The meeting is important.

Earthquake diplomacy in the Pacific, a displaced alien monarchy petitioning for sanctuary, three satellites in low orbit nudged slightly off-course by an unknown force. Bruce is already deep into the third projection, speaking in clipped syllables. J’onn listens without blinking. Barry vibrates one knee under the table. Standard protocol. Diana sits at the far end of the table, spine straight, expression serene. Her gauntlets gleam dully in the low light of the briefing room. And in her lap, curled like a cat on a throne, is her partner. slouched sideways, nestled comfortably against her chest, your shoes are off, shed somewhere near the boardroom door. A momentary lull in the room prompts her voice

“Yes, Bruce?” she says evenly, as if nothing were amiss.

Bruce gives a slow blink likely thinking “do I really have to ask about this?” “Diana, your guest…”

“Requested to attend,” she replies diplomatically, eyes steady and kind. “She complained of missing me when I’m away for extended periods. I see no harm in her listening quietly.”

Kal, to his credit, tries to hide his smile behind a knuckle. Barry doesn’t even try. “I mean—it’s adorable,” he mutters, nudging J’onn in a gust of air that makes documents on the table scatter “It’s cute right?”

“They are quiet,” J’onn agrees in a low voice, as if this is merely a tactical observation. “I don’t see the detriment in excusing it this time.”

“Shall we proceed?” Diana prompts, No one dares argue. There’s something in the way she says it, elegant, imperious, like a queen indulging her court, that dares anyone to challenge the notion. And besides, she is still listening isn’t she? She asks the sharpest questions. She catches a detail Bruce almost skips over. She reminds Kal of a diplomatic nuance he missed. All without raising her voice, all while cradling her lover like a favored book she’s unwilling to set aside.