When Diana heard the slight whistle of the door behind her, she steadied her hands. Her husband was always the hugging type since they got married. A man of physical affection. It wasn't uncommon for his hand to trail to her knuckles and run down her fingers, or for his ankles to lock around hers underneath a table whilst the two were out for dinner. So when she heard that swipe of an electronic door, a keycard beeping with a sharp green tint to the access panel, she braced herself.

Sure enough, her husband's weight pressed against her. A firm hug, a peck on the cheek, and he was pulling back with a wide smile and dashing dark eyes that always helped her heart melt a little more.

"Rick," She hummed.

"Diana," He hummed in the same tune, pressing his chin against her shoulder. "How goes the progress?"

Always a curious little thing. Ever since they met he was like that. Eyes humming with seeking knowledge, ready to pull and prod until whatever craving he had was satisfied. Sometimes it got a bit bothersome, especially when she'd round the living room corner at the odd hours of the morning to find him hunched over papers, desperately hunting down an answer to some minor observation he couldn't help but pursue. It was those nights that she'd prepare a pot of coffee entirely for him, peck his head with a slight kiss, and grumble off back to bed. He couldn't sleep if something bothered him, and there was no way she'd allow his energy back into bed with her. He could work it out himself.

"It goes," She hummed, almost teasingly.

He groaned against her neck. "Unfair, hun. Unfair."

Diana extended out a hand. "Lunch first, then info. Hun."

A weight quickly entered her hand. Instead of a packed homemade meal, she was sure she had tucked away into the fridge that night, she found a neatly wrapped up brown bag brimming with heat.

"Rick," She said, tone almost exasperated. "Rick."

"I think," He hummed, pulling back a bit to straighten his posture and give her that familiar glint of mischievous energy followed by complete and utter warmth in his eyes, "You deserve it. You've gotten so much progress lately. I'm proud."

Admittedly, she had. Month after month slaving away, hunched over a table with goggles fogged and furrowed eyebrows. Trying, desperately, for a cure. A reprieve. Plain, simple, freedom.

"I might be done tonight."

She couldn't help herself. It was finally there, and it was almost exhilarating to think about. So she didn't withhold the information, much too excited to share it with the love of her life.

He paused. Her eyes widened just a tiny fraction as he stared at her face, looking for the "Gotcha" that never did come. His hands flexed by his sides when he let out a deep, shuttering breath.

"Hun, I am so proud of you," He said, tone threatening a bone-crushing hug which she quickly braced herself for. Sure enough, moments later she was wrapped in his firm arms with the breath knocked out of her. "Diana, you did it! You've been working so hard and been so motivated and focused and I am so proud of you!"

"Rick," She heaved, "I need oxygen. I can't die before I find the -" She patted the side of his face more harder than necessary, "The cure!"

Rick chuckled, giving her one last squeeze before he finally allowed her freedom. She chuckled, a light-toned sort of chuckle, and withdraw with a soft smile.

"I am. So proud." Rick gave her that one look like she was the world itself.

"We're going to do it tomorrow night so we can make the preparations beforehand," She explained, leaning back to push aside a vial in favor of setting down her cooling-down lunch onto the white countertop. "Everyone is going to be evacuated -"

"I'm coming," Rick said sternly, as if there was any room for debate in the first place.

"As I was saying -" She reached over and lightly smacked his cheek with purpose. "You're free to come, though, if you want to. You can't directly be in the room but you can be in the building."

"That's fine, I can wander around while I wait. I'd prefer for you not to be alone in the building. Just scream and I'll come running."

Diana stared for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "I could say the same myself - since when could you wander around anyways? As far as I'm concerned a lot of the rooms need keycard access. Are you bribing my coworkers again?"

Rick avoided her gaze. "If you mean I am just as memorable as a person that they sometimes give me their keycard access, then yes?"

"Oh? And this wouldn't have anything to do with you bringing in fudge every time we have a staff meeting?"

"That's irrelevant."

Rick had a habit of weaseling his way into people's good graces. Almost all of her coworkers liked him. He had plenty of opportunity to bond with them, considering that he always brought her lunch and made sure to make small talk with others on the way. To him, bonding was important. It likely was a good thing he did, since he was the one Diana would want in the building if something went wrong. He knew how to deal with her 'situation'.

If there was anyone she could trust, it would be him.

___

The night came with heavily clouded skies and a weather report for strong wind. Rick could hear it pelting against the windows as he roamed the empty and barren halls, hands tucked into his pockets as he watched branches from nearby trees flick and prod against windows.

He was frankly glad that his wife asked him to stay of all people. Rick was most informed about her, he knew how to deal with it if something went array. And he knew not to take anything that happened personally if it did happen.

His role was to keep an ear out, to keep away from the main room in case it spilled. Only she was to be exposed at that moment. The wind, though, wasn't helping. Leaves dragged against the outside walls, small pebbles bounced against panes of glass, and he could hear the roaring wind whenever he stepped near a vent that connected outside. Every room sounded noisy. So when it sounded like someone was scraping around inside of the room, he mostly chalked it up to mere, inhuman noise.

Except that 'inhuman' noise slammed a flat metal tray into his face when he stepped inside.

It was, frankly, a blur. One moment he was walking into the room, humming out that morning's news tune from the television while thinking about the trip back home. The next, he was on the floor, his nose absolutely ached (it was broken, wasn't it?) and there was a pair of black sneakers standing next to him.

Rick tried to scamper back onto his feet to face the intruders, run, anything, but his fighting experience wasn't exactly one to brag about. He barely got back onto his knees before someone else from behind him hauled their arms underneath his and tugged them back to point of possible dislocation before a rope dug into his skin.

Two intruders. One was a short scruffy man, beard short and uneven. The taller man had some muscle to him, with crooked eyebrows and a sharp frown etched onto his face. They both dragged him into a corner, ripping off the keycard that dangled around his neck on a cat-themed lanyard and asked him where they kept the medicine.

Oh. They wanted to steal and sell.

"I don't know," Rick said, "I don't work here. I'm just here to watch the building!"

Then he realized it. Realized the moment they started talking about hunting through every room. They'd find Diana.

"But I - ah - I think there's a medicine cabinet by the lobby?" He had stuttered out.

He did try to distract them from going anywhere near her. He really did. He gave excuses, explanations, anything but the truth, yet they dragged him up by the rope and dragged him along as they kicked open every room and searched for the desired medicine.

Rick knew, in the back of his mind, that it was with Diana. Of course, it was, she was in the medication room because she was working with it. And sure enough, the two men saw the light flooding through the room's door to the room and both glanced at him with smirks.

"No, seriously, I know you guys want the medication but - my wife's in there, please, you guys can't fight her!"

He didn't have the heart to tell them it wasn't because she was going to get hurt, but because she'd do something she'd regret later.

The short bearded man was the one that kicked open the door. Diana had been holding a vial with a needle inside, slowly drawing up some liquid when she turned towards them. His pretty Diana. Her eyes were so bright with life, sharp and captivating all at once.

"Put your hands up, or else your boy gets it," The taller had grunted, pressing the flat blade of a knife, cold to the touch, against his bare neck.

Those eyes he adored turned green. Not their usual color. A bright, threatening green, glowing and sharp and absolutely feral. He tried to give out one final warning, tell the men that she was more dangerous than a silly little knife, but he found his voice gone and throat raw once he realized it was already too late. She was transforming, and he could do nothing but watch and be useless.

Rick had seen it a few times before, but every single instance still took his breath away as he watched, transfixed on the scene before him. A hand dug into the metal table, filled with vials and plastic orange contains, and clung until the horrible screeching of metal sang out and the table utterly snapped. At that sound, the bigger guy with the knife flinched beside him.

Not that it mattered. The metal was child's play compared to the grunts and animalistic snarls that took hold. Diana - the woman who once was Diana made sounds no human could make as her neatly buttoned dress shirt started to tear at the seams as her body started to expand and grow. She seemed to recoil onto herself, likely in physical pain that he couldn't help, as her eyes glowed brighter and her shoes were torn clean in half as her feet grew. The woman that once stood just below his height now towered above the three men, voice loud and raw as she growled and practically screamed with power. Her tight clothes were absolutely shredded by the time the transformation was done, leaving her in more scraps than comprehensible fabric.

For a moment, everyone stood still.

Then the fight - no, it wasn't really a fight. It was a slaughter.

The woman that was once his lovely wife picked up the man with the knife in one hand and flung him to the wall. Then she snarled and threw herself at the other man like an animal pouncing on prey.

The next few minutes were a blur of screams and blood. The woman he loved, that he always would love, wasn't herself at that moment. That wasn't the woman who argued sweetly with him about fudge bribery with that silly glint in her eyes earlier. No, it wasn't. But he knew how to get her back.

He had to tug her back from behind, hands clutching at her waist as he yelled out memories they shared and emotional pleasantries to calm her down. To bring her back. And it did work. Eventually, Diana was in his arms, staring wide-eyed at the groaning men practically beaten into the floor beneath them. Her cheek was splattered with blood and debris, and she was trembling like a leaf.

The cops, too, were a blur. An ambulance came and went, statements were gathered, and a quick checkup was given to Diana before she declined the offer for a trip to the hospital. The whole time, though, her eyes were lingering on the cure vials broken uselessly against the ground.

He drew her into a hug when it finally ended, running a hand through her hair and promising her things were going to be alright. It wasn't her fault. It never would be.

Then he noticed it.

The folders were still neatly stacked on the desk in the corner of the room. The familiar signature of her name sprawled out across their covers.

"Diana," He had murmured out. "Are those your research papers with the formulas? Did you write down the cure's formula when you figured it out?"

Could you remake the cure went unspoken.

But it didn't go unheard. Diana's eyes, wide and sharp, darted towards the folders before she let out a gasp and bittersweet laugh, clinging to his shirt as she gasped for air like she had been drowning that entire night. The cure itself was currently smashed against the floor, seeping into the once clean white tiles. But the ability to recreate it wasn't. It was safe, tucked away in the room. The ingredients were somewhat difficult to obtain but not impossible.

They could make it again. It was going to be just alright.