Chapter 50: Epilogue

Los Angeles, California, Paradise Island Resort and Spa

Hera Bridal Suite

Diana stared down at her new wedding ring. The piece was lovely – a rose gold band with a row of sparkling round-cut diamonds. Expensive, just like the Lake George log home Clark had purchased. In some respects, her husband was still that Smallville farm boy who longed to buy his girl the best he could afford, proving to her and himself that he was good enough to be with, good enough to love.

Such feelings of inadequacy weren't easy to overcome fully. This Diana knew with far too much personal knowledge. For Diana was no longer the sweet innocent devoid of darkness as she'd been when Clark had first proposed. With the murder of Bruce and Brina, Diana had discovered a chillier, scarier side of herself. A slumbering beast that, once awakened, was capable of wrath, vengeance. That truth, that awareness of self, both frightened and cautioned her. While she did not cross the line at Lake George, it had been a near thing.

Diana knew, with all that she was, if Clark hadn't reawakened her to love and warmth and happiness, Diana would've unrepentantly taken the life of the man who'd killed her Brina. Because, she'd learned, a heart too hot was no better than a soul too cold. Both put one out of balance, opening up possibilities for actions never before considered, like suicide and murder.

These weren't the best of thoughts on her wedding night, but they were her reality, horrible truths that had led her to this place in time with Clark Kent, one journey that inevitably led to another. Now Diana and Clark were on a shared journey, a mutual path that could lead them anywhere, but a path that would never take them away from each other. Never that, never again.

She heard him when he exited the bathroom, but she didn't turn. As much as she'd dreamed of this moment, this night, Diana wanted to savior every second. But she knew she wouldn't. She knew, god she knew, once she looked upon her new husband, she would lose all her self-control. She'd barely made it through the reception. All the smiling, picture taking, dancing, and well wishing nearly undid her.

But now they were alone in the bridal suite, alone in a way they hadn't been in a month. Too much to do and not nearly enough time, Clark and Diana had seen precious little of each other - finishing the Thomas Wayne biography, house hunting, moving Martha Wayne to Los Angeles. Then, once arriving at the resort, their respective friends and family had never left their side, leaving no opportunity for quality time together before the wedding. Which, from Diana's sex-deprived perspective, should not be held against her for the publically brazen kiss she'd given Clark during the service.

"How long are you going to stand out there star gazing before you come inside and allow your husband to have his wicked way with you, Mrs. Kent?"

His words went straight to Diana's heart . . . and much, much lower. Mrs. Kent. She was at that, a dream reclaimed, a blessing granted.

Diana turned away from the darkness of the night, having already turned away from her inner darkness and joined her—yes—new husband in the bedchamber.

The room was opulent, with vaulted ceilings, oil paintings of the goddess Hera in all her naked glory, a peacock cape her only adornment. The dimmed crystal chandelier sparkled beatifically over the gold framed bed with white covers, pillows, and pearl white headboard cushion. A white silk tapestry hung on the wall above the bed, from a gold crown of Olympus, flowing down and to the side in sensual silk waves.

As magnificent as the room and the bed were, Clark Kent surpassed both. Diana wondered if any man had looked more gorgeous on his wedding night, for her husband was a visual feast to her ravenous eyes. And if she didn't want to see him in that splendid bed so badly, preferably under her, Diana just might have swooned right at his feet. With the way he was smiling at her, dimpled chin and knowing eyes, she just might.

And, damn, Clark wore the little gift she'd slipped into his overnight bag. A gift for me, just like the red negligee I'm wearing is a gift for him. She stared, mouth agape at a thickly muscular nearly nude Clark with a pair of red men's bikini underwear with a black waistband connected to a simple pouch that held his very impressive, very hard, very long reason why neither of them would be getting any sleep tonight.

"Like what you see?"

Diana closed her eyes. God, she had been eye groping him, completely entranced and now undeniably wet. What would she do when she gave him the other bikini's she'd brought him, particularly the low-rise black pair with cutaway details on the pouch? Yum. The thought alone of how delicious he'd look in them sent shivers down Diana's spine and her legs moving towards Clark.

"Hell yes, I like what I see," she said, before crushing her mouth to his. "I like it very much."

"So I noticed." He grabbed her bottom, lifted so that she pressed against that red, cotton covered bulging pouch of his. "Oh, yeah, I like it, too, baby."

Ah, so did Diana, so very much. And he was moving against her, making sure she felt every inch of his encased manhood. The silk of her panties were but a thin barrier to the friction and heat riding her.

Lifting her more, Clark carried Diana to the bed, gently lowering her onto the firm mattress. The embroidered coverlet grazed her body each time she shifted, her flushed skin sensitive to the slightest sensation. So sensitive, just the way Clark made her.

With languorous hands, Clark removed her panties and negligee, fingers skimming, mouth kissing, tongue tasting. Neck. Collarbone. Breasts. Stomach.

Moving to the side, Clark's knees next to her hip, he ran a single, steady finger from her belly button to the nubbin peeking out and pleading for his attention. He gave it, a soft back and forth slide of the pad of an index finger.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Diana moaned, raised her hips, and opened her legs wider. Clark wouldn't enter her now though, she knew. No, he would first torture her with fingers, lips, and tongue. Make her flow for him in every way imaginable, as many times as possible before he claimed her, consummating their marriage, their union.

Mouth lowered, he began to suck, paying gentle but relentless attention to her clit. Firm mouth, wet tongue, engorged clitoris, Diana was bursting from erotic sensation. She shook, hips and thighs and quivering, aching sex lengthening and moistening, preparing her body to receive its mate.

Hand went to Clark's thick hair, grasped, held, and then sank deep with nails when he took his own fingers to her. He opened, explored, and found those sensitive ridges just a few inches inside and rubbed, rubbed, rubbed. Her scream melded with the wet sounds of his mouth devouring her from the outside in.

When he moved between her raised legs, his tongue buried deep in her sex, his fingers quickly moving back and forth over her pulsating mound, ripping scream after orgasmic scream from her, Diana barely noticed. Shockwaves of pleasure detonated within, spiraling out of control and holding Diana prisoner. So was Clark, he refused to release her. His mouth, his hands, his tongue—good god—were phenomenal.

And Diana couldn't stop the undulating of her hips, lifting off the bed and meeting Clark's ever-thrusting tongue, riding the glorious wave until it finally crashed against the rocks, exploding in a final body arching, mind staggering shards of carnal delight.

When Diana opened her eyes, it was to a husband with lust rimmed orbs and sex-moistened lips. And he was at her entrance . . . without a condom.

Diana glanced to the nightstand where she'd placed a box of condoms when Clark had gone into the bathroom to change and shower. It was still there, unopened. She looked back at Clark, who stared down at her, clearly no intention of sheathing.

"We can't."

"Yes, we can."

God, she thought he understood. Even if Diana could conceive, their baby might not survive. She shook her head, ignoring the voice of hope that asked, "What if it does survive?"

"This is the Hera suite, Diana. I may not know much about Greek mythology, but I know enough to know that Hera is the goddess of marriage and birth."

Kneeling between her parted thighs, Clark began stroking the head of his penis, ahh, against her wet, hungry opening. God, the man does not play fair.

"Before birth, my sexy wife, comes conception." More stroking, more teasing, more taunting Diana with his hard, naked erection, pressing his point and all her buttons.

"We are in this room for a reason. I have faith we can make a child this night." He entered her, the rigid tip and nothing more. "I have faith you're strong enough to carry our child to term, bring her or him into this world safely." Another inch, then withdrawal.

Diana whimpered. She wanted Clark, skin-to-skin, flesh to flesh, no latex barrier. But she was afraid, afraid to hope, to want, and not to receive. Afraid that good fortune would not continue to shine down upon her, granting Diana a child to love and hold dear. A flesh and bone symbol and manifestation of the love and bond of a wife and her husband.

He pressed into her again, deeper this time. Holding himself up on bulky arms, Clark began rocking, a slow in and out rhythm.

Diana didn't resist. How could she? He was giving her what she was too afraid to ask for, too afraid to want, too afraid to deny.

So she stopped denying.

Clark must've seen the decision in her eyes, or maybe it was the smile on her face. Whatever it was, Clark went deeper, embedding the whole of himself into the whole of her, filling Diana completely.

He lowered himself to her, his massive body hard and gloriously wonderful. "I've read the missionary position is the best sex position for conception." Hands going under her hips, he lifted her to meet his thrusts. "This deep, direct penetration will make it easier for my little swimmers to find those eggs of yours."

He lifted her higher, each superb thrust sliding against her hypersensitive clitoris. Clark knew exactly what he was doing – destroying Diana's brain cells and will to do anything other than his sexual bidding.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Then there was no more thinking, not even about babies. A child would come or it wouldn't. Not every marriage received such a blessing, and, as Clark had said, there was always adoption.

But, in the event a child was in the cards for Diana and Clark, the newlyweds provided many an opportunity, that night and many afterwards, for Clark's little swimmers to find Diana's eggs and claim one for the Kent family.

One Year Later

Lake George Adirondacks, New York

Clark watched his wife, her face glistening from sweat, pale from worry and stress, eyes closed but not resting. He'd done all he could to calm her, to reassure her that all would be well. But, at some point, she'd simply shut down.

It was no good. She couldn't go on like this. Her doctor had told Diana exactly that when she'd last taken Diana's blood pressure, which, not surprising, was way too high. It needed to come down. But that wouldn't happen until Diana let go of the fear making her sick and threatening the precious cargo she carried.

Clark sighed then went to his wife, sitting beside her on their bed. Dipping a washcloth into the basin of cool water on the nightstand, Clark squeezed the excess water from the cloth before wiping the perspiration from his wife's face.

This pregnancy had been a difficult one for Diana, though she never complained. By the second trimester, it was clear Diana could not continue to work or engage in any stressful activities. That also included many physical activities, but—thankfully—not sexual intercourse. That little prohibition came later when Diana entered her eighth month and her OBGYN put her on total bed rest.

Even then, Diana maintained a positive attitude, determined to do whatever she could to stay healthy. Now, however, when she was so close to delivering, something had switched off inside Diana, sapping her of the strength and will that was so much the Diana Kent trademark.

Clark looked to the blue, inflatable birthing pool in the center of the room. It had twenty inches of water, the recommended amount to provide buoyancy for a mother in labor. He wore trunks, Diana's water had broken three hours ago and she was nearly fully dilated. She should be in that pool of water now, not inwardly crying on their bed.

He held her, unable to truly comprehend her fear. Early on in her pregnancy, Diana had admitted she couldn't give birth in a hospital, especially the one in Gotham where Brina had died. He'd suggested the best hospital in Metropolis, but that suggestion did nothing to abate Diana's fears. So they'd opted for a natural home birth with an experienced midwife and Diana's OBGYN on standby.

She stiffened in his arms, and he could feel the breath leave her lungs as another contraction swept through her. It was longer this time, signaling Diana had precious few minutes before Clark would have no choice but to pick her up and put her in that pool. But she needed to get her blood pressure down, that was a danger they couldn't afford.

A soft knock then a, "May we come in?" followed. Hippolyta. Clark sighed with relief. She'd made it in time.

Unwilling to leave his wife's side, Clark bade his mother-in-law to enter. She did, bringing the other three mothers with her. After the wedding, Lara and Jor had decided to return to the States. That had pleased Clark. Now, for the first time ever, he could see his parents daily, since they now lived only twenty miles from Diana and Clark.

The women smiled at him but their concerned gazes quickly settled on Diana's shivering form.

"Come here, Kal," Lara said. With reluctance, he moved to her and away from his wife. She took his hand, lifted on tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. "Your father and the others are downstairs. Donna is beside herself and Victor is trying to calm her. She wants to be in here with Diana but the midwife has already told us we have only a few minutes before she's throwing everyone out." She patted his hand, so similar to how Martha soothed him when he was upset.

"I'm glad you all are here, Mom."

"Of course, sweetie, where else would we be?"

Clark smiled down at his mother, so beautiful with her raven hair and subtle streaks of gray. Then his gaze shifted to his wife and the women surrounding her. Hippolyta had taken the spot he'd vacated while Martha Wayne sat on the other side of Diana, and his mother stood, her hand in Diana's.

His smile grew and tears threatened when Clark heard Hippolyta sing the same lullaby he'd heard Diana sing time and again to C.J. and during her pregnancy.

Diana pillowed her head against her mother's chest and began to weep. Martha Wayne stroked hair pulled away from face and whispered words Clark could not hear. The only words he managed to make out were the last ones of, "Brina will always be with you, dear. Don't be afraid to give life to the next generation. She knows you love her, that you have enough love for all your children."

Diana's hand tightened in Martha's as she supported her daughter-in-law through a fierce contraction.

The three mothers and one daughter stayed like that for long minutes, Diana slowly calming.

Lara patted his hand again. "See, Kal, all will be fine. Sometimes a mother's touch is all that is required. Our Diana will be fine. She's strong; she just needed to be reminded how strong."

Clark was grateful to their mothers, they too, like Diana, were infinitely strong, infinitely wise.

So, ten minutes later when he lifted his wife from their bed, carried her to the birthing pool, and helped her inside, Clark wasn't surprised to see renewed fortitude staring back at him. No matter the age, a daughter would always need her mother. Or, in Diana's case, her mother's – a four-sided blessing.

"Are you ready?" the midwife asked of them.

They nodded. This birth would happen with Clark's assistance. The midwife was there, but she would help him with the delivery. This, too, Diana and he, had agreed. Frightening, to be sure, but the most important, awe-inspiring request ever asked of him. If Diana could face her fears, so could Clark.

As always, they would work together, the best team of two.

An hour later, he was a father. Again. And the experience was indescribable. Tears were involved, more his than Diana's.

No, Diana only seemed to be able to stare and whisper endless words of love and prayer.

After another hour, the midwife and Clark had Diana cleaned and back in bed, her eyes droopy from exhaustion but also tear glistened from happiness.

"We did it. You did it, Diana. We're parents."

She smiled her watery smile. "We are. I was afraid to believe, to hope."

Clark kissed her forehead, her nose. "I know. To be honest, for a while there, I was afraid myself. Then I saw the head, the shoulders, and the rest came out." Diana wiped the fresh tear that had fallen. "Miracle."

"Miracles," she corrected.

He laughed. "Yes, miracles."

Clark looked at the miracles his wife held in her protective arms. They were so small. Clark had forgotten how small newborns could be. C.J., of course, had been just as small, his jet-black hair what Clark remembered most about his son's birth.

But these two, well, they were a different kind of gorgeous. The kind of beautiful that gave a father heart palpitations thinking about raising daughters as striking as their mother.

Daughters, god help me.

Relieving Diana of one of their miracle babies, swathed in a white-and-pink blanket with the words, "Daddy's Girl," written on it, Clark held his child. Like her sister, she slept, though Clark knew the peace and quiet wouldn't last for long. Not simply because the newborns would soon have to be breastfed, but that—

The bedroom door swung open and in came the horde of family who were no longer patiently waiting to see the babies. Yup, right on time.

They swarmed the bed, eyes wide and wet, Jor, Arthur, Ollie, John, and Victor included. The women cooed and Diana, bless her tired soul, smiled graciously at her rambunctious family.

But it had to be Donna, his sister-in-law to say, "I can't believe the two of you created babies who are—"

"Blonde!" Hippolyta squealed, clasping her hands to her breast, her face alight with grandmotherly pride. "Finally, the reign of brunettes have come to an end."

Everyone laughed.

The babies cried.

Soon, however, with Hippolyta taking one and his mother the other, the girls quickly quieted.

"So, Clark and Diana, don't leave us in suspense," Dinah said, "What are we to call these blonde bombshells?" She winked at Clark, and he made a mental note to limit visits to Aunt Dinah's house when his daughters became teenagers.

Clark kissed his wife's hand and allowed her to answer.

She looked toward the baby Hippolyta held. "Please meet Catherine Martha Lara Kent. She is the older of the two by a full three minutes, giving her Daddy just enough time to ready himself for her sister's arrival." Her eyes traveled to the bundle his mother held. "And this little one is Daphne Amber Elena Kent."

"Sisters," a little voice chimed in. "I have three sisters." The crowd parted and permitted C.J. to approach Clark and Diana. Climbing onto the bed and beside Diana, he looked from one baby to the other then down to Diana. "I was hoping for a baby brother." He sighed with clear dramatics. "Maybe next time, Mommy Diana, you'll give me two brothers. That way, we'll match, boys to girls."

No one blinked when C.J. spoke of three sisters instead of two. By now, they all understood that C.J. and Diana had a bond to Brina Wayne that no one else had or completely understood. But it wasn't for anyone else to understand, not even Clark. It was what it was.

Diana pulled C.J. to her, her hand automatically going to the boy's unruly hair and stroking. "I think, my special C.J., you are all the son I'll ever need."

And Clark hoped the boy would be content with that, because Clark and Diana knew there would be no more miracle pregnancies for them. This was it; they'd decided the night Diana had nearly miscarried. When the bleeding and cramping started and Clark had to rush his wife to the hospital, for the first time he understood all that Diana had lost when Brina and Bruce were taken from her.

He wouldn't put either one of them through that again. The twins and C.J. were more than enough for Clark Kent.

Daphne started crying and Catherine swiftly followed. They were hungry.

The crowd filed out and Hippolyta and Martha reluctantly handed their granddaughters to Clark and Diana.

Once Catherine and Daphne were fed and asleep, Clark placed them in the bassinettes specially made in Greece, a gift from Ambrose Prince.

Clark dimmed the ceiling light then slipped into bed with his wife. Diana was nearly asleep, but, like always, she moved to his side, half her body on his. The perfect spot, she'd once told him, for finding peaceful sleep.

He held her close. "Thank you," he whispered in her hair. "Thank you for our girls."

She raised her head, a smile playing across her kissable lips. "I should be the one thanking you. You do know what Wally calls you, don't you, Clark?"

He did know.

"Supersperm," she laughed.

"He's not funny."

"He is a little funny. And, I must admit, there has to be something super about you. After all, we have two beautiful daughters when my doctor didn't think I would have even one." Diana settled back against him. "I'd call that pretty super."

Well hell, when put like that . . .

"So, Wally West is officially a member of the Justice League?"

"Yes, him, Dick, Barbara, Hal, and John Jones."

"I can't believe you convinced Detective Jones to join the League."

"He agreed under the condition that I 'stop handling' him."

Clark kissed Diana's mouth when she again lifted her head.

"Oh, so I guess he has yet to figure out that you were the reason he was assigned to my stabbing case."

"Well, no, I don't think he's ready to know that just yet."

"Still handling, my love."

She nodded. "Just a little. He's an excellent detective, and I needed a Metropolis counterpart to Dick in Gotham." Diana placed a sweet kiss to his bare chest. "I think I could sleep for a week, Clark."

He looked over at his slumbering girls.

"How about a few hours. I don't think the babies will give you more than that."

Her tired sigh was a happy one. "I love you, Clark Kent. And C.J. And our blonde twins who my mother will spoil unrepentantly."

Clark settled them deep under the covers, his own weariness beginning to catch up with him.

"And I love you Diana Kent. And our son and the precious daughters you've given me." He lifted his wife's chin, wanting to see her eyes when he told her, "While I have never seen her, I also love Brina Hippolyta Wayne, because she is a part of you, your first daughter, and she will never be forgotten."

Diana's eyes filled with tears, but there was no sorrow there, just a mother's contented acceptance.

Diana's head returned to his chest, her hand over the heart that would forever beat for the girl who'd stolen his heart with a single, bashful look when Clark and Diana were far too young to know that sometimes happily-ever-after came with a price tag but no expiration date. They'd paid the cost and now they were together.

A family.

A League.

A priceless future.


Author's Note: Whew. That was a long in coming conclusion to a story that was never intended to be as lengthy as it turned out. Somewhere along the line, it grew, morphing into a larger, more complex story that needed to be told. So, I obliged and followed the stream of consciousness to the inevitable end. It was an interesting ride, and one I'm pleased you took with me. Thank you for that. I appreciate the time and effort, you, the reader, committed to the story. I most humbly extend my thanks to those of you who granted me moral support and energetic fervor through the gifting of comments. Each one, even when I wrote something you didn't quite like or agreed with, let me know that, on some level, I'd captured and held your interest, which, for a writer, is a very good thing. So, thank you.