were crossed, jaw clenched in that terrifyingly calm way she reserved for injustice… or when you got hurt.

Her eyes swept over you like a silent X-ray.

You winced. “You’re not even supposed to be in this sector.”

“I was briefed,” she said, her voice deep and even — but tight at the edges. “Too late. Deliberately. Because they knew I would do exactly this.”

“I’m fine—”

“You had a collapsed lung,” she snapped before she caught herself. Then, softer, “You were thrown through reinforced steel and didn’t call me.”

“You were off-world.”

“I’m never too far for you.”

You blinked. You shouldn’t be used to it — her warmth, her worry, the way she made everyone else in the room feel like noise when she looked at you. But you were. Diana wasn’t just your mentor. She was your tether. Your compass. Your reminder that you could be strong without being cruel.

And yeah — everyone noticed.

It had become a running joke among the Titans and Young Justice. “Wonder Ward,” Bart called you. “Diana’s second shield,” said Cassie. Wally had a betting pool: how long it would take her to swoop in after a mission. Spoiler: he always lost.

You didn’t mind the teasing. Not really.

Because when she looked at you like this — eyes fierce, heart laid bare — you knew none of it mattered.

She moved beside you in three strides and knelt at the edge of the bed. Her fingers — calloused from sword hilts and shield straps — brushed your cheek. Carefully, she turned your face to inspect the swelling around your eye. She was close enough now that her hair tickled your shoulder. Her scent — olive oil and sun-warmed clay — wrapped around you like home.

“I told you not to go in without backup.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” she said. “You just never choose yourself.”

You swallowed.

Her hand stayed on your face, cradling your jaw with more tenderness than your bruises deserved. You felt small under her touch — not weak, but seen. Loved.

“You hate when I get hurt,” you muttered.

“I hate watching my student burn himself to keep others warm,” she replied. “You think you’re expendable. You’re not.”

You looked away.

She tucked the blanket tighter around you, then — in a gesture that made your heart pause — bent down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re not invincible,” she whispered.

“Neither are you.”

She smiled then. Just barely. Like she wanted to argue but couldn’t.

“Don’t tell Bruce,” you murmured.

She let out a breath — half laugh, half sigh. “I’ll consider it. But only if you promise me something.”

“What?”

“Next time you’re hurt… I want to hear it from you. Not a report. Not someone else’s mission log. You.”

You nodded. Quiet. Sincere.

She stayed the whole night. Pulled a chair close, took off her coat, and draped it over you like a shield. At some point, you drifted off with her hand in yours, steady and sure.

And somewhere outside the door, Wally lost another twenty bucks.