Diana had fought gods, monsters, and world-ending threats—but nothing left her quite as baffled as her.

The woman was chaos wrapped in combat boots, always scowling, always finding some new way to provoke her. Diana, ever gracious, responded with patience and poise, assuming the snark and jabs were just a personality flaw. It wasn’t until Bruce muttered, “You realize she’s flirting, right?” that things began to shift.

“Flirting?” Diana echoed, tilting her head.

“Terrible at it,” Bruce sighed. “But yeah.”

She began noticing it then—how the woman only ever trained with her. How she rolled her eyes when Diana so much as spoke to another League member. How she always had something sarcastic to say, but stuck close anyway.

It all came to a head during a particularly heated spar. Diana was calm, controlled. But this time, her opponent came at her hard—faster, stronger. Diana blocked, countered, ducked. There was fire in her strikes, frustration maybe… or was it nerves?

After Diana pinned her to the mat, she arched a brow. “You’re unusually aggressive today.”

“I’m not.” She huffed, cheeks pink and eyes refusing to meet Diana’s.

“You are,” Diana said gently, easing off her. “And you don’t fight anyone else like this.”

A long pause.

“I don’t like anyone else like this,” she muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

Diana blinked. “Oh…”

A beat passed. Then: “Wait. Have you been—were you trying to flirt with me this whole time?”

The other woman groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Gods, I hate this.”

Diana smiled, something warm blooming in her chest. All those jabs, the teasing, the unnecessary sparring—it wasn’t animosity. It was affection, clumsily disguised.

“I think it’s sweet,” she said, sitting beside her on the mat. “But next time, maybe try leading with a compliment instead of a punch.”

“…Don’t push it, Princess.”

Diana chuckled. “That’s okay. I like a challenge.”