He tries to reason with her

Tom’s back hit the pavement hard enough to knock the air out of him. Wonder Woman came down with him, knees settling on either side of his hips before he could get a hand up, her weight keeping him flat while that faint sound from her first breath still lingered low in her throat.

“Get off,” he managed. “Wonder Woman. Get off me and back up. Now.”

No response came beyond another slow breath. Her hair slipped forward around his face as she leaned closer, drawing in his scent again with an intensity that made the refusal to move feel less deliberate by the second.

“I heard you,” she said, voice tightening. “Get off. Back up. I know.”

Turning his face away from her mouth did nothing. His own scent was on her now, sweat and skin carried back from where she had pressed against him, and the implication settled unpleasantly in his stomach. Years of deodorant, showers, closed rooms when it got bad, all of it apparently hiding the problem rather than getting rid of it. The stuff had still been collecting.

“This is my power,” he said, too fast. “Pheromones, I think. I’ve never had a clean test. Most people don’t notice anything. Dogs do. Sometimes women, if they’re close enough, but never like this.” He swallowed as she drew another breath, her hand settling against the centre of his chest without either of them seeming to notice when it got there.

“You got one lungful and moaned," Tom tried to explain, "then you put me on the ground. I don’t know if it’s because you’re an Amazon, or if it works on anyone who isn’t built like a normal human. That’s the problem. So get away from me. Call the League. Batman, whoever. Somebody with a respirator and a plan, because right now I am guessing.”

“I believe you.” Her fingers spread slightly against his shirt. “You want me to move. I know that. I know I should call them.” Another breath slipped through her nose before her brow tightened. “Every time I breathe, knowing matters less.”

Tom shoved at her hip and twisted, trying to get an elbow underneath himself. He barely made it an inch before her thighs tightened around him and put his back flat again. The movement came so quickly that for a second she looked almost surprised to find him beneath her.

“See?” His breath came harder now. “You just did it again. You’ve got me pinned down and you didn’t even notice. Wonder Woman does not hold strangers in alleys because they smell good. Call them. Tell them there’s a metahuman with some kind of airborne compulsion and they need masks. You don’t have to understand it. Just tell them where you are.”

Her grip loosened by a fraction, but she still did not move. “I know.”

“Then please.”

She shut her eyes and breathed him in again, slower this time. The sound that escaped her was small, strained, almost angry.

“No. I will not call them.”

“Wonder Woman—”

Her hand came off his chest and covered his mouth. There was enough hesitation in the movement to make it clear she knew exactly what she was doing, but not enough to stop herself.

“You want the League. Batman. Masks.” Her hand remained over his mouth for another second before she forced herself to remove it. “And the moment you say airborne compulsion, they stop listening to anything after that. They see you as a threat. They see me sitting on top of you and decide I cannot be trusted to make a choice. J’onn is not on that channel, and I am not handing you over to frightened people whose first answer will be containment.”

Considering Batman's compassion is legendary, Tom did not think that was fair.

Wonder Woman's forehead lowered until it almost touched his. Tom turned his face aside, but there was nowhere to go with her knees still braced against his hips, and every breath she took stirred warm against his cheek.

“I am trying to protect you.” The words came quieter now, as though saying them that way made them easier to believe. “Calling them does not protect you. Staying here does. You stop shouting, you breathe, and I keep anyone else from finding you until this passes.”

“That isn’t your deci—”

His attempt to rise barely started. Fingers slipped against the side of his neck before he could finish, finding the place with frightening ease. Pressure followed. Not much. It did not need to be. The alley lurched sideways, strength draining out of his arms so quickly that his hands slid uselessly from her hips.

“Sleep,” she murmured. “I have you. I am not giving you to people who will lock you away because you frightened me.”

The pressure at his neck held for another second. Tom’s eyes lost focus, his mouth slackening as what little strength remained in him disappeared. By the time her fingers eased away, his head had rolled heavily against the pavement and he was no longer conscious.

She stayed astride him for a moment, watching his face while another slow breath drew his scent in. Voices carried from somewhere beyond the alley before she finally moved, slipping an arm beneath him and lifting him from the pavement before anyone could round the corner.