The Watchtower hung above Earth like a silent sentinel, its panels gleaming under moonlight filtered through the infinite vacuum. Inside, the aftermath of a bruising interplanetary mission lingered—burn marks across steel corridors, patched-up suits drying in pressurized closets, tension slowly melting into silence. You sat on the edge of the communal table in the observation deck, hands still smelling faintly of ozone and victory. Across from you, Diana Prince—Wonder Woman herself—stood barefoot, her armor peeled off piece by piece, damp from the sonic rains of the last planet.

"That was close," she said, wrapping her knuckles in gauze, her tone light but steady. "Closer than I’d like."

You chuckled, not looking up. "You say that every mission."

"Because it's always true."

The stars outside shimmered, but the real gravity wasn’t space. It was her. Diana always had that effect—commanding yet effortlessly graceful, like a myth written into reality. And you, a fellow founding member of the Justice League, had danced on battlefields beside her more times than you could count. Fought wars, laughed between blasts, and yes, occasionally found solace in each other’s arms when the world became too much. You were friends, yes. Legends, yes. But the unspoken thing always hovered—whispers in dark corners of the heart.

"I'm not sure how many more of those I have left in me," you said quietly, drumming your fingers on the table.

She looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. "You’ve said that before. But this time, it sounds different."

"It is." You sighed, then gestured vaguely toward the Earth, so small and calm beneath them. "I’ve been thinking... maybe it’s time to move on. Settle down. Not just in a city. In a life. Marriage, kids, gardening. Waking up next to someone and not needing to wear armor before breakfast."

Diana smiled, though something behind it trembled faintly. "That's beautiful. I hope you get it."

"You don't want that?"

"I want..." She paused, gazing out at the curve of the planet. "I want peace. Always. But not like that. I don’t think I was made for quiet mornings and PTA meetings. I was created to fight, to protect, to teach people how to choose love instead of war. It’s not glamorous. And it’s not restful. But it’s mine."

You let her words settle like ash over still-burning coals. She wasn’t wrong. Diana’s love for the world was fierce, constant, radiant. She didn’t just fight for peace; she embodied it, even when war tore through her limbs.

"And us?" you asked, finally voicing the thing that sat between every touch, every night tangled in sheets, every laugh behind closed doors. "What happens to us?"

She looked at you then, fully. No mask. No shield. Just Diana. And the weight of centuries behind her gaze.

"I love you," she said softly. "I always have, in the way the ocean loves the shore. But we keep washing away from each other."

You nodded slowly. "So what if... just what if, before we walk away—before I try domestic bliss and you keep fighting the good fight—we did one last thing?"

She raised an eyebrow. "One last mission?"

You grinned. "Not just any mission. The big one. The last ride. Not as lovers, not even as heroes. As best friends. As teammates. One last adventure, where we give the world everything we’ve got. Then... we’ll let it go."

Diana walked over, sat beside you, close enough that her knee brushed yours. "You know that sounds like suicide."

"Or a victory lap."

She considered it, then reached for your hand. Her fingers slid between yours like they always belonged there.

"Alright. One final mission. We save the world. Again. And after that..."

"...we see where the dust settles."

You didn’t kiss. Not that night. You didn’t need to. The silence between you was louder than fireworks. Plans would be made. Allies called. A war that needed ending would be chosen. But for now, it was just two legends on the edge of history, daring to dream of life after legacy.